by Perrin Briar
“None, but Selena gave me her handgun.”
“Give it to me.” Jordan popped the chamber and counted three bullets. “Get the others to the boat.”
“You can’t kill them all with three bullets!”
“No, but I can slow them down.”
Anne opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. “Be careful,” she said. She trotted away.
“I’m always careful,” Jordan said. “I’m just always in the wrong bloody place at the wrong bloody time.”
The Lurchers closed on Jordan. He took a deep calming breath and closed his eyes. He felt the reliable weight of the gun in his hand. He opened his eyes and waited for the Lurchers to get closer. Closer. He took aim and fired twice.
The bullets thunked into the control panel switch at the top of the slipway. A few tired sparks fizzled. Nothing spectacular. The half-made boat creaked and groaned but made no other movement.
Jordan’s shoulders slumped. He’d hoped the boat would have slid down the slip way, knocking the Lurchers into the sea in the process. No such luck. There really was only one option now if he wanted to stall them.
The Lurchers were close, almost close enough to smell.
Jordan put the gun to his head. How long would they take to strip his body of all flesh and sinew? Five minutes? Ten? Time enough, at least, for the others to escape.
Jordan shut his eyes and put his finger on the trigger.
There was a loud creaking sound like metal stretching beyond its limit. Then a loud snap. The boat on the slipway shuddered, and then shivered as it slid down tracks to the sea. Great gouges tore deep into the sleepers, renting them from their mooring.
The Lurchers ran directly into the boat’s path, and were swept, crushed and ground up in a myriad of sparks and screeches as the boat crawled into the sea.
Jordan jumped back at the last second. The boat came to a stop across the promenade. A blockade. Jordan heard the surviving Lurchers banging and scratching at the hull on the other side. He turned to join the others.
He came to a stop, seeing something.
While his back had been turned, another group of Lurchers had descended upon the others. Jordan’s heart was in his mouth. Where did they come from? They were under attack.
99.
“Come on you guys,” Anne said, “we have to get going.”
Stan shook his head. His eyes were red, cheeks bulging. “I can’t… I can’t. Go on without me.”
“We’re not going to leave you, Stan – as much as we’d like to. Selena, help him up.”
Anne helped Jessie up and together they hobbled down toward the catamaran. They covered ten yards… Twenty…
There was the sound of gunshots down the promenade from Jordan’s direction. Anne didn’t look back.
A heavy weight thudded her on the back. Anne and Jessie fell forward. To the side, Anne saw Selena and Stan did likewise. Anne turned.
Dozens of bloody ragged feet stood before them. So this was how they were going to die – not more than a few hundred yards from their boat, after having fought tooth and nail all night.
The Lurchers reached down to pick her up. Anne kicked and punched, struggling against their grip, but they were as unyielding as iron. A Lurcher clung to each of her limbs. Anne shut her eyes and waited for the inevitable sickening crunch.
And waited.
And waited.
The Lurchers stood, seemingly frozen, staring ahead.
“Anne,” Stan said, struggling with his own captors, “what’s going on?”
She had no idea, but before she could say a word, there was a roar.
Jordan ran at the Lurchers, swinging a pole. A few of the Lurchers blinked awake and intercepted him. His swings were slow and laboured. He was exhausted and easily over-powered.
Anne couldn’t see what happened, but she heard the pole clatter to the ground, along with a heavier thud – probably the handgun.
The Lurchers grabbed each of Jordan’s limbs, trussing him up like the others. Then the Lurchers returned to their thousand-yard stare.
Finally, after he stopped struggling, Jordan said, “What the hell’s going on?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Anne said.
“It looks like they’re waiting for something,” Stan said.
“What for?” Selena said.
“The lottery results,” Jordan said. “How should we know?”
“Can anyone get free?” Anne asked. “Or have any ideas?”
“The gun has one bullet left,” Jordan said. “Maybe if I can reach it…” He stretched for the gun lying on the promenade, but the Lurchers’ grip was too strong.
