by RR Haywood
Paula is amongst them, fighting with fear and determination. The emotion of the battle is clear on her face but she fights and moves well.
Maddox is incredible, fast and strong and with just one knife he stabs and cuts anything that gets close to him. It’s the same with his youths especially Jagger and Mohammed. Vicious and small they dance and skip, fighting together.
But. They are still too many. Even now, in this zone and matching Dave with his kill, rate we cannot ever hope to hold them back, let alone stand a chance of success.
All we can do is keep going, that’s it. That’s all we have.
Fifty Eight
Panic everywhere. The boys screaming and running, some hiding under beds and others sat completely still too stunned to do anything. Carnage and noise fills the room as the Doc rampages with the thunder booming outside.
Fumbling, Jacob feels panic grip him. Trying to reload the shotgun, it slips from his hands and bounces away from the door. It bursts open in the sudden absence of anyone holding it closed and he gets knocked flying forwards.
Rolling away, he tries to scoop the gun up on the way but misses. Shoulder slamming into the wall, he scurries towards the shotgun as the guards burst into the room.
With a speed that belies his size, the Doc crosses the room and grabs hold of Nick. Two strong hands grip Nick’s neck to lift him bodily from the floor. Gripping the Doc’s wrists, Nick feels his feet leaving the ground and the almighty pressure on his throat. He is unable to draw breath and knows the Doc could snap him like a twig.
The rage is too much though to allow for conscious thought or planning. The Doc could kill Nick outright right there but he doesn't, instead he launches Nick off to the side with a strangled roar.
Nick sees the disaster unfolding as he flies through the room. Guards pour into the room, drunk and angry, Larson, right in the middle, still bleeding heavily. Children scatter everywhere and at least one of them is lying on the floor unmoving.
Nick lands on something hard and feels it splintering underneath his weight. Something wooden that thankfully breaks his drop. Winded and dazed he lifts his head to see the Doc charging for him again.
‘Fuck it,’ he gasps rolling off to the side wondering where the hell Jacob is and why he let the others in.
Jacob is on his feet, shotgun grasped but useless as a firearm with the cartridges now scattered all over the dark room. He uses it as a club instead, swinging out at the guards. All of them are too drunk to have thought to grab their own weapons, so for a few seconds Jacob is able to fend them off by taking wild swings that connect with a few skulls.
Stamping down, the Doc narrowly misses Nick’s head as he rolls away. Another stamp and Nick rolls again, rolling over and over to escape those hard feet driving his skull in.
Striking the wall, he has nowhere left to go so he springs to his feet ignoring the dizziness and pain. Leaping off to the side to avoid the Doc lashing out, Nick is not quick enough and he feels a hand grab the back of his hair, ripping him off his feet again as he gets launched back to where he landed a minute ago.
Landing amongst whatever he broke during his last descent, he gets a fleeting idea of what it must be like for the zombies when Clarence starts throwing them about; not nice, not nice at all.
Scrabbling to get back up, his hand presses down on something hard. A signal gets sent from his brain to that hand to grip it, take hold and bring it up as you stand.
Without realising it, Nick grasps the object as he gets up, darting off to avoid the incoming psychotic man.
This time he moves further away, crossing to the other side of the room. Seeing a boy sitting stunned on the floor, he reaches down and pushes the lad hard under the nearest bed before dancing back towards the windows.
Jacob swings out again but these men are good at one thing, and that’s fighting while drunk. Many a bar room brawl has been enjoyed and they take to it like a duck to water. Charging in, feinting left and right to take Jacob off his feet. The darkness causes confusion, only the strobe like effect of the storm giving any illumination. The noise is immense from the thunder, the wind, the boys screaming, the Doc roaring and the men all shouting. They hit each other in the chaos as Jacob lashes out as hard as he can.
Nick gains the area by the window, staggering from the repeated quick succession of blows. Fucked this up. No sign of Howie or Dave and unless they get inside this very room within the next minute there’ll be no point.
