by Keen, A. M.
“Here,” he said, taking a roman candle over to the window. “A rocket gives you one burst of light for maybe a second or so, but one of these lasts longer. That’s the kind of distraction we need if it works.”
“Try a rocket first,” Lawro replied. “If they do become distracted by the pretty lights, you’ve just used up one of your best distractions.”
Bucky nodded. “Right.”
Mr Peterson grabbed a rocket. “Open the window.”
Aaron did as the teacher asked, allowing the waft of bad air into the room.
“Christ, what is that?” he coughed, waving a hand across his nose.
“Smells like shit,” Lawro replied.
Bucky caught a whiff as the smell engulfed the room. “Damn. I bet they’ve crapped themselves. Maybe they lose control in this state?”
Lawro smirked. “Careful with the matches.”
“This is no time for jokes,” Peterson ordered. “Here.” The phys ed teacher beckoned to Lawro. “I’m gonna hold the wooden stick that should go in a support, seen as we have no other way to launch it. You light the fuse and we’ll see if they pay attention.”
Bucky opened the next window and along with Johnny, leant on the sill and out of the frame. Daylight dwindled behind rolling clouds. The rain eased but still fell at a steady pace.
“I hope my parents are okay,” Johnny whispered.
Bucky turned to him.”I’m sure they are.”
Johnny had remained quiet since they’d moved upstairs. Quiet times gave you time to think and Johnny must have done some thinking.
“It’s lit,” Lawro said, stepping back from the window.
“Bucky,” Peterson began whilst holding the rocket, “watch them out there. See what happens.”
Orange embers expelled from the firework as it ignited before whistling from Peterson’s hand and into the darkening sky.
The crazies stopped. Their swaying stopped. Their moaning stopped. Every single body that Bucky scoured lifted their bloody face to the orange flame that hissed into the air. The rocket popped, releasing vibrant, white light across the sky before crackling and fading into nothing.
“Look at them,” Bucky said, gesturing to the masses below. He began counting. “One, two, three…” All of them stood motionless, still peering to the sky where the rocket had exploded. “Six, seven, eight…” A woman down there cocked her head to the side. She jolted as though arousing from an absence seizure. Around her, the rest of the infected did the same. They twitched and trembled before regaining some kind of consciousness. “Ten,” Bucky whispered. In the street below, the crazies began to shuffle once more.
“What was that?” Mr Peterson asked.
“Ten,” Bucky replied. “About ten seconds from when the last light fades to when they return to normal.”
“That’s not much of a gap,” Miss Greene stated.
“It’s long enough for me to get in the van,” Mr Peterson replied. “Okay, here’s the plan. We lower the ladder down. Lawro, light the rockets. Craig, hold the rockets in place until they take off.” He turned to Miss Greene. “Tara, I want you and Bucky to hold the ladder in place. I’m going to need an escape plan if anything cocks up. Johnny, you watch everyone below and yell if someone heads towards me. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Johnny replied.
“I’ll bring the van around as close to the shop as I can get it.”Stewart wandered across, bearing the keys to the van. Peterson nodded, taking hold of them. “Get the ladder.”
Lawro assisted Craig with the ladder. Bucky released the catch which gave it an extra few feet. All three hung out of the window, manoeuvring the steps until they stood secure on the tarmac. The crazies paid no attention to the metal appendage that crashed into them from above.
“I think that’s as close as we can get.”
Peterson flashed the key. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
* * *
A rocket ignited from the sill.
“Go! Go! Go!” Lawro screamed. Peterson descended the ladder as the firework whooshed from Craig’s hand. “Another! Quick!”
The first exploded into the sky as Peterson hit the ground. For a second he closed his eyes, expecting to be engulfed by the mass of bodies he fell into. Nothing. Another rocket sailed into the air. Peterson dashed through the crowds, pushing stinking, rotten bodies from his path. No one retaliated. Another explosion of green and white light illuminated the area. Peterson found the key to the transit and opened the door, slamming it closed behind him. Another explosion rocked the street as the key entered the ignition and brought the vehicle to life. The roaring engine did nothing to deter those outside who stood there watching the fireworks. Peterson spun the wheel and set the van in motion, pushing people from his path with the bumper and bonnet. He expected it to be easy, mowing down people with minimal effort, but the overworked engine struggled to push through the crowd.
