by Adam Millard
Kelly ran her fingers through Jezebel's hair and stepped towards the breathless old lady leaning up against the wall.
'Are you okay, now?' Kelly asked.
Maggie stared towards the little girl with confusion, and then at her mother. By the time she went back to Kelly, she seemed to have put two and two together.
'That sonofabitch tried to choke me!' she gasped as she spotted the motionless figure of Colburn in the middle of the corridor. 'Murder me...tried to...I...'
'Just take it easy,' Susie said, beckoning Kelly just a little closer, a little farther away from the unconscious psychotic soldier on the floor. 'Everything's going to be okay.'
'Do you really believe that?' Maggie Cox said, rubbing at the redness around her throat.
Susie Bloom, for once in her life, didn't have an answer.
*
She ate biscuits for dinner, washed down with some form of appleade. It was possibly the best meal she had ever had – at least it felt like it. After about an hour of touring the museum – it was amazing; she never knew history could be so enchanting – she made her way back to the dinosaur room, the place where she had left her backpack. Her machete, though, that went with her everywhere. She was safe, for now, but that didn't make her stupid. If there was one thing she had learnt since the outbreak, it was that lackadaisical was simply another word for “lunch”.
The wind howled outside, which unnerved her a little. At first she thought it was the creatures; they had a tendency to call to each other in a strange moaning vernacular. Once the hackles disappeared from the nape of her neck, she gave herself a stern talking to. It felt good to speak; she had almost forgotten the sound of her own voice, and as the first words escaped her lips she thought the voice belonged to somebody else.
Somebody much older.
The dinosaur-room was warm, and lit only by a chandelier that could be altered via a dimmer-switch on the east wall. She purposely kept it low; there was very little sense in advertising her presence to all and sundry. She was far enough from the main road not to draw any unwanted attention, but again that didn't warrant complacency on her part.
With her stomach still full from the combination of chocolate biscuits and fizzy soda, she settled down with a pamphlet that she had procured.
As she delved into the history behind The Black Death, she couldn't help but feel that something was about to happen.
Something abhorrently bad.
If she'd known then, as she sat with a tattered manual in her lap and an aching tummy, just how terrible, she would have moved a lot quicker. As it was, she had very little time to do anything about the impending horrors.
The wind kicked up a notch outside. For a moment, the windows clattered so violently in their frames that she thought they were going to implode, showering down shards of glass and letting all of that terrible snow into her warm domain.
Howling wind was one thing, but she was certain that there was something moaning alongside it.
And she was right, as a few seconds later she heard it again; a deep, guttural groan that could only mean one thing.
She launched to her feet, half-digested biscuit threatened to fill her throat, but she managed to keep it down. Panicking, she reached around to her back, to where the machete was strapped. She released it and began to swing it through the air – whoosh...whoosh – like a pro-baseball player awaiting the ball that would either be a home-run or strike three.
The moan came again, and it was close. In the corridor, perhaps. Just outside the door.
She knew she was fucked. Glancing around the room, here eyes darting each and every way, she tried to find somewhere to hide.
If there was one of them, she would have been able to take it. Of that she was certain. The trouble was, they didn't travel alone. If there was one, there was bound to be another, maybe a whole horde of them. The chances of her making it out of the dinosaur-room alive would be next to nothing if the numbers were too high.
It was something she didn't dare thinking about.
She raced across the room, almost tripping over a faux sabre-tooth tiger rug.
The creature moaned again, and this time something replied. A female...another creature, which already depleted her chances of survival.
There was a door, one of those that you need to push a long, silver bar in order to get through. Printed on it in red lettering were the words STAFF ONLY – KEEP OUT.
In a way, she was the only staff left in the place; she had maintained it for long enough to consider herself a fully-fledged employee.
She pushed the bar and slipped into the darkness. It was a store-cupboard, or something of that ilk. She felt long sticks behind her, poking at her like skeletal fingers. These, of course, were mops and brooms and other cleaning implements that she had no knowledge of. She kicked something and heard the sound of water sloshing around. Whoever had mopped last had forgotten to empty the old water out of the bucket.
I might have to drink that, she thought, and then banished it from her mind as it didn't bear thinking about.
As she pulled the door shut – click – she heard the main door to the dinosaur-room fling open, followed by the hellish conversation of at least two creatures.
She closed her eyes; tried to put herself somewhere else – anywhere else – but it was difficult to drift into her happy place with those things only a few feet away, destroying the little bit of happiness that she had recently found in the museum.
Was this really happening?
She wasn't sure. It felt like a dream, like one of those really bad nightmares she had suffered a few months before the virus took everybody that she cared about.
But it was real; of course it was. Life, reality, was one big nightmare now. There was nothing distinguishable between bad dreams and waking hours, not anymore.
She dry-swallowed, felt the soda bubble up in her stomach, and hoped that she had the strength to keep it down.
What made everything worse was the fact she couldn't see them. The door was solid, with not even a keyhole. She could hear them just fine – oh, boy, could she hear them – but the not knowing where they were put her somewhere between terrified and out-and-out disturbed.
