by Perrin Briar
“How?” Maisie said. “How did it happen?”
“It was your sister, Emily. When we were fighting she sneezed on me, and it covered my face. From that moment, according to Mr Bryant across the road, I had eight hours left before I turned.”
“I saw her sneeze. I didn’t realise it got on you.”
“Well, it did,” Chris said. “Now we’re just going to have to learn to deal with it. I’ll get you somewhere safe, and then you’ll never see me again, all right? So don’t get any fool notions about killing me before my time’s up. I want to squeeze every last remaining second of my life out, and having a couple of daggers sticking out of my back like a pin cushion might stifle that goal somewhat.”
Maisie didn’t smile.
“You have to trust me,” Chris said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I know I did in the past, but that was the old me. I had been drinking and… I’m sorry. It will never happen again, I swear. I was in a bad place.”
“What bad place?”
Chris sighed.
“I did something I’m not proud of,” he said, fingers unconsciously rubbing his scarred knuckles.
“Is it the reason why you stopped fighting?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about that now. I promise I won’t hurt you again. You believe me, don’t you?”
Maisie nodded, not looking at him. A light blinked on the dash. Chris sighed.
“Perfect,” he said. “We’re almost out of fuel. That salesman wasn’t joking. We’ve hardly gone anywhere! We’ll stop at the next garage.”
Z-MINUS: 3 HOURS 12 MINUTES
The garage was a small independent affair with no name, just two old pumps. The prices were insanely inflated, almost double the national average. But then there wasn’t another garage for miles, so why not charge more?
“I’m going to the toilet,” Maisie said, heading toward the shop.
“All right,” Chris said. “Be careful.”
Chris popped the fuel cap open and inserted the pump. He pulled the trigger and the fuel guzzled into the fuel tank. After every gallon, a bell went DING!
Chris peered at the thick foliage on the other side of the road, losing himself to the peace and silence. In fact, complete silence. Total silence. There were no birds singing, no whisper of leaves in the dying wind. The bell went DING!
There was a rattling sound. A stone jittered and bumped against Chris’s boot. The numbers on the pump began to shiver and shake. And then the stones on the forecourt began to rattle, spinning in place. Then Chris heard a rumbling sound.
“What is that?” Maisie said as she ran out from the garage shop.
“I don’t know,” Chris said.
His mind leapt to an image of a thousand zombies stampeding down the road toward them, all gnashing teeth and wild white eyes.
“Get in the car,” he said. “Quick!”
Maisie ran across the forecourt. Chris tossed the fuel pump aside, screwed the fuel cap in place and stepped to the driver’s side door. Just as he reached for the handle, the rumble grew even louder and a mechanical shrieking came around the corner.
A medium-sized tank rolled down the road, followed by several jeeps with large machine guns on the back. Soldiers, some in uniform, some not, carried assault rifles. The tank came to a stop. The train of vehicles behind it was lost around the corner. There was a loud metallic thunk as an unseen latch was pulled aside and the tank lid came up.
A hefty bald man with a sharp square chin and squint in his left eye stood with his top half out of the tank, as if his legs had been replaced with tracks. He drew in a deep cleansing breath.
“Howdy!” he said in a strong southern US drawl. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It’s not bad,” Chris said.
“Nice piece of kit you got there,” he said, nodding to the Porsche.
“I was just thinking the same thing about yours.”
The soldier laughed, and rubbed his stomach with both hands.
“That she is,” he said.
“You wouldn’t fancy a part-exchange, by any chance?” Chris said.
“No,” the soldier said, “I don’t believe I would. I’m Tank Commander Russell Dobbs. We’re from RAF Lakenheath and we’re moseying on down to London. All units have been called to help protect a compound we have in the capital.”
“London?” Chris said. “Are you mad? That’s where most of the zombies will be!”
“It’s also where the greater bulk of both our armed forces and intelligence is gathered. I’ve got orders to recruit every available man, woman and child I can on my way there. How about it?”
“Do they have a cure?” Chris said hopefully.
“I don’t know,” Dobbs said. “But if there’s one being developed, it’ll be there. All the world’s smartest people were there for some kind of convention when this whole thing kicked off. There’s no reason why they can’t figure it out. All military personnel are being recalled to the capital to protect the facility and its interests. We could use every trigger finger we can find.”
“Sorry, I need to take care of my daughter first, get her to a safe place.”
“By fighting with us you’ll be making it a safer place for everyone.”
“I’m not all that bothered about everyone else right now.”
The muscles around Dobbs’ mouth tightened. He put on a smile that looked strained.
“That’s your prerogative. Here,” he said, handing over a pamphlet, “this is the location of the facility should you change your mind.”
The pamphlet had a map of London, and a cross on it where the compound was located.
“St Barts hospital?” Chris said. “That’s where the compound is?”
“The research facility is an adjoining building. Right now, it’s the safest place in this country.”
Chris nodded.
“Thanks,” he said.
Dobbs smiled and gave a perfunctory salute.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Godspeed. Oh, and a quick word of advice: stay away from towns and cities. They’re starting to get a bit hairy.”
