The Sacrifice

by Donna Collins

  He exited the tower. The eclipsed moon offered hardly any light, and he was barely able to make out the pathway back towards the steps. When he did, their treacherousness inspired little confidence that he would actually reach the bottom in one piece. The ocean rolled onto the sand below, the waves lapping over the last few rocks and washing away all traces of sand and mud from his boots. The higher tide soaked his trousers and splashed onto his robe, but he waded through until his feet found dry sand again. Within minutes he was back inside the cave, feeling his way through the dark until he saw the glow of flames flickering warm shadows in the passageway. With every piece now attached, the power of the True Cross would be at its strongest, with all seven supernatural acts mentioned in the Bible attacking together.

  Only Eliza had her part left to play.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Billy stared at the man standing in the doorway.

  The man stared back: average build, average height...and completely naked with a postmortem ‘Y’ stitched into his chest. When he finally moved, it was slow and uncoordinated. Billy charged towards him and hammered a kick into his abdomen. The dead man stumbled backwards and fell onto the concrete path outside. Behind him, more bodies crowded the car park. They turned towards Billy and stumbled drunkenly forward. The dead man rose from the floor to join the gathering group, and Billy slammed the door and reached for the lock.

  Zombies swarmed the station’s entrance, banging against the doors with heavy fists. The glass rattled and vibrated under the attack and the door jerked inwards, causing the bolt to miss its latch. Billy pushed back, his shoulder wedged against the frame, and forced the door shut again. His shoes slipped across the linoleum, and he struggled to regain a grip as the weight of several bodies proved more than he could handle.

  Finally, the door closed and he bolted the top lock. Hands thumped the glass, and the higher of the door’s two windows cracked. Billy stepped back and swiped the Asp from the counter, reaffixing a sweaty grip around its handle. A decomposing hand punched through the already weakened window. Broken glass severed the corpse’s right index finger, and it fell to the floor inches from Billy’s shoes. Billy jumped back, the mere sight of it making him want to hurl, and kicked it against the skirting boards. Further glass shattered and broke free from the main entrance. Billy covered his face and turned towards the security window, pounding the Asp against the reinforced glass like a man possessed. Dead bodies reached through towards him, and Billy realised he was cornered.

  His pulse raced. His hands shook. “George! Get your arse out here.”

  The lower window smashed. For a moment, the internal chicken-wire enforcement held strong, preventing the glass from falling free, but an onslaught of swipes and kicks from the corpses soon popped it from the frame. Further limbs reached in, and a hundred dead fingers stretched to grab their prey.

  “George.” Quick breaths dried Billy’s mouth. He tried to swallow but his tongue stuck to the ridge.

  From the cells, a shadow danced in the doorway light. Billy halted and stilled, too nervous to breathe, and prayed these things hadn’t already gotten inside.

  The shadow neared the doorway. To Billy’s relief, George appeared, rubbing his stomach and not noticing a button had popped from his shirt.

  A quick glance to Heaven to thank God, and Billy banged on the security partition to gain his sergeant’s attention.

  George looked up and frowned when he saw Billy. “Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been calling—” He stopped the moment he saw the disfigured arms reaching in through the main door.

  “What the…?”

  “Never mind that, just get this door open.”

  “I can’t.” George hurried to the counter and pressed the door release. It buzzed, but the door didn’t budge. “The quake must have shorted something out. It won’t open.”

  “Shit.” Billy turned back to the zombies. “They’re coming in. What do I do?”

  “Try kicking the door in”

  “This door’s made not to be broken into.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  George was right. Billy was cornered, and the front door didn’t look like it would hold out much longer. He twisted the handle one last time in the hope the release had worked. The brass knob rattled under his grip, but the door didn’t open and Billy punched it in frustration.

  “Okay, stand back,” he said to George, who promptly backed away.

  Billy held either side of the doorframe, and kicked. The heel of his boot connected just right of the door handle, causing tiny wooden fragments to ping free. The door shuddered, but its refusal to open enraged Billy further. He planted a second kick. Then a third, and a fourth, each strike hammering harder and faster than the last, until they resembled nothing but frenzied movement. He heard the wood pulse and crack, until it finally splintered from the frame and burst open.

  Billy hurried inside, slamming the door shut behind him, and raced to the metal filing cabinet. “Quick, help me move this.”

  George did as he was told, his bulk squashing against the cabinet when he leaned in and pushed. Papers and files weighed down every drawer, and the cabinet screeched across the linoleum floor. The noise seemed to heighten the zombies’ desire to get through the door even more.

  When the filing cabinet finally blocked the doorway, Billy stood back, wiped his brow, and took a deep breath. “That should hold them off.”

  “Hold what off? What in the hell are those things?”

  “I think they are dead people.”

  “Dead people. Like at the hospital?” George’s eyes widened. He looked around the office. “And how the hell are we supposed to get out?”

  Behind Billy, the main door burst apart and several zombies pushed and stumbled into the waiting room. “Well, it sure ain’t gonna be that way.”

