by Ricky Fleet
“If we find somewhere to hide, I want to be able to secure it to buy us some time. The boxes hold some solid padlocks, hasps, and staples,” Mike explained, showing her. The sliding steel pins would hold for a while before breaking, and every second counted if the dead came knocking.
“How far do you think we will make it today?” she asked.
“In the snow, with those things on our asses?” he said, kneeling and looking out through the keyhole. “A few miles at best. Less if the cold gets to us.”
“I don’t want to be stuck out in this weather, especially in a tent,” she whined, heard herself and stopped. Mike caught the self-control and smiled at her.
“Neither of us do, they were only going to be used in the event of an emergency. On top of that, we would have to keep watch all night so we would be exhausted. I don’t want a fight if we can help it. Anyway, there are plenty of farms across the fields we will be travelling, one of them should do the job,” he stated.
He could see the carpark had a few guests, but they weren’t as animated as usual. The snow had covered everything and even some of the zombies wore a crown of white.
“What can you see?” Debbie wondered, noticing how closely he was studying the outside world.
“I think they are frozen,” he whispered, “Or at least slowed down by the cold. Let’s get moving while we have the chance.”
Mike unlocked the door and pushed it open, checking for lurking horrors behind it and cutting a furrow through the settled snow. The light reflected from the whitened ground was dazzling and he quickly donned a pair of expensive Raybans he had stolen from the camping shop. Debbie followed and pushed the door closed gently, locking the door behind them and pocketing the keys.
“Planning on coming back?” Mike asked with amusement from the cover of a parked truck.
“You never know, we might have to run back here if things don’t work out,” she replied, too nervous to take offense.
“That’s actually a fair point, good thinking,” he commended her, before returning his focus to the surrounding area.
“I think they really are frozen,” she whispered. Two zombies were looking directly at them, but they made no move to attack.
“We need to get a move on though, I think they are starting to defrost,” hissed Mike hearing the first faint groans issue from the glacial lungs of the dead.
They broke into a run, keeping to the center of the road between the abandoned cars to avoid any obstacles that could have twisted an ankle. Heads turned to watch them, and Debbie could see signs of movement in the mannequin like figure’s limbs which they passed.
“Stop… have to stop,” gasped Debbie after only two minutes.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mike snarled through gritted teeth, “We have another mile until we reach the open fields!”
Debbie was caught between trying to draw breath and crying at the abuse she was receiving. “I don’t… run. Sorry… just leave… me,” she sobbed.
Mike was glancing around and the locals were now mobile, albeit still slower than normal which was their only chance.
“Why did you let me fuck you this morning? We could have been long gone!” Mike shook her violently, which only served to increase the gasping and running snot. He was furious at himself as much as her, but this wasn’t something he was willing to divulge. It was only this shared guilt that stayed his clenched fist, and instead he pulled her backpack off and threw it away. They would have to take their chances without her sleeping bag and other essentials. If this fucked them both, he would kill her before the zombies got close.
“No… just go…” She tried to push him away.
“Come on, we fast walk while you get your breath back,” Mike took her by the arm to help ease the burden and he looked back with remorse at the fading backpack.
“Thank you for not leaving me behind,” she said eventually. Embarrassment and fear had kept her quiet for nearly ten minutes which was a record.
“I don’t understand how you are in such good shape but so unfit.” He looked sideways as they started to jog slowly.
Debbie could only look at the ground, racked with self-disgust.
“Ahh,” Mike said, knowingly, “You’re a puker.”
“Don’t say that, it sounds awful.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. Whatever you do, it works,” he replied, a strange compliment to her eating disorder.
“Thanks… I think,” she huffed. His steady breathing was a constant companion to her own labored panting. Her lungs and legs screamed in agony, it was as if someone had poured acid in her veins. She nearly collapsed to the ground with relief when he stopped them behind a wall to scout the next obstacle. To reach the fields, they would either have to cross the motorway and the teeming zombies that swarmed there, or use the pedestrian flyover.
“Catch your breath,” Mike ordered unnecessarily. Debbie was hunched over, vomiting the cereal bar she had eaten for breakfast. This time she would have given anything to keep the food inside her.
“Old habits die hard I guess?” Mike laughed with derision.
“Cunt,” was all Debbie could muster between drawing breath into her tortured lungs, and trying to stop heaving. Nothing was left in her stomach to expel and the spasms left her weakened.
“Decision time,” Mike looked at her, “We either cross the six lanes and hope for the best. Remember the game Frogger?”
She did. It hadn’t worked out too well for the poor frog much of the time; either squashed or drowned, which had always struck her as a strange death for an amphibian.
“Or?”
“We take the bridge, but if any follow or block our way we may as well just jump from the top and kill ourselves,” he replied candidly.
She mulled the choice, knowing she was the weak link and would doom them both if it went wrong. It didn’t occur to her the sly looks he was giving her were the reaffirmation that she would be fed to the walking dead to save himself. She assumed it was his own inner thoughts. The dead were sluggish in the lower temperatures, but their sheer number in between the wrecked cars terrified her. If they got cornered or slipped on the icy ground, it would be their end.
