by RR Haywood
‘Dave, let Chris know what’s going on, you and Lani are the only ones able to run and speak,’ I gasp for breath myself at the speed were going. Dave relays our information to Dave, the fit bastard hardly speaking above a normal tone as he jogs along easily.
‘Received that, where are you? We’ll come round in the Saxon and see if we can get to the front.’
‘Understood, we’re going into Green Street now.’
‘Which end you going in from?’
‘Not sure, will update you when we reach the end, Dave out.’
This feels farcical and stupid. Us chasing a horde that is chasing something else through the quiet backstreets of a deserted ruined town. Still, if it is the dog then getting to the horde and finishing them off will be easy enough.
Famous last words.
FORTY-TWO
‘Which way to the centre?’ Paco asks the dog, not for the first time wishing she could speak. But then if dogs could speak they would rule the world and none of this would have happened. They keep jogging, maintaining roughly the same distance from the horde behind them.
The strange town isn’t built on the grid format of American towns. The ancient High Street is straight enough but streets and roads have been added over the years, creating a confusing layout of twisting avenues, streets and roads that all look the damn same with the damn same construction of red brick and slate roofs. How the hell do people find their way back to their houses in this country?
He jogs on, the high level of fitness showing as he keeps a steady rate of breathing, his motion fluid and gentle.
He turns left at the next junction and waits for a couple of seconds until he knows he’s out of sight before opening his stride and sprinting easily down the road to the next junction. Taking a right and sprinting again, trying to use his power and speed to lose the monsters in the twisting confusing streets.
A howling sounds behind him, he stops and twists round to see the front of the horde now sprinting having halved the gap between them. They move as fluid as he was. Sprinting with arms pumping, faces contorted with rage and fury.
‘What the…’ He doesn’t finish the sentence but sprints away, his mind working furiously at the change. How can they run so fast? What changed?
They gain quickly and within seconds he hears the drumming of their feet on the ground, impossibly fast and still gaining. He veers off calling for the dog and knowing he can’t outrun them anymore. Crossing the road he stares at the passing houses until he sees one with an open front door.
‘Dog,’ he bellows, quickly turning into the front garden and charging up the path. The dog runs ahead of him, streaking into the door. Paco reaches it, leaping in and slamming it closed behind him. Gasping for breath he checks the locks, ramming security bolts home and even putting the thin chain across.
A loud thud signifies their arrival. More thuds as bodies slam themselves into the door. Smashing glass from the front room as a monster launches itself bodily through the plate glass, splintering the thin wooden frame. The dog is on it instantly, ragging the already bleeding body about. Another throws itself through, Paco reaching down as the body crumples to the floor, he grabs the neck and snaps it quickly. Shouting for the dog and heading through the dark hallway to the back door.
He wrenches the door open, bursting into the back garden and running for the back fence. He curses at the six foot fence runs over to grab the dog and launches it over the top, hearing it land with a thud and an indignant bark. The weak structure wobbles precariously under his weight as he pulls himself over and lands in a flower bed next to the dog. Howling from not far behind them sends him on, racing across the manicured lawn and vaulting the next high fence with ease.
Cursing as he hits the ground on the other side he goes to clamber back to help the dog as she hits the top and scrabbles to drop deftly by his side.
‘Thank god for that,’ he says hoarsely as the first fence crashes down with the combine weight of the monster bodies slamming into it.
The frantic chase continues, Paco and the dog clambering fences, falling into ponds, crashing through weak trellis and all the time hearing the things behind them. Simply powering through everything they can’t go over or under.
He sees a back door open and runs for it, calling for the dog. He flees into the house, slamming the door closed behind them before running down the hallway to the open front door, skidding to a stop as it bursts open with one of them coming through. The dog leaps, driving the thing back through the door into the garden. The heavy set monster withstands the initial attack, wailing his arms about and thrashing the dog off to one side. Paco launches for him, taking him down under a flurry of hard punches. The dog recovers, surging in to sink her teeth into his exposed face. She tears his nose off, violently shaking her head and pushing her teeth into his eye sockets. Paco quickly slams his foot down onto the neck. Shouting for the dog he runs out of the front gate, cursing at seeing more of them sprinting down the road towards them.