The Lurchers all turned and looked up as one. Anne followed their gaze. Descending a path that ran between two maintenance sheds.
At first it appeared to be just another Lurcher. But when it came up close, Anne could see that there was something different about it. It was without a doubt the ugliest Lurcher Anne had ever laid eyes on. It was massive, well over two metres tall, and had only one of each facial feature of a regular human being, giving it an unsymmetrical appearance. The few strands of hair that remained hung over one half of his face as if to hide the burn scars underneath. But the most frightening thing about him were his eyes. Most Lurchers’ eyes were dull and murky. Ugly’s eyes shone bright like he could see – actually see – the world around him.
Ugly sniffed Jordan, his single nostril breathing in every part of him. Ugly raised his one and only hand. His nails were long, sharp and – surprisingly – clean. He cut a thin line across Jordan’s bare arm with the razor-sharp nail on his index finger. Jordan gritted his teeth but didn’t make a sound. Blood seeped from the wound.
The other Lurchers – no doubt able to smell the blood – jittered on the spot, unable to control their excitement.
Ugly growled, and they went silent. He filled a long fingernail recess with Jordan’s blood, raised it to his mouth and rubbed it over its gums. His head tilted this way and that, reminding Anne of a wine-taster. The look of concentration and ecstasy mingled into a single expression. Ugly’s eyes shot open. An insane smile bent his features. He raised his head and gave out a huge raspy scream of delight. The other Lurchers chuckled. Ugly gestured with his thumb, and the Lurchers turned and carried Jordan away.
“No!” Anne said, fighting against her Lurcher captors.
Jordan struggled, but to no avail as the Lurchers carried him round the corner and away.
Ugly turned to Anne and performed the same ritual he had on Jordan. The cut stung, but Anne refused to let Ugly know it hurt. He rubbed her blood over his gums and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. This time he shook his head and spat the blood out. He turned his lips up at Anne in a sneer and grunted.
The Lurchers holding Anne exchanged excited expressions. They opened their mouths wide.
Anne struggled. “No! Please! No!”
“Yaarghh!” someone shouted. There was the flash and pop of gunfire.
Ugly looked over and saw the attack. He barked and retreated into the mass of Lurcher bodies. The other Lurchers ran forward to intercept the assailant, who Anne recognised as Corporal Baxter. He was a man possessed, drenched head to foot in blood. Too much of it to be just his. Baxter fired widely at the Lurchers, taking out entire swathes. A demon with a gun.
The Lurchers dropped their cargo and rushed Baxter. Anne scrambled over to Jessie, who whimpered, and held her tight.
Selena helped Stan to his feet. “We have to help Baxter,” she said.
“How?” Stan said. “We don’t have any weapons!”
“If we can get to our boat,” Anne said, “we could bring it round into the bay and Baxter could join us.”
Selena nodded. “Let’s do it.”
The near brush with death gave them all their second wind. They ran toward their catamaran. Anne stepped onto the gangplank.
“Hurry!” she said. “Get on!”
Stan was frozen. His ha
nd gripped the railing with white knuckles. He was staring up at something on the cat’s deck.
Anne heard them before she saw them. The groan was low, and sent a shiver through her body. The Lurchers stepped onto the gangplank, sneers on their faces.
Anne backed away. “The city!” Anne said. “We have to go back into the city!”
100.
Jordan struggled and twisted every part of his body to escape. He couldn’t let the Lurchers take him away like this.
A gaunt-eyed Lurcher, sick of Jordan’s struggling, beat his face viciously. Blood erupted from his nose in an arc that sprayed over the Lurcher’s face. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the blood. It bared its teeth, and then pulled away. Some kind of battle was raging inside the Lurcher. It shook its head and came to a decision. It bared its teeth and lowered them to Jordan’s flesh.