The Doc will kill him, the men will kill Jacob. Then Larson will tell them about the Doc and they’ll all go at it. The Doc’ll kill a few of them but they’ll get him down and then what? What happens to these boys left with whatever psychotic nutters are here?
I’m fucked. Royally and completely fucked. Still, that kiss with Lilly was worth it. He allows himself a slight smile as the Doc comes at him once more. He’s still half naked and, bizarrely, he still has a fucking hard-on too. Dirty fucker.
Without conscious thought Nick hefts the thing held in his hand. It’s part of an old style, wooden desk with a metal frame, heavy and well made. Funny thing is, it feels the same kind of weight as his axe. Same length too roughly and something is stuck on the end. Glancing down he notices a chunk of metal, same shape, same weight, same length.
It’s a weapon and a weapon he knows well. He has spent hours on the GPMG, more hours spent with assault rifles, shotguns, pistols but above all else, many hours spent gripping a weapon like this.
Fourteen days of fighting. Fourteen days of learning from people like Dave and Clarence. Fourteen days of running, Fourteen days of killing.
Dyslexia is a disability and has no relationship with intelligence. Nick is highly intelligent with exceptional hand to eye coordination. He is young, fit and now highly experienced at close quarters fighting.
The undead were human, so they move like humans. They charge forward on two legs and lunge in with unrestrained fury. They are pumped full of chemicals, chemicals that drive them wild with rage, lust and hunger. Just like the Doc.
All those days and all those fights. Nick, without knowing it, has had more fights than any man in this room, more than any of the guards. More than all of them put together and his fights were not drunken punch ups, but life and death battles.
He can hear Mr Howie’s voice right now, roaring with defiance we will not yield, we are the righteous and we will fight…
He switches to a two handed grip and goes forward to meet the charge, roaring as the anger of battle erupts within him. The Doc keeps going, the psychosis giving him supreme confidence that none can stand before him.
A feint left and the weapon lashes out with a killing blow. Only the weapon isn’t an axe but a wooden shaft with a piece of blunt broken metal on the end which strikes the Doc to the side of his neck.
Nick expects the blade to bite deep, but it doesn’t. He recovers quickly, compensating for lack of blade and goes in again. Only Mr Howie and Clarence use the double bladed axes, the rest use single blade with the heavy flat end on the reverse side.
The adjustment is made as Nick slams the heavy metal into the back of the Doc’s knee forcing him to drop the leg. As the big man goes down, Nick is already going with the next swing, slamming into the Doc’s shoulder.
The Doc screams with fury, never before has someone struck him like this. His size, speed and temper have always seen him demolish everything. The axe hits again, this time in the middle of his back which sends him sprawling out. Screaming in pain he rolls too late as Nick takes his turn to stamp down, connecting his heavy assault boot to the Doc’s exposed groin and his rapidly deflating penis.
Pain explodes in his groin as he doubles over, instinct screaming to move, move now before the next blow comes. He surges up, biting down the agony. Nick dodges back, in full fight mode.
He swings again and smashes the blunt metal club into the Doc’s face, the satisfying crunch and splinter of bones telling him his aim was true, blood spraying out everywhere.
He kicks hard now, the flat of his boot into the Doc’s face. The Doc reels back from the blow as Nick steps in and swings the weapon down hard onto the top of his skull. He does it again and again and he keeps going as the skull gives way, sending shards of bone deep into the Doc’s twisted brain. His death is quick but Nick doesn’t take any chances and keeps going until the next flash of lightning shows him the man is clearly very dead
With a roar he jumps back, weapon up and ready for the next zombie to lunge in. Jacob is down on the floor with men all over him. Nick charges in, swinging the axe he whacks the first one out of the way before launching into the rest.
Lashing out left, right and front he breaks bones, noses, skulls, limbs as he kicks and stamps with a speed unknown to these men. It’s human instinct to compare yourself to others and in Nick’s case, he has Dave. Comparing himself to Dave he feels slow and sluggish, untrained and without fluidity of movement.
Here, alone against normal people, he is a whirling dervish of power and strength. He is where he needs to be as he tracks and identifies the next opponent. These men react slower then zombies, and Nick soon clears space around Jacob on the floor.
