by Casey, Ryan
“Hear that?” Ally shouted, and Hayden didn’t hear it because his ears were ringing too loudly. “That’s the sound of death coming our way.”
He pulled back his boot and smacked his foot into Hayden’s left ribs so hard that Hayden couldn’t breathe.
“It’s been coming our way since the start of this bullshit outbreak. I’m not deluded like Callum. Known all along that this whole new society shit was a load of crap. But hey. I got some fun out of it. Your sister could vouch for that, huh?”
Hayden’s skin tingled and his body burned with rage but when he tried to lift himself, tried to shift his weakened muscles, Ally just booted him again, booted him right in the neck this time so that his breathing grew harder, swallowing impossible.
Ally crouched down over Hayden, leaned so close into his face that Hayden could see his demonic smile through the blur. “You’re a fighter, and I respect that. But you’re always gonna lose. You’re weak. You couldn’t save your sister, so like fuck are you gonna save your bitch, save yourself.”
Ally lifted the knife. Pushed it right up to Hayden’s throat. Hayden felt it piercing his skin, felt it working its way through the outer layers, soon to cut through the muscle and puncture his throat.
He felt the indentation in his pocket. Felt the indentation and knew it was all he had.
The rusty key on the metal beaded chain.
“You’ll suffer for … for this,” Hayden said. He wrapped his weak fingers around the bead of the chain.
Ally laughed. “Heh. Don’t get all biblical on me now. I’d have brought a priest along for your last rites but I’m not sure now’s the place for—”
Hayden shifted his neck to the right.
He felt it pierce through the entire left side of his skin, his flesh, as Ally’s weight dropped and the knife hit the floor.
And then with all he had—with the only strength he had left inside him—he lifted the metal chain and wrapped it around Ally’s neck.
Tight.
Ally struggled. He struggled and pulled away at the flap of skin and muscle he’d cut from Hayden’s neck. Yanked the knife away, tore right through it, sending agony searing through Hayden’s body.
But Hayden was free.
Bleeding, probably fatally wounded, but free.
Hayden took his opportunity and got behind Ally. He thought of his sister, thought of the fear in her eyes, thought of the pain this man had put her through and he tightened his grip, tightened the chain, harder, harder, harder.
Ally struggled and spluttered. He punched and kicked out and hurt Hayden more and more, but Hayden wasn’t budging. He was standing his ground. He was finishing the job.
“You killed her,” Hayden said, rage and adrenaline coursing through his body. “You killed my sister and you … you will say her name. Clarice. You will say her name and you will apologise.”
Ally struggled and spluttered. His cheeks were turning purple. Bubbly saliva spewed out from his greyed-out lips.
“You’ll say her fucking name and you will apologise!” Hayden said.
He felt warm tears rolling down his cheeks as he held Ally, squeezed tighter and tighter around his neck, so tight that the metal chain was digging into his skin and piercing through.
He held on, his knuckles white, his heart racing, the thought of his sister in his mind—his sister smiling at him, thanking him for being there for her, holding his hand and telling him what a good big brother he was.
“You’ll say her name,” Hayden sputtered through his tears. “You’ll—you’ll say her name.”
He wasn’t sure how much longer he held on to that chain around Ally’s neck.
Ally stopped struggling.
His muscles loosened.
And when Hayden pulled the chain out of the deep crevices it had formed in Ally’s neck, the last thing he heard Ally whisper was, “Clar …”
Thirty-Nine
The first emotion that entered Ally Harbridge’s mind when he opened his tender eyes was one of relief.
His vision was blurry and fuzzy. The stench of blood was strong in the air—so strong. Even though it hurt to breathe, sent a shiver right through his body and sharp pains right through his chest, he was relieved. Because he was alive. That bastard Hayden didn’t have the guts to finish him off after all.
Weak. Weak, just like his sister.
He blinked a few times and tried to focus properly on his surroundings, tried to understand where he was. There was a dim light dangling above him. The same dim light he saw every time he came in this chamber to see to his women. Yes. The chamber. He was in the chamber. Hayden had beaten him and left and …
He tried to edge forward and felt something sharp dig right into his chest. He reached over to see what it was but his arms wouldn’t move and trying to move them just crippled his shoulder.
Same thing happened to his legs.
He blinked a few more times, heart starting to race, panic building up in his body. The rusty metal door to the chamber was open—wide open. From the other side, he could hear the grunting and the howling of the undead.
A flash.
A memory crippling through his mind.
Severe pain in his right shoulder. Hayden leaning over him, Ally screaming as loud as he could, and …
But no. That couldn’t be a memory because it hadn’t happened. Hayden had … he’d strangled him. Knocked him out. And that’s the last time he saw him. The last time he—
Another flash of a memory, this time so vivid that he could actually feel the pain crippling through his upper thigh.
Hear the sounds of tearing.
Slicing.
Feeling fear as he stared up at a blood-soaked Hayden, a demonic look in his eyes.
