by RR Haywood
‘If we get Lenski, Sierra and Lani to do the women then we can do the men,’ Maddox states, ‘this one looks alright, we’ll just do them one at a time.’
‘I didn’t really want anyone in until the bodies were gone.’
‘Why not?’ He asks me, ‘everyone has seen bad things by now, they’re gonna just have to get used to it and seeing that,’ he nods towards the inner gate, ‘will remind them how bad things are.’
‘Good point,’ I concede.
‘And I bet she can cook too,’ Maddox smiles.
The men are done first with me and Maddox getting them to strip off and going through the same thing Doctor Roberts did with us. Shining torches all over and checking for bites, scratches and broken skin. Other than bruises and dirt they’re all fine.
Coming out we give the space over to Lani for the women to be done. The group standing in the alley chatting quietly while waiting. Blowers and Dave stood nearby as watchful as ever.
It gets done and they’re admitted, all of them standing inside the inner gate staring in wide eyed wonder at the stacks of the once human corpses piled up and the groups of children moving amongst them laughing and joking, the giant swinging a corpse onto the back of the lorry while a small group of kids cheer, Nick laughing at the wheel of the digger with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
‘Nice and big, I like it!’ Agnes beams as she steps through, ‘this is a good place, I can feel this is a good place,’ she smiles across at her group, using her personality and character to beat their hesitancy and fear away. ‘We’ll leave our things over there at the side and get started, you men get helping with those bodies, children you need a wash and ladies come with me…we’ll get these stores checked and something to eat. How many have we got here?’ She casts round, picking on Sierra to answer the question.
‘Er…about one hundred and twenty…roughly,’ she guesses.
‘Is that all!?’ Agnes laughs, ‘a tea party that is, I’ve fed many more than that in my time,’ she laughs again and strides off, the ladies and children following in her wake leaving three quiet brow beaten men standing looking uncomfortable.
‘To be honest chaps,’ I say to them, ‘we pretty much got this under control if you want to…’
‘God no,’ the driver of the van says quickly, ‘if Agnes says to do something, we do it.’
‘Fair enough, jump in then,’ he motions his head at the other two, leading them towards the activity in the centre.
‘More coming down the road Mr Howie,’ Blowers calls out.
‘See what you mean,’ Maddox says, ‘busy day huh?’
‘Always mate, bloody always.’
Eighteen
Dropping down from the broken window she crouches and waits then sets off to the corner, peering round to view down the side of the industrial unit.
Dark now but the moon is bright and casts just enough light to see shapes and forms. Reaching the end of the building line she again pauses to check the area, staring at the bright glow of the raging fire further in the estate.
The air is thick with the smell of burning chemicals, rubber, wood and metal melting; acidic and pungent. The twisted fragments of super charged gas bottles have flown off in many directions and embedded into structures and wooden pallets. In this immense heat and dry weather the materials have ignited and spread further. Several of the units are now ablaze with sparks leaping high into the air.
Figures silhouetted against the fire move silently in the distance but thankfully not anywhere in line of sight here.
The darker mass of the hills overlooking the town are that way, but that’s also the direction of the fire. No choice but to go the opposite direction and work round. Using the same methods practised before, Paula breaks the route down into what she can see immediately and picks out the best options for cover, calculating the distance and time it will take while checking for obstacles and then a fall back route if something happens on the way.
Those up by the fire will find it harder to see her, but any further down could see her form silhouetted against the glow. Stick to the sides and use the deeper shadows. Do not fire the weapon unless absolutely necessary and for god’s sake don’t scream or yell out.
Mentally prepared she starts off and runs across the front of the garage and over the small car park, dropping by the side of an old car left on bricks. Then on, past the front of the next unit, her eyes scanning ahead picking out the next route. Pausing at intervals to check the area. Stop, drop listen then run.
Slowly she builds distance from the fire, hearing popping and crashing noises as the deadly flames eat away at the structures within the industrial estate. Paula gains the last unit before the junction of the estate service road. Beyond the junction is a normal residential street. From her view point now she can only see a small portion of it, but it looks clear.
Legs pumping she runs into the street and straight over to the left side, heading into the first open gate to drop down behind the low garden wall.
None in this street either. From the position of the hills and the memory of the town layout she judges that the next junction will be a wider main road leading towards the town centre and one of those that was clogged with the things.
Twisting round she tries to pick out the hills but the fierce glow of the fire now blocks anything above the building line out of view. Smoke, sparks and flames licking into the air distorting the shadows and making her eyes hurt from the contrast of dark to light.
Damn it, the town must be left. So she needs to go right. But that service road was bending round to the left, so is it still left to the town?
No choice but to work down this road and see what’s at the end. Keeping low she heads out the gate and starts working along. Ignoring the signs of destruction all around her she focusses on anything moving or that doesn't belong. Eyes darting left and right, then pausing to watch the road ahead. Dropping down to check behind and then moving off again.