Back they go, driven by a young man wielding a bit of wood with a lump of metal on the end. Men are killed outright, skulls fractured and spines snapped.
In fear they drop away, heading towards the door intent on getting shotguns. Larson screams into his radio for back-up but the atmospheric conditions ruins the transmission.
Nick pauses as the last one heads towards the door, checking the area is clear, before reaching down to check on Jacob.
‘Mate,’ Nick shakes him roughly, ‘Jacob…’
‘I’m alright,’ Jacob mumbles, ‘it were just a kicking…’ He gets up quickly, wincing at the pain in his sides and head from the repeated blows of fists and feet. His forearms feel the most battered from covering his head to defend against the many drunken hits.
‘Boys, listen to me…get under the beds and hide, stay quiet…come on do it now…Billy? Where is Billy?’ Nick paces into the room staring into the gloomy shadows.
‘Billy? Your sister Lilly sent me here… Billy?’
‘Here,’ a little voice calls out from the end of the room.
‘Where? Where are you?’ Nick asks, unable to see anything.
‘Here,’ the voice repeats. There’s no time for this, they have to press the attack before the guards get organised.
‘All of you, get under the beds and hide,. Stay here and wait…Billy, your sister said she loves you and we’ll get you out very soon…Jacob, we gotta finish this now…’
‘Yep,’ Jacob reloads the shotgun and snapping it shut.
‘Now, we go right now.’ Nick runs towards the door, knowing every second lost is a second closer the guards get to their guns.
In the hallway, he heads towards the stairs. He can hear Larson screaming at them to get armed and get back here.
Too late, too fucking late.
Hang on, Larson. His rooms.
‘Jacob, quick…’ Nick bursts away heading towards the end of the corridor, ‘which one? I can’t remember?’
‘Which one what?’ Jacob staggers out of the room holding his ribs.
‘Larson’s room? Which one?’ Nick shouts.
‘There…that one, no next one up…’
He pushes the handle down and throws his shoulder against it but there’s no give. Fuck it. Stepping back, he remembers what Clarence said about aiming for the locks. This is only an internal door so the only lock will be at the keyhole. With a yell he kicks out impacting hard against the door. It splinters but holds. Breathing in he does it again and again, slamming his foot repeatedly against the door until finally it gives with a crunching noise.
‘Nick…’ Jacob shouts with alarm.
‘Hold them cunts off,’ Nick shouts back, allowing himself the luxury of swearing. ‘No fucking swearing my sweaty fucking arse,’ he mutters shouldering the door aside.
Inside is dark, too dark to see. There’s no lights and thick curtains cover the windows. Fumbling, tripping and swearing louder with every second he rips back the curtains, tearing them from the fixtures.
It’s still bloody dark but he holds still, waiting for the next flash of lightning to come. There’s thunder…rain…very strong wind… but no fucking lightning.
‘NICK!’
‘Coming,’ he shouts, wanting to stare at the window like he would be able to see where the lightning is. Staring into the room he waits for the flash to illuminate.
‘NICK!’ Louder now, more urgent.
‘Come on you fucking cunt,’ Nick hisses. It comes so suddenly and without warning that he almost blinks at the retina burn it causes. Squinting, he tries to remember what he saw. Nothing, it was over too fast and he didn’t register anything.
Another flash and thunder roars as the windows shake in their frames. The jagged forks do as bid and provide light for Nick to see. They are overly helpful and strike the house in a series of ear splintering crunches. Glass is blown in somewhere as the wind gets even more ferocious.
There’s something in the corner, something with a long barrel. A shotgun. In the dark his fingers work quickly to feel the holes, swearing under his breath when his fingers find no resistance from cartridges.
‘Fucking empty…Lighter!’ Shoving a hand in his pocket, he draws the plastic tube out to slide his thumb over the bevelled metallic wheel. Instant flame, weak and flickering but enough. Casting about, he finds a whole stack of shotguns on the floor next to boxes of cartridges. All of them long barrelled but better than nothing.