The sprinting starts again, man and dog running fast down the dark street. Howls of rage behind them. Desperately trying to think of an escape route, of a path to take that would slow them down. Instinct takes over, just running blind and knowing that sooner or later he’ll run out of steam and have to stand and fight.
A grimace spreads across his face at the thought of failing again, causing the death of the dog through his own stupid selfish actions. Not bothering to check the time of day and leading them into danger again.
More gunshots sound out, coming from another street. Single shots fired from an assault rifle. Paco has heard more gunfire from years of action movies than most soldiers and recognises the sounds.
He thinks to shout, to try and alert whoever has the guns where they are, but his lungs can just about cope with the running, forget trying to shout at the same time.
They run wide into another junction, making use of the whole width of the road to make the turn while keeping his speed up. He glances back on the turn, amazed at the speed of the things, at the power they’re displaying. Only a few metres behind him now, the rest still negotiating the corners, fences and house he came through. For a split second he thinks to stop and take these on, but that action would only give the others time to catch up.
No choice, they have to keep running. His sense of direction now gone completely, no idea which way the town centre lies so they pound on with the relentless things slowly gaining behind them.
FORTY-THREE
‘Which way?’ I shout at Dave as we join him at the next junction.
‘I don’t know, they’re gone,’ he replies searching the ground for blood stains.
‘How can they go? I thought you had ‘em in sight?’ Clarence wheezes, fighting for breath.
‘I did, but they’ve gone,’ Dave shrugs, ‘they must have got faster and outran us.’
‘What? They don’t run that fast?’ Clarence replies bitterly.
‘We didn’t think they could speak either but they did,’ Dave says flatly. We spread out, shining our torches at the ground. The sound of smashing glass reaches us but in the dark with the buildings on either side we can’t tell the direction it came from, all of us spinning round and straining to listen. Howls and roars add to the noise then more smashing glass.
‘This way,’ Dave starts off down the street. We follow as best we can, all of us apart from Dave and Lani fighting for breath and suffering in the heat. Legs getting heavier with every passing minute. Sweat pouring from our faces and stinging our eyes.
At the end of the road we come to an abrupt halt at seeing Dave stood with his fist held up. We fight for breath, trying to gasp quietly and listen at the same time.
‘Blood,’ Dave spots a patch on the ground further into the next street. We start off again, Nick wheezing and starting to drop back.
‘There,’ Dave shines his torch onto the front of a house, the ground floor windows smashed in, some of the shards still wobbling in the frame. The front door
has been forced in, now hanging from its hinges. We head inside, our beams of light picking out the blood smears in the hallway two dead bodies in the front room.
‘Throat ripped out and a broken neck,’ Dave calls out as he quickly checks both the bodies. We push through to the back garden, instantly seeing the route they’ve taken from the smashed down fence panels. In the next garden we see the same, just a straight line of destroyed fences leading through gardens as the horde have demolished everything in their path.
‘Fuck me they really want that dog,’ Cookey says quietly.
‘So do we,’ I reply. We pick our pace up hoping the ease of our run through the gardens will enable us to catch them up. The shattered fences end as the route veers into the back door of a house. In the front garden a trampled and very dead undead lies with his face ripped off. More howls sound out, we judge the direction and head off. Dave again in the lead scanning the ground to pick out the patches of blood.
‘They must know…about the importance….of the dog,’ I gasp out as we run after Dave and Lani. Still no visible sign of them other than the blood patches on the ground. The person and the dog are running fast and doing well to stay in front of them, but that can’t last for a long time. At some point they’ll tire and slow down and this horde seems hell-bent on getting that dog.
