Amy thought of Chris out in the forest on his own, lost, frightened. He acted tough, but she knew him. He was scared, he had always been scared. “Are we going to look for him?”
“No,” said Anita. “I don’t ever want to see him again.”
Terry looked from Anita, to David, to Amy. “Ok, that’s settled then. Let’s get moving.”
“Terry?” said Amy.
“Look, I know you’ve known him for years, but come on, look what he’s done. He’s always been a bit off the wall, we can’t trust him. We’re dealing with life and death here, every single day. We need to be able to trust the people we’re with.”
“He saved us, remember?”
“That was then, right at the start of all this,” said Terry. “It’s different now, he’s falling apart! He can’t handle it. He still can’t get over his nan. He’s a kid, a dangerous kid. He’ll get us killed, or he’ll kill someone else. And I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands.”
Was Terry right? She thought yes, but still there was something in her heart that hurt, that felt she was abandoning Chris. He had fucked up, but hadn’t they all at some time?
But she still nodded. She still said “Ok”.
David let out a visible sigh of relief and hugged Ollie. “We can help each other, you guys and us,” he said. “We can work together…”
Chris cursed as he nearly tripped over another branch, or root, or whatever the fuck it was. He caught his footing and continued to run deeper into the dark and damp woods, with every step the light becoming more distant, the vegetation dryer and browner.
He stopped to catch his breath and glanced behind him. The far boundary of the wood glowed dimly. No one was following him. They didn’t give a fuck.
He waited for a minute.
Just in case.
But still no one followed. They’d even stopped shouting.
“Fuck you,” he said under his breath. His voice in the stillness of the woods surprised him. “Fuck you!” he said again, this time louder. He looked about him sharply, expecting to see zombies dropping from the trees, emerging from the bushes, raising from the undergrowth, but only one single bird call replied.
“Fuck you!” he yelled this time. There was no echo; the thick branches and tree trunks devoured the sound. He doubted anyone further than ten feet away would hear him. He threw his backpack down, took out his axe and scanned his surroundings.
“You know what, I don’t give a fuck either!” he smacked his axe hard into a nearby tree. His arm jarred against the unmoving trunk and a satisfying chunk of bare, fresh white wood splintered to the ground. “You can all get to fuck, you fucking pricks!” he shouted as he swung repeatedly at the tree, each word signalling a new strike against the wood.
“Fucking Terry, you nobhead, fuck you Amy you stupid bitch, I don’t fucking fancy you anymore and fuck you…” he paused. He couldn’t bring himself to add Nate’s name to his litany of hate.
He stopped and stood with the axe hanging limp by his side. A large diagonal lump was hewn from the tree. Sap oozed from where bark met fresh wood underneath.
“Sorry, tree,” he said.
That stupid fucking family. Why couldn’t they have just stayed in the fucking same place as they were? Then nothing would have happened, he would still be with everyone.
He didn’t want to be alone.
He sat down by the trunk of the tree and took out Nan’s binoculars from his backpack, all he had managed to save from her flat. He stared at them.
“You’re a bloody idiot lad,” said Nan. “And a bloody coward.”
Tears formed around his eyes. “I’m sorry Nan, I had to get some food, Nate needed some food.”
“You didn’t have to hurt that fella though, did ya? You could have asked them for help. That’s you all over though, always diving in, never thinking things through. Just like your bloody mum.”
“I know, I always fuck up. Couldn’t even save you.”
“Come on son, that wasn’t your fault. You did your best. Question is, what you going to do now, to make things right?”
Chris wiped his eyes. His Nan was right. He had to make things right. “I have to find them, don’t I, I have to go back and face them.”
Nan didn’t answer.
Chris put the binoculars in his backpack, stood up and shouldered it, keeping his axe handy.
He set off back towards the path, but not with the urgency he had ran away.
What would they say? Would they accept him back?
Movement to his right.
Chris stopped dead and stared into the dark shadows. A sharp crack hollowed the air, a branch breaking somewhere.
He saw nothing. He continued walking, but slower, his senses heightened, scanning the trees and foliage around him.
Another sound, another movement, this time from the left.
He saw it this time.
How did they do that? Appear from nowhere. Lumbering, uncaring, clumsy, and still they managed to creep up on you.
The zombie was about ten yards away, its teeth chattering quietly. Dressed in a blood stained white T-shirt and jeans. Its right arm was missing, just a stump. White bone poked through from the shoulder, dressed in tendrils of red, congealed into wobbling stalagmites of flesh.
Chris walked calmly over to the zombie. It hissed as he got closer. He raised his axe to strike, then stopped.
A sound shuddered around him.
He turned. The wood moved. Shadows interplayed with the thick trunks and dappled sunlight to produce a strobe light zombie horror show as their terrible faces passed from light to dark. But the sound was unmistakable, like a crashing elephant herd. It was a horde.
A hand grabbed Chris’s shoulder. He let out a shout in surprise and fear. The hand gripped and squeezed, tight, like a vice. He spun round, his movement pulling the zombie towards him. Its face was inches from Chris, all bad breath and chattering teeth.