“Come on,” he grimaced, driving an arc that would align the passenger side door perfectly with the shop front. He bounded up and down, no doubt over a body that he’d knocked down.
The van came to a standstill beside the shop. Peterson peered up through the windscreen to see Craig releasing more fireworks. The shutters began to rise. Miss Greene and the students dashed to the passenger door and opened it. “They’re staying,” she said as she bundled into the vehicle.
“What?” Peterson asked, peering into the back as the remaining students piled in.
“They’re staying. Craig and Stewart. Staying with their home, they said.”
“Shit.” Peterson counted over the students. Aaron, Lawro, Bucky, Johnny, Lacey… “Where’s Michael?”
Stewart shrieked from the doorway as Michael grabbed him from behind. In an instant, Michael had torn away the weak flesh from Stewart’s throat exposing ligaments and muscle tissue. Stewart fitted, his body quivering as Michael chomped down some more, removing the flesh from his cheek. Lacey screamed as she entered the vehicle.
“Close the door!” Peterson yelled.
She did so as he pulled away, mowing through a mass of people all wailing and reaching out with outstretched arms, attempting to get inside the vehicle. The engine revved and coughed, working hard to push through the resistance. Peterson hammered the accelerator to the floor and parted the crowd.
“We’re out!” he said, hitting the almost clear road ahead. A few crazies would be a minor hindrance, nothing more. “We’re out.”
“Thank God for that,” Miss Greene sighed.
Peterson flashed a quick glance to her across his shoulder. “Let’s hope the road is clear.”
* * *
Bucky rocked with the motion of the travelling van, swaying from left to right as the road rushed past beneath them. He wasn’t curious to look out of the windscreen like the others, who all stretched upward every so often to peer through from the back. In the rush to the van, they’d forgotten their cricket bats and only a few minor tools such as hammers and saws had been left in the van by its previous owner. They’d been too eager to jump inside the vehicle and Bucky’s plan had gone awry. No one remembered to bring the fireworks that had been set out in the store room. No one had even attempted to fill the empty milk bottles with white spirit to make a Molotov. They hadn’t even remembered their own gear. Aside from the crap inside the van, they were as good as unarmed.
Lacey had said next to nothing since jumping in the passenger seat. Bucky guessed the trauma of seeing a school friend turn crazy and rip the flesh from an old man with his teeth would be the cause of it.
The journey had been smooth so far. Mr Peterson had slowed down once or twice, avoiding obstacles and crazies, but even these hurdles had not stopped them. The football club loomed closer with every shift of the gear stick and with it came the promise of safety.
“You think Michae
l turned from that injury he had?” Johnny asked, to no one in particular.
“That can be the only answer. It must have been a bite on his neck he sustained, not a cut,” Aaron replied.
Johnny squirmed on the uncomfortable floor. “It took a while, though. I mean, don’t people turn into zombies straight away if they’re bitten?”
“They’re not zombies!” Lawro yelled, his eyes glaring toward the skinny kid who sat opposite.
“Calm down!” Miss Greene snapped. Bucky noted the distain in her face. The situation they found themselves in had taken its toll on all of them. Not just this, but since they’d been thrust into the Great British apocalypse. Lawro had shown his true colours this past week or so, arguing and shouting with the staff, and at the same time the school kids, too. Bucky had only known him when it came to coaching the cricket team after school on a Tuesday evening, and even though he volunteered to help out, everyone still thought he was an absolute asshole.
“What the hell are you going to do about it, Miss?” Lawro began, his anger now drawn from the huge ego Bucky knew already existed. “All you’ve done since this thing happened is whimper, cry and run away!”
“Screw you!” Johnny blurted.
