Even night there after she awoke in the night to hear pattering footsteps of children. Jayne knew it was her mind playing tricks but the tricks were growing more intense. Rats or cats had ripped the rubbish bags open and she gazed at Sam’s scattered newspapers once again and wondered if he was still alive. She wished she had gone with him, she wished he had stayed; she wished he were with her now.
The city was silent, no traffic, and no people. The two men walked up the wide main street of the city. They had walked for miles, were hot and exhausted and despite several attempts, neither of them could hotwire a car nor find one that had been abandoned with its keys.
Closer to the city centre the thick smells of raw sewage, gunfire and death were pungent in the air. Hearing a loud crash, Sam and Jack hit the floor for cover as a burning hotel’s inner floors collapsed.
The sun was shining down glinting off the tall buildings, causing them both to squint into the light. It was void of the dead, just the scattered decomposing corpses of burnt soldiers. Just then, two corpses staggered into the middle of the road. Stopping they faced Sam and Jack. The both parties started to walk towards each other, like a showdown in an old western movie. Jack and Sam drew their guns, fingers poised on the triggers. Two shots rang out in the silence, which were quickly followed by two thuds; it was all over in a blink of an eye.
They walked into a bistro, the door to which hung precariously from one hinge; the regulars were long gone or long dead. Sam sat down at one of the Formica tables while Jack pretended to order over the counter. Sam gave a chuckle as Jack strode over to a large commercial coffee machine that once would have made hundreds of cups per day. Nudging the stainless steel machine, it began to gurgle; hot curdled milk began to spray from one of the nozzles, before the machine made a loud whirring noise. Sam laughed some more as Jack reached into the under counter fridge and threw a bottle of beer to him. Turning he pulled out his gun and silenced the coffee machine with an echoing gunshot.
They sat facing each other talking about their past lives whilst they sipped on lukewarm beers. For a moment, they were two relaxed, regular people sitting, having a chat. What was going on in the world seemed a million miles away as they talked about cars, cable television, women and a shared their love of Elvis.
The conversation then turned to things that more morbid, living corpses that maybe trapped in their graves, squirming around in coffins, trying to get out. They theorised how the beings would evolve and what that would mean for them. They speculated about everything and the unnecessary, and then they talked about Jayne. It was evident time was running out for them and they needed to move fast. The sudden noise of spurting water from the shot coffee machine abruptly stopped their chat. Relieved, they laughed as the machine gave a final sigh, it last breath as it went quiet once again.
“That reminds me; while we’re here I need a toilet stop. A change from a bush, I’ll be back,” Jack announced smiling.
There was hope in Jack’s eyes now; he shared the same brave vision of the adventure to come as Sam. Get Jayne and kill these things. Still sitting at the table Sam noticed look of hope in Jack’s face, something he could remember in the darker times to come. Sam flipped the top off another beer.
Jack made his way to the toilet noticing the dry bloodstains on the walls. Flushing the toilet the rushing noise of the water filling the tank filled the room; he began to tuck himself in. He did not hear the moan, he did not hear the dragged footsteps, he did not hear the door creak, and he did not see the lop-sided, drooling dead whore staring at him.
Jack felt a cold chill run down his spine as he sensed something was wrong. He didn’t have time to turn round as he was pushed off balance, stumbling forward his head hit the toilet bowl, his skull fracturing on impact. He lay on the white tiled floor, paralysed in pain lying in a pool of his own blood. Immobilised with shock and pain, whilst his eyes were wide open, the woman bit into Jacks soft neck, tearing at his white skin. Blood pumped into his mouth and in the silence of his own mind, he bawled out for Sam. Jack’s warm blood poured from his throat and his body began to twitch in the woman’s arms.
Sam walked in to the toilet just in time to see the zombie biting at Jacks lips. For a brief moment he paused as it looked like she was giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, saving not ending his life.