There is no choice now. We’re dropping further back and just chasing signs of them through the streets. This could go on for hours. If that dog is still alive and normal after all this time, if it is the same dog as the woman said she saw then it has to be saved. Nothing else matters.
‘Dave,’ I shout out, he slows down and turns to face me, ‘mate you have to go on, you’re faster than us, find that dog and keep it alive…’
‘Are you sure Mr Howie?’
‘Yes, go…’ He seems unsure for a second. Torn between his loyalty to us but knowing he’s the best chance to help them.
‘Okay, keep your radio on,’ he shouts before turning and opening his stride up. He powers away easily, running like an athlete with his rifle held in one hand.
‘Good call boss,’ Clarence grunts. Lani takes Dave place, her breathing so much more controlled than ours as she runs ahead finding the blood patches.
His lungs are bursting. His heart pounding to pump the blood into his muscles. He knows that a few seconds break will be enough for him to recover but they don’t have a few seconds. They have no seconds.
He can hear the things breathing coarsely now, picking out the drumming of the footsteps and the low growls. He doesn’t speak or look back, anything other than facing ahead will use vital energy and slow them down.
The dog runs easily at his side. She pants hard but he can sense she’s coasting along just for the sake of being with him. She could easily flee these things, go places they can’t go. She could run for miles back into the country and hide. He wants to shout at her to go, tell her to keep running but he knows it will do no good. She wouldn’t understand and would stay by his side as the things finally caught them.
Tears prick his eyes at the thought of failing again, that again his actions have led to another death and one so pure too.
His mind fills with the image of the dog when she first saved him. The savage violence followed instantly by the softness of her approach to him. Hiding in the bedroom while she fought all night. Letting him hug her in a drunken stupor.
His whole life has been about Paco. About Paco going to the best drama school getting the best parts, using the best gym with the best trainers. Eating only the best food and being adored by millions of people. All of it fake and worthless.
Just one chance, that’s all he wants. Just one chance to show he can be worthwhile and mean something.
They’re so close now. So very close. Minutes of his life left. Just minutes before they take him and the dog.
Ahead. There…a house with an open door. The windows still intact. There it is, that one chance…thank you god, thank you for giving me this chance, I will not fail again.
A roar erupts from his throat as he drives every ounce of strength into his legs, powering away and sucking huge lungful’s of air in. He can make it. He can make that door. Heart bursting with the strain, pain spreading across his chest. He makes the path, gripping the wall to slow his speed down and turn quickly in. Up the front garden and there it is, the open door.
‘GO ON,’ he screams at the dog. She bounds ahead clearing the doorway. He stops, yanking the door closed and hearing the lock slam home.
Chest heaving he smiles as he turns back to face the front garden, the dog locked inside the house and barking like crazy at being separated from him.
His face intent he sprints back down the path and into the road, turning away from the first of the things.
‘COME ON,’ he screams into the air, once more driving his legs like crazy. He glances back, smiling in triumph at the sight of them following him. Just metres between them now.
He’s done his best. No man can ask for more. Every step taken now will lead them away from that house. Every foot gained is another chance for the dog to survive.
He’ll take Meredith’s sin. He’ll stand before the judgement and look them in the eye. Send me to hell; send me down to fiery depths…but damn if he won’t take a few with him.
The best shot of his life. The camera pulls back showing Paco running with the growling things gaining with every second. One last show. One last scene before the final cut. No edits, this is a one shot take.
He imagines the crew stood about watching him, the director holding his hand to his mouth. The audiences going wild in the theatre.
One more street, that’s all he has left. One more corner to run round and they’ll be on him. He takes the corner, his legs stumbling but recovering. Thigh muscles burning with agony, he feels vomit rising in his stomach and erupting from his mouth, spewing to the side, choking on the remains of the barely digested meal.
Paco glances round, staring in horror at the front of the horde turning the corner. They haven’t slowed once, relentless and unfaltering.
