The Dead

by Charlie Higson

  ‘You weren’t there in Rowhurst,’ Ed pleaded. ‘You don’t know what it was like …’

  But Jack was already walking over to the alleyway.

  Ed called after him, ‘Jack!’

  The others could do nothing but follow. The alley was just wide enough to fit the width of the lorry that was about ten metres down. It sat there in the darkness, a solid, menacing shape, blocking the way like some great beast in a lair ready to dash out and catch its prey. Before he was halfway there Jack wished he hadn’t been so hasty. Ed was right – it would be too easy to get trapped in the narrow space. Then he heard his friends behind him and it gave him the confidence to carry on.

  The lorry had a streamlined hood on the top of the square blunt cab that clearly said Tesco and there was a manufacturer’s logo in the middle of the black radiator grille – ‘MAN’. Jack smiled to himself. It was like a sign. It’d be funny if there actually was a man sitting there inside the cab like a neatly labelled exhibit, but it was too dark to see.

  The lorry was jammed in, making it impossible to open the doors. The radiator grille, however, was made up of three bars, like the rungs of a ladder. Well, that was an invitation if ever Jack’d seen one. He reached for the wipers to get a grip and hoiked himself up.

  There was a man sitting there, in the driver’s seat, and Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

  He was dead, his skin bloated and puffy, covered with a layer of white mould that gave it a soft, fluffy look. His eyes were sunk into his swollen face like two little black holes. He reminded Jack of something.

  A snowman.

  It was quite uncanny. The resemblance was made even stronger by the fact that the driver had a vivid red nose, lumpy and crusted with blisters like a carrot that had been left too long in the bottom of the fridge.

  Hell, he was even wearing a little hat and a scarf.

  Now Jack started laughing and had to let go and jump back down.

  ‘What is it?’ said Bam, the first to join him by the lorry.

  ‘Look in there,’ said Jack, snorting with laughter. ‘There’s a bloody snowman!’

  Bam climbed up and a moment later he was standing next to Jack, doubled over and barking.

  ‘You are sick,’ he managed to gasp between laughs.

  ‘Is that, like, a dead body in there?’ said Courtney, too squeamish to look.

  ‘Sure is,’ said Bam. ‘As dead as they come.’

  ‘Well, let’s get out of here then. That’s creepy.’

  ‘We need the lorry, Courtney,’ said Jack.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘What do you think? Can’t you read?’

  ‘Yeah, I can read.’

  ‘And what does that say?’

  ‘Tesco.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s a Tesco delivery lorry. It could be full of food.’

  Courtney stared at the cab and wrinkled her nose. ‘Yeah, well,’ she said. ‘I can’t see him driving it very far.’

  ‘I’m gonna check out the back,’ said Jack, and, using the bumper, the grille and the wing mirrors he scrambled up on to the roof of the cab. Behind the cab was what looked like a long blue container. He climbed over the sloping hood and hopped up on to it. It was made of thin metal that banged and clanged beneath his feet as he made his way to the rear.

  His heart was pounding, as much with hope as with fear. If the container was intact, it might be filled with food. A very valuable load. Why else would the snowman have driven in here if not to escape looters, or hijackers? He’d probably been on his way to Tesco and had come down here to hide, and then tried to sit it out. He could have starved to death, or he could have been taken by the disease. It was impossible to tell.

  Well. He might have escaped the marauding sickos, but in the end he hadn’t been able to escape death.

  Jack got to the end and dropped on to his belly. He peered over the edge, hardly daring to look. The back of the lorry appeared to be untouched. Unopened.

  He grinned from ear to ear.

  He heard a clatter behind him and twisted round to see Ed and Bam climbing up on to the container.

  ‘Well?’ Bam called out to him. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’

  Jack sat up, too excited to speak. He gave them a double thumbs up.

  ‘You think there might be food in here?’ Bam asked, smiling too.

  Jack nodded his head as Ed ran over to take a look.

  ‘We need to check inside,’ he said. ‘It could be empty, or all rotted.’

  ‘Now who’s the pessimist?’ said Jack.

  ‘I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up and then find it’s a lorry-load of shampoo or something.’