Dobbs slapped the top of the tank, and it leapt forward down the road. Chris looked at the leaflet Dobbs had given him. It had a picture of a modern hospital on the front with a research facility tacked onto the side. There was a map of the UK with directions to London, and then a more detailed map of the city of London and directions to the research facility on the back.
The tank continued down the road, taking the unsettling rumbling sound with it. The tank’s tail was long. It consisted of artillery vehicles, soldiers clad in camouflage gear, and those in normal wear, though most of them sported shades of green and yellow, and a long train of buses, motorhomes, cars, and horses. It was ten minutes before they had all passed and the street was empty once again.
Z-MINUS: 2 HOURS 45 MINUTES
They passed a zombie every two minutes along the road. They all appeared to be heading in the same direction.
“Where do you think they’re all headed?” Maisie said.
“I don’t think they’re heading anywhere,” Chris said. “They’re just drifting. They get distracted by something and follow it. Then forget what they’re doing until they get distracted by something else, and then follow that.”
They were driving down a road that wound through a thick forest on either side. Maisie lowered the book she was reading. World War Z.
“They don’t feel pain,” Maisie said. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“No, it isn’t,” Chris said. “Shall we see if Mr Brooks is right?”
Chris edged the car over onto the side of the road. A zombie stopped, turned, and faced the car. The Porsche slammed into it. The zombie’s head smacked into the bonnet and exploded like it had a hand grenade inside it.
Maisie leaned back in her seat, eyes and mouth wide with shock. Chris hit the window wipers, which brushed the bits of brain and body matter aside.
“What did you do that for?”
Maisie said, flabbergasted.
“Do you want to try?” Chris said.
“They’re people!”
“They used to be people. Now they’re just empty shells. You’d be doing them a favour.”
Another zombie came into view. Chris turned the steering wheel. This time the zombie was severed in half, both pieces slipping under the car.
“I suppose… I suppose it’s okay,” Maisie said. “If they don’t feel pain.”
Maisie reached over and took the steering wheel. She made slow movements, keeping the car going straight.
“There’s one!” Chris said, pointing.
The figure turned, and then held up his hands.
“No, don’t!” the man shouted at the last moment.
The car smashed into him, sending his body flying into the middle of the road.
“Oops,” Chris said.
“‘Oops’ what?” Maisie said.
She mustn’t have heard the ‘zombie’ speak.
“Nothing,” Chris said.
“That was fun,” Maisie said. “Let’s do it again.”
“Maybe later,” Chris said, taking the wheel and feeling a little woozy.
In the side mirror, Chris made out the figure lying on the road, dragging himself toward the woods. A pair of zombies approached him, bent down and bit into him. Chris pressed a button and the mirror moved so he couldn’t see the tableau. Out of sight, out of mind.
Then Chris felt a punch to the stomach, doubling him over the steering wheel. He felt sick. He took his foot off the accelerator. The car slowed down. Chris heaved. He could feel the solid acidic mass work its way up his throat. The car drifted onto the other side of the road.
“Are you all right?” Maisie said. “Chris? Chris!”
Chris pulled the car over onto the verge, half of it sticking out into the road. He threw open his door and heaved. A hot mass slopped onto the dirt. He felt the lumps in the back of his throat. He worked them forward with his tongue and spat them out. Maisie handed him a bottle of water. He rinsed his mouth out.
The foliage shook, and a pair of zombies stumbled from it, heading for the car.
“Not now, guys,” Chris said.
Chris hit the accelerator, and the car jolted forward, almost throwing him out the door. Maisie grabbed his arm. The car bounced along the verge. The zombies didn’t pursue the car. Instead they knelt down and began munching on his vomit.
Chris felt fresh waves of sickness come over him, and he heaved again, only this time little but stagnant water came up. He straightened and closed the door. He leaned his head back on the headrest for a moment.
“Are you all right?” Maisie said.
“My body’s dying and I’m turning into one of those things. What do you think?”
“I was just asking.”
“Next time ask a sensible question like, ‘Did you always want to drive your daughter around from one place to another during the last few hours of your life?’ That’s a good question to ask.”
Maisie glowered, but said nothing. She stared out of the window.
Chris put the car into first and moved away. His body felt weak, and a cold shiver went through him that he knew wasn’t healthy. He had a cold sweat on his forehead. A spike of fear shot through him as he looked at the apparition in the mirror. His skin was pale and pasty, his eyes bloodshot, pupils dilated. His heart beat a syncopated rhythm in his chest, five fast beats, then two slow.
He concentrated on the road before him, but suddenly there were two, each veering off in a different direction. The car’s engine roared and he had a splitting headache, like a demon panther fighting to escape his skull. He felt so weak he could hardly keep his hands on the steering wheel. He felt so tired. His head began to nod.
“Chris?” Maisie said. “Chris?”
Chris slumped forward onto the steering wheel. Maisie’s voice faded out into a million pieces and came at him at random.
“Hh-rr-ii-ss-cc!”