  Billy ran his fingers through his hair and searched around the office. It had not fared well against the quake: paperwork littered the floor; chairs lay overturned. The toppled water cooler swam in a puddle of its own liquid.

  Then it hit him. “Where’s Eliza?”

  George froze for a second. His shoulders tightened, and he averted Billy’s gaze. “She’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “I went to the toilet. When I came back she was gone.”

  “You gotta be kidding me. George, she’ll die out there on her own. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Hey, remember who you’re talking too.” George straightened his uniform, no longer looking away. “I am your sergeant.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse about rank at the moment. You should have stopped her.”

  “How? Tie her to the chair?”

  Billy pulled open his desk drawer and rummaged through the mess inside. When he couldn’t find the keys he wanted, he slammed the drawer shut and pulled out a lower one.

  “Shit!” He glanced towards George. Police headquarters had supplied the station with a little electric car a few months back. Apart from moving it round to the back of the station so nobody could see it, the thing had never been used. Billy argued it was so slow it would be quicker to walk. George couldn’t even squeeze behind the steering wheel, and nineteen-year-old Eddie the probationer said he wouldn’t be seen dead in it. “Where’re the keys to the hybrid?”

  “We still got that thing?”

  “There.” Billy spied them hooked on the key rack.

  “Will it even work?” George asked.

  “Should do. It’s been on charge for ten weeks.” Billy grabbed Eddie’s belt from the back of his chair.

  “What’re you doing with that?”

  Billy removed the Taser and Asp, and slid them into his own holster. Then he grabbed a radio from its dock and hurried to the back door. “I’ll be on this. Grab every weapon we have in here.”

  “Where are you going?” George followed.

  Billy hit the security bar and pushed
the door open. Outside, the living dead trudged the car park. In the far corner, the little hybrid nestled in bay two.

  George came up behind him. “Holy crap.”

  Two zombies stopped and glanced towards them. They groaned, causing two other monsters to look up.

  “Shit.” Billy pushed George back inside the station and closed the door.

  “What in the hell are they?” George asked.

  “I already told you.”

  “The dead don’t come back to life.”

  “Well, tonight it seems they do.” Billy sidestepped him and ran back into the main office. “We need to get to that hybrid.”

  “How are you going to do that? Those things are everywhere.”

  The filing cabinet inched forward, and the main security door edged open. Billy drew his Taser and backed away.

  “What’re you going to do with that?” George said.

  “If they come through that door…” Billy never finished his sentence. He heard George mutter a short prayer and unbutton the clip on his belt.

  “George,” Billy glanced over his shoulder. Sweat dripped from George’s forehead; dark patches stained the shirt around his armpits. “Aim for the head.”

  “What?”

  Billy shrugged. “It works in the films.”

  “You think these are zombies?”

  Billy didn’t answer. He turned back towards the door and saw a grey, vein-covered arm reach through and push the filing cabinet out of the way. It toppled over, drawers sliding open and sending papers scattering across the floor. The security door jutted open, and a female zombie – similar in looks to Billy’s old history teacher – squeezed through. Billy fired the Taser, and the dart hit the centre of her forehead. Her arms stiffened, and her body shook for a full minute while the voltage paralysed her. She fell to her knees, still no expression in her eyes, and remained there until the electric current ceased and she collapsed face down on the floor. He’d hated the old crone back in school.

  “Make it count, George.” Billy replaced the charge and aimed towards the door.

  A second zombie, this time an older man, climbed in. George stepped forward, the Taser unsteady in his hands. He fired. The dart embedded in the zombie’s cheekbone, the high voltage shaking the man more vigorously than the woman before him. His jaw fell free and swung from the left side of his face.

  “His head, George,” Billy said.

  “I did hit his head.”

  Billy motioned towards his own forehead. “Don’t you watch zombie films? Hit the brain.”

  “You mean that crap actually works?”

  Honestly? Billy had no idea whether it worked or not. All he knew was that when the voltage from George’s Taser stopped flowing, the dead man came for them again. Billy fired, hitting him right between the eyes. Like the woman, the zombie fell to his knees. He shook for a moment, and then collapsed in a heap. Another zombie edged through the gap. George reloaded and fired. The projectile hit its head, and like the two before him, he dropped to the floor.

  “At least we know this works,” Billy said, reloading.

  “Yeah, but we don’t have many charges.”

  “How many we got?”

  George took two charges from his drawer and put them on the desk.

  “Is that it?”

  “We used all the others pissing about out back, remember?”

  Two more zombies climbed through the door and clambered over the cabinet.

  “Best save them, then.” Billy holstered his Taser. He grabbed his Asp, extended it with a swift flick, and charged. Just like he would when teeing off with his three-iron, he belted the head of the nearest zombie. He heard the skull crack, and the dead man fell to the floor. Billy turned to the second zombie, and just like the first time, he whacked the Asp towards the head.

  “We need to get this door barricaded again.” Billy grabbed the side of the filing cabinet, and George hurried to help him. “And that desk. Slide it in front.”

