by Russ Watts
She noticed the ornate crosses on the walls, the paintings and the tapestries. At the altar, a set of steps led up to the pulpit and she tried to imagine the church being full of people. She couldn’t hold the picture in her head though. The church was so huge and empty now, it seemed bizarre that people would come here and sit and listen to an old man telling even older stories.
She saw Reggie who was lying on some cushions near the altar, just next to the front pew. He had a lot of cuts and bruises on his face, but he appeared to be sleeping now, so she tiptoed past quietly and left him to rest.
Apart from where they had come in, she had seen no other entrances or exits. There was one open door off to one side and she glanced back; nobody was following her. She ventured into the side room and pushed the door shut behind her. The room she was in now was like a storeroom: there were chairs and books piled up, cloaks and coats hanging on hooks and candles in boxes. The room had two doors on either side, both closed. She tried one and it opened into a small kitchen. There was no sign of Tom or Jackson, so she returned to the other door.
Jessica found herself faced with uneven stone steps leading upward. There was a cold bronze handrail and she began climbing the winding staircase. The cold air pinched her cheeks and the higher she climbed, the colder she got. She decided that when she got back down, she would have to borrow one of those coats she had seen.
At the top of the staircase was a small door, and she could hear voices on the other side. She pulled the creaky door open and stooped to get through the frame. She found herself in the open air and a hand reached for hers.
“Take care, Jess, it’s slippery up here,” said Jackson helping her up.
Jackson and Tom were side by side on the church tower.
“Thanks, Jackson,” she said, bracing herself against the cool wind.
“Hi, Jess,” said Tom. “Everything okay downstairs?”
“As okay as it can be. Some crying, some praying; nothing this church hasn’t seen before I expect. Wow, that’s quite some view.”
She looked out over the city. To the south, she could see the spires of the Dome, its yellow cranes in the air trying to touch the clouds. To the east and the west, were rows of buildings: houses, shops, and offices. To the south west, she could see the city they had come from, its skyscrapers still resolute, standing firm despite the crumbling world around it.
When she looked closer, she began to notice the details. The houses and shops were lifeless, and there was smoke pouring from several of them. The streets were empty; there was no traffic, just the odd figure walking across the road aimlessly. She could tell they were dead by the way they moved.
The sun was low in the sky and casting shadows across the rooftops. It was strange not to be surrounded by noise; the city was so busy and bustling that even at night, you wouldn’t normally hear the perfect silence that she heard now. Not even the birds were singing in the twilight.
“It’s like the city doesn’t want us to leave,” said Jessica. “Look over there, zombies. Every direction, wherever you look, they’re fucking just there. What the hell are we going to do?”
“Look down there,” said Jackson peering over the edge of the steeple, looking directly to the ground beneath them. Clamouring at the church doors were around ten dead, the ones who had followed them from the park. Scattered throughout the church grounds were several more. Some were drawn to the noise of the zombies clawing at the wooden doors, but others were shambling aimlessly through the gravestones. “If we’re lucky, that group won’t get much larger. If it does, we’re gonna find it difficult to get out of here.”
“Well, so far, they’re only drawn to the main doors. Look around the side there, to the left. I think that’s where we found the kitchen,” said Tom. “The door was locked and it led directly outside, but they’re not around that door. Why would they be? As long as they stay where they are, that’ll be our way out.”
Jessica saw he was correct. It looked like they had recently built an extension to the church, somewhere they could prepare for meetings and prayer groups. There was another extension around the corner from it, and it was this building the bus had crashed into. It was still there, Don and Angel’s final resting place. Smoke was still pooling from the cooling engine.
“There was water in the kitchen, and I didn’t look but there may be some food too,” said Jessica. “We’re in no condition to keep running. Where would we go to? How? Benzo needs to rest up and Reggie was already asleep when I came up here. Caterina is very fragile right now. That new girl too, Rosa? Nobody is in any condition to get back out there.”
Jackson looked to Tom. “This is a good place to hold up, Tom. For now anyway. From up here we have a good lookout. We could take it in turns to watch, maybe see if there is any sign of life out there in the city.”
Tom nodded. “We should stick to the plan and try to get to the airport. But for now, I agree, we should rest. All of us need it, me included.” He rubbed his aching shoulders.
Jessica was still looking down at the green church grounds, leaning over the stone parapet. “It’ll be dark soon. We lost everything back there: our torches, weapons, everything. Jesus, sometimes this feels hopeless, you know?”
Jackson put his hand on her back. “It’ll be all right, Jess.”
He crouched down and stooped in the doorway. “I’m going back down. I’ll see if I can find some food and water in the kitchen, take it to the others and let them know what’s going on.”
“Cheers,” said Tom. Jackson disappeared into the dark stairway and Tom listened as his footsteps faded. Jessica was cupping her face with her hands, elbows resting on the rough stonework while her eyes scanned the horizon.
“What’s going on out there, Tom? What did we do to deserve this?”
“I don’t know if it’s a case of deserving it. But I guess if you’re looking for a deeper answer than the one I’m about to give you, then you’re in the right place.”
