by Adam Millard
A Remington shotgun.
'Jesus Christ, Jared!' Shane panted, mesmerised by the weapon in Jared's hands. In truth, it looked like it should be in anybody's hands except for Jared. 'Where in the hell did you get that?'
Jared grinned, knowing that he had impressed the group. 'You know Moon? Tall guy? Beard?'
Shane knew David Moon; he also knew that stealing his weapon was a mistake that even he wouldn't have made.
'You're talking about the big guy?' Shane said, faking enthusiasm. 'The large man who'd probably kick the living shit out of you if he knew what you had done?'
'That sounds like him,' Jared said, cocking the shotgun. Marla moved a few feet back, avoiding the barrel completely.
'Well, that's a mighty fine weapon,' Terry said, taking it away from Jared, who clearly had no use for it other than as a bludgeon. He removed the shells from it and slipped it back into the hockey-bag. 'You did good, Jared. Very good.'
Jared smiled, with teeth. 'Why, thank you,' he said, still stuttering.
'So we have A gun,' Marla said. 'Anything else?'
Shane had a pistol; 22. Calibre, clean, probably never been fired. None of the others dared to ask where he had managed to swipe it from, which was probably for the best. He also had knives; lots of knives, although they were only good in close-quarters, and as they all knew being in close quarters with one of those things was about the last place you wanted to find yourself.
Shane handed a large knife to Terry, who looked at it with an amalgamation of horror and confusion. 'If it comes to it,' he said, 'I'd much rather you just took them out quickly, with the shotgun.'
Shane shook his head. 'Unfortunately, Padre,' he said, smiling, 'I don't think we'll have that luxury, not often anyway. You know as well as I do that a shotgun blast'll just draw more of them. Before we know it they'd be everywhere. No, knives are safer. Quieter, anyhow.'
Terry slipped the knife into his satchel; it barely fit, and he knew he would have to be careful not to make any sudden movements or risk the blade jabbing through the leather and spilling the rest of his supplies.
'I think we're good to go,' Shane said, shouldering his Bergen. 'Anybody got anything prolific to say.'
Jared looked to Terry, who turned to Marla. They all shook their heads.
'Then let's get the fuck out of here,' Shane said. 'Before that prick, Victor, drags his slimy ass out of bed.'
They headed for the Snatch.
SEVEN
It was around five in the morning when the shit hit the fan. She wasn't prepared for it, either, which was something that she made a mental log of for future reference.
Four of them, dragging their dead carcasses across the field. She knew that she had to go through them. There was no other option. If she wanted to get home and get some rest before the sun came up, she would have to take them on. Playing the waiting game with a quartet of maggot-filled dead people was not something she relished. Plus, she was absolutely shattered. Her bed was calling to her, and the quickest way to it was also the only way.
She leapt the fence – which was only three feet high, but still quite a challenge for someone of her height – and drew her machete. In the moonlight she could see that the blade still carried remains on it, but they had congealed by now making them almost impossible to remove.
Something for later, she thought.
She moved around the perimeter of the field, trying to stay as close to the fence as possible whilst still maintaining forward movement.
Three men, one woman. The woman – or the zombie equivalent of a woman – continuously fell down, burying herself in the long grass before popping back up a few moments later. Under other circumstances, it would have been quite entertaining to watch. When you were tired, though, and just wanted to fall into a soft mattress and close your stinging eyes, it was more of a nuisance than anything else.
She edged forward, stepping away from the fence, away from safety.
Bed, bed, bed...
Two of the creatures seemed to respond to each other. Not with words, or anything close to them, but the way in which they grunted and motioned made her wonder about the level of communication that they could achieve. If any.
It was all academic now, though, as she was going to have to interrupt their conversation, split it down the middle with a very sharp blade.
She ran, the bag of supplies clattering against her shins as she raced forward. When she was close enough to engage, she tossed the bag aside and lunged for the first creature.
It didn't know what had hit it, and never would. Its head shot through the air, blackened tendrils fluttering from the stump. Where it landed, she had no clue, and she wasn't about to go looking for it afterwards just in case he had been wearing nice earrings.
As if the others knew what was happening – which only enforced her belief that they knew more of what was going on than she first believed – the second and third creature exchanged glances. One – who was wearing a police uniform and wore a moustache that might have gone out of fashion in the seventies – grunted at the other, and then they were both lurching for her, grasping at the air in front of them as if it would propel them forward, faster.
She staggered backwards a few feet, keeping a close eye on the female, who had just bobbed up ten feet away and had noticed the fresh meat on offer.
She could see the house across the field, inviting, impossible to reach, or so it seemed in that moment.
She lifted the machete. She hadn't noticed until now just how heavy it was. Perhaps the previous kills had taken it out of her. Making another mental note – this time to get a lighter weapon as soon as possible – she hopped forward to where the second and third creatures stood.
Biggest mistake of her life.
Sensing that she was outnumbered, both of them floundered for her simultaneously. She realised how stupid she had been almost immediately, and managed to reposition herself just in time to avoid the worst possible death.