Chaos erupted within the van as Lawro grabbed the hammer, jumped across the way and smashed Johnny with a flurry of fists. Aaron jumped on him, attempting to pull the attacker away. Miss Greene became involved. Lacey hit Lawro around the head from the passenger seat.
Bucky fell sideways as the van screeched to a halt. Before he was able to sit upright, Mr Peterson had lunged into the back. A full-scale melee rocked the suspension of the vehicle.
“That is enough!” Peterson screamed, thrusting Lawro into the van’s rear doors. The impact breached the latch and out he tumbled, falling to the tarmac of a duel carriageway. Everyone spilled out onto the road, like punters that drank too much on a Saturday night and took their fights outside. Their voices droned into one monotonous tone, all shouting in unison, all except for Bucky who stood there and let it all continue.
Peterson had Lawro pinned to the ground. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?”
“Get lost, Mr Peterson!”
Peterson raised a hand. “No,” Miss Greene shouted.
While the melee continued, Bucky took in their surroundings. He stood upon a dual carriageway he had no idea existed. Chances are he’d travelled this at some point but nothing appeared familiar. Stationary cars dotted here and there abandoned by owners who thought it better to walk. Then it dawned on him. At either side of the carriageway bodies had been piled. Lots of them. They lay in line with the road, piled on top of each other, their blood saturating each other’s clothing. Something was wrong around here. The air just had a different feel. It was a bad place to be.
Bucky’s inquisitiveness took him toward the nearest pile. Flies buzzed in erratic fashion above the rotting carcasses. The stench hit hard, like a Lawro punch straight on the nose, but still Bucky moved closer. He stopped less than five feet from the morbid area. Blood still dripped from one body to another, and then down onto the road. Most had missing limbs. Bone protruded from arms. Femurs jutted from flesh where legs had once been. Even heads had been severed on some of the bodies.
“Jesus…” Bucky whispered.
“He ain’t gonna help you.”
A flash of light and a ring in his ears, Bucky slumped to his knees. Something smashed against his head leaving him on the verge of consciousness. He scraped along the road, dragged by his collar as something pulled him along before launching him against Lawro. He peered up to see four men stood above them, all clasping bladed weapons of some kind.
“Now everyone’s together,” said the guy that had man handled Bucky. The quartet of attackers hid behind clown masks. Each was dirty and smudged, the sign of many skirmishes. All were white with features twisted into grins or pouts. Red eyes, blue lips, even teardrops painted on one that looked upset. The leader’s mask bore matted, red hair horseshoeing around his head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we proudly present to you our showcase of the evening… us!” The leader staged an eccentric shuffle and bow. “My name is Stank and I promise that our primary focus this evening will be on the good people feasting their eyes upon me now. Basically, that means all of you.”
Stank pointed a bloodstained finger to the school entourage. All of the clowns bore jeans and either hooded tops or jackets that had seen a lot of blood. “Now, let us have a chat. You sir, come here for me, please,” the redheaded monstrosity ordered Mr Peterson. “I won’t bite.”
Peterson looked about the kids before walking towards the clown leader.
“Okay boys, ensure the others are comfortable and relaxed during the show.”
The remaining clowns surrounded the cricket team. They each lifted their weapons. Bucky’s stomach dropped. All bore machetes at least twelve inches in length.
“What are you going to do?” Lawro asked.
“That, young man, is an excellent question,” Stank replied, again pointing with a saturated glove. “The answer depends on you. Let me explain.” From a holster attached around his waist and running down his left leg, the clown drew a sword. Bucky’s heartbeat thudded as anxiety flushed through his body. The sword shimmered, reminding him of a Japanese cartoon as the clown laid it to rest on Peterson’s shoulder. “Kneel down,” Stank ordered. Peterson complied, lurching down onto his knees.