“We risk the bridge,” she stated, decision made.
He nodded and they quickly skirted the wall and a vehicle that had ploughed through the brickwork. The bridge was made of painted steel and through the safety bars they could see no zombie was lurking, which was a miracle considering the numbers that waited below.
“Quickly,” Mike urged her, as they reached the disabled friendly bridge ramp.
He could remember the uproar that had greeted the plan to replace the old steps with the ridiculously expensive slope. When pressed, the local Council had been unable to provide a shred of evidence that anyone with a disability had even asked for the alteration. Some had called it a vanity project by out of touch bureaucrats, others had argued that anything that encouraged those with impairments to get out was to be championed. After much fanfare and a mayoral unveiling, the lack of use by a single wheelchair user had led to a massive voter backlash that saw the incumbents ousted for the first time in years.
“Mind where you step, the snow has made it slippery,” Debbie warned.
“Thanks,” Mike replied, holding on to the railing for support just in case. He didn’t know what had triggered the flashback. Perhaps it was the knowledge that governments and politicians were now dead and buried, so to speak. The powerful and ruthless would forge the new ways of the future and he was certain that he and his sibling would have a part of the glory.
Below, the dead clawed upwards, beseeching the pair to spare a chunk or two of their flesh. Just enough to take the edge off the inhuman hunger which drove them. The lack of intelligence in the corpses working in their favor and drew many dead away from the exit ramp on the other side. If any sense had remained, they would have just marched up to greet them and devour them screaming.
“Take the backpack, I need my arms f
ree to kill those,” Mike pointed at a small handful that remained and she took the pack without complaint.
“Be careful,” Debbie cried. The walkway was narrow and if she tried to help, it was likely she would just get in the way at the wrong moment.
Mike was all game as he reached the bottom of the slope, psyching himself and crashing the axe against the metal railing in a frenzy. The narrowness that could have caused issues for the pair, also worked in their favor as the zombies struggled against each other with their need to feed. Mike planted his feet and met each monster as it got in range, slashing wildly and tearing chunks of skull away in a rotten spray. The bodies sprawled and provided a further barrier, so Mike climbed on the corpses, the bones fracturing under his weight. Hacking at the last three zombies, he cut them to ribbons and parts of limbs, heads, and torsos were scattered around his feet. Turning to look at Debbie he looked insane, with adrenaline coursing through his system and a bloodlust that wanted more. Instead of being afraid, she felt aroused at his ferocity, like maidens of yore who had bedded the mightiest gladiators.
“Mike. No!” she ordered when she caught him eyeing the approaching group.
With an almost animal whine of yearning, he lowered his chopper and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“We need to go,” she said, gently calming him as she stepped over the fallen.
He couldn’t speak, only nod his agreement through the adrenaline dump tremors. With one last look at the gathering horde, they ran across the overgrown shrubbery of the motorway embankment and disappeared through the thick hedgerows, leaving their pursuers to bewail the loss.
“That was close,” Debbie said, stating the obvious, “Let’s put some distance between us.”
“Ok, we need to head east towards Hunston, then north-east will take us to Ford Prison,” he replied, wiping the chunks of clotted gore from his face and clothing.
With a cracking and rustling crash, the groans of the dead increased in volume as the swarm crushed through the foliage. The snow was rapidly becoming a slush underfoot and the undead showed little sign of their previous affliction. Whether their missing arms and legs had broken off while frozen, or been eaten before death, neither Mike or Debbie wanted to find out.
“Persistent fuckers, aren’t they?” Mike fumed.
“How are we going to get away from them?” Debbie whimpered, “We need rest, they don’t.”
“Just shut up and walk, mind your footing though. I think this field was ploughed before the winter,” Mike warned and Debbie could feel the contours of the earth beneath her feet, the rising piles of shifted earth.
“I want to go back to the train station,” she cried. The mixture of aches and pains, combined with their entourage was pushing her to breaking point.
“And how the hell do you plan on accomplishing that?” Mike barked, casting a fearful look over his shoulder. The dead had spread out and now covered half the span of the field.
“I don’t know…” she sobbed.
Mike looked at her, the way she staggered with slumped shoulders, like she had already given up. All it would take was a punch or a kick to send her sprawling and the zombies would have their fill of her warm meat. If it had been a smaller following, he would have sacrificed her life there and then, but the walking corpses numbered close to two hundred. It was possible the ones who couldn’t reach Debbie would continue their pursuit and he would be alone.
“Come on,” he threw one of her arms over his broad shoulders to help her run, “We will change direction to throw them off our scent.”
Mikes resolve was infectious and she found reserves of strength that were heretofore unknown. She nodded and lifted his arm, breathing fast but with a steady rhythm in place of the near hyperventilation. The field ended with a barbed wire fence that bordered a smaller road.
“Get through, this will buy us a minute,” Mike said, holding the wire apart while she climbed through. She offered to take his pack to allow him through, but he took hold of a post and vaulted it instead.
“The nunnery!” Debbie exclaimed.
“What?”
“Hunston nunnery is close, we could hide there. Follow me,” she said excitedly, grabbing his hand.
