by RR Haywood
Nine people down. Five men and four women screaming in pain as they beg for him to stop. He has stopped. The knife is away as he steps towards the boy.
‘LEAVE HIM,’ the ex-soldier screams and tries to scrabble across the concrete to protect the boy.
Gregori squats, ‘up.’
The boy doesn't speak or show emotion but reaches out and wraps his arms round Gregori’s neck.
Stepping over the bodies he moves to the door and first pulls back the thick top bolt then the bottom bolt. With only left holding the door he gently prises it back until only the smallest amount is keeping it shut.
‘Come…we go…’ The boy mimics Gregori’s deep voice and as he moves deftly to the interior door, the boy turns to smile at the dying nine bleeding out on the floor.
The door bangs and gives a little. It rattles hard in the frame as chunks of plaster fall from the wall above. It bangs again as the snarling from the other side increases. The nine weep and cry, holding each other tight as they listen to the impending death about to be wrought upon them.
As the interior door closes and Gregori disappears from view, so the outer door gives and the nine face the onslaught of undead, pumped to a frenzy by the stench of blood and piss. The last thing they hear is a small boy speaking in a low voice, ‘Come…we go…’
Twenty-Three
Day 16
They saw me. Of that there is no doubt. Hundreds of them, maybe more, possibly thousands.
My god I am so terrified. Utterly terrified. My chest feels so tight I can hardly draw breath and my heart is hammering so much I feel dizzy. My stomach is knotted into a tight ball. I’m not suited to this type of activity. I can’t cope with it. I fear I shall die here today.
We hid in the arts centre but now, looking back just that short time ago, shows me of the poor decisions my panicked mind is making. Hiding in a blasted arts centre with a horse!!! What was I thinking? There was a big enough door to get Jess into the place but none of the any other doors were big enough to get her out.
We stayed quiet for a while but Jess sensed them getting closer. Maybe she doesn't perceive them as a direct threat to her, but the general alien sounds they make, or their predatory nature, certainly spooks her for no sooner had I realised they were drawing closer, she was snorting and slamming one metal shod hoof into the tiled floor, a nice clanging sound that echoed round the old warehouse.
They heard us and came running. I mounted Jess, secured my assault rifle across my chest and just had time to grip the reins when they started beating in the big door. The poor horse was skittish, terrified of hearing the beasts outside but being trapped inside a blasted building. We cantered and slid round the inside looking for a viable alternative exit but on finding none other we knew we had to go out that main door. The problem was that the door was locked on the inside by me when we came in, which meant I would have to get off Jess, unlock the door, get back on Jess and get out before they got me. There are thirty or so rounds in the assault rifle and even assuming I got clear shots with each it would never be enough to stem the tide coming against us.
So the only option was to wait and stand a few metres back from that door and listen to the constant hammering as they beat it down from the outside. Every single bang and thump made me want to puke and I think it was a combination of my fear and the whole situation that added to the panic Jess was feeling.
I must, for the sake of posterity, say now that once again I owe my life to that horse. She’s big and clumsy, highly strung, overly sensitive and stubborn as a mule. But she’s also exceptionally strong and very well trained by the police that owned her before I. I understand that horses will naturally shy away from tightly packed groups of people that present a wall. Police and military horses are trained to go through such things and use the power of their size and strength to do so.
There we waited. Slowly those doors started to give. The noises were indescribable. Snarling and growls like wolves or beasts from nightmares and in my frightened state, I knew the noises were done on purpose to generate more fear so the infection could pick up on the hormones and scents released. Even knowing that did not stop me from being utterly shit scared. Listening to such a thing but being unable to flee or do anything other than wait until the inevitable. I knew my time had come. I knew I was going to die and even contemplated sacrificing myself in the hope they would leave Jess alone but that same fear kept me rooted in the saddle.
The doors finally gave way with an almighty splintering of wood and tearing of bricks that created a cloud of dust and debris spewing into the centre. There they were. A solid mass of old and freshly turned infected hosts.
What struck me was that they paused. Only for the briefest of times but they held back as though taking it all in. Scanning the room to see what the opposition was, and it was as though a combined effort was being undertaken…no, that is unclear. I am a scientist and must…must make accurate records…forgive my shredded nerves.
The door was broken down. There then stood approx. one hundred infected persons within line of sight and so densely packed it was hard to gauge the specific quantity of them. They were clearly ranged from hosts taken days ago with old festering wounds to newly taken hosts still with colour in their cheeks and hair on their heads that wasn’t greasy, greying or falling out.
Every mouth had bared teeth. Every mouth was drooling and I know the infection is contained within that drool. Every hand was clawed so not only could they bite and pass the infection but they could claw and rake to open the skin and pass the infection that way.
Every pair of eyes were on me and Jess. The eyes were red from the blood being forced to surround the pupil.
*** IMPORTANT*** The red eyes are the only visible sign of an infected person. The appearance of clawed hands, drooling mouth and decaying manner is a by-product and secondary in terms that it is a behavioural manifestation done as necessity. The blood in the eyes is the only known irreversible side-effect.