“You know, everyone believes clowns are evil when it comes to things like this. Especially now the country has gone to shit,” he began, walking back and forth, like a lecturer delivering a lesson to some students. “You see four clowns carrying bladed weapons and I bet you think the worst, don’t you? Am I right? Actually, no, don’t answer that. All we are is a group of humble men trying to get by. The supermarkets have been raided. There’s no supplies. The law fell a few days after all this shit happened. We all lost our lives,” he said, gesturing to the clowns that surrounded them. “All four of us lost our families. They all turned crazy. Do you know how hard it is to kill your own wife? I mean, do you?”
“We’ve all had losses,” Peterson explained.”Everyone has been affected.”
“Wrong!” Stank launched at his hostage, swiping the blade and slicing Peterson’s ear away in one clean stroke. Peterson cried out as blood spattered on to his shoulder. Lacey screamed.
“If they move, kill them!” the clown ordered, his sword tip scraping the tarmac. Stank squatted down, clasping the severed ear between his fingers. He waggled the organ in front of Peterson, teasing the teacher who grimaced and sighed with the pain. “Tell me, can you still hear?” Peterson rocked forward before looking up to the sky and gritting his teeth. “I said tell me!” The sword plunged into his thigh, causing him to yelp out once more. Bucky looked across as Lacey and Miss Greene screamed and sobbed. Stank twisted the blade.
“Ah God!” Peterson screamed before busting into tears.
“I asked you a question. Don’t make me repeat myself. Can you still hear me?”
“Yes!” the teacher blurted through the tears. “Yes.”
“Good. Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up.” He withdrew the blade causing the teacher’s tracksuit bottoms to fill in a claret mass. “Now, I take it you people want to pass, yes? That’s why you drove this way?”
“We do. That’s all we want,” Miss Greene blurted.
The clown rose to his feet and wandered across to her. “You’re very pretty, don’t you think?”
He turned to Lawro who stood beside her. “What do you think, buddy? I bet you want to screw her hard, don’t you?”
“Screw you.”
Stank jumped back. “Gosh, aren’t you one tough son of a bitch,” he began, before turning back to Miss Greene. “Youth of today, they have no manners or respect for their elders. Boys
, this one is next, if you know what I mean?”
Bucky stood there petrified, so much so his bowels almost opened.
“You know what? I was going to have a little bit of fun. This was going to be it,” Stank began, lifting the ear for all to see. “You would have been going on your merry way right about now, but Mr I-am-a-big-man over there just screwed things up a tiny bit for you.” He wandered back across to Mr Peterson. “I thought all of you were going to be the special ones, the ones I could send out into the world with a message: don’t mess with us, but it seems I was wrong. Yet again. I mean, look at all these people around you, all hacked up and lining the road. They all had the opportunity to relay my message, yet no one left this stretch alive.” A moment of silence passed as the deranged clown studied them. “I see most of you are kids, and in cricket whites no less. I want to make something clear to you all, right now. I’m not a child killer, so I’ll give you one last chance. You like games? We’ll play a game.”
Stank laid the sword down and pulled a pocket knife from his jacket before turning to Peterson. Their teacher screamed as the lunatic attacked him, his back to the crowd. Bucky watched as his teacher’s erratic hands waved and twitched with the attack. The screams echoed through the emptiness, high pitched and sorrowful. Bucky watched as Miss Greene covered her mouth with both hands. Johnny and Lacey matched the tears she streamed. The clown lifted the blade above his head and thundered the knife repeatedly into Peterson’s neck. Once, twice, three times, four times…
Mr Peterson slumped to the side, his face and upper body drenched in blood. The severity of the attack was as immense as the claret puddle formed about him.
Stank shook his head and wandered over to them. Bucky’s legs trembled as the clown stood in front of him.
“Hold out your hand,” the clown asked, softly. Bucky looked to him. “Go on,” Stank replied, encouraging him in a gentle manner.
Bucky extended a shaking hand, palm upright. Stank took it gently and placed something wet and warm inside. He then closed Bucky’s fingers around it, not allowing him to see what was in there. “Keep it closed until I say so. Understand?” Bucky nodded. A tear fell down his cheek.