by Adam Millard
'Take her!' Maggie Cox screamed to Susie, who was standing with a look of extreme puzzlement painted on her face. Kelly couldn't see past the tent, but she knew that something very bad was happening, something that made her heart leap up into her throat and tears stream down her face.
Susie grabbed onto her daughter's hand and yanked her in, cloaking her as if she was a precious book that needed protection from a downpour.
'Where?' Susie cried, trying to comprehend the unfolding madness.
Maggie pushed her away, as if that was enough of an incentive. 'I don't know,' she gasped. 'Just try to get her somewhere safe. This is bad...so fucking bad.'
For once, Susie didn't feel the need to reproach the old woman. It was fucking bad, and she didn't mind her daughter hearing it.
'What about you?' Susie said, never once taking her eyes from the carnage.
'I'm too old,' Maggie said, with a hint of indifference. 'Even if I could run, I'd be nothing but a hindrance. Now, go, get out, get anywhere but here.'
Susie plucked her daughter up – God, she was heavy – and moved away from the tent. She counted eight lurkers, but there would be more soon. If the ones on the ground, the survivors who had been alive a moment ago, were not beyond reanimation, then they would add to the numbers.
Susie rushed for the side of the room. The main bulk of the survivors were in the centre, some still emerging from their tents to see what all of the fuss was about. One man had barely popped his head out before a lurker bit into the top of it; it made the sound of a ripe apple being bitten into before blood dripped down into the man's eyes, blinding him from the monstrous events. As his scalp came away, his mouth lolled open, the part of the brain that controlled motor-functions had been torn away by the lurker's savage teeth.
Susie looked away. In her arms, she felt Kelly sobbing. Despite everything that was happening around her, it was the rhythmic cries of her daughter that hurt the most. Everything was helpless; even Kelly Bloom could sense it buried deep in her mother's arms.
Susie could see the doors, the only way out. How could they have been so stupid? They had been living in a prison of their own, not realising that if the worst happened – and now it had – they would be trapped.
Six of the lurkers were busy feeding, tearing chunks out of screaming people, but two of them remained on their feet as if they were unsure of what to do next.
The trouble was: they were standing between Susie Bloom and the door. As soon as she stepped away from the wall she would become a helluva lot more enticing to them; for the moment, they hadn't even seen her slipping along, but they would...
She was at a loss; everything was going to end – how had Maggie Cox put it? - so fucking bad!
'Come and get me, you filthy motherfuckers!' somebody screamed. 'I hope you choke on my arthritis.'
Susie turned to see Maggie standing in full view of the confused lurkers. She was at full-stretch, her arms in the air. Shit, she might have even mustered up the strength to get onto her tiptoes.
The two lurkers didn't need a second invite and rushed forward as fast as they could, snarling, snapping at the air like rabid dogs at a barbecue.
'That's right!' Maggie screeched. 'If the bones don't choke you, then the morphine will.'
Susie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. The old lady went down beneath the creatures, but she seemed unperturbed, confident even. It was insanity...
Susie turned away just as Maggie began to scream. She lunged for the door, out into the corridor, through an adjoining room, anywhere but there.
The old lady's screams stopped after awhile, but the images would forever be tattooed on Susie Bloom's brain.
What if there were more of them, other lurkers that had yet to discover the screeching buffet camped out in the main hall? The thought made the hackles rise on the back of Susie's neck as she headed for the only secure place she knew of.
She pushed the door open and almost spilled into the room. Kelly shifted position against her, but there was no chance of her taking a peek at what was happening or where they were.
Susie kicked aside a bucket of gas-masks and lowered her daughter into the corner. Kelly panicked as she realised her mother was about to let go of her.
'It's okay, shhhh shhhh,' Susie said, trying to regulate her breathing. She flicked on her torch – a tiny pink Mag-lite that she never thought she would use, and said, 'We'll be safe in here; you just need to promise Mommy that you'll be quiet.' As she spoke, she struggled with a box heavy with ammunition cases. She pulled it across, blocking the door on the inside. Since the door opened inwards, there was no chance of the lurkers getting in.
And no chance of them getting out, either. It was a trivial afterthought, something that Susie Bloom would figure out once she had regained her bearings.
'I promise, Mommy,' Kelly whispered, sobbing helplessly and trying to stifle herself on the already sodden sleeve at the end of her arm. 'Are we going to be eaten?'
Susie shone the torch on her own face so that her daughter could see that she was telling the truth when she replied. 'Don't you ever think that,' she said. 'We're in the safest place we can be right now. We just need to be extra quiet and hope they go away.'
The meek, trembling voice in the darkness said, 'The old woman's dead, isn't she? I heard her dying.'
Susie sighed, a tear rolled down her own cheek. 'She died saving us. That woman was an angel in disguise.'
When Susie turned the torch on her daughter, she saw a smile appear at the corner of her lips. 'She really was,' she said. 'But she smoked too much.'
Susie lowered herself to the ground; it was a tight fit in the stockroom, so tiny that any sleeping would have to be done sitting.
Still, sleep would be seldom, so it didn't really matter.
