by Ryan Casey
“Help us, Hayden. Please, son. Please.”
The words echoed around Hayden’s skull. His view of the surrounding hillside and the feel of the cold wind against his body was dulled out. Newbie and Sarah were saying things, too. Muttering things—questions, it sounded like.
But he didn’t hear them. He couldn’t take in what they were saying.
Because his mum had spoken to him. She’d asked him for help.
She was alive, and she’d asked him for help.
“Hayden? Put the phone down. It’s broken, man. Just lay it down.”
Newbie’s words drifted into Hayden’s consciousness. He looked at Newbie sitting beside him through the blanket of tears covering his eyes. He could taste the saltiness of the tears on his dry lips, and he could smell smoke from the missiles that had battered Preston and Smileston.
“They … They’re alive,” he said. “She’s alive.”
Sarah rubbed her hands together, her teeth chattering in the cold as darkness edged closer. “Who’s alive?”
“Help us, Hayden. Please, son. Please.” The words still didn’t seem real. He’d given up hope. He’d given up hope, or naively believed that his mum, dad and sister would be okay. That they’d find their way out of Preston and to safety. All along, he’d believed they’d cope, because they’d coped all their lives.
His parents had coped just fine without Hayden’s assistance. For as long as Hayden could remember, it was them who were there for him. Them who supported him through his depression and his unwavering spells of social apathy. It was them who had supported him when he’d missed a payment to his landlord, or done his washing up when his machine packed in and he didn’t have the money to hire anyone in to fix it.
It was always them there for him.
Except now, they needed him there for them.
They needed him to return the favour.
“Hayden?” Sarah said. “You’ve gone completely frigging pale. Are you—”
“My mum spoke to me,” Hayden said. His voice didn’t sound normal. It didn’t sound real. It was like he was hearing it back on an old recording, delayed by a second or two. And not just that, but the words themselves didn’t seem real, either. “She … she spoke to me. She … Mum? Mum?”
He gripped his broken phone to his ear, forgetting that the line still hadn’t disconnected. He could hear that static again. That buzzing, white noise sound. Maybe he was just insane. Maybe he’d imagined his mum’s voice. Maybe he’d heard what he wanted to hear.
No. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t insane. He’d heard his mum. She’d asked him for help. She said, “Help us,” which meant that more than one of them were alive. Maybe she meant Dad. Or maybe she meant his sister.
But she was alive. She was alive and she needed his help.
Hayden lowered the phone from his ear and put it in his pocket. He didn’t cancel the call. He didn’t want to risk it. He wanted to keep a connection available, just on the off-chance the signal reconnected again.
And then he stood up, his head spinning, and he walked past Newbie and Sarah and down the muddy hill.
“Woah,” Newbie said. He grabbed Hayden’s left biceps. “Where do you think you’re wandering off to?”
Hayden looked Newbie in the eyes. “My … my mum. She spoke to me.”
“She can’t have spoke to you,” Newbie said. “The networks are down.”
“She spoke to me, okay? I know what I fucking heard. I heard her voice. She—she asked me for … for help. She asked me to help them. She needs my help. And I need to be there.” He yanked his arm away from Newbie’s grasp. “I need to go and save them.”
Newbie and Sarah looked at one another in wide-eyed astonishment, but Hayden didn’t give a shit.
Sarah jogged up beside Hayden. “Wait, just hold up one second.”
Hayden didn’t stop. “There’s not much time. I need to go back.”
“Back where?” Sarah asked. “Back to Smileston? Back to the place that we just fucking escaped from?”
“No,” Hayden said. “To Preston. They live in Preston. Well, the border between Preston and Smileston. But mostly Preston. I need to get there.”
Sarah’s eyes widened even more. She let out a little gasped laugh. “You … you have to go to Preston.”
“I have to. She needs my help. They all need my help.”
“You have to go there?” she asked.
She pointed at the city ahead as the pair of them climbed down the grassy hill towards the wooden cabin. Hayden saw the thick angry smoke billowing over the city. He heard the echoing alarms, the smashing of glass so, so far away. He swore he heard screams, too.
But it was where he needed to go.
He couldn’t let his parents down. He couldn’t just give up on his family. Because they’d never given up on him. All his life, they’d been there for him, and he’d never so much as said “thank you.” He’d moped. He hadn’t appreciated just how good he had his life. So many times, Dad and Mum could’ve just pulled the towel on him and told him to start living his own fucking life, but they hadn’t. They’d kept on going, for him. They’d kept on supporting.
He owed them this.
He owed them everything.
They approached the front of the cabin. Hayden could see the road up ahead. He just had to get onto it. Head down it around three miles, then turn left down Whittingham Street to head towards Preston. It was risky—there were some moderately well-populated areas on the five-mile trip to his parents’ house. But he had to take a risk. He had to try. He couldn’t just leave them to die. He could never live with himself if he failed them.
Because he couldn’t live with the thought of them thinking they’d failed him somehow in the same way they thought they’d failed Annabelle.
Sarah grabbed Hayden’s arm, but only loosely. “Hayden, I … I know what you think you heard—”
“I heard my mum. She’s alive. You have to let me go. You can’t stop me.”