  ‘We have to get into the cab,’ said Bam.

  ‘What for?’ Ed frowned at him.

  ‘Think about it. The snowman – he drove in here and you can’t open the doors of the cab, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘That means he must still have the keys with him. We can use them to open the back, and if it is food we could just ditch the snowman and drive the whole bloody rig back to the museum and unload it back there.’

  ‘You know how to drive a lorry?’

  ‘Nope. But since things all went pear-shaped I’ve learnt a lot of new skills. I’d be happy to add lorry driver to my list.’

  They returned to the front of the lorry and climbed down. The other kids were waiting for them in the alley.

  ‘OK. We need to get the keys out of there,’ said Bam. ‘Any volunteers?’

  Unsurprisingly there were none.

  ‘Didn’t think so.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Ed.

  ‘Help who?’ said Bam.

  ‘Help you,’ said Ed. ‘It was your idea.’

  ‘Oh, cheers.’

  ‘There’s a little sort of skylight thing in the roof of the cab,’ said Jack. ‘You know, like a sunroof? If you could get it open you could get in that way.’

  Ed and Bam climbed back up and using Ed’s bayonet and DogNut’s club they managed to batter and bend and lever the sunroof up until it came away, leaving a rectangular hole in the top of the cab. Instantly a foul stench of putrefaction wafted out, accompanied by a squadron of flies. The boys dropped back, groaning and gagging, their eyes watering.

  ‘I will never get used to that smell,’ said Bam. ‘That is rank. I really don’t think I can go in there, Ed.’

  Ed took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do it.’

  He eased himself through the narrow hole, feeling for the passenger seat with his feet. Then dropped down.

  It was even worse inside the cramped cab. There were flies everywhere and the air was foul. Ed kept one hand clamped over his mouth and nose and tried not to look at the snowman, who was clutching the wheel with rotten hands. He got a brief glimpse of his face. There were maggots around his nostrils and lips. Ed leant over him and fumbled around the steering column and dashboard, feeling for the keys. He had to press his body against the corpse. It felt soft and cold.

  He tried to shut his mind down and just think about the keys, but it was hard. He could see the other kids outside staring up at him, and somehow that made it worse, seeing their looks of horror and disgust. He felt like a contestant on I’m A Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! inside a glass box doing a bush-tucker trial.

  Your challenge, Ed, is to go in there with a dead man and several buckets of maggots and find the keys. Your reward will be meals for the whole camp for the next six months.

  ‘I can’t find anything,’ he called up to Bam.

  ‘Try his pockets.’

  Oh, Jesus.

  Ed steeled himself and patted the snowman’s pockets, still trying not to look. First the jacket and then the trousers.

  ‘There’s something in there,’ he said.

  ‘Keys?’ Bam sounded excited.

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Get them out.’

  ‘I am not sticking my hand in there. It’s all … wet.’

  ‘You’re gonna hav
e to, Ed.’

  Ed held his breath again and slowly, slowly slipped his fingers inside the pocket.

  ‘God … It’s disgusting. Oh, God.’

  ‘Are the keys there?’

  ‘There’s something … Yes! Gottit!’

  He jerked out his hand and proudly waved a chunky set of keys on a fob up at Bam. Then he looked at his fingers. They were covered in slimy green and yellow paste.

  ‘Yaaaaah!’ He dropped the keys as if they were red hot and frantically flicked his fingers, then he wiped them on the passenger seat.

  Bam was laughing.

  ‘Good work, Ed! You’re a star!’

  Ed found a rag among the rubbish inside the cab and cleaned the keys, then he tossed them up to Bam, stood on the seatback, grabbed the rim of the sunroof and hauled himself out.

  The kids below cheered as Bam helped Ed to his feet, and then the two of them raced along the top of the lorry and climbed down the far end.

  There was a sort of big steel shutter in the back that rolled up into the roof of the container. Ed tried the most likely-looking key and slotted it into the lock at the bottom. Right first time. There was a satisfying clunk as the shutter popped open.

  ‘Yes!’ Ed cried, and the two of them slid the door up.

