by Calum Kerr
He was sure that the dust would settle. An eternal optimist at heart, he firmly believed that whatever madness had gripped the country this time would blow over, just like all the others. Hadn’t he outlived the craze for them jackets with big shoulders, and him in just his donkey jacket? Hadn’t he seen fad after craze after recession after crisis come and go? This might be slightly different, but he was a firm believer that whatever happened, it all returned to normal again. Hell, look at the wars. They’d been the worst things in the world, but now look. There were youngsters who had no real idea of what had happened, why it had happened, and who wouldn’t care anyway if you went and told them.
Having moved the body and folded the arms in as restful a pose as a headless corpse could adopt, Bert scouted about for the head, but there was no sign of it.
In the end there was nothing more they could do for it, so he walked back to where Doreen was still sitting. He felt that somehow he should have done more, but short of being there to stop those damn things from attacking the poor man in the first place he didn’t know what it could have been.
Doreen looked worse than when he left her, and although he heaved, and Andy helped, they couldn’t get her back onto her feet. “I’m sorry, lads. It’s me hip. It just won’t take no more.” She looked up into Bert’s eyes and he could see the fear there. “You better just leave me here,” she told him. “You can’t stay.”
Bert fixed her with a gaze that communicated how much he loved her, how much he needed her, and all the other things that had never needed to be said after their 42 years of marriage.
“Like fuck we will!” he replied, then turned to the group. “Right, then. We need some way of carrying my missus with us. I’m not leaving her. Any ideas?”
He looked from face to face, sure that something would be worked out. Something was always worked out. He waited, and knew it would come. And it did.
“Oh, God!” It came from James. “I’m so stupid!” He actually slapped his forehead in his moment of realisation. He turned to Alan and shouted, “Come on, I need your help!” into his face. Then he ran off back the way they had come. Alan, after a moment’s surprise and a confirmation nod from Charlotte, ran after him.
They all waited, wondering what had possessed the boy, but after no more than 10 minutes, they knew. They heard it before they saw it. It was the unmistakeable clip and clop of a horse’s hooves on the road. Moments later it came round the corner: a large dray-horse pulling an old fashioned milk-wagon. James was sitting on the board at the front, holding the reins with a look of contentment on his face which made him look much younger even than his 17 years. Alan stood behind him in the cart, looking nonplussed.
“It’s our neighbour’s!” James called as he came into view. “They keep Buster in a stable and I just knew that he would have been all right. They use this sometimes for delivering the organic milk and for the summer fetes and things like that. Will this do?”
This last was addressed to Bert who, like the boy, was grinning wide enough to split his cheeks. “Oh yes, lad. It’ll do alright. It’ll do just fine!”
James drew the milk wagon to a halt just in front of where Doreen was sitting. Alan jumped down and between him and Andy, they hoisted Doreen up into the back. They propped her against the side with some sacking to soften it for her. Bert was then pulled up by his arms and moved to sit out of the way, with Doreen, while Heidi was lifted up, still in her chair, and the others all followed.
Once loaded, Alan pulled up the tailgate to stop them falling out, and with a ‘chook’ noise and a flick of the reins, James set the cart into motion once more.
The horse had gone barely four or five steps when the sky started to darken overhead. Bert looked up and his heart sank as he watched thunderheads boil from the west and blot out the blue.
Thirty-eight
The horse slowed as the light dimmed, and James let it. He, like the others, was staring upwards. His brain was still numb from the events of the last day, but if he could have plucked out a single coherent thought it would have been, Oh God, what now?!
They all sat for a moment, watching the fine summer’s day replaced with dark wintery clouds, but then Alan touched his arm and he jumped.
“Go,” said Alan. “I don’t know what it is, but I doubt it’s anything good. So, go! Drive! We need to get to wherever we’re going as soon as possible.”
James nodded and lowered his head to his task. He flicked the reins and Buster started his slow plod once more. The horse was never going to win any races, but it was at least faster than walking. And managing the horse gave him something to think about; something to take his mind off everything else. It was a familiar action: he had grown up helping the Henderson’s with the horse and had been driving on their rounds with them since he was 12. It was an anchor which was helping him to stay on the ground when all he wanted to do was float away.
The day grew darker and darker, so that, even though it was the clouds which were covering them, it felt as though they were heading into onrushing darkness. It didn’t matter to James, though. He knew these lanes well, and when necessary he had driven the horse in the dark to deliver the milk. Sometimes he would have Mr Henderson with him, but sometimes, especially after Mr Henderson had his heart-attack, he had driven these dark lanes with his dad. James fixed on that image, of the large man sitting by his side, correcting his technique on the reins when necessary, and used it to blot from his mind the image of the melting mass that had been his dad’s ending.
The road twisted and turned and James gave Buster such guidance as he needed. Not much was necessary, if he was honest. Buster had followed this route even more times than James. If left to his own devices, he would probably have wandered the route on his own.
It was full twilight when they reached the town, and James was surprised to see the first buildings loom out of the gloom. Yes, he had done this journey in the dark, but he had always been welcomed by the streetlights and nightlights in some of the houses. But, the power was out, of course, and there were no lights, just large blank boxes lining the road.