This is it. The power drains from his legs, a burning pain in his head, vision blurred. He can feel himself slowing down, the body simply unable to continue.
Suddenly he’s standing still with no recollection of having slowed down. Chest heaving with puke dribbling down his chin. He waits for them to take him, knowing the impact is but seconds away.
‘DOWN DOWN DOWN…GET DOWN NOW,’ the loudest voice Paco has ever heard booms down the street. The voice is so powerful, so commanding his body responds before his mind can question it. Face down hugging the road, eyes blurred from sweat and tears, his airways feeling rough and bitter from the vomit. A bright flash and loud bangs from ahead of him, gunshots. Even in his state he recognises the sound of the assault rifle.
‘CONTACT AHEAD, MULTIPLE TARGETS,’ the voice roars between shots. The bright muzzle flashes drop low, more loud bangs sound from further away. More people firing over the head of the first man.
‘YOU…WHEN I SAY YOU GET UP AND RUN…CEASE FIRING…NOW RUN NOW…RUN NOW.’
The shooting ends as abruptly as it started, he heaves himself to his feet, running wildly towards the sounds of the gunfire and the bright muzzle flashes.
‘WHERE IS THE DOG?’ The voice screams at him. Paco can’t speak, he can hardly breathe. His entire being is on autopilot, a dream sequence of hazy images
‘DAVE, where is the dog?’ Another voice shouts, not as loud but still full of power and authority.
‘It’s not here Mr Howie.’
‘FIRE,’ another voice shouts, someone drags him away, leading him as they fire at the things coming after them. The shots deafening his ears so close, the shouts of young voices. A woman too. Someone else with a very deep voice.
‘Chris we’re in John Street, multiple contacts, receive? John Street, multiple contacts.’
‘Loud and clear, coming now.’
‘Clarence, find out where the dog is.’
‘WHERE IS THE FUCKING DOG?’ The deep voice shouts in his face.
‘…House…in…house...’ Paco tries to speak, his head spinning.
‘WHAT HOUSE?’ The voice is so deep and angry. Water gets sloshed down his face, cool and refreshing. A rough hand slaps him across the cheek, ‘WHAT HOUSE?’
Paco’s senses snap back, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision and shaking his head. A giant of a man with a bald head is glaring at him. Paco realises they’re still moving, being half dragged and somehow still walking. His head turns slowly to see a motley collection of people firing assault rifles into the monsters as they retreat down the road.
‘WHAT HOUSE?’ The giant screams again, leaning his face inches from Paco, spittle flying from his lips.
‘The corner…back round the corner….I got it inside a house…’
‘THE STREET YOU JUST CAME FROM? IN A HOUSE IN THAT STREET?’ The question is too difficult for Paco to process, his dull senses working overtime just to see and hear, his legs weak and shaky.
‘WHICH STREET?’
‘Er….I….’ Paco thinks furiously, the last few minutes just a blank in his mind. An image of the door he closed swims into his mind. Two brass numbers were on the door, right in front of his face.
‘Thirty four,’ he yells back, ‘it’s in thirty four.’
‘BOSS THE DOGS IN NUMBER THIRTY FOUR.’
‘WHICH STREET CLARENCE?’
‘HE’S OUT OF IT BOSS, MUST BE THAT ONE HE CAME FROM.’
‘CLARENCE, YOU HOLD THEM HERE AND WAIT FOR CHRIS, DAVE YOU’RE WITH ME…WE’LL GO OVER THE GARDENS…TAKE MY BAG’
‘YOU HEARD THE BOSS, KEEP FIRING AND GIVE THEM SOME COVER…Chris where the fuck are you?’
‘Not far Clarence, hold your position we’ve got the GPMG ready to go.’
‘HURRY THE FUCK UP CHRIS…KEEP FIRING, CAN YOU USE A GUN?’
Paco feels himself being pulled along, listening to the voices around him with a detachment.