Turning towards him she looked up like a naughty child, and Sam could have sworn she gave a smile as he fired all the bullets in his gun at the woman as he shrieked, “No!”
Collapsing to his knees, Sam pounded his fist on the wet floor in despair. He dragged himself to his feet and picked up Jack, slung him over his shoulder making his way out into the street.
The road was now full of the dead. Slowly but surely they began to surround him as a static of electricity mounted. Death was coming for him, breathing and panting, with its many faces of evil. Twisted, grey faces with yellowish skin, some matted with dried blood, some were dusty, soiled and damp. All kinds of people, still clothed in different garments, all in a varied condition and as in life, their individuality was still reflected in death.
For the first time Sam looked to the sky for help. Now would be a good time for some divine intervention he thought. The odds were far too great and he was excessively tired. He was out of out of time and out of luck. Jayne seemed a world away. This must be the end he thought. His hairs stood on end, and his ears and nose were overwhelmed by the moans and the stench of the dead that filled the air. Jack’s body gave out a small electric charge and Sam lay it down and turned to the horrid faces of the dead people who were still intent on their approach.
Abruptly, Jack sat up and his blood-clotted mouth opened. With a blast from Sam’s reloaded gun Jack was laid to rest once again, this time for good. Sam put his gun to his head; his finger rested on the trigger. He took a deep breath, it isn’t meant to end like this, he reflected.
The sound of a raucous engine disrupted his thoughts. A canary yellow, sand covered and fire-damaged sports car smashed its way through the sea of the dead; knocking over the bodies, the heads rolling off a few with the impact, body parts splattered against the windscreen and blood flew everywhere! The door of the Lamborghini Murcielago flipped up and without giving it a moment’s thought he dived in.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Sam adjusted himself in the passenger seat, relieved for the rescue he looked to the driver. There was a camera’s flash that momentarily blinded and startled him. Puzzled; so many questions, the why’s, what and how as he looked at the shaven headed woman from the compound. Grinning pushed the throttle to the floor.
The car sped off recklessly through and over the crowd.
“Who are you?” Sam asked.
Annoyingly she snapped another picture and with one hand, she placed the camera in the door panel, “I’m a photographer, duh and self made hard bitch.” She said handing him a crumpled business card.
Sam looked at the worn card, “So, former Elite photographer, Karen Stockwell, where are we going?”
“Where would you like to go?” She said raising one eyebrow.
“Home, Farmore,” Sam said breathlessly.
“There is nothing there.” she replied downbeat.
He turned his head to look at her. “There is something there, trust me.”
“You know, you remind me of someone. I’m sure it’ll come to me.” Sam gave an acknowledging nod as she shifted up a gear. “
“So you were a photographer before all this, not military trained and you ran that camp. What happened to adventure land?”
“It went all Michael Crichton on me,” she said smiling, looking at the road ahead, “After you left one of the dead we kept penned up got out. The men screamed sabotage, blamed each other. My inherited band of merry men started to fight amongst themselves and then the riots started. The electric fence failed. It was a train wreck. I feel for the children.” Sam mustered a nod. “Catching up with you was just a bit of luck. For you, that is. I heard my brother is alive, so I’
m going to find him.” She said smugly glancing in the rear view mirror seeing the dead now as just spots in the distance.
Looped, melodic music quietly played, as the faint smell of popcorn and candyfloss was lost in the rushing wind that whistled through the fairground. Tarpaulin blustered, discarded sweets and litter scattered the wrecked ground that has once been home to Farmore’s fair and visiting circuses.
A circus elephant wandered the grounds, crunching corpses, seats and over-turned stalls with its huge mass. The elephant raised its heavy head and looked at the big wheel that groaned and creaked loudly as one of the carriages began to move. A dead dwarf; dressed as a clown, in a candy stripe all in one, leapt up onto the safety bars of the carriage doors. Forever hungry it let out a moan and franticly began to shake the bars like a rabid caged animal. The big wheel’s carriage began to sway and creak as the soiled, foul smelling clown clung to the bars. The door of the carriage suddenly swung open and the dwarf found himself dangling from it by his dirty, blood stained ruff. The carriage door held him like a dog with a puppy in its mouth. Confused, the zombie clown momentarily stopped moaning and struggling. The air was quiet. The clown’s red nose fell, tumbling through the air before bouncing off the elephants back and onto the dirty floor.