'Try to get some rest, baby,' Susie said, pulling her daughter in. She placed hands over Kelly's ears so that she couldn't hear the screaming from down the corridor.
She wished she had more hands, for the torture continued for an eternity, and she heard every single second of it.
TWENTY-FOUR
She listened closely, hoping that her assumptions were correct; it had been quiet for almost ten minutes, now, or at least the ten minutes she had counted in her head. Her stomach ached from consuming so much junk, and she really needed to go to the toilet. She knew if it came to it she would just go, right there, sat on the floor of the store-cupboard; she would have no choice. She didn't want to risk moving, and she especially didn't want to do anything that involved removing clothes. It was warm, but in such a confined space she was apt to clatter something in the darkness.
But she hadn't pissed herself for years, and now she would have to do it on purpose, something that you could never mentally prepare yourself for.
Listening for movement on the other side of the door, she knew that she couldn't spend forever hiding from them. She had her machete, she just needed to catch them when they least expected it.
They're dead, she thought. If ever there's a time to catch somebody off guard it's after they've died.
The problem she had, though, was numbers. She had no idea how many zombies were shambling around the museum. Ten she could deal with, but if there were twenty, thirty, a hundred, it didn't bode well. What good is a machete if you ain't got room to swing it?
She felt the first warm drops of urine coat her pants, and realised that she had had very little choice on the matter; when you've got to go, apparently, you've got to go.
She just hoped that they couldn't smell her through the door. Not only was it embarrassing, but it could leave her with a serious case of Death.
She cringed as the piss dripped from her. This was the thing, the straw that broke the camel's back.
She would give it another few hours and then she was out of there.
If there were thirty of them, then they had better watch out.
Hell hath no fury like a woman covered in her own piss.
*
Terry woke to find Marla and Shane sleeping across the other side of the room. They were interlocked, the way lifelong lovers might sleep, but there was nothing there but innocence. The room was cold, and body-heat was all they had to work with. If Terry had known how cold it was going to get, he would have joined in.
A threeway cuddle.
He left them where they lay. Sleep was hard enough to come by, and by God they deserved a few hours.
He was surprised that he had managed to get any at all. He had seen some of the most horrific things imaginable that day, enough to drive a man to insanity, and yet he had slept. He felt a momentary pang of guilt as he turned to see the covered cadavers in the room. They had at least moved Jared away from the lurkers; it was the least they could do. He didn't deserve to lie with them, stacked up like something from the aftermath of the Black Death. He had been a true friend, a good cellmate, and despite the fact that he had been weak and vulnerable in life, he had died a hero.
Terry couldn't stand still; he needed to take a walk. He knew, however, that leaving the group was something that he would never usually contemplate. He had seen enough mistakes made since the outbreak, and he was loath to follow suit.
He picked up the shotgun from the corner and headed out through the door, quietly closing it behind him.
The silence that filled the school was eerie, but not unwelcome. It meant that he was safe, for now. Providing he didn't open any shut doors without being prepared first – God Bless you, Jared – he knew he would be just fine.
He ambled silently down the corridor, the Remington ready and willing to do any work needed. He reached a T and decided to take a left. There was no rhyme or reason for it; it just felt right.
There must have been some sort of school-play at around the time of the outbreak; there were posters everywhere, beautifully drawn pictures of elves and a massive green castle. It took Terry a while to realise that they weren't elves at all, but munchkins. The play had been A Wizard Of Oz, and should have been performed on the 28th October 2011, about a week after all hell broke loose in Jackson State Penitentiary.
The play that never happened, Terry thought. Poor kids didn't even get a chance for one final dress-up. Proud parents would have been eagerly waiting for their offspring's fabulous portrayal of a munchkin or a flying monkey, only to find that the final-act had already played.
Terry pushed on, ignoring the remaining posters with everything he had. The last thing he needed right now was more misery, and thinking about those poor kids – even the ones that had chewed up Jared so damned good – was intolerable.
He pushed open the door at the end of the hall to find that it was still snowing. He was staring into the night, which meant that he had located the back-entrance to the building. Good job, too, since it had been left wide open. Any number of lurkers could have crawled through it before now; he was just grateful that they hadn't.
The snow had eased somewhat, but it was still sticking, piling on top of what was already there. Tomorrow would be a nightmare. They still had forty miles to cover.
Terry stepped out onto the snow, which crunched beneath his feet like a sea of crabs. He took another step, and then another, and then he saw something that suddenly changed his mood for the better.
A school-bus.
Big, yellow, reliable, wheels bigger than the Snatch; Terry wasn't sure if it was real, or if he was still dreaming.
He walked around the bus, checking it for punctures or damage that would render it useless. Satisfied, he stepped back and gave it a cursory glance. It was a godsend, an actual sign from the Lord that they would reach Jackson the next day.
Terry smiled.
Not everything was shitty.
'Move, old man, and I'll make sure you chew this bullet before you swallow it,' a voice said.
Terry lowered the shotgun to his side and slowly raised his hands.
He stared to the heavens. First you giveth, then you taketh away.
Mysterious ways didn't even begin to cover it.
