by Perrin Briar
“Can I ask you something?” Chris said to Clive.
“Fire away.”
“What made you stay here after you got bitten?”
Clive shrugged.
“You’ve got to do something during the last few hours of your life on this earth,” he said.
“But why not spend it with family or friends?”
“I figured I ought to do the thing that I love most in the world: selling cars.”
Chris nodded. He put the car into first and drove away. In the rear view mirror he saw Clive put on his bandana, pump his shotgun, and head toward some approaching zombies.
Z-MINUS: 6 HOURS 16 MINUTES
The grey of the city gave way to the greens and yellows of the surrounding countryside. The roads were windy, and although Chris was itching to open up the Porsche, he drove steady.
The road wound up a steep hill. Chris changed down a gear to power up the incline. He could feel the engine through the seat and steering wheel, and let it work up his arms and back. At the apex of the hill, the road turned left, almost doubling back on itself, and there, nestled below them between the folds of three large hilly mounds was the town of Nottingham. A few fires still raged, the smoke rising like Giant Egret plumes in a nobleman’s hat.
“Let’s play a game,” Maisie said.
“Like what?”
“Let’s talk about all the things we’ll miss in the old world.”
“All right.”
Maisie closed her eyes and thought for a moment.
“Ah!” she said. “I’ll miss watching cartoons on weekends.”
There was a pause.
“Now what?” Chris said.
“Now you say something you’ll miss.”
He blew out a long puff of air.
“I’ll miss… not sleeping in on weekends.”
“But you can still do that.”
“All right… I’ll miss… I can’t think of anything.”
“Won’t you miss all the food from the old world?”
Chris shook his head.
“Never really been into food,” he said.
“You loved Mum’s shepherd’s pie.”
“I pretended to love your mum’s cooking.”
“Really? You’re a good actor.”
“I try.”
“Drink, then. You must miss that.”
Chris nodded.
“But there’s still plenty of that in the world,” he said.
“TV!” Maisie said. “There’s lots of great shows on these days.”
“Never really watch it.”
“Football?”
“Only while drinking. If it’s not on, I’m not bothered.”
“Films?”
“No.”
“Art?”
Chris looked at her with a flat expression.
“Okay, not art,” Maisie said.
She frowned. She opened her mouth, and then closed it.
“There must be something you’ll miss,” she said.
Chris’s expression became far away then, as if he were trying to see into the distance but couldn’t quite make out what was there.
“There is,” he said finally. “But it’s not something anyone can give back to me. It’s gone forever now.”
There was a long pause.
“I miss her too,” Maisie said.
Chris looked over at his daughter sitting beside him, a miniature version of her mother. He felt a lump grow in the back of his throat. He concentrated on driving.
“I just need to make a quick stop,” Chris said.
He turned left and followed the road around a long blind bend. He came to a remote village called Bingham. The inhabitants were busy nailing boards to house windows, no doubt barricading themselves in for a long wait. Chris came out the opposite end of the village and rounded a few more bends before coming to a building by the side of the road.
It was white-washed with pretty pink flowers in handmade pine flower boxes. Half a dozen cars and a handful of old bikes stood outside it. The building had a big picture of a stone on it, and the words, ‘The Rock Pub’. Chris went inside.
Daylight was not welcome in the dingy interior. Heavy curtains had been put up over the windows. The place smelled of old wood and dashed dreams.
“Afternoon, Christopher,” Amy the barmaid said. “I’m surprised to see you back here so soon. Then again, you’re in here more than you’re at home, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. What can I get you?”
“A bottle of whiskey, please. To go.”
Amy put her hand on her hip and leaned on the bar with her other arm. Despite her oversized proportions she was an attractive woman with smooth skin.
“Now, you’re not thinking of swigging this while you’re driving now, are you?” she said.
“No, of course not.”
“All right. But if I hear rumours of your drink driving, I’ll bar you.”
It was an empty threat, Chis knew. In all her twenty years of being barmaid at The Rock, she had never once barred anyone.
“Fair enough,” Chris said.
“I’ve got the big bottle, or the mini-bar sized ones. Good for a single gulp.”
“The small one’s enough,” Chris said. “Oh, and a fizzy drink, please.”
Amy raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing.
“That’s eight pounds twenty pence,” she said.
Chris handed over a tenner. While Amy got his change, Chris looked around at the pub’s patrons. The regulars were still there from the previous night, hunched over their drinks alone at the bar or at a table. Even those with friends said nothing.
Chris was going to miss this place. He was glad he got to see it one last time. Amy handed him his change.
“Have a good one,” Chris said.
“You too,” Amy said.
Chris handed the fizzy drink to Maisie as he got into the car.
“What’s that for?” Maisie said, gesturing to the miniature bottle of whiskey Chris had in his hand.
“A special moment,” he said.
He tucked it into his pocket, released the clutch and drove off.
Z-MINUS: 6 HOURS 2 MINUTES
Before him was a long stretch of empty road that disappeared over the horizon. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out between his teeth.
“Shall we see what this thing can really do?” Chris said.