As the elephant moved, the dwarf hit the floor with a thud. With its bones cracked and legs crushed, the clown, still moving, crawled its way forwards, craving for blood, craving for the elephant. The clown’s red wig slipped off as he was crushed by the 500 pounds of bedraggled lion pounced onto the clowns head, turning it’s skull to pulp. The dead who had been waiting in the shadows began to move forward, surrounding the lion and its kill. Despairingly, the lion snatched up the clown like a gazelle and disappeared into the abandoned ghost train, leaving the gathering crowd of the dead hungry for flesh.
PART FOUR: SYLLOGISM
Farmore lay in darkness, the only sound breaking the early morning stillness was the caw of a raven ruffling its black feathers whilst pecking at flesh from a skull. A flash of lightning lit up the sky disturbing the raven who hopped along the ground before taking flight. The white light caught the tips of its wings, and reflected off the wet roofs below causing the rain to sparkle and glisten as it fell. A loud crash of thunder interrupted the silence. The damp blanket of drizzle as if on cue turned into intense heavy rain. The rumbles of the three tanks as they moved slowly forward were lost in the storm. Over thirty soldiers marched alongside, their footsteps muffled in the gathering puddles. The sound of the rain hitting their waterproof clothing was soothing to Frank Marshal’s ears.
His mission had originally been to transport the rounded-up dead for destruction; now an impossible task, his mission had moved to stage two of the contingency plan.
Hardy took out a waterproof touch-screen military device and handed it to Frank, touching the palm size screen his mission details flashed onto the screen:
20. Destroy all secure dead units in preparation for termination.
Code 1477c.
With a flick of his finger on the rain-covered screen, a map of Farmore was displayed. Highlighted in neon green was their next stop; the local school. He tapped the screen again.
4.c Cellar/Basement containment, an estimated hundred, (100), active deceased.
Code 1977a.
He wiped the screen with his hand and gave it to Hardy who replaced the phone in his waterproofs. The soldiers continued to make their way through the dark streets with night vision goggles. As they trudged through the town, picking off the remaining dead with silenced rifles and handguns. They grew closer to the school, closing in, ever nearer.
Jayne pulled a lamb’s wool blanket over her shoulders, reminded of one of Sam ‘stolen’ finds. She looked up at the ceiling as the lightning outside lit it up. The rain beat rhythmically and hard against the single stained-glass window. The noise of the storm echoed throughout the building filling the school with its sound, reverberating through the corridors. Sitting there listening to the rain, Jayne was oblivious to what was approaching outside, and what lurked beneath her. She felt unsafe but wasn’t sure why.
In the vast storage cellar of the school bodies moved. Whilst wire fencing closed them, the electric security fence no longer worked due to the breaks in the electricity, only a manual red leaver stood between them and the schools corridor. Close to the fence lay the dead teacher Jayne had shot. The dead had begun to gnaw at each other; their yearning for flesh was immense, and it no longer mattered to them whether their kill was recent. Body parts were scattered all around the school’s underground store. One of the dead, a bloated, obese man stretched his hands through the fence reaching to grip the hair of the dead teacher. Slowly at first, it began pulling her towards the fence. Suddenly she stopped moving despite his insistent tugging at her hair, her foot had caught on the red leaver that stuck out from the ground near to the fence. Desperate to get his next meal, he began tugging her hair more insistently. The rocking motion of her being pulled backwards towards the fence caused her foot to keep knocking against the leaver. Slowly it began to move...