  The table legs ground and juddered across the floor, the rubber pads leaving four perfectly straight black lines. “Hopefully that’ll hold them off long enough.”

  “Long enough for what?” George was sweating like a pig.

  Billy glanced at the window. Outside, the station entrance was awash with the walking dead. “We need to cause a distraction, something loud. Draw everything to that area.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we leg it out back to the hybrid.”

  “You still going with that plan?”

  “It’s the only one I got.”

  “It’s suicide.”

  “So is staying here. That door isn’t going to hold them back for long. What’re you going to do when they get in here?”

  George chewed on his lower lip. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Those rolls of firecrackers you confiscated from the Webster boys last week. Where’d you put them?”

  “Bottom drawer of my desk. Why?”

  Billy pulled open the drawer and there they were – a whole bag of them. He held them up to George, and smiled. “Because these are going to be our distraction.”

  George didn’t look happy. “Why don’t we just lock ourselves in the cells and wait for help to arrive?”

  “What help? These things are everywhere.”

  “But they won’t get in the cells.”

  “They will get in, and then you’ll die.”

  “Arnold Schwarzenegger himself couldn’t get in those cells without a key.”

  “And what if help never comes? How long do you think you’ll survive in there without food and water?”

  “A damn sight longer than I will out there.”

  Billy stopped talking. Nerves had gotten the better of the sergeant, and who could blame him? George’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay. Let’s light these things and get the hell out of here.”

  Billy pushed a coat stand out of his way, retrieved his lighter, and opened the window. He lit a couple of fireworks and threw them as far as he could. Small flames fizzed from the wick, and then a succession of loud cracks and pops echoed through the air. The zombies turned from the station entrance and shuffled towards it. Billy lit another, dropped it in the bag, and threw the lot outside. The noise roared, and he was sure the zombies out back would have heard. He closed the window and hurried towards the back door, with George following close behind. “Right. You ready?”

  George nodded, but it was obvious he wasn’t ready. He, like Billy, was scared to death.

  Billy opened the door. Zombies trudged towards the far end of the building, the sound of firecrackers much louder than he could have ever hoped. He glanced at George and nodded the all-clear, and quietly stepped out.

  The hybrid sat in the far corner of the yard, partly covered by overgrown brambles the council had promised to cut back months ago but as yet hadn’t. “Okay, c’mon.”

  “You sure it’s safe?”

  “Yes, I’m—”

  A corpse stepped out from behind the open door, mouth snarling, saliva frothing from the corners of its lips. It grabbed Billy’s shoulder and pulled him closer, dead eyes filled with bloodthirsty hunger.

  George edged away, stumbling over the step. He scrambled back inside the station and slammed the door shut, leaving Billy outside to fend for himself.

  “George!”

  But George was gone.

  Billy jerked his shoulder free, but the zombie’s bony fingers clasped tighter around his shirt. He pulled and struggled, but the monster refused to release him. His uniform ripped at the seam, exposing his bare shoulder, and the zombie surged forward with lips parted and ready to bite. Billy rammed his Taser against the side of the dead man’s head, and fifty thousand volts of electricity pummelled into the zombie’s ear canal. Smoke poured from its nasal cavity, and for ten seconds the monster convulsed. Finally, it slumped to the floor, knocking over a dustbin as it fell. Rubbish spewe
d across the tarmac, and the lid rolled a good ten metres until it collided into the side of the station. Several zombies looked back at the clatter, and saw Billy. In unison, they turned and began to shuffle their way back. Billy fumbled to reload the Taser, but he was out of charges. He threw the useless gun at the nearing crowd, a pathetic attempt to halt them, and raced for the station’s back door. “George, open the damn door.”

  The zombies closed in on him.

  “George, open this fucking door.”

  But George never appeared.

  “George! George!” Billy whacked his fists against cold metal until his palms bruised.

  Behind him, the dead lumbered nearer. He turned, his back pressed against the door, his path to the hybrid now blocked. He gripped the Asp, ready to swing at anything that came within a metre of touching him, and stepped forward. The direct route across the yard looked to be his best chance at reaching the little car alive. Three further steps and he swung at the first zombie, breaking its neck, but unsuccessful in killing it. Billy swung again, and this time the zombie’s skull cracked open like a broken egg. Two more steps and Billy whacked a second head, this time the single strike putting the zombie down. A third head, and a fourth. More zombies surrounded him, and for every one he killed, three more closed in. One reached for his hair, and Billy drilled the Asp into its eye socket. The zombie stilled almost instantaneously, and only dropped to the floor after Billy pulled the baton free. Congealed blood dripped from the Asp, but Billy continued to swing and smash it into every skull that crossed his path. A zombie clawed at his arm, another at his leg. Billy whipped the Asp around and stabbed it down through the body at his feet.

  Billy was losing this battle.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The clamps chafed Eliza’s ankles, and the short chain connecting them only allowed her to take small and unsteady steps.

  “Faster.” Mr. McKenzie took a torch from its holder and nudged Eliza towards a narrow passageway.