Maisie double-checked her seatbelt was in place, and then leaned back into the hard leather. She nodded.
Chris shifted into first gear and floored the accelerator. As the needle rose up the speedometer, Chris and Maisie were pushed back into their seats. Chris let the car veer over into another lane. He slammed the car into second. The engine roared like a caged animal. Third gear. The car only had ten thousand miles on the clock and sang like it was new. Fourth gear. The needle poked the number 120 in the eye. Fifth gear. Chris felt a thread of fear as his slightest touch on the steering wheel made the car jerk to one side.
“At this rate we’ll be at your granny’s in no time!” Chris said.
A smudge on the horizon grew darker. It took the form of a car, lying half in the verge, half out, the doors thrown open, the boot up, its contents spilled across the road. It wasn’t another hundred yards before another car, in a similar state of undress, appeared. Then the cars came in twos and threes. Windows had been smashed, blood edged the yawning glass like a monster’s lipstick.
Chris slowed down and weaved between the cars. Glass lay strewn across the road and shimmered like salt flats. They came to a gradual stop before a huge barricade of cars. They were parked bumper to bumper, save for an empty trail, like a giant snake had passed through it, pushing the cars to either side.
“Doesn’t look good to me,” Maisie said.
“But this pathway might go all the way through to the end.”
“It might not.”
Chris placed his hand on the gearstick.
“This motorway could cut a lot of
time off our journey,” he said.
“We should find another way.”
“I say we take a look. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Chris put the car into gear and edged forward. The speedometer never went over thirty miles per hour. Not a sound came from the parked cars.
“Where do you think the people in the cars all went?” Maisie said.
“Away from here.”
They came to a pinch point. Two cars jutted from either side into the clear trail, leaving a narrow gap. Chris slowed and edged through it. The wing mirrors high-fived one another.
They continued for another five hundred yards until they got to a huge tanker that lay on its side. The back half of a bus had been crushed, and forced into a cartoon cheese wedge shape. The tanker had attempted to knock the bus aside, but instead drove up the bus-ramp and fell onto its side. A sea of cars spread out before them.
“We’re never going to get through all this,” Chris said.
“It’s worse than you think,” Maisie said.
“Why’s that?”
Maisie pointed out the window with her stubby finger. An ocean of living dead stumbled toward them, heads lolling to the side and stiff-jointed limbs swaggering. The low groan of death rose up like a giant tidal wave. They stumbled into the parked cars and doors that had been thrown open in haste, ambling toward the Porsche.
“At least we know where the drivers went,” Chris said.
“Let’s get out of here!”
Chris grabbed the gearstick and slammed it into reverse. He put his hand on the back of Maisie’s headrest and hit the accelerator. The wheels spun, frictionless, and then caught. The car flew backward. Maisie jolted forward in her seat, the seatbelt failing to catch.
They came to the pinch point. Chris hit the brakes, the front end swerving side to side.
“I’ll never drive through that backwards,” Chris said. “I’m going to have to do a three point turn. Or maybe a fifty-point turn.”
He hit the brakes and reversed as far as the car would go sideways, and then edged forward, backward, forward, backward, forward, each time moving an inch in the right direction.
Maisie could make out the whites of the zombies’ eyes, the pearls of blood on their pale skin, like a clown’s make-up around their mouths. The zombies, although slow, never ceased, never stopped, and kept coming.
“Chris!” Maisie said. “They’re here! They’re here!”
Chris sent the car forward, shifted into reverse, turned the wheel, and went backward. The Porsche struck the car behind, jolting the sports car, and then sent it forward, where it struck the car in front.
A zombie’s face, missing its nose, pressed against the glass. Something moved inside the crevice. A beetle? A cockroach? Maisie wasn’t sure, but she screamed. Chris edged the car forward again.
The zombies pressed against the car like water against a dam. The car lifted off the ground, and the wheels turned but found no grip, throwing up choking smoke. One wheel pulled them forward, and they were finally facing the right direction.
Chris hit the accelerator, but they didn’t move. The zombies had hold of the car. One wheel wasn’t strong enough to pull away. Chris shifted into reverse and hit the accelerator, but with no purchase, the car couldn’t force itself free.
“Damn it!” Chris said. “Maisie, you get in the driving seat. I’ll go out and distract them.”
“You can’t!”
“There’s no other way! I wish there was, but there’s not!”
Chris gritted his teeth and lashed out with his fists, hitting the steering wheel. The horn blared. The car lowered a fraction. Not to the ground, but closer. Maisie looked out her window to see the zombies moving away from the car and toward the front where the horn sound had come from.
“They’re distracted by the horn!” Maisie said. “Hit it again!”
Chris pressed the horn and worked a tune. The car lowered further as more of the zombies moved toward the front of the car. The wheel touched down. Chris hit the accelerator. The Porsche jolted forward.
“Woohoo!” Chris said.
They came to the pinch point. They passed through it without slowing. The moment they were through, Chris hit the accelerator and worked his way up the gears, the zombies shrinking along with the horizon.