“I’m not trying to stop you. Well, I am, but … Hayden, just think about this. You’re barely armed. All you’ve got is some dodgy old sharpened pipe for protection. The sun’s setting soon. And you … you’ll be alone. You’ll be on your own. On your own in the darkness in a place where everybody and everything is dangerous.”
Hayden looked back at the smoking mess that was Preston. Planes hadn’t swooped through the sky in a long time, but there was no telling how long that was going to last. Or maybe the planes had moved on to somewhere else. Some other nearby town or city, bombarding that in a desperate last-ditch effort to control whatever this awful infection was.
“You could … you could come with me,” Hayden said.
He knew how selfish the words were the second he opened his mouth. Because no—this mission was his responsibility. His parents were up to him to save. He’d sponged off enough people for two lifetimes, let alone one. He couldn’t drag two other people—two friends—back into near-certain death when they’d fought so hard and given all they had to getting out of that very place.
Sarah looked at the ground. Newbie cleared his throat. “Hayden, we don’t—”
“No. I’m wrong. You should stay here.”
Hayden grabbed the metal pipe from outside the cabin, turned around and continued his descent down the hill.
“We can … we can wait for you,” Newbie said. “We can wait here. Give you a few hours, or until sunrise tomorrow, or … or something.”
Hayden smiled back at Newbie. It wasn’t an easy smile, and it made his eyes well up. “Thank you, Newbie,” he said. “Thank you. But you can’t wait for me. You need to do what’s right for you. For your own survival.”
Newbie opened his mouth. He looked as if he was going to say something else, but decided against it.
Hayden switched his look to Sarah. She was shaking her head. Her blue eyes were glistening with tears. It was like he’d know these people for months or years of his life, when really it hadn’t even been a day
. They were united by their experiences—what they’d been through together—and that counted for much more than mere longevity.
“You’ve waited for me and saved my life once already,” Hayden said to Sarah. “Now it’s time for you to start thinking about yourself.”
She wiped the corners of her eyes. “I’ll miss you, man. I’ll … I’ll actually fucking miss you.”
Hayden thought about climbing back up there and wrapping his arms around Sarah. Feeling the warmth of her body fuse with his. Looking her right in her beaming eyes and kissing her velvety lips.
But instead, he just nodded and smiled at her.
He turned around. Took a deep breath of the cold, smoky air.
“Good luck,” Newbie called.
“Stay safe, Hayden,” Sarah added.
You too, Hayden thought, as he stared down at the skeletal remains of Preston, lit up in an orange glow by the late afternoon sun. You too.
He squeezed the metal pole tight between his fingers.
Felt his phone in his pocket.
I’m coming for you, Mum. I’m coming for you.
And then, he walked.
Thirty-Three
A small part of Hayden regretted trekking alone to Preston from the outset.
He held onto the metal pipe that Newbie had given him. He kept on looking left and right as he descended the hilly country road that led right to the outskirts of Preston to where his parents lived. The air smelled even more strongly of thick smoke, and there was a constant dustiness to it, millions and millions of tiny pieces of debris floating around this fallen city.
He wasn’t on one of the busier roads just yet. He would have to cut through the edge of Broughton, which he wasn’t looking forward to. But even so, he heard noises clattering in the abandoned old farmhouses to his left. He heard rustling in the hedges to his right. Every single step he took down the uneven concrete road, he heard or smelled or saw something different.
Every single step was another foot into the unknown.
He tried to keep his head held high as he walked down the country lane. In the near distance, he could see the roofs of houses, and he knew that was a concern. Because houses meant people, and people meant zombies.
He had to stay focused. He had to stay prepared.
Just another three or four miles to walk.
The zombies scared him. Terrified him, in fact. But what scared him even more was the thought of one of those screeching military jets flying overhead. A sound that would confirm to him that Preston was under attack, once again.
He imagined his mum and dad’s little semi-detached home on Millbank Road, and his sister’s house further down. He imagined crowds of zombies outside it.
He imagined a missile pounding into the zombies, destroying their house in the process.
Ending any chance Hayden had of saving them.
He took in a deep breath of the dusty air. No. He couldn’t think that way. He couldn’t lose hope before he even reached his parents’ house. Because his mum was alive. She’d called him and asked for his help. Begged for his help. Which meant that there was a chance. There had to be a chance for her to survive, or she wouldn’t have called Hayden in the first place.
Hayden’s stomach knotted.
If she was calling for his help, she had to be in danger, too. Serious danger.
He had to keep on going.
He reached the bottom of the unnamed country lane without any sign of a zombie. It discomforted him, in a way. The country area didn’t look like it had been struck by missiles. But there had to be a few zombies. Even if it was just a few lone stragglers, they had to be somewhere. And as much as Hayden didn’t want to bump into them anytime soon, he kind of preferred it when he knew exactly where they were.
He took a left down Harrison Road. Another long country lane, but one he’d have to be more cautious down. There were several houses down here. And then at the top of this road where it connected with Willington Lane, there were lots of houses. A motorway bridge. People. Lots of people.
So lots of zombies.
Or worse.
