by Calum Kerr
Then James was aware of a low moaning coming from beside the two men, and worried for a moment that a zombie had got past them. It wasn’t a zombie, though, it was Bert cradling Doreen in his arms. She seemed to have fainted.
Then James saw the blood. It covered her head in a caul. No, it was worse than that. It was her head. A zombie must have flung its arms over the side of the wagon, grabbed her under the neck and ripped her head clean off when it fell back. What lay in Bert’s lap as the old man keened, was the slowly draining headless corpse of his wife.
James leant over the side of the wagon and threw up. There wasn’t much in his stomach so it was mainly burning acid. The world swam in front of him, not helped by the sight of the road passing under the wagon. He vomited again, and for a moment the world went black.
When he came back to his senses, the road was still rushing in front of his eyes, and a commotion was coming from the back of the wagon. He pulled himself upright and looked back. Bert was on his feet, Doreen’s body lying where she had fallen, and Andy and Alan were holding his arms to prevent him from leaping from the back of the cart.
“You bastards!You fucking bastards! That was my wife! My wife! I’m going to kill every last one of you fuckers! Let go! For fuck’s sake let me go!”
Despite his age he was still obviously strong, and managed to pull his right arm free from Andy’s grip. His arm pistoned forward in sudden release, his whole body threatening to topple from the back, but Alan held him tight. As he came upright again, his loose arm whipped backwards and hit Andy in the stomach, knocking him onto his bottom with a whoosh of expelled breath. Bert turned his face up towards Alan, and despite the darkness, James could see the anger, the misery, and the pleading.
“Let me go!” He said, but his voice had lost some of its edge, some of its energy. “Please, Alan, mate, let me go. I need to go and… and… they… they…” He started to sob. He was still attempting to tug his left arm free, but only half his heart was in it now. Alan still didn’t let him go. Instead, still balanced in the back of the fast-moving wagon, he pulled the old man against him, and held him tight, letting Bert’s sobs bray into his shirt.
James watched for a moment, then turned back to the front, embarrassed at watching an old man cry, whatever the circumstances. He realised that Heidi was screaming too, just another noise in the mix, but he had seen that Debbie and Ryan had been okay, if shocked.
Looking ahead of their runaway wagon, James realised that Buster was starting to slow again. But there was no obstacle this time. Instead he saw their destination: The Hut. The horse, ignoring whatever was happening behind him, had brought them right to the door of their sanctuary.
As the horse slowed to a walk, James leapt down from the front of the wagon, his knee giving a twinge from where he had used it to brace himself against Alan’s fall. He moved up alongside the horse and, matching his speed, grabbed for the reins. He moved ahead of the horse, leading him now instead of the other way around, and took the wagon up to the door of the Hut, shushing him to a halt.
“We’re here,” he shouted.
Alan looked over at him and nodded. Andy, who was now back on his feet, looked back down the street they had just travelled down. “They don’t seem to be following,” he said. “But let’s be quick.” He moved to open the tailgate of the wagon and started to help Alan lift Bert down.
James watched as Andy helped the broken form of Bert round towards him. “Don’t leave her? You won’t leave her, will yer? You’ll bring her, yeah?” he was mumbling to the former chef.
“Don’t worry, Bert. I’ll get you in and then I’ll get her myself. I promise.”
“Good lad. Good lad. You’ll get her. Yeah. You’ll get her, won’t yer? You won’t leave her?”
Andy carried on reassuring him as they made their way to the door of The Hut. Meanwhile, Alan and Ryan were helping Debbie down, Heidi clutched in her arms.
“Erm…” a voice sounded behind him.
James turned. It was Andy, his hand on the door of the scout building. “Do you have a key?”
Forty-one
Tony only took three steps alongside Nicola, then he pushed her to keep her running, stopped and turned. Dan and Daz looked at him in surprise as he faced them, and tried to stop too. “No! Keep going! Get her to safety!” He flapped a hand at his shoulder to indicate Nicola. They looked confused for a moment, then saw him start to raise the shotgun to his right shoulder, nodded, and ran on.
He took a few steps back towards where Sam and Dave were lying. The zombies had pushed them over, but hadn’t managed to get any purchase. Dave, flat on his back, was waving his pick-axe around, keeping them at bay. Tony glanced up at the horde which was still coming down the hill, then back to the scene in front of him. He steadied his feet, socked the stock of the gun into his shoulder, and took aim.
“Down!” he shouted. Dave dropped his arms and Sam made herself as flat as possible. The zombies did the opposite, his voice attracting their attention, making them pause and look up at him.
He pulled the triggers.
The blast was stronger than he expected, and the stock was not firmly seated enough, so it recoiled into his shoulder, knocking him back and numbing his arm. He tottered backwards but managed to stay on his feet, holding onto the gun with his left hand as his right dropped to his side. Finally stable on his feet again, he looked up to see what effect he’d had.
The creature which had been standing above Dave was now flat on its back behind him, its head missing. The other had lost an arm, and was staggering, but still growling and making moves towards the two prostrate humans., Bearing its teeth it made a lunge towards Sam, and Dave finally connected with the pickaxe, repeated the trick he had used on zombie-Stan, and piercing its head, this time ear to ear. The punch of it threw the zombie to the side, wrenching the axe from Dave’s hand. It landed, motionless.