“That was close,” Maisie said.
“It was more than close. I need to make another stop.”
“What for?”
“I think I need to change my underpants.”
Z-MINUS: 5 HOURS 33 MINUTES
Another car flew toward them, moving in the opposite direction. Chris flashed his lights and honked his horn. He slowed down to speak with the driver, but the car didn’t stop and sped down the motorway.
“Cock,” Chris said. “He’s sure in for a surprise.”
He put his foot down and took the next slip road. He followed it up a hill. Chris came to a stop at the T-junction. Bushy foliage hid the road on both sides. He always hated this piece of road. He pulled out of the junction.
“We’re still making okay time,” Chris said. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop?”
“Sure.”
Chris slowed at a crossroads and turned right. The road was straight as an arrow for half a mile, and then became twisting and snake-like where every corner was blind. There was even a chicane, consisting of a pair of sharp corners that wound almost completely back up on themselves.
Chris pumped the clutch, brakes and accelerator, concentrating on the road. His heart beat fast like he was running a race. He was in the moment, pushing the Porsche to its limit in and out of the corners, and when the road levelled off and returned to a flat straight, the muscles in his arms and legs relaxed. He smiled. He always loved racing.
“That was fun, huh?” he said to Maisie.
Maisie’s eyes were wide, her arms and legs clinging to her seat. Clearly, she hadn’t found it quite so exciting as he had.
Chris pulled to a stop beside an old-fashioned post box built into an old flint wall. He got out of the car, its metal body ticking with cooling heat.
The leaves in the trees around them rustled with the strong wind. There was a large open field on the opposite side of the road and a manor house behind them on the other side. Chris picked up a smooth pebble and held it between his forefinger and thumb. He rubbed it.
“What’re we doing here?” Maisie said.
“This,” Chris said, smiling and standing in front of the post box, “is where I met your mother.”
Maisie eyed the post box uncertainly.
“Here?” he said.
“Yes. We knew each other before, but we never really spoke to each other. Then one day our friends decided to intervene. They said we were all going to meet up here and go on to the town together. Instead, me and your mum showed up and they didn’t. Your mother, faster on the uptake than me said, ‘I think we’ve been played’.
“We walked into town, talking all the way. We went to the pictures and watched a film. I think it was Indiana Jones. Then we went to the fish and chip shop. I didn’t have a lot of money on me, so it was lucky that your mum just wanted chips. I bought her some, but didn’t have enough for myself, so I just had a few of hers. That was our first date.”
Chris turned back to the post box.
“It all started here,” he said.
Maisie stood and looked around at the open fields. A flock of sheep stood grazing on a distant hill. It was calm and peaceful. Maisie nodded.
“It’s a good place for a relationship to start,” she said.
“At least it started on the right foot,” Chris said, a faintly sad smile on his face.
“Did you think about Mum much? Before all this zombie stuff happened, I mean.”
“Of course. Sometimes I’d be out drinking, knowing I should be at home with your mum and you, and your sister. But I needed to keep drinking, to keep burying my head in the sand.”
“Why?”
“Bec
ause sometimes adults do things they later regret.”
Maisie looked at him, the question painted clearly on her face, but she said nothing.
“Do you ever miss Mum?” Maisie said.
Chris rubbed the pebble between his fingers.
“Of course I miss her,” he said.
“Then how come you don’t talk about her?”
“Because sometimes it’s easier to get over something if you try to ignore it.”
“That’s not true. You should face it, otherwise it will become bad later.”
“And who are you? The brain expert?”
“No,” she said, unperturbed. “Mum always said it’s better to face our problems instead of running away from them.”
“I’m not running away.”
“Ignoring them, then.”
Chris leaned forward and stared at Maisie. She stared right back, and then raised her chin. Her signature bull headed expression.
“I’m not going to stop talking about her like she never existed,” Maisie said.
“It’s no good talking about the past. We can’t change it.”
“But we don’t want to forget it.”
Chris stopped rubbing the stone. He thought for a moment, and then stared into the distance.
“I already miss her,” Maisie said. “I’m going to miss the way she used to tuck me in at night, the way she used to heat up my milk for cornflakes on cold days. I already miss her, and it’s only been a few hours.”
“At least you’ll have your granny to take care of you now.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Of course it’s not. But at least you’ll have someone.”
Maisie smiled.
“And I’ll have you,” she said.
Chris tossed the stone aside.
“Let’s get back in the car,” he said. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”
As Maisie got into the car, Chris noticed his hands were shaking. He tucked them into his pockets.
Z-MINUS: 5 HOURS 14 MINUTES
The sign read ‘You are now entering Little Bytham’. Chris slowed down as they came to the thirty mile an hour speed limit.
Something caught the sunlight and glinted off the road ahead. There was a loud bang like someone had struck a balloon with a needle. The car veered left at a sharp angle and swung onto the verge. Maisie screamed. The Porsche did not take the land well. It skidded and rolled to a stop. Chris looked over at Maisie, who clung to her seatbelt tight, breathing short, deep breaths.