  The lorry was filled almost to the door with rows of tall wire cages on wheels, held in place by red webbing straps. There must have been nearly fifty of them in all, and they were piled high with produce.

  Canned fruit and vegetables, beans, cereal, toilet paper, fruit juice and soya milk, chocolate, peanut butter, jam, yoghurt, crisps and nuts. It was like someone had taken a small supermarket and packed everything from it into the back of this one lorry.

  Ed and Bam grabbed each other by the forearms and yelled incoherently as they danced around in a circle.

  ‘This’ll last us weeks,’ said Bam when they’d calmed down a little. ‘And look! You’re in luck. There is shampoo! We’ll show that Jordan bloody Hordern. He’ll be on his knees begging us for some of this lot.’

  ‘We’ve still got to get it back to the museum, though,’ said Ed.

  ‘We’ve got the keys. We’ve got the muscle. We’re on a roll. Let’s rock! The good times are here to stay. I feel good about today, Ed. No, I don’t feel good. I feel bloody great!’

  40

  When Ed and Bam came back to tell the others the good news, they found DogNut and Jack lifting the driver out through the sunroof, pulling him up by his jacket. They both had scarves wrapped round their faces, but the smell alone was enough to make you retch.

  ‘We figured from all that shouting there was food in the back,’ said Jack, his voice muffled.

  ‘Tons of it,’ said Bam. ‘If we can get the lorry back to the museum, we’ve got it made.’

  Jack looked round at Ed. ‘Still think we shouldn’t have come and taken a look, you wimp?’ he said.

  ‘It was a good call, Jack.’

  ‘Yeah. Now give us a hand here.’

  Ed took a deep breath and took hold of the body. Once it was clear of the opening they tipped it over the front of the cab. It rolled down the windscreen and flopped to the ground with a wet slap, spilling a small puddle of thin brown liquid.

  The kids waiting below jumped back in alarm and swore at the boys on the roof who jeered at them.

  ‘Make yourselves useful,’ Jack said. ‘Drag him away from here where we can’t smell him. We’ve got to work out how to get this lorry moving.’

  ‘I might be able to drive it,’ said Justin.

  ‘You?’ Jack scoffed. ‘What gives you that idea?’

  ‘I used to play a computer game called European Truck Simulator.’

  ‘I’ll bet you did,’ Jack laughed. ‘I expect you played Starship Commander as well – doesn’t mean you could fly a real rocket.’

  ‘A lorry’s a bit easier than a rocket,’ said Justin, trying not to get cross. ‘The principle’s roughly the same as a car.’

  ‘Yeah? And can you drive a car, in principle?’

  ‘Yes I can, actually. My dad gave me lessons on an old airfield near where we live. He was mad about cars. Me too. Though I’m more interested in trucks and lorries, really. Dad didn’t have a lorry to teach me in, though.’

  ‘You really think you can drive this?’ Ed asked, slithering down.

  ‘I watched Greg driving the bus,’ said Justin with a shrug. ‘It’s the same thing. I really think I could do it. I really do.’

  ‘I can drive and all,’ said DogNut. ‘Used to jack cars with me mates. I’ll sit with him. Between us we can work it out, I reckon.’

  ‘All right, we’re on!’ Ed clapped his hands together.

  ‘Oi, you lot!’ Jack called down from the roof. ‘Who’s moving that bloody body? It’s stinking the place out.’

  He looked at Brooke and her friends. They made disgusted faces and backed away, shaking their heads.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Frédérique, stepping forward and picking up one of the snowman’s feet. She tried to pull him along, but couldn’t shift him. She had a determined, slightly mad look on her face, but it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Come on.’ Brooke nudged Courtney. ‘We ain’t leaving her to do this. Makes us look bad. Grab a leg.’

  ‘Broo-ooke,’ Courtney protested.

  ‘We didn’t come along on this trip just to make sarcastic comments, did we?’ Brooke asked, grasping the other foot. ‘Or to hold the boys’ coats for them while they had a scrap. We got to pull our weight, or at least pull his weight.’ She sniggered. ‘Come on, shake a leg.’