Closer to the junction she creeps. A determined look on her face as she stares into the shadows and plants her feet carefully. One step at a time, shifting her weight and inching forward. Rifle gripped and legs flexed ready to carry her away.
Expecting to see a thick line of them she lifts one eyebrow at the empty road ahead. It is a wider main road with houses lined on both sides. Big terraced houses all painted different colours with a varying mixture of UPVC and wooden framed windows and doors that just serve to make the area look cheap. To the side of the road a row of parked cars sit dark and forlorn, abandoned and left to sit forever until they slowly rust to nothing. Pimped up boy racer cars mixed with people carriers and white vans of the working class man, loaded with tools and ready for a hard day on site.
Other than that there is nothing. No sign of them. She spins round trying to gain a sense of where she is. Left is the town, it has to be.
Following the contour of the road as it eases round she steps just as carefully and makes frequent pauses to check for movement and noise. Staring left to check the gaps between the vehicles and the front gardens beyond them. Then up at the windows and doors, then back across to the right and then behind. So focussed on those points and she fails to spot the figures standing motionless in the road ahead of her. Expecting movement or noise her eyes simply didn’t register the perfectly normal shape of the people.
Suppressing the yelp in her throat she finally does see them and freezes. Eyes fixed on the unmoving figures. Several of them. All silent. All staring towards her. They don’t move but watch her as though waiting to see what she will do.
What she does do is very slowly starts to back-step, tiny movements that shift her weight. They detect the movement and as one turn their young bodies to face her. The physical rotation of the children send shivers down her spine. Moonlight casting them in silvery light that makes the shadows of their eyes deeper and far worse than they should be.
The small bodies with arms hanging down inert at the sides. Dressed in a collect
ion of pyjamas and night clothes with pictures of teddies and butterflies mixed with deep blood stains. Taking another step back and the image of the child she shot earlier flashes through her mind, the memory causes her to move faster which in turn provokes them into bursting towards her with an instant frantic speed. One second quiet, sullen and watchful and the next charging with lips pulled back to reveal small teeth stained with blood and filth.
Paula runs, sprinting hard and glancing behind her. She curses at the power of their young bodies gaining with every second. She could fire but there’s at least five of them which would mean at least five shots, and that would draw every undead for miles.
An open front door ahead, she turns sharply and runs up the path, bursting in to slam the door closed behind her. The ruined lock hanging from one screw wobbles instead of locking so she grabs the thin metal chain and yanks it across.
Down the hallway to the back door, which is locked, bolted and the key removed. Solid wood and no way of smashing it down.
They reach the front door, slamming into it which yanks the chain taut. She runs down the hallway and slams her foot into door. Feeling the impact as the door smacks into the light bodies beyond and sends them flying backwards. They’re on their feet and charging back but just the sight of the pale young girl with curly blond hair and a pink nightie now bleeding profusely from the nose brings a choking gasp to her mouth.
Paula backs away to the bottom of the stairs, watching and listening as the door is rammed again and again. The door bursts open with a crash, young undead spill into the hallway falling over from the sudden lack of resistance.
She charges up the stairs, gaining the landing and grabbing a tall thin wooden shelving unit filled with hundreds of music CD’s to launch it down at the oncoming snarling bundles of savage fury. The first one gets knocked down, barrelling into the others behind it.
Paula casts round for an escape route and spots the open loft hatch above her, a thin wire hanging down and glinting in the light coming through the window of the bedroom in front of her.
Grasping the wire she heaves and ducks as the hatch drops open and a metal ladder slides down. Grabbing the thin shaking ladder she starts to climb, feeling the rising panic as the first child reaches the top and makes a lunge for her. She lashes out with a foot, kicking it hard to the head.
Another comes just as she heaves up another few rungs, the tiny hands scrabbling to clamber up after her. She stamps down again and again, slamming the bottom of her hard boot onto its face and hands. It screams and howls but clings on, ignoring the broken fingers and facial bones getting mashed and pulped.
She stamps too hard and loses her grip, sliding down to impact on the child with her full weight. Crashing to the ground she punches out with rapid blows and sends a few flying off. Back on the ladder and she moves faster now, gripping the small rungs to pull up as her feet push hard.
Head through the ceiling hatch, pitch black inside and she doesn't think of the multitude of spiders and cobwebs that will be there but heaves hard and gets her upper body through. Yelping loud as hands grip her feet, pulling her back down. Gritting her teeth she pulls and shuffles to get her upper body over the lip. The child dangling from her legs thrashing about. She kicks and bucks, gets one foot free and kicks down, feeling the tug as the child is booted repeatedly but refuses to let go.
The rifle digs into her ribs, wedged underneath her as she levers herself further into the loft inch by inch. Stamping and kicking she feels the child swinging from her leg, sending a shooting pain through her hip and pulling her weight harder into the barrel of the rifle.
Excruciating pain flares into her stomach, sweating hard, red faced she kicks with everything she’s got and hears a loud crack and the sudden release of the body dropping from her leg. With an almighty pull she gets her body into loft and twists round to get back to the ladder.