The Lurcher’s head disappeared. Jordan was vaguely aware of it arcing through the air, landing a short distance away. The Lurcher’s body collapsed in a heap. Jordan’s leg was free. He kicked at the Lurcher clinging onto his other leg.
Shots rang out, and the other Lurchers were raked with bullets. They fell to the ground, Jordan along with them.
A figure stood over him and finished the Lurchers off.
The figure fell to his knees, and Jordan saw it was Marsh. He bled from half a dozen different half-moon mouth-shaped chunks. His right arm hung limp and useless at his side. The veins in his face had burst, spilling their toxic cargo just beneath the skin.
“You… You should go,” Marsh said, blood running down his chin. “Blighters made me miss bangers and mash Tuesday. Would’ve been a helluva last meal, huh?” Marsh chuckled, and his body shook with convulsions. He reached for something on his left shoulder with his left hand. He was evidently a righty, and it proved difficult. He looked at Jordan for assistance. “On… On my shoulder…”
Jordan patted the shoulder. There was something there. Small, hard and hidden in a secret pocket. Jordan took hold of the cloth between thumb and forefinger and pulled, snapping the threads. Inside were five unassuming yellow capsules.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“They’re chill… chill pills.”
“Chill pills?”
“Cos after you swallow it, you feel… you feel chilled. Real chilled.” Marsh laughed. It turned into a hacking fit. He spat out something red and sticky.
“But you’re already…” Jordan didn’t finish the sentence.
Marsh smiled. “Dead ain’t what it used to be. Give me one.”
Jordan hesitated.
Somewhere not far away there was a screech.
“Hurry!” Marsh said.
Jordan placed the pill on Marsh’s tongue. Marsh maneuvered the chill pill just so between his teeth, hesitating only a moment before biting down hard. The plastic casing exploded and sprayed a sunflower-yellow liquid over his teeth and tongue. The cocktail rolled down his throat. Within moments the look of pain vanished from Marsh’s face.
“You’re not in pain anymore?” Jordan asked.
“No. But that’s… that’s not the true purpose of the chill pill. Merely… a welcome… a welcome side-effect.”
“Then what is its purpose?”
Marsh’s body shook. His cheeks bulged like he was going to be sick. Jordan covered his nose with the crook of his elbow. There was a smell like eggs left in the sun for two weeks. Marsh’s cheeks deflated, the thick red liquid oozing out the corner of his mouth. He coughed.
“Do you know of any other way,” he said, “to stop the body from… from producing blood? Trust me, do yourself… a favour when the time comes. Take the pill.” He aimed a maniacal grin at Jordan. “You might… You might want to… stand back.”
Marsh grunted through clenched teeth as his body shuddered and a dark, thick liquid trickled from his orifices. The trickle strengthened, and ran like a river that had burst its banks. Marsh gargled his last few breaths. His body shrunk further as his body fluids evacuated. After just a few moments what had been Sergeant Marsh was now a puddle of clotted purple liquid.
The growls and screeches grew louder.
Staring in disbelief at the puddle, it took Jordan a moment to come back to his senses.
He looked in the direction of the approaching cacophony. A busted street lamp cast yellowed teeth-like shadows over the lip of the hill twenty yards away. A small pool of light before the infinite darkness beyond.
Jordan turned and ran in the opposite direction, his feet finding the steep slope that led up to the opposite side that was crowned by a six-foot concrete wall. His right foot slipped on a piece of sheared slate. He hit the gravel hard with his knee. He grunted through his teeth. He pushed himself up and limped onward.
The grunts became the snorting cacophony of a pack of hunting wolves zooming in for the kill.
Jordan came to the wall. He reached up for the ledge, pulled himself up – his right leg stiff and sore – and threw himself over. He dropped down on the opposite side, his knee complaining. The wall wasn’t as tall on this side, barely high enough to conceal him.
Dark misshapen shadows skidded to a halt on the ridge opposite, their unslippered feet kicking up puffs of dust.
