Holiday of the Dead

by David Dunwoody; Wayne Simmons; Remy Porter; Thomas Emson; Rod Glenn; Shaun Jeffrey; John Russo; Tony Burgess; A P Fuchs; Bowie V Ibarra

  He crossed to the board and began writing headings, gaining confidence in the familiar activity. “Okay, we’ve got some food and drink downstairs in the school shop.” He wrote two of the teachers’ names under the first heading, “John, Peter I need you to raid the pantry and bring up everything you can find. The food will keep the boys quiet for a while. The important thing is to keep their attention away from what’s happening outside; we’re really not set up to contain a panic.” The two men nodded and disappeared.

  “Joanne,” he turned from the board and walked over to the headmaster’s personal assistant. The woman was in her late fifties and sat away from the others with her head in her hands. “Joanne, dear, I really need you to keep trying the phones, see if you can get anyone at all. Friends, family, anyone who can confirm if this is widespread or local. See if they can contact the police for us and get some help.” The woman nodded and began punching numbers into a mobile, the distraction of something to do giving her strength.

  Doyle wrote the word ‘Weapons’ on the board.

  “Keith,” he looked over at the diminutive English teacher. “I need you to break up a few of the desks; those wooden runners make good clubs. Get a few of the boys to help you. Oh, and confiscate any knives that might be around, I don’t want some fool stabbing himself.”

  He turned back to the board and wrote ‘Communications’. “Bill,” he turned to the Chemistry teacher, “I need you to go down to the office and bring up the radio, we need to get an idea of what’s going on.”

  “We have to assume and plan for the worst case scenario. There are too many of them out there and I don’t think we can stay here indefinitely.” Doyle paused to catch his breath. He was avoiding discussing his theories on what the things outside were. He had to keep everyone busy and focused on keeping the school secure. They could broach the subject of what they were and how it had happened when they had more time. “The doors won’t hold if enough of them gather but the windows are probably our weakest point.”

  “Agreed, so what should we do?” Atkins prompted. Doyle was amazed at how the man was comfortable to let him lead in this and not feel the need to be in control all the time.

  “We need to close and lock all of the classrooms downstairs. Luckily, all of the side doors are situated at an angle at each end of the building so they shouldn’t be able to get too many pushing against them at the same time. They should hold.”

  “The main door is a problem though.” Atkins mused.

  “I don’t think it can hold,” Doyle agreed. “We can pile desks, tables and anything else we can find against it but if their numbers grow then their sheer weight will break through.”

  “Right,” Atkins joined him at the board and added to the growing list. Bill Masters arrived with the radio and set it up in the corner. He looked at the board and started for the door again.

  “I’ll begin at the far end and work my way back. I’ll get the keys from Peter,” Masters said and disappeared.

  “Bill,” Doyle shouted after him. “Take a few of the older boys with you, you might need the bodies.” Masters popped his head around the door, nodded and disappeared.

  Theresa walked over to the radio and began to look for a station with news.

  “… Nothing is confirmed at the moment but there are reports coming in of multiple accidents and traffic jams throughout the city. There have been some reports of attacks in the city also but details are sketchy at the moment. Police have asked for calm and have requested that motorists park their cars off the main routes to allow emergency services to get through.”

  “Either they know less than us or they’re playing it down,” Atkins said. “Regardless, it looks like it’s pretty widespread. We need …”

  The sudden shattering of glass downstairs interrupted him and all three of them rushed to the stairs.

  They met Bill Masters on his way back up the stairs.

  “They’ve broken through.”

  Doyle grabbed a wooden runner from the pile that Keith Purcell had compiled and he rushed down to join Masters. The two teachers returning from the food run dropped the food into the eager arms of a few seniors, armed themselves and ran after them.

  Doyle could hear Atkins ordering the food to be distributed as he ran towards the breach and the faint sighs of disappointment from the seniors.

  The main doors were wide open. As he had thought, the sheer weight of the people pushing against them had been too much for the old hinges. As he reached the corridor Doyle could see a swarm of figures pour through the gap. Many of them fell under the weight of those behind them and disappeared beneath the flood of dead flesh.

  The figures varied greatly; he could see grey desiccated figures, barely able to move and fresher corpses, their wounds still puckered and wet from where their flesh had been torn in life.

  They slowly filled the corridor and began to creep forwards, slowly but ineluctably; unstoppable like the incoming tide.

  There was no way they could stop this many.

  “Back upstairs,” Doyle shouted. The others didn’t need to be told twice and sprinted back the way they had come.

  “It’s useless, we can’t hold them,” he panted as he reached the top of the stairs. Atkins nodded and took him by the arm, leading him over to one of the rooms.

  “Bill,” he called behind him, “get the boys ready. We’re going to have to make a break for it.”

  “We don’t have much time, Richard” Atkins still held his arm but seemed to be oblivious of the contact. “I’ve had a quick look outside and the north yard seems to be the best chance. Those things seem to be congregated mainly around the doors at each end so if we go out through the middle windows we should be able to get most of the boys clear before they realise what we’re doing. What do you think?”