The cop-creature grabbed her wrist, clawing at her coat, trying to break through and infect her with its disease. She dropped the machete down, level with the creature's groin, and lunged. There was a meaty squelch, and she pushed herself to the right in an attempt to evade the second creature, which was snapping for her shoulder with discoloured teeth. Inky froth erupted from both of the creature's mouths, in unison almost. Keeping the second creature at bay for long enough – just! - she pushed upwards on the machete-handle. There was a crunch, followed by another hellish splat as the blade sliced through the thing up to its throat.
The female thing was getting closer all the time.
She yelped as the second creature once again snapped at her with ooze-dripping teeth. She could smell its breath – or just the fact that it was dead and had been for quite some time. If she had had time to gag, she would have.
She managed to position herself just right to finish off the cop-zombie. She pushed, jumped almost a foot off the ground, and the machete came out through the top of the creature's head. It remained standing – in one piece – for roughly a second before its left side and right side went in separate directions, hitting the grass and erupting into a geyser of black goo. She didn't have time to celebrate the kill, though, as the second creature latched onto her throat, its hands unbearably tight around her neck.
Don't let it scratch you, don't let it scratch you...
She swung the machete this way and that before she managed to find a target. It met resistance, but only momentarily, as the blade sliced through the thing's leg and out the other side.
The creature, suddenly off-balance, slipped away, its grip loosening, and she knew she had to be quick.
She finished it before it had a chance to hit the ground. The good-old decapitation worked every time, and the thing's head disappeared off into the distance, a trail of blood staining the grass behind it.
She gasped for air, but there didn't appear to be any, and what there was tasted of death and putrefied matter.
No time to panic; no time for anything...
The female was now barely ten feet away, and it was clear now why she had been finding it difficult to remain on her feet.
She only had one; the other had been taken, torn off, perhaps, by the creatures that had infected her. The stump was surrounded by fish-net stockings, torn and dangling and bloody as hell...
She could practically hear her bed calling to her, now, and she had managed to take out the main threat, although it was not wise to discriminate when it came to the flesh-eating undead. Male, or female, it made no difference. They were equally as strong, and had only one purpose in death. To devour the living.
The one-legged woman dragged herself forward. Her eyes were so deeply sunk in their sockets that they were invisible. If it wasn't for the moonlight hitting the solid blackness within those eyes, the woman would have looked completely blind.
With the machete raised high, and her breath suitably recovered – well, at least enough for one more battle – she charged, hoping that the creature would go down easy.
It did.
It took two swipes of the blade; the first merely scalped the creature, which could have ended very badly but luckily didn't. The second whoosh of the machete severed the head at the nose, which was more than enough to finish the creature off. As the top of its head landed at its feet, a volcano of darkness shot skywards, glistening in the moonlight, before making its way back down. The body crumpled, twitched for a few seconds, and then stopped.
She checked around, making sure that there were no more of them. The coast looked clear, which was good because she felt apt to collapse if she didn't make it to the house in time.
As she stealthily headed for the house across the field, she tried to remember what life had been like before the virus destroyed mankind.
She couldn't remember.
It was as if life had always been this way, and would continue to be be so until the end of time.
At least she would sleep tonight.
EIGHT
Shane pulled the Snatch forward and drove it around the back of the barracks where they were less likely to be stopped by the night-time sentries. There were only two sentries, such was the dismal headcount of Infantrymen, but they were likely to question why a group of survivors were taking the only decent vehicle they had off the grounds, especially in the middle of the night. Technically, it was almost six, but it was still dark, apart from the ever-increasing layer of snow on the ground.
He drove carefully, making sure that the brakes didn't lock up and send them aquaplaning across the drill-square.
'Who taught you how to drive?' Marla said from the back. 'Miss Daisy?'
Shane glanced across his shoulder to find that she was right up against the cage; a beautiful, perfect face despite the terrors she had witnessed.
'You forget,' Shane said, taking the Jeep over a set of double speed-bumps. 'I've only recently got out of prison. To be fair, I wasn't the greatest driver in the world before I went in.'
Terry laughed, noting the playful tone in Shane's voice. Jared, on the other hand, grabbed onto a leather strap hanging from the roof in the back. He looked more nervous than he ever had before. He had opted for the back, with Marla, not because it was safer – it was, marginally – but because he didn't really want to get involved should they encounter trouble along the way. If he had taken the passenger-seat up front, and a horde of fucking undead decided to amble into the middle of the road, who do you think would have to get out and help take care of them? He knew very well who, so without seeming like the weakest member of the group, he had nominated Terry to ride up front and cited the elder man's wisdom and experience as the reason why.
It had worked, and he hadn't come off sounding like a complete pussy.
They drifted past the military accommodation, house that looked dreary and nondescript. Any of the survivors could have taken up residence in one of these buildings, but they had opted to remain as a group in the main body of the barracks. Cabin-fever would be bad enough without the added loneliness of separating from the other survivors. There was, of course, the chance of becoming alienated, too; disengaging from the others would maybe cause disaffection, which was not what anyone wanted since they had no idea how long they would be cooped up there.