*
Victor Lord couldn't believe their luck. What were the chances of finding them so easily? Though, a lot of that had to be accredited to the inquisitive ex-con who had decided to go for a middle of the night stroll.
'So, you thought you'd go in search of that prick's family, did you? You stole my property, and the crashed it in the process. Do you have any idea what you've done?'
Terry shook his head. 'We were only gonna be gone for a few days,' he said. The snow was falling thick and fast, now. He stared towards the school-bus and began to wonder whether it would have been much use, after all. 'It was a deer,' he said. 'Fucking thing came out of nowhere.'
Moon winced at the mention of the animal. It must have been the very same deer that had torn Randall's head from the rest of him and proceeded to race through the snow with it dangling from its maw.
'I don't give a fuck whether it was aliens,' Victor snapped. 'That vehicle was worth more than all of you idiots put together, and it sure as hell was worth more than some fucking woman and kid who're probably already turned.'
Terry didn't have a response; in fact, even if he had, it was too cold to venture into details. He was biting his bottom lip to stop his teeth from chattering, and it was all he could do just to stay on his freezing cold feet. The Captain and his minion, on the other hand, were well prepared for the weather; their long padded coats were doing a bang-up job of protecting them from the elements, and they were wearing gloves thicker than the jacket that Terry wore.
'Well, it was a mistake,' Terry finally managed. He was about to lower his hands when he felt the cold barrel of a rifle press against his ear. 'Look, I don't know what else to say. We thought we would be able to pick up some supplies while we were out here, you know, medicine and food. If we'd have known how much shit it was gonna cause―'
'You have no idea what shit you've caused,' Victor sneered from the side, which meant the hulking idiot, David Moon, was the possessor of the rifle. It didn't make Terry feel any easier, and all of a sudden he developed the need to use the toilet.
'So what now?' Terry asked, hopping from one foot to the other; the snow crunched beneath his boots, but the cold was somehow soaking through his socks, which made him dance on the spot more than he would have liked, considering the circumstances. Terry was expecting the Captain to curse, show his disapproval at such an idiotic rescue-attempt, grab Shane and Marla, and head on back to the helicopter, which must be somewhere near; Victor rarely went anywhere without it.
'Take me to them,' Victor said. He was moving around, though Terry still hadn't seen his face since they'd appeared out of nowhere. 'I need to have a few words with that prick, Shane, before I put an end to all of you.'
Terry thought he misheard in the first instance. Of course he misheard; a death-threat – promise? - from the Captain was obscene, wasn't it?
'Excuse me?' Terry said, beginning to lower his arms once again. When the frosty rifle-barrel brushed the back of his head, he lifted them wearily back up.
'You heard him,' Moon said, poking him just behind the ear with the tubular-steel of the rifle. 'Now, I think you should get moving. This trigger freezes up, you never know what might happen.'
The school-bus had suddenly become nothing more than a pipe-dream, now. An oasis, about to vanish for the last time.
Terry could hardly breathe; the realisation that death was only minutes away could do that to a man, and the irony was not lost on him.
He pointed towards the open door which led into the school. 'We decided to hanker down for the night,' he said. 'Didn't see much point in trying to carry on in this shit.' He gestured half-heartedly towards the sky. 'I only just found this here bus, otherwise I'm sure Shane would have carried on through the night.'
'Well,' Victor said, appearing from the shadows. 'Ain't we lucky that you didn't bother to check out back like you prob'ly should have done? We never would've caught up with you.'
Terry pondered the fact
, and found the desire to kick himself, hard. The Captain was right, though; they should have checked. However, it was difficult to raise enough morale – and bravery – when you had just seen one of your friends die at the hands of kids still young enough to piss the bed. Terry didn't feel the need to mention that little episode, though. Why give Victor Lord any more ammunition than he already had.
Which was apparently lots.
'In,' Victor said, his coat rustled as he raised his arm and pointed towards the door. 'Take us to them.'
Terry nodded morosely. He would take Victor to them, and then what? He heard what had been said, and since glossed over. They would die, perhaps where they lay intertwined. Terry would be next, his conscience dirtier than a meth-dealer's. Was that how it was going to pan out? Was that how the Lord had decided Terry Lewis's fate?
Terry began to crunch through the snow, slowly making his way for the open door that ultimately led to his final resting-place.
'And don't try anything,' Victor added. 'Or you'll suffer more than you need to.'
Thanks, Terry thought. You're the best executor I could have wished for.
The three men entered the school; Victor remained at the rear and pulled the door shut behind them. Why let any unnecessary cold in, especially since they would all be spending what remained of the night there. Some, admittedly, would be breathing a lot less than others, but still...
'It's just down this way,' Terry said jabbing a conspiratorial finger towards the corridor that lay ahead. 'I don't suppose it'll do any of us any favours if I decide to beg?'
Moon laughed; Victor didn't.
'Do you honestly think that you can talk your way out of this?' the Captain asked. For such a short sentence, he made sure to emphasise every word so that it lasted for what seemed like an eternity. 'You made your bed, shit in it, and that's where you'll sleep.'