The female one – she assumed, since she hadn't seen it – cried out before there was an almighty crash. She hoped that the creature had somehow severed its own head, perhaps accidentally impaled itself on one of the wooden spears mounted on the west wall. Then she heard it moan again; a false-alarm with no good news to follow. How absolutely typical.
She lowered herself into the corner, mindful of the mop-bucket at her feet, and prayed that they couldn't smell her through the thick, wooden door.
Maybe they'll go away, she thought, and then added “wishful thinking” as an aside.
They wouldn't just go away.
They never did.
She suddenly felt more alone than ever before.
EIGHTEEN
'I think there's something up ahead,' Kyle said, dropping the chopper down a hundred feet. If the snow worsened in the next half hour he would have to say something to the prick in the back; it was something that he didn't look forward to with relish.
Victor Lord appeared in the cockpit, or at least his face did. 'What the hell is that?'
'Well,' Kyle said, hoping that sarcasm was not going to be the main reason for taking a bullet to the back of the head. 'I would say that used to be a gas-station.'
'Son, I don't doubt the fact that you're a good pilot, but keep up with that smart-ass tongue of yours and I'll make sure you fly out of here without a parachute.'
Kyle winced, expecting to feel the barrel of a gun against the back of his head. It never came, which he was thankful for.
'Well, I'll be damned,' Victor said, straining his eyes to see better through the combination of snow, fog and smoke. 'They're still a-fucking-live down there.'
He was right. Lurkers were wandering around, despite the flames licking around their bodies. There were bo
dies scattered haphazardly across the snow, smoking, burning, the carcasses of the creatures whose brains had finally succumbed to the fire engulfing the hosts.
'Looks like our Jeep went that way,' Victor said, pointing down to the track in the snow. 'And left one fuck of a mess in its wake.'
Kyle felt something like pride in that moment; pure, unadulterated admiration for the group who had caused such wonderful carnage.
'Do you think we can catch them up?' Victor asked, although it wasn't so much a question as a disguised order.
'I think that we will eventually,' Kyle said, knowing that he would do everything in his power to drag the whirly-bird's ass as slowly as possible towards their target. 'We don't know how long ago this happened. All we do know is that they're heading for Jackson. One way or the other we'll get to them.' He spoke the words, but knew that they were pointless; he would make sure that Shane and the others were unharmed.
Even if that meant bringing the bird down.
'Just keep on going,' Victor said. 'I want that fucking Jeep before sundown.'
'Captain, I need to speak with you about this weather,' Kyle said, hoping to buy a few more moments. 'You do know that if it continues like this for much longer, we're gonna have to set her down. It's too dangerous, and I ain't one for heroics.'
'We keep going,' Victor said, chomping down on his unlit cigar. 'Until I say when.'
'You're in charge,' Kyle said, returning to the previous altitude. 'But don't say I didn't tell you so when she decides to shut down in mid-air.'
The nerves in the cockpit were palpable, although Victor didn't speak for almost another minute. Either he was in deep thought, or he hadn't heard correctly.
'Keep going,' Victor finally said. 'And keep your threats to yourself. Nobody ever heard of a helicopter being brought down by a bit of fucking snow.'
'Not just a bit,' Kyle muttered. When Victor asked him to repeat himself, he said, 'You're the boss.'
Victor returned to the cabin shaking his head. A seed of doubt, no matter how little, had been planted in the captain's head.
A seed that might just save the lives of the people they were pursuing.
*
'Is anybody else hungry?' Marla asked. Her stomach rumbled even as she spoke. 'I was too busy thinking about weapons to consider food.'
'There are some snacks in my pack,' Terry said, jabbing a thumb in the air. 'You can have anything you like, just don't touch the barbecue Pringles.'
Marla tutted and reached for the pack. 'Where the hell did you get Pringles from?'
'A few weeks ago, when I went out with that soldier, Moon. I wish I'd got more of them, now.'
She unzipped the pack and fumbled around inside. Amongst other things, she found a packet of Lifesavers, a box of milk-duds and several packets of mints. She wondered whether these had been considered essentials, or whether Terry had simply grabbed what he could while he had the chance.
It didn't matter. Her stomach was cartwheeling inside her; she was just grateful that at least one of them had the foresight to pack a few things.
She opened a Reese's Nutrageous bar and bit into it, taking most of it with her first bite. It tasted good, and gave her a head-rush as she swallowed that she hadn't anticipated.
She offered Jared the other half, but he declined silently. She shrugged. 'Suit yourself.' The other half tasted just as good as the first, and she smacked her lips in what could only be described as an uncouth manner.
She stared out the back of the Jeep as the snow-blanketed land passed beneath them. There was something comforting about the snow, and yet she shivered as she watched it drift to the ground. It was neverending, and there was no sign of it relenting. She became hypnotized by the tyre-tracks they left on the road, and found herself drifting off towards sleep, although not quite.
It would have been nice, to sleep – perchance to dream.