I have been a scientist long enough to know when a visual examination is taking place. That pause WAS a visual examination of me, of Jess, of the scene, the place, the locality. That concerns me greatly as it means the intelligence of the infection is growing. They did not simply charge but they assessed first.
When they did charge I clamped my muscles and waited to die. Jess did not. Jess had other ideas and her training kicked in. The charging beasts were no different to her than a solid line of student protesters or football hooligans. They were screaming, wailing things to be gone through and my god that horse went through them. As a side, I am rather glad the place was a warehouse as the ceiling beams were high. So when Jess reared up on her hind legs and kicked out with her front legs I did not strike my head on the floor above, but rather whimpered in abject terror while the horse did the work.
She kicked and out, sent a good three or four of them flying away and timed her landing to perfection so that another one was trampled down. This gave her space to gain purchase as the tiled floor was slippery but the body she landed on was not.
Then she went forward. She did not walk nor run but…well, she ploughed…yes, that is the best word I can think of to describe it. She put her head down and simply powered through them. Several times she reared up but she did so less than before and only enough to batter them aside. She used her head too. Thrashing side to side and using that solid bone to beat them away.
Horses are docile herd animals but remind me never to get into a fight with one. She was a ferocious animal that could not be stopped.
It was only when we were halfway through that horde that I recalled having the long bladed machete with me. I did not draw it. I did not do anything other than hang on for dear life and quite possibly I closed my eyes for some bits and prayed Jess would get us through.
Going through the doorway was the worst point but she seemed to sense the resistance would be harder, and I felt a surge of speed as she aimed for that gap and charged through them. Of course I fea
Once outside, I glimpsed both sides of the street and felt my stomach churn once again at the clogged streets.
At this point I thought Jess was losing control as she started moving sideways. After a few seconds I realised this was just another tactic of using her ample behind to trample them down. She stepped high too. Like they do in dressage. Her high feet came down heavy and I even heard the snapping of bones as she landed on legs, ankles and feet. With space gained she powered on and gained speed to get through them.
Street after winding street we went through and every single one of those streets was full of infected, but I did notice that after the initial density of the group coming through the doors, the rest were almost in pockets or distinct hordes. Like teams as it were. Groups moving together. Seven or eight in one group. Twenty or more in others but I confess that in the chaos, I could not detect if each group had an alpha leader or if they were each still controlled by the hive mind.
With Jess taking control I let her…I say I let her, I had no choice in the matter…Jess led us out and ran down a street building at a gallop. It was about halfway down the street when I realised she was aiming for the five bar gate at the end. I think my maximum level of fear had been reached as I do not recall feeling an increase in terror, but rather a continuation of sustained terror. I think I gripped correctly and I know my backside was off the saddle as she leapt but everything seemed to go in a sort of Hollywood slow motion from then on. The landing was solid. She did not miss a step but just kept going and once on the turf of an open field she ran like the wind. Her stride opened and although it felt she was at her fastest before, she found an extra gear and moved up until the wind was roaring past my face and whipping the tears from my eyes.
I could not have stopped her if I had wanted to. Jess was in charge and it was Jess that ran until she could either run no more or felt sufficient distance had been gained.
Once she slowed and gently eased down to a canter, I looked back and sat amazed at the great distance now between us and the town way back. The infected were coming after us but they were small and in the distance.
It was right at that point I knew I had made the right decision in not only choosing a horse as my transport, not only in choosing a riot trained horse, but in choosing Jess.
We moved some miles until finding this old stable block in the lee of a hill. Running water and equipment in their tack room meant I was able to give Jess a cooling wash and brush down while she drank deeply and ate food.
It is here I make these notes while constantly watching the land around me for signs of movement. Will they keep coming or is there another purpose to the gathering I have found in that town? If I were a brave man, or a trained soldier I may find a way to deplete their numbers with bombs and such like. But I am not and my mission is one of the upmost importance.
Greater care MUST be taken. I MUST not allow myself to get into such dangerous points again…
I must go. Jess has lifted her head high and is giving that snort of worry. Something is coming after us.
NB
Twenty-Four
Jagger glances across at the stony faced Blowers. Only a few years between them but the battles, fights, deaths and constant striving for survival have etched a mask of years on the team’s corporal. He stares ahead then off to the left, to the right then back to ahead. He listens intently and constantly glances down to watch Meredith strolling about sniffing the ground.
He’s deeply unsettled yet he shows no outward sign of the troubles in his mind. Being separated from Cookeywas difficult. He’s always teamed up with Cookey. Why not now? They’ve been together from the start; they know how each other move and the work together instinctively to cover each other’s backs. Cookey is a dick but he makes everyone laugh and yeah, the constant barrage of jokes gest a bit much sometimes, but Blowers wouldn’t change it for the world and without doubt now counts Cookey and Nick as his best friends.