The snow was falling heavy, coating everything in sight. There must have been a brisk wind, too, since the snow rotated and span in tight circles, like mini-tornadoes.
Up ahead Shane could see the gate; Terry had to squint to make it out, as his eyesight was not as good as it had once been.
'Are there any of them out there?' Marla asked, edging closer to the grate that separated the up-front riders from her and Jared. 'Can you even see?'
Shane could see the gate, but beyond that there was nothing, at least nothing visible through the thickening snow.
'I don't think so,' Terry said. In truth, there could have been a fucking horde the size of Kentucky on the other side of the gate; he just couldn't see them. Glasses, should they become available at any point over the next few days, were a definite.
Shane allowed the Jeep to roll the final twenty feet towards the gate, just in case there were lurkers within earshot. The snow crunched beneath the tyres, though, which he was almost certain they would have heard.
He stopped the Snatch and applied the handbrake.
Somebody had to get out and open the gate, and he knew that Jared would be the last to volunteer. It was pointless asking.
He pulled the handle on his door and stepped out into the freezing night.
Or was it morning yet? It was unclear, since the darkness hadn't altered much or begun to make way for dawn.
'Be careful,' Shane heard Marla say from the back of the Jeep. He almost replied with something sarcastic, but chose not to. It was hardly the time for a smart mouth, and he was too busy using his tongue to prevent his teeth from chattering together.
The gate itself was, as expected for a military facility, pretty sturdy. Shane knew that it was chained, several times, to stop the hordes from breaking through. There had been an electrical lock on the gate when they arrived at the barracks, but not anymore. The generators were starting to struggle, and they had voted against the pointless extravagance of an electric lock on the main entrance in favour of three huge fucking chains and padlocks. It made sense, technically, since the lurkers were just as stuck on the outside either way. Three lengths of chain did the same job as a few wires and a helluva lot of power.
Shane grabbed the bolt-cutters from the footwell and headed towards the gate. He could feel eyes upon him, and knew that if he was to turn round at that moment in time there would be three people staring back, intensely, from the Jeep. It made him a little uncomfortable, but he also felt a lot safer than if they hadn't been there.
There was a clunk from behind. Shane turned to find Terry Lewis stepping out of the Jeep. He was carrying a bag; Shane had almost forgotten the new padlocks.
'Might as well come and help,' Terry whispered, jogging slowly towards Shane. 'Fuck me it's cold.'
Shane smiled. 'I think my nuts are actually frozen together.'
'Well,' Terry grinned, still whispering. 'If they get any worse, at least we've got the bolt-cutters.'
They both made faces that suggested pain, although Shane actually felt a pang in his nether-regions, as if they had been listening in on the conversation and decided to make their thoughts known.
They set to work. Shane snipped the first chain while Terry kept a look out on both sides of the gate.
'Seems like we're always trying to break out of somewhere,' Terry said, bouncing up and down in an attempt to generate some body-heat.
'It seems that way,' Shane added. 'Only this time we know what we're doing.' Or we hope we do, he thought but didn't say.
With the three chains cut, he pulled them out and lowered them to the ground. The snow was so deep now – already – that the links vanished entirely, leaving only the holes
in the snow as proof that they even existed.
Terry was about to pull the gate open when Shane whispered his name.
'Not yet,' he said. 'Go, get in the Jeep. I'll pull the gate, but when I do I need you driving through it. If there are any lurkers in the vicinity, we need to give them as little chance as possible of getting through. There are still people here, good people, and the last thing we wanna do is leave them at the mercy of a fucking horde.'
Terry nodded, placed the bag of padlocks down in the snow, before making towards the Jeep.
Shane could see both ways up the road, and there was nothing to report, unless you counted a crow as a possible threat. It hopped around on a wooden post across the way before taking to the skies, and Shane didn't know whether to take the sighting as pure coincidence or a bad omen.
Or neither.
Terry edged the Jeep forward; Shane could hear Marla's voice, but none of her words. He guessed she was giving Terry instructions, and could imagine Terry telling her to shut the fuck up as there was nothing worse than a back-seat driver.
Shane took one deep breath and pulled the gate inwards. It was heavier than it looked, but the two inches of snow beneath it probably added to the resistance somewhat.
Still, he pulled fast, knowing that time was of the essence and the sooner he was back in the Snatch – safe – the better.
He waved towards Terry, signalling that the gate was wide enough to get the Jeep through. Terry drove forward slowly, offering Shane a thumbs up as he passed. Marla was still rambling on about something, but the wind and snow whipping Shane's ears prevented him from hearing.
With the Snatch safely through and at a stop on the other side, Shane grabbed the chains and almost pulled his back out shutting the gate. He slipped the first chain through and padlocked it; then the second.
He had the third length of chain in his hand when Terry yelled from the window.