“Hel … help.” He tried to shout but his chest was tight. He’d read something once about heart problems being the cause of a bad chest. Heh. Heart problems were the least of anyone’s concerns these days. No doctors left to keep everyone in check, no children to grow into doctors and start new research for a new generation.
Just death.
Death for everyone.
He reached to feel his chest again when he realised his right hand wasn’t moving.
He turned to his right.
He didn’t understand what he was looking at, at first. He had to blink to really wrap his head around it.
There was a gap where his right arm should be.
A gap where flesh dangled down from—flesh and veins spewing blood out onto the already blood-splattered tiles.
His right arm was missing.
He let out a pitiful yelp and swung around to look away, to deny it. He hadn’t lost his arm. That sick fucker hadn’t taken his arm. He hadn’t …
And then he saw there was a space where his left arm should be, too.
More blood pooling out of the stump, tumbling to the floor.
He felt sickness grab hold of his gut and squeeze it. He tried to kick out, but doing so just hurt him even more …
No. He can’t have. He can’t …
Ally looked down and saw that the top portion of his legs had been stripped of flesh. Stripped so well that he could see the yellowing bone poking out from underneath the bloodbath.
And then in front of him on the tiles, he saw chunks of meat.
Chunks of meat leading towards the open door.
Chunks of meat cutting through the pool of blood, past the women he’d murdered, out into the dark …
And just at the edge of the darkness, he saw movement.
He felt his vision slipping away. Felt himself growing dizzy—shock and blood loss. He knew this was it now. He knew there was no way out. He knew he was going to die in here.
He felt warm piss spreading around his blue jeans.
Tried to look away from the blood, from the flesh, but when he looked away, all he saw was the bodies of the women he’d killed, their vacant eyes all staring up at him and screaming YOU DID THIS YOU DID THIS YOU SICK FUCK.
“I … I won’t beg you,” Ally said, as the footsteps got closer to the doorway. “I won’t beg you, you fuck.”
But when Hayden stepped inside the room, Ally’s skin curdled.
It wasn’t Hayden at all.
It was that raghead friend of Hayden’s. Metal cuffs were wrapped around his torn wrists. He was looking right at Ally with hateful eyes.
Vacant eyes.
Blood covering his mouth.
And in one of his hands was Ally’s leg, bite marks chewed out of it.
Ally’s breathing grew shorter. His heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest. He shook and struggled against the chains around his chest. “Please!” he shouted. “Please!”
But that only made the raghead get closer.
Only made him drop the half-eaten leg and make a beeline for his hairy belly.
“I’m sorry!” Ally screamed, as he closed his eyes and struggled and waited and begged for mercy all at the same time. “I’m sorry for Clarice! I’m sorry for Clarice!”
He didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t hear any more footsteps. And he was convinced that it was over. He was dead. He’d died of shock yes shock and blood loss and all his pain was over and God would forgive him and—
He felt the teeth sink into his stomach.
Felt the raghead pull back on his skin and his muscle.
He screamed and cried and begged for it to be over quickly as his intestines spilled out of his body, as his bladder burst with the piercing intensity of teeth and whenever he passed out he woke up again with the pain, the pain, so bad, so intense, so agonising.
He screamed and apologised and begged for mercy.
It took another sixteen minutes of agony for Ally Harbridge to die of shock, blood loss and critical disemboweling.
And he felt every single millisecond.
Forty
“I’m sorry for Clarice! I’m sorry for Clarice!”
Ally’s voice rang in Hayden’s ears as he stepped across the rain-soaked gravel of the Riversford Industrial Estate. Thunder crackled in the distance as rain continued to lash down on the ground. Water ran down his face, diluting the blood he was covered in. Over his shoulder he carried the rifle that had failed on him.
In his right hand, he held the knife he’d butchered Ally with.
“Your neck doesn’t look good,” Sarah said, as she walked beside Hayden. She was carrying the pistol that Hayden had left by the guard he’d killed outside. It didn’t have loads of ammo left, but there would be enough to get by. She was dressed in a white T-shirt and grey jogging bottoms she’d found stashed at the side of the abattoir of butchered women. Her cheeks were cut and bruised. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I’m fine,” Hayden said. He looked ahead at the destroyed gates of Riversford. Looked at the crowd of the dead blocking their escape route, staggering in their direction. Truth was, he wasn’t sure if he was fine. When Ally had stabbed the left side of his neck, he’d pierced his flesh and cut away a flap of skin. Hayden was hardly choking, but he was under no illusions about needing stitches and medical attention.
But medical attention wasn’t something anyone had the luxury of, not anymore.
“Watch out. On your left,” Sarah said.
Hayden looked and saw two zombies power-walking towards him. A woman wearing a white dress and covered in blood, and a young boy who could be no older than eleven. Both of them coming towards them, tumbling over the rotting corpses of those who had fallen before them, coming in their direction.
Hayden pulled back the knife and cracked it right into the neck of the young boy while Sarah fired a bullet that pierced right through the woman’s neck. As the zombie boy fell to the floor, Hayden noticed his lack of remorse. Noticed his lack of self-disgust. And in a way, he understood it. Desensitisation. He’d seen and done so many horrible things in the last week that the mere act of killing a zombie who was once a kid no longer fazed him in the way it used to do.