She wasn't sure how many hours remained of daylight. Whatever, it wouldn't be enough. After dark those things seemed to become more prevalent. They were far from nocturnal, but the darkness seemed to offer them some sort of sanctuary.
As if they felt safer after sundown.
The last thing she wanted was to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere once the night arrived. What if the snow continued to fall this thickly? What if they beached, or skidded off the road? They would be left at the mercy of the night, and that thought was the kind of thing that prevented her from closing her eyes.
Jared was humming, something melancholic. He was, surprisingly, quite tuneful. Sure, he was never going to win one of those TV talent shows, but then again, nobody else was either, not anymore.
Apart from Jared's haunting rendition of something she didn't recognise, everything was silent. It was nice, peaceful, and she felt every muscle in her body relax as if she had been put in a trance.
And then, everything went wrong.
Up front, there were shouts. Terry screaming something – it all happened so fast.
She turned to find Jared, bug-eyed, trying to figure out what was happening; what was about to happen. They felt the Jeep slip to the side, and then the other, and then Marla watched out the back as the sky became ground, and then sky and then ground.
They were like ragdolls being tossed around inside a spin-dryer. Metal being torn apart, which was nowhere near as comforting as Jared's soulful humming just a few seconds ago, and then an almighty thunk! The right-hand side of the Snatch shrunk to about half its original size; jagged metal and broken glass now filled the space where there had been nothing but a moment before.
She hit the side, then the roof, then Jared – who was crying something incomprehensible – and that was about all she remembered. End of the show, goodnight and thank you for coming, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out...
When the spin-cycle came to an abrupt end, she was already standing alone in the darkness, surrounded by nothingness, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
*
Pulling, tugging, her legs and then then her ass. Hands everywhere, trying to get at her, trying to...to...lurkers! She kicked out, high and wide, although something cried out as she made contact with a shoulder, or a cheek. She screeched, but the pain in her head was too much to bear. The hands grabbed at her, at least four of them, pulling her, trying to drag her forward. Any second now, she thought, and there would be pain as teeth sunk into her flesh, and then it would be too late, end of the road for this poor cow.
She kicked once more, the pain in her leg – which she would later discover to be just a mild sprain, nothing more – was not going to prevent her from doing everything in her power to stay on the right side of death. She couldn't see properly, but she knew she was still in the Snatch, or most of her was. Blood filled her eyes, and sweat, and probably tears. She was burning up, despite the fact that it must have been below freezing and then some outside the vehicle.
The hands held her feet down, trying to keep her from kicking out, and then a voice said, 'Marla, it's okay. Marla, please...'
She recognised it, the dulcet tones of a man who she trusted. It was Shane's voice, which meant that it was Shane's hands trying to restrain her, which meant that it had been Shane's shoulder/arm/head that she had connected with when she had kicked out.
She blinked the blood away from her eyes and began to breathe.
It hurt; fuck did it hurt. She didn't know how badly injured she was, not then, but the pain made it quite obvious that her insides were not where they used to be, probably smeared all over the Jeep like strange, theatrical décor – the kind you were apt to see in a French cinema.
'Everything's going to be okay,' Terry's voice calmly informed her. 'You just need to breathe.'
Well, thanks for that useful nugget of gen, she thought. I almost forgot about that little known survival technique known as “breathing”.
'Can you move?' Shane asked. 'If you can move I want you to try to wriggle forward.'
'I...I think I can,' M
arla replied, and was surprised that she actually could. Plus, Shane wouldn't have been asking her to try moving if her innards were scattered all over the Jeep, so that was a bonus, too.
She fought through the pins and needles and managed to slide a few feet down, aided by hands that were obviously a little nervous about where to touch. I'm a girl, she thought, not a fucking Ming vase.
Her vision was coming back, and a few more blinks would be enough to allow her to see, albeit through pink-tinted lenses.
'What happened?' she asked, pushing herself up onto her haunches and hoping that the click her back made was nothing too serious. 'I don't remember...'
'Bright-eyes here decided to swerve for a deer,' Terry said. He was dusting down the leather cover of his bible. God forbid anything should happen to that.
'I didn't see it until it was too late,' Shane said, not taking the bait. 'I didn't have much of a choice. My reflexes took over.'
Jared, who was sitting in the snow looking as glum as ever, said, 'Well, we are truly fucked, now.'
Terry sighed. 'This is not the time, nor the place for amateur-dramatics,' he said, shoving the bible into his jacket and zipping it back up. He still had the cheery disposition of an uncle at Christmastime. 'Besides, we have more things to worry about than the hordes of undead after our tasty asses.' He pointed to the sky. 'We're more than likely gonna freeze to death if we don't find somewhere to bed down for the night.'
Shane, suddenly all ears, snapped into life. 'We don't have time to sleep,' he said. 'My wife and daughter, remember?'
Marla stretched, as if she had just been roused from a rather enjoyable catnap. 'Terry's right,' she said, pulling her hood up and stepping cautiously out of the wreckage. Terry helped her forward, unsure if she was just going to buckle beneath her own weight. He seemed relieved when she didn't. 'We're still...how many miles?'