  Giving in to Brooke’s bullying, Courtney and Aleisha joined Frédérique, and the four of them started to drag the body along the alley towards the yard, keeping their faces pointing resolutely forward, away from the snowman. Trying not to think about what they were doing.

  They got him to the end of the alley and pulled him over to the row of garages. It had been dark in the alley, which lay in shadow, and the sun felt suddenly warm and cheerful as they stepped into its light.

  Brooke let go of the snowman’s foot and, closing her eyes, she turned her face up to the sun, feeling its warmth on her skin.

  ‘Oh, that feels so good,’ she said. ‘I have been so cold.’

  ‘Brooke,’ said Courtney. ‘Look at this …’

  ‘What?’ Brooke opened her eyes. Courtney was staring at the dead driver with a half-revolted, half-fascinated expression.

  ‘I don’t want to look,’ said Brooke. ‘It’s going to be something horrible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Just look.’

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘You got to see this.’

  Brooke clenched her teeth and forced herself to look round at the dead driver, prepared for the worst.

  For a moment Brooke thought the snowman was coming back to life. His skin seemed to be boiling, as if liquid was bubbling up from beneath it, pushing it out into rippling blisters. Before their eyes his body was swelling, blossoming, bloating. His tongue poked out from between his lips, the tip of it studded with more blisters that popped as they hit the air. His hands were moving, the fingers wriggling and writhing. His neck was getting fatter and fatter, until it was thicker than his head. Then there was a hiss and sigh as his throat burst open, squeezing out bright pink jelly.

  The only way Brooke could deal with what she was seeing was to imagine that she was watching a film. Something with over-the-top special effects. The driver didn’t look human any more. She was absolutely mesmerized.

  Someone tugged at her arm.

  ‘What d’you want?’ she said, turning round angrily, assuming it was one of the boys come to get her.

  Instead she found herself looking into a black hole where a face should be. It was a young mother, with wavy hair that was once blonde but was now showing dark roots. She had eyes and a lower jaw with a row of teeth with silver fillings, but nothing in between.

  Brooke felt like she’d been kicked in the guts. Her windpipe c
lenched shut. Her lungs froze. She opened her mouth and tried to scream but nothing came out.

  While the three girls had been watching the driver a group of about fifteen sickos had entered the yard, attracted by the noise. They were all young adults, mothers and fathers, but they were in a terrible state, bloodied and battered, with bits missing, and skin ruined by craters and sores.

  Aleisha, Brooke and Courtney had left their weapons behind in the alley so that their hands were free to drag the body, but Frédérique had her knife in a sheath on her belt. She pulled it out and started waving it at the sickos, yelling and screaming in French as the three other girls shouted for help.

  Frédérique was like a wildcat, spitting with rage, a look of crazed fury on her thin face. Her blade slashed clumsily at the sickos, doing little real damage but confusing them enough to give the other three time to move away from where they’d been backed up against the garage doors. Frédérique at last managed to get close to a father. She gouged him in the neck and he whined and went into a sort of stiff-legged dance. She stabbed again and again, the knife rising and falling like a piston.

  ‘Leave him!’ Brooke yelled. ‘Get away, Frédérique!’

  Frédérique didn’t hear. All her fear and anger and sadness was coming out. She turned from the father and lunged at a bald mother, who stepped to the side. She snarled, the knife scything through the air, and waded right into the knot of sickos. The knife flashed in the sunlight, then punched into a father where it lodged in his armpit. Frédérique tried to tug it free but two mothers barged into her arm, loosening her grip on the handle. A third got her from behind, knocking her to her knees. She put her arms around her head to protect herself and curled forward, arching her back, defeated.

  A father crouched over her, sniffing her hair. He was quickly joined by five others, who crowded round her, blocking her from view. Vultures on a carcass.

  Unarmed, Brooke, Aleisha and Courtney could do nothing to help. The rest of the sickos had got between them and Frédérique and were now advancing on the girls, dribbling and moaning softly, sniffing the air.

  Ed came skidding round the corner and when he saw what was happening he got hold of Aleisha and Courtney and dragged them back towards the alley, shouting at Brooke to follow.