Seeing this, Tony all but leapt the last few steps. He dropped the gun and used his good left arm to drag Sam to her feet. Dave heaved himself up next to them. The pursuing zombie pack was racing towards them.
Tony stopped and grabbed the gun, Dave made a move to retrieve his axe, but Tony pressed the gun to his chest instead. “Here, take this.” He flopped his right arm, which was starting to tingle and hurt, but still wouldn’t respond. “I can’t anyway. Now let’s get the fuck out of here!”
They turned and ran after Nicola and the others, just ahead of the snarling pack of once-human creatures.
Tony’s right arm was really hurting, and he cradled it in his left as he ran, every step jolting fresh shots of pain
On his right, Dave had cracked open the shotgun and emptied the two spent cartridges. He looked over at Tony. “More?”
Without thinking, Tony went to reach into the right hand pocket of his jacket where he had stowed a double handful of the ammunition. The arm obeyed him at last, but it was too painful and he let it drop and dangle again before scooping it up in his other one again.
Dave watched this and understood the problem. He moved closer to Tony and reached in to grab a pair of shells from Tony’s pocket. The movement proved too awkward for them, though. He stumbled, catching his foot in the grass and pulling the two of them to the ground.
Tony instinctively flung out his arms to break his fall, the weight of the pack on his back making it feel much faster than normal. He screamed when his bad arm crumpled under his weight; a scream which was muffled when his face hit the grass a second later. He tried to roll onto his back but couldn’t because of the pack and could only make it onto his side. He felt Dave’s hand pull free of his jacket and the click-click-snap of the weapon being swiftly loaded and locked. It was obvious that Dave knew much more about guns than he did, and wondered why on earth he hadn’t asked for someone who would be better placed to use it without hurting themselves than him. This thought was followed by the realisation that he could hear the drumbeat of running feet coming up to him through the earth to which his ear was pre
ssing. They were coming.
He heard a scream – a battle-cry – from his right, followed by the loud booming discharge of one barrel and then the other. The sounds of bodies hitting the floor came up to him through the ground, but it was only two from a host.
He felt Dave’s hand scrabbling for his pocket again, but it was too late. The zombies were on them.
Forty-two
They tried with their various implements to get into the Hut. Alan’s metal bar was too thick, but Bert had brought a crow-bar which they were able, just, to get into the gap between the double-doors at the side of the Hut. Alan applied all his strength, and then leant his weight on the bar, but nothing happened. The immovable object didn’t move and his force was more than resisted.
He tried again, at the hinges, but still nothing happened. “They must be metal doors and frames,” he concluded, but kept trying anyway.
James alternated between watching his efforts, glancing to the side where Debbie was comforting Bert while Andy kept an eye on him to stop him trying again to do something stupid, and watching down the road for signs of pursuit. He didn’t know why the zombie army hadn’t come running after them, but then realised that trying to understand them was pointless. Who knew why they did anything when, in a sane world, they should simply have laid down and died? Ascribing motives to them was pointless. All he could do was wait and see.
Ryan was rolling the pushchair back and forth, soothing Heidi. Buster was munching the weeds which grew up in the grass at the side of the Hut. It all seemed so quiet and so normal, he couldn’t believe what they had just been through. But there was no way he could enjoy it. He knew it was a break, a rest, a brief hiatus; nothing more. In a minute, or ten, or an hour, he knew that they would be running for their lives again, especially if they couldn’t get into the Hut. He didn’t know if he could face that, and felt sweat break out on his face. His hands started shaking and he turned, grabbed the crow-bar from a surprised Alan, and started to batter on the door.
“Open up! Open up! Open up!” He smashed the crow bar off the door over and over. It vibrated in his hand, and made his arm tingle painfully, but he didn’t stop.
“Open up! Open u-.” When the door suddenly opened, James was nearly as surprised as the young man who nearly got the crowbar in his face. The man stepped back to avoid the blow from the crowbar, and the door swung with him. Without stopping to think, James had his foot in, pushed the door, and was into the Hut.
He turned round, shouted, “We’re in!” to the others, turned back and shrieked when he saw the gun barrel pointing into his face.
He put his hands up in the air, dropping the crowbar which bounced on the concrete step with a clang.
“Are you all safe?” asked the young man, who James now realised had stepped back, not just to avoid the crowbar, but to give himself room to swing his rifle up. James also noticed, even in his panicked condition, that the man was wearing an army uniform. Which explained the rifle, he thought, and almost laughed.
“Yes. Yes. We’re fine. Not zombies, not aliens, nothing. Just humans. Ordinary humans who haven’t been changed into anything, or bitten, or nothing. Don’t shoot, we’re like you, we’re normal. We’re just looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere safe. Don’t shoot!”
The soldier had already lowered his rifle in the middle of James’s verbal diarrhoea, but as James had squeezed his eyes shut, he didn’t realise. He only stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He shrieked again, but opened his eyes to see the soldier looking at him with a vaguely amused look his face.