The way it should do.
What did that make him?
Where was the line between human and savage drawn?
“Should be able to skip past these and take the gates out,” Sarah said, her fast walk turning into a jog. Rain fell from her greasy, soaked dark hair. “But we don’t have long. Got another crowd heading our way. Now or never, Hayden.”
Hayden looked around at the mass of bodies—those who had fallen, and those who were still undead—and he felt numbness crashing through him. He was surrounded by death. Death was everywhere. Death always was everywhere, sure, but now it was staring him in the face and reminding him of just how mortal he was.
Or in the case of the zombies, just how terrifying immortality could be.
He sliced the knife into the temple of another zombie that threw itself at him, then stabbed another chubby one in its guts until its insides were mashed. He smashed the teeth of the ones that had fallen and whose necks hadn’t been broken, cracked the necks where he could, fought through, battled through, edged closer to the gates, closer to freedom, Sarah by his side.
But what was freedom?
What was freedom now he didn’t have Clarice in his life?
What was his life without his family? His family he’d grown so used to relying on; and then his little sister who he’d done his damnedest all his life to keep on the straight and narrow, to keep her spirits up, to be there for her.
What was life when he’d witnessed the death of the three people he cared most about in the world?
“Hayden, come on!” Sarah shouted as the wind howled around them. “We’ve gotta move. We’ve gotta get out of here before—”
And then she fell to the ground face first.
It took Hayden a moment to realise what had caused it.
There was a bald, topless zombie on the floor. It had been split into two right at the torso, but its arms were still flailing and its teeth were snapping as it moved in closer to Sarah’s thigh.
Hayden pulled back his foot and swung it right into the zombie’s face.
And then he pulled back again and again then kicked and stamped and kept on kicking and stamping until its head was just mush on the floor, until its teeth were caved in and its skull was cracked and eyes burst and still it kept on shaking its arms, waving them, trying to get a grip like a Daddy Long Legs’ dismembered leg.
Sarah got back to her feet and Hayden was about to say something to her when she lifted her gun and pointed it at him.
He didn’t know what to think at first. Didn’t know what she was doing or why she was doing it.
She pulled the trigger.
A shot whizzed over Hayden’s shoulder.
It was only when he heard the grunt that he turned around and saw there was a zombie right behind him—was being the operative word, now it lay on the floor with blood seeping out of its cracked head.
“Suppose that makes us even,” Sarah said, reloading the pistol. “Now come on. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”
Hayden saw the fluid trickling out of the petrol canister Sarah had hit. Then he turned back and nodded.
They ran towards the gates. There was surprisingly little gunfire now, but then Hayden figured since Callum had been taken out and absent in the order-giving department, the little rats had gone wild and fled for their own lives. Because an illusion of order was all fair and well, but the moment that illusion was shattered, the second the gates were compromised and a horde marched through like a clown in a nice dream, everything good—everything perfect—all slipped away.
They reached the gates and Hayden looked back.
Bodies filled the parking area—still and moving. The lightning that cracked through the foundations of the sky lit up the silhouettes, as too did the moonlight. Hayden looked back at Riversford, looked at the chaos, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness that this place hadn’t been the place it could’ve been. It could’ve been a place of real good. A shelter where the world really did restart itself without any of the
psychopathic values Callum was instilling towards women.
A part of Hayden held out hope that there was a good place out there in the world somewhere. A place where people pulled together for the right reasons and not for the wrong.
But he’d seen what “good” was in this new world. “Good” was butchering a man for decapitating your sister. “Good” was torture, murder, no remorse.
If that was “good,” then what hope did the world have?
“Hayden, we need to go,” Sarah said. “I … I don’t know where, but we need to go.”
Hayden took a deep breath of the rain-soaked air. He looked at the spot where his sister had fallen, where the life had seeped from her body in a painful matter of seconds.
He was about to turn around when he saw the movement inside the CityFast hangar.
“Do you see that?” Hayden asked.
Sarah looked out of the gates, paced back and forth. “Hayden, we need to—”
He lifted a finger. Pointed at that window on the second floor. “I … I think there’s somebody in there.”
“They’re just the dead. And even if there is someone, there’s nothing we can do for them now.”
But then, in the next flash of lightning, Hayden saw exactly what was through the window.
A black woman with a little girl of about ten beside her.
Both standing naked by that window and staring out with fear on their faces.
The little girl was holding a sign up, and it was in the next flash of lightning that Hayden saw the words.
Five of us. We’re prisoners and trapped. Please someone please help.
Forty-One
For all the destruction and chaos surrounding Hayden, it was that little girl holding up the sign inside the hangar window and begging for help that clung on to Hayden’s attention.
“Hayden, there’s nothing we can do,” Sarah said. Rain lashed down from the dark, thunderous sky in droves. In the grounds of the Riversford Industrial Estate, the dead marched in Hayden and Sarah’s direction. There was a clear route out for them both. They could turn around and run—run off into the night, into the darkness, find another place to shelter.