Jordan ducked his head down, allowing only his eyes to peer over the wall. His breath came heavy and deep and desperate.
The Lurchers found Marsh’s remains. They didn’t all jump into the meal and eat, as Jordan expected, but rather stood there, waiting.
Ugly approached the pool of liquid, bent down on all fours, licked the blood up with a single slurp of his tongue and closed his eyes. His head twisted this way and that, savouring the flavour. His eyes burst open, and, not being to his liking, spat it out. He grunted. The other Lurchers fanned out.
Jordan slithered back, keeping his head low, and ran.
101.
Lungs burning and legs like concrete, Jordan stopped. He’d taken corner after corner, not making any effort to keep track of where he was heading.
Legs shaking, Jordan slid down the wall and sat with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked down the alleyway in one direction, then the other. He was well and truly lost. The alley was narrow and long, a capillary amongst the city’s nervous system of avenues and highways. There was a strong smell of urine – not surprising considering the high number of bars in the area. The alley was lined with stacks of brown bottles in plastic crates.
There was the sound of running.
Jordan shrunk further into the shadows. The sound grew louder. A figure burst past the mouth of the alleyway, a blur running hell for leather. There was another flash, and another. Then there was the sound of a stampede, as a large mass chased the first group.
Jordan steeled himself and ran to the mouth of the alley. It led out into the high street. He saw the graceless retreating figures of what could only be Lurchers. He daren’t chase them. They would spot him and chase him too. Instead, he would try to cut the pursued off and meet them somewhere ahead.
Jordan ran to the opposite end of the alley, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls and bouncing back to him. The road ran parallel to the high street. He turned right and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He passed the Night & Day nightclub, the Queen’s Arms pub, and a wine bar called Through the Grapevine. He peered down the alleyways that ran between each building, but saw no sign of the pursuers nor the pursued.
Maybe they turned down another road, he thought, heading in a completely different direction.
Just then, up ahead, the pursued pulled out into the street he was running on. He saw them clearly now – Anne, Stan, Jessie and Selena. They were alive, but why hadn’t they gone directly to the boat? Never mind. He would find out soon enough. He puffed out his chest, swung his arms in big arcs and threw his legs to take as large strides as they could, ignoring the pain burning in his muscles and below his ribcage.
A large pack of Lurchers burst out into the street ahead of him, in pursuit of the others. They were no m
ore than ten feet ahead. Thankfully they hadn’t seen him.
Jordan could never hope to catch up to the others now. He slowed to a stop and bent double to repay his oxygen debt. The air rasped into his throat and lungs. He wanted to shout out, get their attention, but it was no good with the Lurchers so close.
How in God’s name am I going to get their attention?
Jordan put his hands on his head to expand his lung capacity and looked up at the tall majestic building standing before him. He smiled.
102.
Selena closed the rickety old door. Moonlight spilled across the floor in fuzzy lines, which blinked as malformed shadows limped past.
Black spots flashed in Anne’s vision. Her muscles burnt. She had no idea how Stan and Jessie had managed to keep up. Their faces were contorted with pain. Selena watched the front door, and was the only one who seemed none the worse for wear.
Anne looked around at their surroundings. They were in some kind of old warehouse loaded with drill bits and DIY paraphernalia. Used tools hung from hooks on the walls. Everything was carefully labelled and stored in its correct place. Their shoes crunched on the nails and screws that lay all over the floor in small piles. Half-finished projects lay on the tables. A large unfinished bird house, and some kind of dispensing machine.
“What are we going to do now?” Selena asked.
“The boat,” Anne said. “If we can get to the boat, we’ll be safe.”
Stan shook his head. “They’ll be expecting us to go there.”
“What do you mean ‘expecting us’?” Selena said. “They are nzambi. Nzambi are not smart.”
“You saw what they did back there,” Stan said. “They penned us in and trapped us. Never mind that whole tasting thing – whatever that was.”