The sound of Buster’s hooves echoed off the buildings as they paced between them. No other sound came from the town.
“Where do you think, then, lad?” Bert asked from the back of the wagon. “The Farrier?” he asked, referring to the village pub.
James shook his head. “No, too many doors, too many windows. I was thinking The Hut.”
Bert nodded approval. “Good thinking, lad.”
Alan looked from one to the other, peering through the darkness to see their faces. “The Hut? What’s that?”
“You never been to Little Shotterling, Alan?” asked Bert.
“Well, yeah, through it, but never, you know, to stay. So what’s ‘The Hut’?”
It was James who replied. “It’s the scout hut. It has a kitchen with water and plates and that, and a couple of toilets.”
“Okay, so far so good. But why there in particular?”
“Well, a couple of years ago there were kids throwing stones and breaking windows and that, when it was empty. So they bricked up most of the windows, covered the rest with thick wire, and put some really thick doors on it. It’s a mini-fortress.”
Alan nodded, he could see the thinking behind it now. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Erm…” said Bert from the back of the cart. “We might have a problem.”
James looked back over his shoulder to where Bert was pointing. It was hard to see through the gloom, but he didn’t really need to see to guess what it was.
The noise of Buster’s hooves had done a good job of broadcasting their presence as well as masking the approach of unwelcome visitors. But now he could hear the inexorable stamp of feet, and a low growling, snarling coming from behind them.
Buster heard it too, and James felt the reins jerk in his hands as the horse tossed his head in distress. The cart jerked as Buster found a turn of speed which James had never seen from him before. T
hey moved from a walking speed up to a slow trot. James tugged to try and control the horse, but the beast was just too big, too heavy and too disconcerted to pay attention.
Whatever speed the horse had found, however, wasn’t going to be enough to outrun those creatures. He heard a grunt and the sound of metal on flesh, and glanced back long enough to see Andy standing at the rear of the cart, Bert hanging onto the back of his jacket to keep him balanced. Andy’s feet were planted and he was just swinging back his golf club into a ‘batting’ position over his shoulder. He had obviously just repelled a boarder.
Alan turned in his seat, placing his hand on James’s shoulder, making to head back and help with the task. James thought it was probably a good idea. One man with a golf-club was only going to be able to do so much.
But then James fixed his eyes on the road ahead and raised his hand to grab Alan’s sleeve. “Erm… Alan.”
Alan looked down at him, one leg already hooked over the seat into the wagon. “What?”
James didn’t say anything, just used his head to indicate ahead of them.
Alan turned and looked and saw what had caused James’s mute state. The road ahead, where it widened out to pass around the green, was filled from edge to edge with zombies. They weren’t moving, just standing and waiting. They didn’t need to come to the wagon. Buster was taking them towards the wall of undead flesh at a canter.
Thirty-nine
They didn’t pause. No-one needed to discuss what the noise meant. As soon as they heard the howl in the darkness, they knew they had to run. Nicola picked up the threshing blade which she had rescued from the pool of red goo which had once been Stan, and which she had dropped when she saw the splintered door of the shed. She still had the pack on her back.
She set off at a run and the others followed.
At first she didn’t think about where she was running to. The important word was ‘away’: away from the noise approaching from the valley. Very soon, however, Dave was at her side. “Where are we going to go?” he asked her.
She thought for a moment. If Alyssa was anywhere, she was probably with the horde which was ascending towards them. She would be in their mix, adding her piping snarl to the massed sound. Nicola did not want to see that. And, if by some miracle, her girl was still alive, she would be somewhere other than down there. So, away from them was certainly the best bet. But where to? She could only think of one place, and she realised it was already where they were heading.
“The village,” she panted as she ran. “The others might… have found shelter… and we might… be able to find them.”
Dave nodded and she saw him glance back to check on the others.
For all that he had let her down, he was turning out to be a good man. She felt, rather than saw, as he dropped back, and she risked a glance to see him helping Sam whose trainers were slipping off, despite the extra socks. He had his arm around her shoulder and she was kicking them off. Sam looked up and saw Nicola looking back. “I’ll be better in socks. Used to run school cross country in bare feet! Like Zola Budd, you know?”
Nicola just nodded and kept going. It wasn’t like they could stop for the girl to adjust her clothing, anyway.
At least it was downhill for this part, she thought. Gravity was their helper. Even as the thought passed through her mind, she caught her foot on a hussock of grass, the weight of her backpack pushed her centre of gravity up, and she fell forward, rolling even as she hit the ground. She carried on, unable to stop, sometimes with the pack beneath her, sometimes on top, rolling, skidding and falling down the hill.
She finally stopped, dazed and winded, once the ground started to level off. She knew she was lucky not to have hit her head on any rocks on the way down, but she felt like she had been battered. She lifted her head, looking around, trying to see where she was, and trying to force her protesting muscles to lift her from the floor. She had barely managed to focus when the others arrived at her side, their own momentum causing them to leap and gallop down the hill. Tony and Daz reached her at about the same time, Dan just behind them and Dave still monitoring Sam, the two of them coming down more slowly.