Chris instinctively moved backwards and tripped, his head landing hard on the thankfully soft ground; although painful, he remained conscious. The zombie was on top of him. He had no idea where his axe was.
Remember, stay calm, stay cool. It’s panic that kills. He grabbed the zombie by the shoulders and rolled over onto his front, so he was on top. It raised its head, gnashing with rotten jaws. Its skin was mottled grey white, almost translucent.
Chris placed his hands on the side of the zombie’s head. It felt cold and soft between his palms and he fought nausea as he pressed against the creature’s temples. A low cracking sound as the skull began to give. A pop, and the eyes flew from their sockets tailed by rotten grey optic nerves. Black liquid of an indeterminate nature squirted with a squelch over Chris’s forehead.
The skull caved and suddenly his hands were covered in thick gloop, what was left of the zombie’s brain. Sticky and warm, it clung to his hands like tar.
Chris jumped up and let out a cry of disgust, waving his hands like a man being attacked by bees. He stopped suddenly, gripped by fear, forgetting about his hands. Only yards away was the horde.
“Fuck me…” said Chris. He saw his axe on the floor and grabbed it with one of his sticky hands. He took one last look at the approaching wave of undead before turning and running as fast as he could.
Chapter 5
“We don’t want you Chris,” said Terry. He stood in front of the rest of the group, blocking the path. Nate stood just behind him, his small head poking out from behind his dad. Anita had turned pale on seeing Chris.
“Amy,” said Chris, “You agree with him?”
Any looked at Terry, then at Chris. She opened her mouth to speak, but just before she did, Terry took her hand. “Amy agrees, we all do.”
“How about you let Amy answer?” said Chris.
Terry shrugged and looked at her.
“Chris, it’s just that… I think that… You do stupid things and…” Her voice trailed off.
He had known her since they were kids. The pain he felt
was nothing new though. Everyone went away in the end. It looked like she was holding back tears. He wanted her to cry, to feel pain like he was. “My Nan used to cook your dinners.,” he said. “You remember that? You’d come round on a Sunday and she’d cook you dinner because your mum was too pissed to even boil an egg.”
“Chris, please,” said Amy.
He twisted the knife.
“And on nights when your mum brought back them dodgy fellas, remember the pissheads, the skagheads, all that, you would come to ours and Nan would have no problem with you staying over. She would let you in, cuddle you as we watched tele, tuck you in, read you a story, cook you a good brekkie-”
“Chris!” shouted Amy. “Stop it! Shut up, just shut up.”
Finally tears.
Silence.
“No one ever knows what you’re going to do next,” said Amy, wiping her eyes. “Not even you, you just go from one bad decision to the next, never thinking about what’s going to happen. I loved your Nan, you know that, and I think fondly of you, I really do, but this is a different world. There’s no one to pick up the pieces anymore. You could have killed David, when all you needed to do was ask to share their food. That’s all you needed to do, but you jumped in, like always. Fucking hell Chris…”
Chris looked to each of the people standing opposite him.
He pulled his rucksack onto his back. “There’s a horde back there, where I came from. I ran, so I think they may have lost the scent, but you never know. I’d keep moving if I was you.”
Without another word he turned away and walked into the woods.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” said Amy. Chris had left them an hour ago. They had walked mainly in silence, even the two young boys.
“You know we did,” said Terry. “We have to think of the kids. They’re the most important thing now. Ollie and Nate. Look at them kids, think of the crazy shit that Chris does on a regular basis, and then ask yourself if we made the right decision.”
Amy stared at the ground, watched her feet, one after another, crunching on the drying mud and gravel of the dirt path.
Chris jogged through the woods at a right angle to the road for a good five minutes, then tuned parallel to the path and ran. Stray branches and roots mired the rabbit runs he used to navigate through the woods; he was always only a step away from a nasty tumble into branches and thorns. If he kept up the pace, though, he should be able to exit the woods ahead of Amy.
Assuming, of course, he had no catastrophic encounters with the undead. The woods looked and sounded empty, but they could appear in seconds and from nowhere.
Just like bad thoughts.
The next few days passed uneventfully. Terry guided them out of the wood, through fields and more woods, and they camped together in secluded spaces. They came across zombies in low numbers, quickly dispatched by Terry.
David’s head still hurt, but he was getting better every day. Anita and Ollie visibly lightened, as did Nate. Him and Ollie were scaring up a good little friendship, and Terry was pleased to see them laughing and playing together.
On the third day they passed through a small village and, after a brief clear out of undead, managed to salvage a good supply of warm clothes, camping equipment and food. They found a house and stayed for a week. They only moved on when a series of cars passed through one night. Terry thought it was too obvious to be in a town at this stage of the Fall, still too early to try and settle. Keep moving, he said, don’t give anyone a target. He highlighted what had happened to David and Anita as an example of trying to get comfortable too soon. Still people moving around, looking to take advantage of others.
On the tenth day after leaving Chris, they found the road, and the road led to the bridge.
Chapter 6
The road hugged a high cliff face, the other side dropping steeply a few hundred feet to a river below. The last bend revealed the bridge, an impressive suspension construction that spanned the wide gorge, about five hundred yards straight ahead.