She remained where she was and Tom leant beside her. He tried to figure out what she was looking for, or at. Her eyes were distant and not fixed on any one thing, just scanning the horizon.
“Whatever this infection is, I don’t think it’s divine retribution. I don’t think it’s the work of God, Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, or any so-called higher power. It’s a disease, a natural infection like a cancer. It’s obviously not like anything else we’ve encountered before though. I don’t think there’s a cure. If there was, I don’t think the city would be in the state it is now. The only cure for the infection is death, but for some reason that isn’t the end of it. I’ve never heard of a sickness that brings a dead body back to life.”
“Do you think we made this?” asked Jessica. “Some idiot in government trying to create a superman, a super-soldier? Maybe it’s some experiment that ended up going wrong?”
“It’s possible, but if you’re asking me, then no I don’t believe it. The governments of this world can’t get the trains to run on time, so I certainly don’t think they could create something like this. They don’t have the intelligence or the organisation. This is something else.”
Jessica yawned. “I feel exhausted. Not just physically, but...thinking about all this is draining. Trying to work out what’s happened to my friends, my family; are they alive or dead? How do we beat this thing? Where do we go? The questions are endless. My mind reaches so far and then it just wants to give up and switch off. I passed Reggie on the way here and he was asleep, out like a light. When I close my eyes, I just see Parker, slumped in the conference centre, looking like death.”
Tom idly scratched at the lime coloured lichen on the stonework. He scraped it off and threw it, watching it flutter down to the ground. He let Jessica talk.
“I had to leave. I couldn’t stand the crying. I know that sounds bad, but Caterina could cry for England. Bless her but if I had to put up with that much more I would’ve cracked up. That other girl, what’s her name again?”
“Rosa.
She seemed nice.” Tom looked down at the grounds and was pleased to see no more zombies seemed to be approaching.
“I guess so. She’s pretty. But she’s upset, she just lost her friends. And that’s our fault, Tom. It’s our fault they’re dead.”
“Look, they knew what they were doing when they rescued us, they didn’t have to, they...”
Jessica looked at Tom. He knew she was right. Rosa, Don, and Angel, had come to help them and it had ended up getting two of them killed. He took his eyes away from Jessica’s. He could feel her guilt burning through him and he could feel it rising in him too, swelling up from his gut.
“It wasn’t a complete accident, you know?” said Tom looking down at the silent bus.
“What do you mean?” said Jessica frowning. She put a hand on his shoulder.
“It was Brad. He was fighting with Don. That’s what caused the crash.”
“Then maybe something good will come of it then. Brad’s dead, probably buried in the bus beneath a tonne of bricks. We’re better off without him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did have something to do with Amber’s death.”
Tom didn’t want to get drawn into gossip and conjecture. “Well, he’s gone now. You should get back downstairs, it’s getting cold up here. Why don’t you go help Jackson? I’ll stay up here and keep watch for a while.”
Jessica gave him a quick hug and paused in the doorway. “Any dramas, you come get me, okay? We’re in this together now. We have to look out for each other.”
“I will,” he said as she left. Alone, Tom resumed his watch from the church tower, looking at the city as darkness began to gather once more. The zombies in the yard below were not growing in number, although they weren’t leaving either. He looked beyond the park to where they had come from, the city skyscrapers now distant, a mere memory. Would they really be able to get to the airport or was he just dreaming? It was a short distance, but it felt like it was on the other side of the planet.
Tom continued to watch the city as the sun set over burning buildings and people dying. He saw the dead soldiers in the streets, the crashed cars, and empty homes. Knowing the church was secure, he paid little attention to the walls below and even less to the bus. If he had, he would’ve noticed the loose bricks tumbling from the front of the bus as something stirred beneath its belly. He would’ve noticed a hand reaching out from beneath it, an arm extending out, the fingers digging into the mud, grabbing onto the long grass as a body crawled out from underneath the silent vehicle.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jackson had found the kitchen cupboards bare of food, only a sad and lonely packet of ginger-nuts hiding in one dark corner. He had drawn the curtains across the window, so he remained out of sight of the zombies outside, and could roam throughout the room freely without worrying about being seen. If he drew them to the kitchen, then both exits out of the church would be compromised.
The door leading out of the church was shut, but not locked, and he quietly opened it to check their surroundings. Immediately behind the door were a couple of dustbins. A small paved path lead directly to another yard in the church grounds, but it was empty and useless; there were no vehicles and the house beyond it stood abandoned. He pulled the door shut, careful not to make any noise.
“God rest your soul, Mary,” said Jackson resting on the bench briefly. Like a bolt of lightning to the head, it suddenly hit him he was very old. What was a man in his sixties doing running around like this? He should’ve gone back to his wife when he had the chance, but he had left it too late. He closed his eyes and pictured his wife as he had last seen her. He had left for work and she was sat at the table munching on toast and marmalade. Now that she was retired, she liked to take a lazy breakfast, only washing and dressing when she’d eaten. He could remember kissing her goodbye, as he had done every day for the last forty years, the only interruption being when she had spent a few nights in hospital three years ago, to have a hip replacement.