Hayden walked a little quicker down this road. The hedge to his side was low and gave him a stunning view of the orange sun as it lowered over the flooded, barren fields. Further in the distance, he could see cars all stacked up, completely still. He couldn’t figure out where they might be at first, and then it clicked—he was looking at the motorway. He couldn’t hear the usual whoosh of traffic that went on and on continuously. And the cars he could see were completely still.
A row of thousands trying to escape the city before the zombies caught them; before the missiles struck.
Hayden hoped they’d found their way out. He really did. For his sake, if not for anyone else’s.
He was about to look ahead again when he heard the gasps down the road.
He stopped. Goose pimples spread across his arms. He turned his neck, slowly, in fear that any sudden movement might draw too much attention his way.
There were four zombies in the middle of the road up ahead. One of them—a man with long, black hair and cracked glasses—was missing his right leg. Or rather, upon closer inspection, his leg was hanging on by a thread of muscle. He was dragging himself along with his hands and his one good leg. The toes on the bare foot of his blood-soaked right leg were still twitching, moving like they were still completely connected.
Hayden lifted the metal pipe. He wasn’t sure he could take four of them. He’d have to take the three who weren’t legless first. Take them, one by one. Then deal with the man dragging himself along the road.
He stood still. Held the pipe in the air with his shivering hand. Waited.
The first zombie—a black woman with half her cheek bitten off—ran towards him the moment her wobbling brown eyes saw him. She dribbled blood as she ran, one of her breasts wobbling around as it dangled out of her torn green shirt. There was something sad about that. She’d lost all her dignity in undeath.
Hayden didn’t have long to sympathise because the two other able-bodied zombies came running in his direction, too.
He stood his ground. He wanted to run. He wanted so badly to just turn around and run. Go back to the shack where Newbie and Sarah were—if they were even still there. Run away from Preston. Run away from any kind of responsibility.
But he was done running. He’d run away from too many things in life.
So he held the pipe and watched as the first of the zombies got closer and closer, slipping and sliding on its blood-drenched footsteps.
He moved the pipe back as the black woman zombie approached. Readied himself to crack her right on the side of her head, then stab her in the side of her flabby neck with the sharp end of the pipe when she was on the ground.
He readied himself as she got three metres away.
Two metres.
He pulled back the pipe some more. Held his breath.
One metre.
He swung at her, but the pipe only connected with air.
Something grabbed his right ankle. Pulled him from his feet. Sent him falling face-first onto the concrete.
He felt the grip on his ankle tighten. He could hear the woman zombie above him now, feel the cold saliva dribbling from her hungry mouth and onto the back of his neck. He tried to get a good grip on the pipe again. Turned around. Readied himself.
There was a zombie at his right ankle. Dark haired man in a green jacket. Early twenties, probably. Huge chunk missing from his right shoulder.
His mouth was open, blood drooling from it, his teeth closing in on Hayden’s leg.
And above, the black woman, teeth closing in on Hayden’s face …
Hayden didn’t even think.
He booted the zombie at his ankle as hard as he could in its teeth. Kept on shaking and booting it as he lifted the sharp metal pipe at the woman’s face, towards her mouth …
He kept on kicking and struggling at the zombie on his leg as the woman wrapped her mouth around the sharp en
d of the pipe.
Kept on kicking as Hayden pressed the pipe against the soft flesh of the back of her throat, pushed through the back of her neck as she kept on pushing against it to reach Hayden. Her teeth snapped against the sides of the pipe. A waterfall of sticky blood oozed out of her mouth as Hayden pushed even further into the back of her throat.
And then he heard something pop, and the pipe split through the back of her throat.
She quivered and went still. Hayden couldn’t hear the other zombies that were with her, but he knew they had to be close. And the zombie was still at his ankle, struggling to get a grip on his leg.
He let go of the pipe and pushed the woman zombie away. She’d gone rigid, but her arms and legs were shaking like she was in some kind of seizure. Blood fountained out of her mouth, which the pipe was still wedged through.
Hayden reached for the male zombie at his ankle with his blood-covered hands. He grabbed its temples, squeezed as hard as he could. And then he shoved his bony thumbs into the zombie’s eyes. Shoved as hard as he could. Kept on shoving as the hard, marble-like eyeballs bulged beneath.
Someone once told him that eyeballs were harder to burst than the movies made out.
Whoever told him that clearly hadn’t been pushing hard enough.
They split open within seconds of Hayden’s pressing. He felt warm fluid trickle down his thumbs, a black and red substance covering his fingers.
He swore he heard the zombie scream in agony, right from the pit of its throat.
He pushed the zombie away. Stepped on top of it as it shook like a feral cat. He lifted his Doc Marten boot, and he stamped right down on its teeth.
He felt them crack and split out of the zombie’s mouth upon contact.
He thought about finishing the zombie off. But then he remembered the other two zombies. Three, including legless.
He looked around and readied himself to take more on.
They were lying still on the road.
Hayden frowned. He lowered his hands to his sides. The metal pipe that he’d wedged in the woman’s mouth had gone, too. And her neck was split in a way that Hayden definitely didn’t remember doing.