The soldiers stopped at the outside perimeter of the school fence awaiting Franks’ next order. The schoolyard was large making the fence a fair distance from the school, but easily within firing range.
Frank turned to Hardy who was standing next to him like a lost puppy.
“The fence had been constructed especially to keep the dead in, just in case they escape from the confinement.” Frank chewed on his gum and signalled for the tanks to move into position. He wiped his brow with the collar of his jacket, tired and exhausted he took off his helmet rubbed his temples and let the rhythm of the rain soothe his troubled mind. He wished he could quit they were fighting a losing battle. Nevertheless, he knew if he left now he would have nowhere to go. At least he wasn’t part of the problem; he was part of the solution - eradicating these creatures. He spat his gum onto the floor near Hardy’s boots and turned his attention to a commotion near tank two. Surprised by the sight of a yellow sports car parked up in front of it, he put his helmet on and was back in kick ass mode.
“I want to speak to the person in charge!” yelled Sam over the noise of the tank.
“Do not shoot him!” Frank moved forwards towards Sam. “Not yet in any case. Okay son, you don’t look like a crack head.”
“I’m in charge,” shouted Frank, “What’s the problem?”
“Test seventy-seven, it works. You know about it right?” Sam questioned erratically. “There was a soldier, Jacko, Jack, Jackson...” Sam realised how crazy he sounded. He gave a sigh. “Jayne Reed, she may be in that school, she worked on experiment seventy-seven. Seventy-seven kills the dead.”
“Okay, now calm down son. This school is a hazard and it will be rubble in just five minutes. Only Jack I’ve heard of is Jack shit but I have heard of experiment seventy-seven. I’m tired, I’ve been redeployed from one mission to the next. I’m pissed. As for the girl you think is the answer to our problems, it’s highly unlikely that she can help us, I knew Jayne Reed, she’s dead.”
“Dead? When? I was with her about a week ago.”
“It can’t be the same Reed...” mumbled Frank.
“You’ve got to give me time, or it’s all for nothing!” interrupted Sam squaring up to Frank.
“Damn it, you’ve got to give him a chance soldier,” Karen pleaded.
Thoughts of a possible futures and memories of the past ran through Frank’s old mind. House featured prominently, although he still could not recall his real name...
The rain continued to beat down, large, cold, wet drops. Frank looked around at the cold and wet soldiers and checked his watch. They had been through enough. Maybe it is Jayne, he thought, but he couldn’t keep his men hanging around on a ‘maybe’ for a dishevelled man and his Amazonian, skinhead sidekick.
“You have ten minutes, and that’s it. No more, if you’re not out of there by then I will give the instruction for the tanks to move forward and to fire
at will.”
“Is anyone with me?” shouted Sam to the listening soldiers. The soldiers stared blankly at him; some shook their heads while others walked away. “Pah,” scoffed Sam. Why do they look so worried? These are the pros, he briefly wondered.
The lighting lit the sky up once again. Karen stood by the car blending into the darkness with her black clothes. “I’ve got it - you remind me of my brother.” She looked into Sam eyes. “I’m with you.”
Sam had seen that look before. It was the same look Jack had given him just before he died. Sam knew he couldn’t let her go with him into the school. Whilst he knew Jayne would still be in there, he didn’t know what else could also be there, waiting in the darkness.
“I’ll just be two minutes. I’ll be back.”
He climbed the fence with ease and ran across the yard splashing through the cold rainwater that lay in puddles. Sam paused for a moment as he reached the doors of the school. Its entrance was like a mouth; Sam entered unaware of what was in its belly. Entering the building he gave a quick glance back to the outline of the soldiers and tanks.
Jayne awoke to the noise of rapidly approaching footsteps. She stood up listening intently. She knew that these footsteps were real unlike the pattering footsteps of the dead children that played in her mind. She stood with the window behind her, facing the door. The footsteps grew closer and a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. The shadow called her name, it was Sam’s voice. Lowering her gun she walked towards the door. “Sam?”
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