  Doyle looked at the headmaster as if he was mad. We’re on the first floor, the thought screamed into his mind, what is he talking about?

  “The pole vault cushion is still in the storeroom from last month’s sports day,” Atkins explained patiently as he saw Doyle’s confusion. “I need you to get it and drag it into place below the window. We’ll hold them off as long as we can, but please hurry.” Doyle felt a key pressed into his hand and then Atkins was gone, shouting orders to those around him and organising what delaying tactics they could.

  Doyle ran to room 14, ignoring the confusion around him. He saw Bill Masters and grabbed him, explaining what was happening on the way. The windows on the first floor were allowed to open outward for six inches before they reached a metal support that had been put in place after the tragic loss of a student a few years ago who had fallen out while opening the window.

  “We’ll have to break it,” Bill offered and went to get the board duster to smash the glass.

  “No, they might hear it,” Doyle said and then wondered whether they could hear at all. They knew next to nothing about these things and their lack of knowledge could get them all killed. “We need to get as many away as we can before they notice what we’re doing. Hand me that pole would you?” He pointed at a wooden pole used to open the top windows and immediately jammed the end under the metal support and pulled down on the pole.

  Nothing happened for almost a minute and then suddenly there was a loud pop and the metal support flew outward and landed on the concrete below with a loud clang. Doyle held his breath as he waited but after a minute went by and he could still see nothing in the yard below he allowed himself to exhale. He nodded to Masters and one by one they slid out onto the ledge.

  There was a small gutter running along the roof above them and this fed into a metal pipe that ran down the centre of the building and into the drainage system beneath the school. The pipe looked stable enough but it creaked and groaned alarmingly as the men climbed down. At one stage the screws above them pulled right out from the wall but the lower supports held until they reached the ground. There was no way the pipe would support anyone else though. Masters looked at the screws and
then at Doyle. He didn’t have to say anything. This plan would have to work or the people they had left in the school would be overrun. And there was no way they would be able to get back to them to help.

  The storeroom was situated at the back of the school and across the yard. To get there they would have to pass close to the east wing’s door. This proved easier than they had thought on the way to the stores but on the way back the two men would be struggling with a heavy canvas cushion and the scraping of the material along the ground was sure to alert the creatures.

  The two men reached the storeroom without incident and rushed inside. Doyle looked around frantically. It wouldn’t take the creatures long to overrun the others and every second saved could mean the life of another boy. In some part of his mind he knew it was unlikely that they would save everyone but he forced himself not to dwell on it. He could only do so much. It was really a matter of best effort at this stage.

  He heard an urgent whisper and looked over at Masters who was pulling at the corner of a bright blue material.

  “Good man,” he rushed over to help and they began to drag the cushion out. By the time they had succeeded in dragging it outside they were both exhausted, although Doyle’s watch indicated it had only taken five minutes.

  “We’ll never manage it,” Masters wheezed as he scanned the yard to see if their activity had attracted any attention. Doyle looked over the cushion and frowned; it was some ten feet wide and twenty feet long. By far the most awkward element was its thickness though. It wasn’t that it was particularly heavy but it was filled with foam and sealed tight to allow for the weight of an athlete to drop safely from a great height so it was difficult to get a firm grip on the material.

  Suddenly he had an idea.

  “Bill,” the words came out louder than he had planned and he saw Masters look up in shock. Doyle ignored the other man’s motion of silence, he was too excited.

  “We’ll use the canoe oars.” Doyle disappeared back inside and reappeared with a long, double-bladed oar. It was shorter than the cushion but if they bundled the material they should at least be able to keep it off the ground. Masters nodded and ran into the room to get another. By the time Masters had reappeared Doyle had already positioned the first oar under the cushion. Masters quickly followed suit on the other side and together they lifted their ends experimentally.

  It was a little shaky and the oars were bending alarmingly but the large cushion remained wedged on top of the make-shift splint. It might just work.

  Once Doyle had left, Theresa stayed close to Atkins to be best placed to help. She could see Johnson and a few others throwing desks down the stairs. They had already cleared out one full room and had begun on another. As she passed the stairs she looked down and could see the jumble of broken desks that filled the stairs from about half way down right to the bottom where they pooled in a mess at the foot of the stairs.

  The resulting obstacle course should keep the creatures busy for some time. With their crude, stiff movements they would find it difficult to work their way up and it would buy them some time. But would it be enough?

  Everything had happened so fast. It was only eleven in the morning. Two hours had passed since she had come into Richard Doyle’s classroom. Two hours since the world ended. She looked over at the frightened faces of the boys as they looked to their teachers for re-assurance. She tried to smile at them but her lips wouldn’t move. She dropped her eyes. How could she offer them the strength they needed when she was so terrified? Her stomach was wound so tightly, her head throbbed and her heart was beating so hard that she was certain she was going to have a heart attack. She hid her hands in the pockets of her jacket before anyone noticed how badly they were shaking and looked down the stairs again. She could see the first of the creatures appear at the end of the stairs. The first of them fell on the broken desks but the ones behind simply clawed their way over them. They were slow and awkward but it wouldn’t be long before their sheer numbers made it up to the first floor. She prayed silently that Richard Doyle would hurry.