The road was empty which gave them a clear run. It was unusual to find a zombie free route, maybe it was the proximity of the city drawing them in, they just didn’t know. They had made it three hundred feet before the dead ripped themselves to shreds pressing through the spiked barrier. It gave them a chance to catch their breath while they planned.
“What is this place you are talking about, do nuns really live there?”
“So Sam said. I was eavesdropping while they talked in the farmhouse and he mentioned this place. It is set back from this road and has high stone walls surrounding the grounds. There is only one side of the living quarters and chapel exposed with windows set high enough to be unreachable. One door in, that’s it,” she explained.
“It sounds like a fortress.”
“It almost is. It was designed to be a sanctuary during the dark ages for priests and their followers who were fleeing persecution. When the danger had passed, the archbishop assigned it as a convent for ladies who wanted to serve God. What a crock of shit,” Debbie laughed. Who wanted to waste their whole life being faithful to a made up sky fairy?
“I don’t like it. What if we get trapped inside and they surround us?” Mike pondered, analyzing every conceivable angle. He would be happier on his feet, at least that way they could feint and dodge to avoid the dead.
“It was just an option, I thought it may help,” she replied.
“We can take a look, but I think we should stay mobile.”
The high laurel hedgerows stretched into the distance, with gated entrances every half mile for agricultural access. A faded wooden sign read ‘Hunston Convent, Private’ at one opening. Mike looked down the snowy driveway, thinking. The walls were high and made of heavy stone, not unlike the color of the rock from Winspit mine. It would be a fine place to hide if they didn’t have the prison to reach. Curiously, dead zombies littered the pathway, piled either side of the road. The snow had encased most of the bodies, but patches of rotten flesh showed through.
“What do you make of that?” Mike pointed to the neat rows of corpses.
“Someone has put them there. Do you think it’s to scare people away?” asked Debbie, frowning.
“I don’t think so. It’s almost as if they wanted to keep the driveway clear,” Mike mused.
“We can take a quick look. I’m intrigued now,” Debbie offered, shrugging her shoulders.
Mike glanced back at the horror choked road, the shambling, crumbling wall of death that was coming for them. “Ok. If we need to we can just draw them in and circle the wall.”
They trampled through the snow, watching the heaped corpses for signs of movement. Mike paused when he caught sight of something through the melting snow. Kneeling down, he brushed away the slush and a small wooden crucifix was bound to the forehead with twine.
“What do you make of that?” Mike asked as he looked at the religious symbol and the gaping wound in the split skull of the deceased.
“I have no…”
“Quickly child, get inside!” cried an unfamiliar voice, causing them both to start.
Mike fell back onto his ass after mistaking the source to be the zombie, but peering out from the heavy door of the convent was a nun dressed in traditional habit. Her face was full of concern for the two unannounced visitors.
“Hurry!” she beckoned them with a wave of the hand.
They looked at each other and a malicious grin spread on Mike’s lips, “Follow my lead.”
“Are you being followed?” the sister asked. The growing chorus from the approaching hundreds answered the question for her and she became even more frantic.
Sprinting the last fifty yards, they barreled in through the open doorway, narrowly missing the nun. The entrance hall was exactly as Mike had expected it t
o be; adorned with a variety of crosses and religious artifacts, but little else. Those in service to God rarely had anything of material wealth or luxury. Even the chairs, though antique and beautifully made, were worn and uninviting. The opulence of the higher tiers of the clergy didn’t filter down to those who willingly chose abstinence. The smell of age hung in the air, as much from the ancient dwelling as the elderly sisters who came through to see what all the ruckus was about.
“What on earth is going on here? Who are you?” demanded a stern looking nun of advanced years. The way the others gave her space indicated she was the mother superior.
“Sister Mary, they were out in the cold and in danger. I had to let them in,” answered the sister who had opened the door.
“How dare you disobey me?” shouted Sister Mary, ignoring the newcomers. “I told you we were to maintain anonymity and pray for salvation!”
“But… God wouldn’t have wanted them to be left to die,” agonized the younger nun.
“I decide what God wills. Do you understand me? Look at the trouble the others have already caused us with their impact on our scant supplies,” she screeched and the younger nun was cowed, her head lowering in submission.
“Yes Mother Superior, I understand.”
“Good. Now I am sorry, I truly am, but there is no place for you here. We simply don’t have the space or resources. You will have to leave, and know that God goes with you,” Sister Mary ordered, full of pomposity and righteousness. With a flapping of the arms, she tried to push the pair out through the open doorway until Mike produced a pistol and slammed it into the side of her face, sending her sprawling to the floor.
“I don’t think so, you arrogant cunt,” Mike said and the nuns blanched and crossed themselves. All except for their would-be savior, who was transfixed with fear at the sight of the firearm. On the floor, blood gushed from the cheek of the mother superior and her eyes fluttered in unconsciousness. The others had gone to her aid, dabbing at the open wound to try and staunch the blood.
“What’s your name?” Mike demanded of the younger nun.
“Sister Belinda, sir,” she answered meekly, still looking at the sleekly shining weapon, “I’d better close the door now.”