Z-MINUS: 2 HOURS 28 MINUTES
“Chris!” Maisie said. “Wake up! Chris!”
Maisie pushed Chris’s body off the steering wheel, but that only caused the car to turn. She slapped him across his face, but he didn’t respond. She pulled at his closest leg, but it was the wrong one. His right leg was firmly planted on the accelerator. She looked up at the road.
The painted lines flew past, almost becoming a solid line. The car began to veer right, around a slight bend in the road.
Maisie pushed Chris’s slumped body over. The car moved with the turn, but it wouldn’t work forever. She needed to stop the car, and needed to stop it now.
Her hands unconsciously gripped something hard. It was the handbrake. She’d often seen drivers use it to stop cars from rolling downhill. Would it work to stop the car now? The road began to veer right again. The speedometer needle nudged fifty miles an hour. Maisie closed her eyes and pulled on the handbrake.
The car jerked forward. The tyres screeched. Maisie’s chest crushed against her seatbelt. The car began to turn. Out of instinct, Maisie pulled her father’s body in the opposite direction, but not enough as the car flew onto the verge. A large tree loomed up before them. The car slid, and came to a stop three feet from it.
Panting, Maisie peeked her head up and looked out the windows, but found nothing but vegetation close by. She looked over at Chris. He was unconscious. What was wrong with him? she thought. Was he turning already?
She felt his forehead. It was blazing hot. He was burning up. Her mother and sister had been burning up when they were turning. She looked over at the door handle on Chris’s side, and then at the door lock. It was an old car, and didn’t have central locking.
She licked her lips and then leaned over him. She kept her eyes on him, watching him for any sudden movement. He was breathing deeply. He snorted, and she shot back onto the passenger seat, but he was just sleeping. She took a deep breath and this time leaned over him quickly, pulled the lock up, and shot back to her passenger seat. Chris hadn’t reacted.
She opened her door, got out, and walked around to the driver’s side, carefully stepping over the uneven surface. She pulled Chris’s door open. She gripped Chris’s arm and pulled. His bodyweight fell to the side, but was caught by his seatbelt. She leaned over him and pressed the button, releasing him. He hit the ground hard. He grunted, his eyes fluttered open, and then closed again.
She pulled his legs out of the car and arranged them on the ground. He was a crumpled mess. She pulled his head up, so he was leaning against the tree. She knew she should have ended him right there, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It just wasn’t in her. He might be undead, but he was still her father. Maybe he could find some kind of happiness as a zombie in the woods that he never could in life.
She turned back to the car. She climbed into the driving seat and looked back at him leaning against the tree. She sighed and reached for the door.
“Wait,” a croaky voice said. “Don’t leave me here.”
Chris was awake, and he was looking right at her. Only his eyes moved. The rest of him was static. He had spittle on his chin.
“I’m sorry,” Maisie said.
She began to pull the door closed.
“Don’t,” Chris said, throwing his arm forward. “I’m starting… to feel… better. Maybe I just needed… the fresh air.”
He struggled to put a smile on his face. He was pale and drawn, every movement looked painful.
“Help me back in the car,” he said.
“No,” Maisie said. “I won’t have you turning in the car.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I still have…”
He struggled to lift his arm, but he managed it. He checked his watch.
“Two hours left,” he said.
“Maybe you don’t,” Maisie said. “Maybe it works at different speeds on some people. Maybe you only have six hours.”
“No,” Chris said. “I ha
ve more. I can feel the life in me. Just put me in the car and give me a little time. I’ll get stronger again.”
“I can’t take that risk.”
“Then think logically. Do you know the way to your granny’s?”
Maisie hesitated. She didn’t know the way.
“What if you pass out again?” she said.
“I won’t.”
“What if you do?”
“Then you can pull over and push me out. But give me one more chance. Please.”
Maisie looked down at the weakened figure of her father, the man who had taken on a huge man in Little Bytham and won with ease, now struggling to even breathe.
“All right,” Maisie said. “But I’m keeping you to your word. One more sign you’re turning, and you’re out the door.”
Maisie ducked under one of his arms and helped him to stand. His legs were weak and he moved like he’d been in a coma for the past few weeks. Maisie made to lead him around to the passenger seat, while Chris moved to walk toward the driving seat.
“Where are you going?” Maisie said.
“To the driving seat.”
“Your driving days are over.”
“Give me the keys,” Chris said.
He reached for the keys in Maisie’s hand, but missed them by three inches.
“I think it’s best if I drive,” Maisie said.
“But you’re a kid! You can’t drive! Give me the keys.”
“It’s the passenger seat, or no seat,” Maisie said firmly.
There was a pause.
“Fine,” Chris said.
They rounded the car to the passenger side. Maisie opened the door, and Chris all but fell into the seat. His legs hung out. Maisie pushed them in, and shut the door behind him.
She went around to the driver’s side. She put her seatbelt on. Chris had shifted his legs around so they were on the floor. He was slouched in what must have been a very uncomfortable position.
Maisie shook her head, already doubting her decision, and inserted the keys into the ignition. The engine started and purred through the steering wheel and into her fingertips.