Jagger stays as stony faced. Years of living in a hard council estate teaches you not to betray your emotions. He’s different from Blowers and he looks with his eyes instead of moving his head.
Why did Mo Mo send him outside? Why did Mo Mo shout the orders? That wasn’t Mohammed. Jagger shifts position and goes to say something then stops when he realises he doesn't know what to say without sounding a twat.
‘Shit, isn’t it?’ Blowers mutters.
‘Huh?’
‘I said it’s shit,’ Blowers sighs, ‘Mr Howie down…’ he stops and sighs again, ‘and what was all that with Mo Mo?’
‘Dunno bruv,’ Jagger blurts, ‘he ain’t done that before.’
‘No?’ Blowers turns to stare with his mouth turned down, ‘he sounded like Mr Howie…like…that’s what Mr Howie would say…I mean…’
‘Yeah I get it,’ Jagger murmurs, ‘shit innit.’
‘Say that again.’
‘So is Clarence number one now?’
‘Eh? Number one?’
‘Yeah like the bossman? Is he in charge?’
‘Should be,’ Blowers nods, ‘but…he…he didn’t look too good just then.’
‘Stress,’ Jagger nods knowingly.
‘Stress?’
‘Yeah bruv, stress,’ Jagger replies, ‘it’s fucking way worse than people think.’
‘Right,’ Blowers remarks.
‘We going back then?’ Jagger asks for the sake of the comfort of speaking.
‘Yeah,’ Blowers sighs again, ‘Cookey’ll keep on until they see sense. Lani’s fucking losing it…Paula thinks we’re in a managers meeting and Roy just talks bollocks.’
‘Yeah,’ Jagger nods slowly, ‘Maddox is like Mr Howie…he’s like…got that way innit. You get me? Everyone wants to do what he says cos…’
‘Shush,’ Blowers holds his hand up an inch. Jagger goes instantly quiet and knows better than to ask what Blowers heard. Instead, he strains to see anything different while noticing Blowers motioning towards the dog who stands taut and alert with ears pricked.
She sniffs the air. Dissecting scents as they carry through her nasal passage into the olfactory senses of her brain, forty percent of which is given over to her ability to smell.
She glances back to Blowers, to the member of pack with her. She knows her sense of smell is greater but she also knows his height and advanced species of sight outmatch hers.
She separates the scents hitting over two hundred million receptors. Badgers. Foxes. Species of birds. Old carrion meat and the now ever present smell of blood, piss, shit and fear. She picks up on the scent of Nick smoking within the building. She smells the nerves given off by Lani and Clarence. Wood smoke hangs unseen from a great distance. Burning rubbers, chemicals and a hundred other scents. A hidden world of messages, knowledge and understanding and there, right there, is the smell of the things. They’re coming. Coming this way.
The pack leader is down but not dead. She felt his heart beating as it was before and knows his body is still strong. Either the pack leader comes back or another steps forward to challenge for the role. She senses Mo Mo, Clarence and Nick for the role of leader for those have the energy. Dave is the same as her, a member of the pack and one given to a set of skills but not given to lead. A protector not a leader.
But the pack leader is down and the pack are not together as they should be and there is danger coming. The things that tried to kill her little one are coming. She can smell them. She is repulsed by that stench and images of sinking her teeth into their flesh flood her mind. An urge to attack and drive them off. She gives voice. A warning first to the pack. She smells something. They have to listen and smell too. The voice she gives is quiet but steady and she feels the hand on her neck. She knows the message has been passed and now she gives her big voice.
She stands proud with the hairs on her back standing up. She shows teeth. Big teeth. Teeth ready for killing. She roars in defiance, warning them to stay away, stay back, do not come here for I am here, the pack is here. You threaten the pack and I will not let you pass.
‘Oh fuck…not now…’ Blowers stares hard as the massed snake on the road comes into view. Vehicles are being pushed by the many figures running alongside. No noise. Silent. An approach of overt stealth that steals into view.
‘Fuck…Jagger get inside and warn the others. Fuck.’ Blowers raises his rifle and takes aim as the first rag hanging from the first vehicle is ignited. Spotting the plume of smoke, he lowers the assault rifle and stares intently as his heart booms through his chest. He draws breath and in that second he knows everything has just changed.
‘INCOMING….INCOMING….INCOMING…’ he roars the words over and over. Without hesitation he raises the rifle and fires single shots into the dense crowd. Jagger is an instant behind him and the air fills with the rapid pop pop of the weapons. The vehicle gains speed. The undead sprint flat out with everything they have to send the vehicle against the building. Down the access lane they surge, aiming for the reception building and the already weakened wall.
Blowers empties the first magazine, rams the next one home and flicks the weapon from single shot to full automatic. He aims and fires a solid withering stream of lead, but the effect is negligible as but a few fall.
‘GET IN,’ Blowers grabs Jagger’s shoulder and sends him staggering towards the smashed in wall of the reception. He shoves in his third magazine and fires again, before turning to race behind the lad.
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