He couldn’t feel her anymore. He didn’t believe in ghosts or psychics or premonitions, yet somehow he knew his wife was gone. He vowed he would light a candle for her.
What of the rest of the city, the millions who lived in this great metropolis? He couldn’t accept they were gone, not all of them. Surely the infection had been contained somewhere? Surely there were systems in place to contain this type of thing? He had seen the country change a lot in his lifetime: strikes, riots, political demonstrations, bombings, buildings torn down, and bigger, taller ones erected in their place, financial institutions failing only to be usurped by others. Merchants and prophets of doomsday had predicted the end every time a bomb went off in the Middle East or a plane fell out of the sky, or an economic crisis struck the west; they had all been wrong. The end would be a bug; a tiny organism infecting every living being, for which there was no cure.
Jackson wondered how he would die – would he be devoured by one of these creatures or die fighting. If living meant running from place to place, hiding and feeding on scraps, then he would look forward to seeing Mary again.
There had been a bucket beneath the sink and he’d filled it with tap water. Scooping up a cluster of plastic cups from a box on the floor, he went back into the church to find the others. Wallowing in self-pity was a fool’s game, Mary had told him that many times.
‘Make yourself useful, Jackson,’ she’d told him. ‘The past is the past and the future is yours.’ He couldn’t help but smile. She had told him that when he was made redundant, shortly after they wed. At a low point, she had helped him, stood by his side, and never doubted him. All he could do now was live up to her ideals. He would help these people, these friends who were scared and lost; he would die fighting if he had to.
They had gratefully taken the water, draining the bucket completely. He had to go back twice more to fetch more buckets full of water. When he returned the second time, he found Benzo standing.
“You feeling better, Benzo?” Jackson asked, filling his cup with more water.
“Yeah, thanks to Jess. My arm’s sore, but it’ll be fine. Let me help you.” Benzo took the bucket from Jackson and they passed by Jessica who was trying to get a mobile to work.
“Any luck?” Benzo asked, topping her cup up.
“No. Caterina was the only one with a phone and there’s no bloody signal. I can’t get anything.”
“Have you tried getting on the net?”
“Yeah, it won’t connect. Battery’s fine, but...” Jessica slammed the phone down on the pew beside her. “Waste of time,” she sighed.
She followed Benzo and Jackson to Christina, who was talking to Rosa. She had stopped crying, but her face was red and Jessica felt guilty for not offering her more support. Rosa looked young too, certainly no older than Jessica. She had golden girlish locks that twisted around her face and Jessica had already noticed she had a curious way of twitching her nose when she was about to speak.
She took Rosa’s plastic cup and scooped it through the bucket, filling it with cool fresh water.
“Here,” Jessica said smiling.
Rosa took it and sipped. “Thanks.”
Jessica guessed from her clothes that Rosa had been on her way to or from work. The clean cut of the dress, the simple colours, and the basic hemline, still managed to look good on her though; it showed off her slim figure.
“Rosa was just telling me how they managed to survive in the pub for so long,” said Christina.
Caterina had gone to lie down and fallen asleep so Christina had decided it was a good time to talk to Rosa. She looked so young and helpless sat alone as she was. Nobody should be allowed just to sit there in the church crying, without someone at least offering her some consolation. Christina had gone over and just held her until she’d stopped. She wished she’d done the same for Linda back at the office, back when Linda had still been alive.
“It wasn’t easy. We had to keep quiet all day. The rooms upstairs in the pub were locked apart from the bathroom and a storeroom.
Don slept in the bathtub at night. Angel and I slept in the storeroom.”
“How did you manage for food and water for so long?” asked Benzo.
“Well, we still had running water from the tap and Don found some boxes of whisky, so drink wasn’t a problem. Apart from that, we survived on a diet of peanuts and pork scratching’s.” She offered Benzo a timid smile.
“Man I would kill for some pork scratching right now. I’m starving,” he said.
“I searched the kitchen, but we’ve had what little there was. I’m afraid that’s going to be it until whenever we get out of here,” said Jackson. He put the bucket on the floor and sat down beside Christina.
“Tomorrow?” she said. “You offering to nip out to KFC for us, Jackson?”
They laughed and the sounds echoed around the hollow church, their laughter bouncing off the high ceiling. The grinning gargoyles seemed to laugh with them.
“Don’t even talk about KFC,” said Benzo. “My mouth is watering for that finger lickin’ shit right now.”
They laughed again and Jackson felt better. If they could still laugh in times like this, then it meant they hadn’t all given up hope. There was still some humanity left in them.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about tomorrow. I was talking to Tom too. Despite how things are out there, we still think the best course of action is to aim for the airport,” he said.
“I second that,” said Benzo immediately. “It’s not that far and if there’s any way out of the city, that’ll be it. The roads are clearly a no-go. I reckon when we get to the city airport, we’ll find help there. My dad always said that in a time of war, the most strategic place of attack, or defence, are the arteries in and out of the country. It stands to reason that the government would keep the airport open.”
“I’m not sure,” said Christina. “I could see the airport from my office and I couldn’t see a lot going on. I didn’t notice any planes coming or going.”