“Come on. There’s no way you’re anything other than human. Let’s get you all inside and lock the door again before something other comes along.”
He pushed James past him and stepped out to tell the others to come in. James walked through the small lobby area and through a doorway into the room beyond. In a building with the windows bricked-up and the sky outside covered in thick clouds, James expected the room to be completely dark, but it was lit by the gentle light from dozens of candles set up along the cupboards which lined the room.
It looked like a shrine, or a church. Or maybe, he thought, it looked like what it was: part-cave, part-sanctuary.
The others crowded in behind him, marvelling with him at the fairy-tale nature of the scene. Heidi cooed something in baby talk, and Debbie pushed her further into the room. It was then that James noticed the other people. It had taken him a moment for his eyes to get used to the combination of bright and dark in the room, and he hadn’t noticed the dark shapes which were huddled at the far end, looking up at them.
It was only when one of them stood that his eyes detected the movement and he realised there had to be thirty people already in the Hut; people who’d had the same idea as him.
The figure which stood looked too short to be an adult. It stepped forward and some of the candle-light fell on its face, showing it to be a small girl, no more than six or seven.
“Mummy? Are you here? Is that you, Mummy?”
The soldier pushed past James and walked over to the girl. “Sorry, Alyssa. This group’s mostly men. I don’t think your mother’s with them.”
James heard the girl sob, and the soldier, his rifle still held in his left hand, bent and put his right arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s on her way. She’ll be here soon.”
Forty-three
Tony felt a dead weight land on him. Dead, but freakishly alive. Hands scrabbled at him, as the zombie climbed up him, clutching at clothes and the pack, hauling itself towards his neck. He tried to fight it off, but with only one arm it wasn’t easy. He pushed and tried to swing a punch, but the zombie simply carried on moving. His head was craned around, and he saw the zombie’s face appearing over his shoulder. Its hair was matted with blood, and one eye seemed to have popped and run down its cheek. Its skin was a waxy-white, but its teeth and mouth were stained-black: the colour of blood turned to the colour of death by the gloom.
As it got close enough, it reared up, ready to plunge its mouth down over the restricting band of the backpack strap, and Tony had enough time to be amazed that there was no panting, no smell of gory breath just an underlying growl as it prepared to bite. Its head went up and back and Tony tried one last push with his arm, but it wasn’t enough to shift it. Although he didn’t want to see, he stared into the thing’s dead eye as it plunged towards him, deciding that if this was his last act, at least he could face it.
Forty-four
When she heard the double-shot, Nicola glanced back and saw Tony stagger. She nearly turned to go back, but saw him catch himself and then saw Dave and Sam on their feet again and running after her and the others. She turned back and carried on running.
She glanced back again after she heard two single shots, and saw that Dave now had the gun and seemed to be wrestling with Tony. The mass of zombies had made it down the hill and were closing on the others.
And then they went down: her Dave and Sam and Tony. She let out a wordless yell and turned back. She didn’t know if Dan or Daz were with her, and she didn’t care. She also didn’t know if it was the sight of Dave in danger, or Tony, or even both of them, but she knew she had to help. There were so many of the zombies, it was hopeless really, but she couldn’t just keep running and leave them to it. She’s already done that at Tony’s urging and it had been wrong. Damn, why did she just fold and do what other people told her?
All of this passed through her head as she ran back to her friends. It seemed like the whole pack of the undead had slowed to allow its lead members to feast. Three of them leapt, each one aimed at one of the fallen. Sam was closest to her, and Nicola ran up, and swung with her blade. It hit the zombie in the side of the head, splitting its skull, and it went over, still thrashing, still undead.
The creature was on Sam’s far side, and Nicola’s momentum was still carrying her forward. She took a step and was next to Tony, where his attacker was crawling over his body heading for his neck. Sh
e managed to stop this time, waited for the zombie to pause, which it did with its head held high, and aimed carefully. Her makeshift sword passed through what was left of its neck and sent its head soaring into the air.
She didn’t wait to see it land, but turned back to finish off the one which had been attacking Sam, but Dan was already there, burying his pickaxe in the zombie’s head with one hand, and pulling Sam to her feet with the other. She looked the other way and saw Daz standing over Dave, swinging his sledgehammer from side to side, knocking away zombie after zombie. Most of them got straight back up. But some of them caught a skull-crushing blow to the head and stayed down.
There was a click, and Nicola realised why it was that Dave had still been on the ground. She saw him raise the shotgun against his shoulder, and with two swift shots remove the heads of two zombies.
Between these shots and Daz’s hammer-swinging, enough of a gap had been made for the two of them to scramble back from the still sizable horde approaching them. Some residual cunning must have remained in the zombie’s brains, as they no longer charged, but were approaching more cautiously. Daz helped Dave to his feet and Nicola realised that the only one still on the floor was Tony, turned-turtle beneath the weight of a headless zombie. She put her foot on the corpse and pushed it off him, then reached down and tried to pull him to his feet. She realised he could only use one arm, and the effort of trying to lift him and his pack was too much. He nearly pulled her down with him.