One coming up already, she grabs the rifle and reverses it to slam the butt down hard on the head. This one goes shuddering down from the first blow and any thought of these things being innocent children are gone.
Grabbing a rung of the ladder she pulls it up, working hand over hand to drag it higher and higher off the ground. One of them grabs the ladder but she pulls it harder, wedging her feet into the solid wooden joists to anchor herself in position.
It growls and snarls, thrashing about and threatening to pull the ladder back down. Breathing frantically, she works hand over hand, drawing it up while desperately working out what to do when the child gets closer.
Holding the ladder with one straining arm she leans down to grab at one of the small hands clinging on. Working to pull the fingers off but the child hangs on with a vice like grip. No matter how hard she tugs and works, the fingers remain glued with the child pulling up to take gnashing wild bites at her.
In wild desperation she pulls the large bladed knife from her belt and digs the blade into the fingers of the nearest hand, sawing back and forth and feeling the jolt as the knife digs into the alloyed metal of the ladder rung. One finger is lopped off, then another and the blood streaming out loosens the grip and finally one hand is released.
The child hangs one handed still pulling its own weight up to take biting lunges. Where the child gets the strength from to do one armed pull ups is beyond her. The knife digs into the fingers of the second hand, sawing in to bite through the bone. The pinkie falls off, slapping into the eye of the child beneath it. Blood spurts out, dripping quickly down the ladder and going into the open mouth of the undead as it takes one final huge surge up to bite at her. She lashes out and flicks the blade across its face, scoring a deep cut across the nose and into one eye.
It finally releases, plummeting the short distance to the ground and squashing another child underneath it.
The ladder is drawn up and pushed back, the flap of the loft hatch still hangs down but well out of the reach of the jumping child zombies staring up at her with twisted faces of hunger and hatred.
She pulls her torch out and curses when it doesn't come to life, remembering the batteries went during the attack of the giant spider.
Using her cigarette lighter she crabs round the loft looking for a way out.
‘Come on…think,’ she mutters. Terraced houses so the roofs will be joined…she spins round and starts towards the wall at one end. A single skin of fire bricks put in place a few years ago when the fire regulations changed.
She thumps them hard, feeling a slight tremor of vibration. They were designed to withstand the spread of fire, but not being kicked and battered.
So kicking and battering she does, grinning with triumph as the first brick falls out. She batters a hole and forces her way through into the next loft. This one older and without the fire brick wall in place, two houses sharing one loft space. She scurries over, balancing on the thick wooden joists with her cigarette lighter held out, the flame flickering as the heated ignition wheel starts to burn her fingers.
Howls and guttural roars sounding out from behind her as the children keep jumping in futile attempts to reach the opening.
Yelping with pain she drops the lighter as her thumb burns from the flame. Plunged into complete darkness she loses balance, toppling off to land heavily. With a wrenching tearing sound she feels herself plunging down as one legs goes through the ceiling into the room below. Grabbing the joists she pulls and kicks her way free. Pulling her leg up and out of the hole.
The lighter is lost, gone in the gloom. She feels round for it, feeling the rough material of the insulation wedged between the wooden posts. Losing sense of direction she starts making her way bent over to keep feeling for the joist in front of her.
Banging her head on the next fire wall she takes a breath of relief and starts kicking it again. With the total darkness she finds it hard to keep balance and has to work to keep herself on the thick wooden strip underfoot.
The wall takes longer to go down, kick after kick and gradually she weakens the mortar and sends the bricks
tumbling down the other side. Battering harder now she detects light coming through the hole and peers in to see the next loft is converted with a window fitted into the roof.
The silvery moonlight could be a thousand chandeliers sparkling in a sumptuous ballroom for the effect it has on her. The bricks are pushed and shoved as she gets through and heads over the ply boarded floor to the loft hatch.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ A dull voice makes her scream with fright and spin round bringing the rifle to bear, ‘easy love…don’t fucking shoot me…you just broke my fire wall.’
‘Who are you?’ Paula whispers, her voice low and ragged from hard breathing.
‘Nigel, I live here…well I did live here…downstairs that is….what are you doing?’
‘Jesus, how…how long you been up here?’
‘Since it started, now what the hell are you doing?’
‘They chased me into a house, I got up here and…’
‘Broke my loft is what you’ve done, you can’t stay here.’
‘I don’t want to stay here, have you seen the town?’
‘Course I have, but they don’t know I’m here see…well they didn’t till you came blundering through.’ Paula watches as a small middle aged man shuffles into the light. Bearded and dressed in a filthy cotton dressing gown and carpet slippers, he looks a mess with wild hair poking up in all directions. ‘You can’t stay here,’ he repeats.
‘I don’t want to stay here,’ Paula hisses.
‘Good cos this is my hiding place, piss off and find your own.’
‘I just said I don’t want to stay here.’
‘Keep your bloody voice down before they hear you,’ Nigel whispers harshly.
‘Where’s your hatch?’