Barely slowing, the two men in front scooped her up onto her feet and carried her backwards a little way until they could control their flight long enough to set her down. Tony pulled on her arm to get her facing back in the right direction. His face asked a question and she nodded to answer it, telling him she was okay to carry on.
Dave and Sam arrived moments later, nearly colliding with the backs of the others, and then they were off again.
The ground had levelled off again, so it was easier to stay balanced, but harder to keep moving. Nicola was aware now of the weight of the pack on her back, and her knees and thighs hurt where they had slammed into the ground during her tumble.
She ran more slowly now, a slight limp in her stride. Tony and Daz, although capable of greater speed, stayed at her side. Part of her wanted to tell them not to worry and to just run, but the greater part was glad they were there in case she needed them. She had already been scared, but falling down the hill had only added to it.
Now they were back on the flat, and without the sun or the road to guide them, Nicola was no longer sure they were heading in the right direction. The haze in her head from the fall didn’t help. She wanted to glance back in case seeing the hill would help her orientate herself, but she didn’t dare in case she tripped again. She had to rely on Tony and Daz having some sense of where they were going.
She hated relying on others at any time, but now it seemed so much worse. She had grown used, in such a short time, to being the one in charge, the one who the others followed. But now she was the one that had to be led. She hated it.
They had reached the first real field – covered with low crops rather than ovine body parts - when the howl sounded behind them again. She could tell it was coming from the top of the hill and knew that now their attackers would have the advantage of gravity to help them catch up. She tried to go faster but her knee threatened to buckle. Tony moved closer to her, slid his hand round her back underneath the straps of the pack, and lifted.
With the weight no longer pulling on her, she found her legs were stronger than she had thought. She felt him lift and tug at the pack and she let her arms slip from it, only barely breaking stride as she did so. He swung it away from her and passed her the shotgun. He slipped it over one shoulder, then up onto his back, adjusting his stride to compensate. He reached out his hand and she passed the gun back to him.
As she ran, feeling so much lighter now, she glanced at him. She was still angry with him for what he had done to Sam, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling warm towards him too. Taking her pack was such a selfless and generous gesture, and she couldn’t imagine the man who she had pulled from his car less than 24 hours earlier doing such a thing. He had changed so much, and for the better. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, how this craziness would end. But she thought it might just be the making of him.
It was a strange thought to have in the middle of this mad dash, but then again what wasn’t strange about the things they were caught up in. Spaceships? Zombies? Giant robots? Laser beams that made clouds? In the midst of all that, thinking about how someone might be becoming a better person seemed positively liberating; like an oasis of normality in the madness.
Feeling stronger and more able, she risked a glance back. She tried to shout, but her voice caught in her throat.
Despite the dark she could make out the shapes flooding down the hill. But that wasn’t what had made her shout. The first two shapes – creatures that had once been men – had almost reached them.
She managed to cough out a, “Look out,” but it was too late. They had launched themselves into the air, and one each landed on the backs of Sam and Dave. She tried to turn, to go back, but Tony grabbed her arm and pulled her along.
“Just… keep… running!”
Forty
Alan joined James in
pulling at Buster’s reins, but to no avail. The horse simply pulled back, then used his strong neck muscles to toss his head so hard that the reins were pulled from their hands. The shock of losing hold sent Alan, who had been standing, crashing back into the seat, nearly knocking James and himself to the road. But James managed to jam his leg into the side board and push back, keeping them both from falling into the path of the zombies.
They re-seated themselves, gazing forward impotently as the wagon neared the wall of zombies, then realised they needn’t have worried. Buster was stopping for neither man nor zombie. He ploughed straight into the waiting group, trampling and kicking as though he knew they were the enemy. Others disappeared into the iron-rimmed wheels of the coach, causing it to jolt and bounce. James glanced back and saw, with relief, that the others had seen what was coming and had braced themselves. Andy had sat down again, and was helping Bert and Doreen weather the worst of this roller-coaster ride.
He looked back and saw that they were reaching the back of the crowd, which must have been ten deep. Buster had cut a swathe through them. However, doing so had slowed him somewhat and one zombie, fast enough to dodge the slower horse, leapt past him for the front of the wagon. James recoiled in fear, but Alan didn’t pause. He rose once more to his feet and swung the stout metal bar which had been his weapon of choice. James closed his eyes before the impact, but heard it hit with a dead, crunching thud. He opened his eyes and the zombie was gone. In fact, all the zombies were gone. The road was clear ahead of him.
Alan turned and jumped into the back of the wagon, and James heard more thumping and crunching. James didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see, but presumed the noise was Alan and Andy swinging their weapons of choice at zombies who had managed to gain purchase on the moving cart. With nothing to impede him, Buster was picking up speed again, and soon the noises stopped. James risked a glance back and saw the two men, standing straddle-legged in the wagon, sweating but grinning, patting each other on the back. Andy had large ragged scratches on his arm which were oozing blood, but otherwise the two seemed unhurt.