  Doyle nodded and the two men began to make their way back to the school. The return trip was easier than they thought but it still took another five minutes because they had to stop a number of times when the cushion slipped off the oars. They quickly dragged it into place beneath the first floor window and the first boy began to drop down before they had actually finished.

  “How’s it going up there?” Doyle asked one boy as he pulled him clear and moved him to safety.

  “I don’t know, sir. There’s a lot of shouting but I couldn’t see much from where I was.”

  Doyle nodded and moved to help the next boy as he landed with a whoosh.

  After an hour they had the line working quite well. They averaged about three bodies a minute but that still meant another two hours before they cleared the school. Theresa and two other teachers had already come down and they had taken charge of getting the growing number of boys out of sight and safe. They had been lucky so far.

  About twenty minutes ago one creature had appeared around the corner and had shuffled towards them. They had easily taken care of the thing and had crushed its head with one of the wooden runners they had made into weapons. The most unnerving thing about the incident had been the eerie silence of the action.

  Doyle assumed that the creature was not capable of speech as there was no air going through its windpipe to make any noise. He’d always wondered how films could portray these creatures as moaning zombies when they were dead and didn’t breathe. He shrugged, was there any point in looking for logic in the first place? It was what it was. If he got out of this alive he’d write Romero a letter.

  The creature had been alone and the rescue had continued. Twenty minutes later Guy Fallon leaned out the window and shouted down.

  “They’re almost at the top of the stairs,” he panted. Doyle could see the blood on the man’s forehead and felt guilty for his own relatively safe position.

  “Send then down two by two,” he shouted up and Fallon nodded and disappeared. They had delayed as long as they could but now the risk of injuries with two jumping at the same name far outweighed the certain death of the alternative.

  They ran out of time a half hour later. As if they were working to some diabolical timetable, the creatures inside the school reached the top of the stairs at the same time that another crowd appeared around the eastern end of the yard and finally became aware of their presence. Doyle was helping two boys off the cushion when three more suddenly dropped on top of them, crushing one of the boys and snapping another’s arm with an audible crack.

  He looked up, ready to shout his annoyance when the window suddenly shattered and rained shards of glass down on to them. The boy beside Doyle cried out, the cry cutting off abruptly as a large sliver of glass sheered half his head clean away. Suddenly the ledge above became crowded with screaming boys as they all panicked and jumped together.

  Doyle grabbed the boy with the broken arm and threw him off the cushion just before the first wave hit the cushion. The boys hit the material hard, one missing it entirely and landing on his ass with a sickening thump, his body seemed to stay upright for an age before he fell over and lay still.

  The other boys hit the cushion together and the seal along the end burst with a loud tear, like sails on a ship being ripped in two. The stale air within the canvas rushed out and made Doyle gag. The material was already slick with the dead boy’s blood and everyone on it was coated in red. Screams filled the air as panic reigned. The appearance of blood-stained boys screaming in terror sent those around them into a panic and many of them ran straight into the approaching hoard. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, cloying and the creatures shuffled faster towards them as if they could smell it. Already the next wave of boys was jumping and he screamed at those still on the canvas to move. There was already too much screaming and his warning was lost in the mad cacophony. Many of the boys sat rigid on the canvas as they looked dumbly a
t the blood on them and at the near headless body of the boy beside them. More boys fell from above. For a mad moment he thought that it was raining children as they fell in ever greater numbers. Many of those who miraculously managed to survive the fall were crushed by those falling after them. Doyle tried vainly to pull the boys from the canvas but there were too many.

  The cushion was completely flat and offered no cushion for the falling tide but the boys above were too panicked to notice. They continued to jump, oblivious to the carnage below, anything to get away from the creatures above. There was a pool of dead and injured boys on the ground and Doyle just couldn’t get close enough to help the injured.

  The dead bodies, however, did serve a macabre purpose. With the air gone they acted as a soft landing for those still trying to escape.

  The boys that did manage to survive stood in shock as they watched their classmates die before them. Some of the stronger ones tried to help but the constant flood of bodies from above made it impossible. Doyle was so focused on the carnage in front of him he didn’t notice how close the creatures had managed to get to them until he heard a high-pitched scream behind him. He spun towards the noise and saw four creatures right beside him. Two of them were tearing at a boy who stood mute as they tore his flesh from the bone, his mind so frozen in terror that the pain, mercifully, barely registered. Jesus, that could have been me, Doyle paled as he saw the other creatures reach for him.

  He ducked below the swipe from a desiccated arm. The stench hit him like a blow and he retched as he reached down for the weapon at his feet. He brought the wooden runner up hard and caught the creature under the chin sending it sprawling into the things behind.

  That gave him a few seconds and he used them to order those survivors he could reach to get to the outer field where the others were gathering. He grabbed a boy from his class; dimly aware that it was the ever optimistic Henshaw, and instructed him to tell Theresa to start the group moving and that they’d follow as soon as they could. Henshaw didn’t have time to ask questions as another creature came up behind and Doyle pushed him away with a shouted command to move.