Terry held up his hand and the group paused. He squinted, studying the road. Up near the bridge, the final approach was dotted with dark shadows. From the distance it was hard to tell whether they were empty holes, or black mounds. Terry didn’t like either option; in this new world, the unknown very quickly became the sinister, and the sinister very quickly became the deadly.
“Come on,” he said quietly, “stay together.” He heard the familiar sounds of the group readying their weapons. He held his own sledgehammer tight.
As the yards passed the mist of distance sharpened to reveal the dark shadows as mounds, not holes. They were solid black, but smooth and glinting gently in the sunlight. Most were between one and two feet high. Some were long and thin, others like balls of soot, all rolled up with rivulets and deep random fissures across their glistening and smooth surfaces.
“What the hell are they?” said Amy.
Terry felt the air become thicker, more still, as they approached the silent mass of road grown nodules. Anxiety gnawed at his core and he felt his legs yearning to turn back, but he fought forward, he couldn’t let the others see his fear.
Ten yards away from the first of the mounds, he stopped dead.
The nearest mound, a large ball of smooth black, had a strange profusion at its bottom, sticking out straight and gnarled like old wood. From the end pointed a finger encased in the glass blackness.
Terry took a shape intake of breath.
“Stay close lad,” he said to Nate. He put his arm around his son, who buried his head into his dad’s side. Even after all the young boy had witnessed, the sight of horror before them was too much to bear. He let out a small moan and Terry squeezed his arm. “It’s alright lad. Just keep your head down.”
One by one, each member of the group sounded their realisation.
Terry walked forward slowly and kneeled next to the nearest mound. A faint smell of burning permeated the air. Within the black crystalline shell he made out an arm, a protruding leg, and a twisted torso. Bent against the torso at an unnatural angle was a head with a calcified face containing a hole, no, a mouth caught in the throes of agony. Embraced within the calcified body was another smaller body, a child.
Each of the devilish sculptures was crowned with a screaming face, enveloped in the black glass-like material, like a garish photograph taken at the point of death.
Terry stood up. The road to the bridge was covered in hundreds, maybe thousands of the fossilised bodies, like a petrified forest of burnt meat. It reminded him of pictures he had seen on TV of dried lava flows on new islands; all black and thick and solid. Except within this lava flow were the stories of a thousand terrified deaths.
David came to stand next to Terry. “What do you think happened?” he said.
Terry shook his head. “I don’t know, but it looks like it was quick. Can’t have been a fire, people would have spread more.”
“Look,” said David, pointing to the cliff by the road. The rocks and trees were seared back, crystallised in solid towers of carbon, like the bodies.
“Could have been a bomb,” said Terry.
“A firebomb? Look at the area, would have to been some crazy firepower to cover all of this… The army?”
“Or the air force,” said Terry. His eyes drifted to the sky, as if expecting to see a pair of bombers screech from beyond the cliffs and bear down upon them, guns blazing.
“Come on,” said Terry. “Let’s get across this bridge.”
“We still crossing?” said David.
Terry didn’t answer but motioned the rest of the group on. “Just be careful. Try not to touch any of them, could be… Well, just try not to touch anything.”
Terry took his son by his hand. They moved forward cautiously, threading their way carefully through the carbon statues, each step getting closer to the bridge that now seemed so much more distant.
Silence. No one spoke. A walk through a terrible graveyard, where the bodies were buried above gr
ound, their pain and terror frozen in the open for all time.
“What happened to them Dad?” said Nate.
“I don’t know son. Try not to think about it, let’s just get to the bridge.”
A crow landed on one of the bodies up ahead and picked with its beak at the carbon monument.
“Leave it…” said Amy under her breath.
The concentration of bodies got thicker closer to the bridge. It was hard to tell where one finished and another started as they melded into one thick river of charred life. In some places the road was barely visible and they had to step on the carbon remains. Terry grimaced as his feet crunched on the burnt flesh. He slipped and his foot cracked though to the body below, soft and bouncy like a bed of moss. He pulled his foot out and a black dust waved through the air.
It took thirty minutes to reach the bridge. Once there the group stopped, they had no choice.
The road to the entrance of the bridge, thick with bodies, was blocked. Strange black glass walls, ten foot high, sectioned off a square around the entrance to the bridge. Disfigured black carbon bodies crawled up the sides off the barrier, their petrified hands grabbing onto the bulbous protrusions of the glass, a thick liquid frozen in time, a snapshot of its spill. It joined with the bodies, threaded through them, in places encased them.
“What the hell is it?” said Amy.
“Sand,” said Terry.
“What?”
“It used to be sand, now it’s glass. You heat sand and it turns to glass, that’s what we got here. This wall used to be a barrier of sandbags. Then something melted the fuck out of it.”
“Air force,” said David. The others looked at him. “It has to be. Look at the area covered, look at the bodies. Whatever hit, hit fast, these people, this barrier, were burnt in seconds. Some kind of bomb, it had to be, nothing else could do that.”
“Why would the air force kill them all?” said Anita.
“They must have been zombies,” said Terry.
“Zombies don’t carry their kids,” said Amy.
“You saying these were normal people?” said Terry.
After the Fall Page 24