Working to rip a box of shells open, he loads two shotguns and grabs more shells before running out the door.
‘Jacob, you ever shot anyone before?’
‘What?’
‘Have you ever shot anyone?’ Nick asks again.
‘No, no I fucking have not.’
‘Right, you load then and I’ll fire.’
‘You serious?’
‘Deadly mate. Here have these and don’t fuck about this time…’ Nick hands the shells over along with one of the guns.
‘You shot people before then?’
‘Loads, hundreds…fuck probably thousands…maybe more than that actually,’ Nick shrugs, ‘you ready then?’
‘For what?’
‘Going down,’ Nick nods at the stairs.
‘You fucking nuts or something?’ Jacob glares at him in horror.
‘Fucking probably,’ Nick grins, ‘nice being able to swear again isn’t it!’
He turns and starts down the stairs, pausing to make sure Jacob is right behind him. Shotgun up and aimed like an assault rifle and takes the steps quickly.
The first shot is fired by Nick, catching a man running past the bottom of the stairs. The short range and power take him clean off his feet as the pellets shred his torso. Down he goes, screaming in agony but Nick has already tracked away, sweeping left and right as he takes the stairs one after the other.
‘Re-load,’ swapping over he brings the fresh shotgun up to his shoulder. He steps off the bottom stair and into the hallway. Spotting movement to the left, he moves, aims and fires, drops down to one knee to find his second target, moves and fires again. Three down so far.
‘Jesus fucking hell…’ Jacob gasps as Nick shouts for the next gun.
‘RUN YOU CUNTS,’ Nick roars, ‘RUN BEFORE I SLAUGHTER YOU ALL…I AM NICK AND I WILL KILL YOU,’ Ha! Hope Dave doesn't mind him stealing the words.
A shot blasts from the end of the room. Its rifle badly aimed by a drunk man, and the shot goes wide tearing a chunk of plaster out of the wall. Nick pivots and fires both barrels in quick succession, nodding at the scream of pain he hears coming back.
Jacob works with nervous fingers to re-load the guns as Nick takes shot after shot, shooting through doors and at anything he hears or sees. He is stunned by the complete lack of hesitation that the young lad shows and the speed at which he reacts.
&
nbsp; They hear shouting from other rooms, panicked yells of confusion. With a nod, Nick leads Jacob to the open front door and out into the driving torrential rain.
‘What about the boys?’ Jacob asks thinking they’re making a run for it.
‘We’ll come back in the side…look out!’ He shouts in alarm as two guards burst from the front door behind them. Nick drops quickly to take aim as Jacob ditches one shotgun and pulls the trigger of the second one he holds. The spread of the pellets hits both men, flinging them back as they drop to the floor. Jacob stalks up to them, takes aim and fires quickly, killing one of the writhing figures before using the butt of the weapon to slam down on the other’s head.
Turning to face Nick with water cascading down his face, he realises what he just did. He killed and took the lives of two men. The wind whips at this shirt tails but there is a grim determination in his eyes. He breaks the gun and quickly reloads with fresh shells, all trace of the trembling hands gone now.
‘Fuck the side, back in the front,’ Nick yells, knowing the idea must be blown out now. They sprint back into the hallway, both of them diving for cover as multiple shots ring out. The men have organised themselves, but fired too quickly. Without choice Nick and Jacob go for the stairs, vaulting them two by two as they race to the top, splinters of bullets hitting to the sides and behind them.
‘YOU’RE FUCKED,’ Larson screams from somewhere on the ground floor, ‘HERE ME? FUCKED…’
‘Is there another staircase?’ Nick asks at the top.
‘Down the end…’ Jacob nods down the corridor past the Doc’s and Larson’s rooms.
Too late they hear the crash of a door being kicked open, then the internal corridor door swings inwards. Nick fires quickly as more shots come from downstairs, forcing them to retreat towards the boy’s dormitory. The impetus is lost as the guards, sobering up fast from the very real threat of death, become organised and rally under the cohesive orders of Larson.