“Everybody back in,” yelled Mike as he advanced on the creature nearest to him. He shot his boot forward at chest height, catapulting the first dark figure backwards and knocking the second off balance. Dropping one of his machetes to the ground, he reached into the blackness to grab hold of what he believed was the scruff of the stumbling creature’s shirt-neck, and plunged the blade of his second machete through its left eye, bringing it to an abrupt halt. He could make out the outline on the ground as the other creature scrambled to get up and he dived on top of it, fending off its flailing arms and feeling up its torso so he could aim at its head in the darkness. He plunged his blade upwards only to feel it glance off the creature’s teeth and through the soft flesh of its cheek. Its movements became more erratic and aggressive. Realising that he would struggle to pinpoint the kill zone while the beast was thrashing around, he resorted to his primal instinct and shimmied up its body, pinning the flailing arms underneath his knees. He reached around its head to avoid getting bitten and grabbed the beast’s hair tightly, restricting its head movement. His muscles flexed hard as he began to force the head up and down, smashing it on the black tarmac repeatedly. Three thuds preceded a crack, followed by further muffled thuds as the beast’s brain and tissue oozed out of the fissure in its head, forming a gory cushion on the road surface.
When he was certain the RAM was dead, he withdrew the machete from its cheek, scrambled around the floor for the second blade and then began to sprint towards his sister. Ruth had dropped her torch on the floor as she and the others had made their way back into the safety of the library. The door was still slightly ajar, waiting for Mike and Emma, but his sister, who already had one attacker lying dead at her feet, was fending off another with a high kick. More and more RAMs were coming round the corner now, alerted by Ruth’s scream. Mike took hold of his sister’s arm as the creature she had kicked went flying to the floor. The adrenalin was surging through her body and she flinched, ready to attack as he touched her. It took her a split second to realise it was her brother and not one of the flesh-eating ghouls, then she ran after him into the library. Mike closed the door firmly behind them as the first of the beasts battered itself against the reinforced wood.
“Nice work, sis,” he said, catching his breath.
“Well, I had a good teacher, didn’t I?”
The lanterns were already turned on as Mike looked around at the faces standing near the doorway. The three librarians looked terrified as further crashes sounded against the door. He looked to Raj, who was also out of breath. Mike guessed he had been doing most of the lifting, and then he looked at the open space next to Raj. “Where are Sammy and Jake?” he asked, widening his search beyond the immediate circle of those assembled.
“They’re in the van, with Talikha,” replied Richard.
“I said they should go in last! Last, for fuck’s sake, they’re sitting ducks out there.” Mike dropped into a crouch position, putting his back against the cold wall and grasping his head in his hands. He knew he was in danger of taking out his anger on anybody he could get his hands on, so he took a few seconds to regulate his breathing and form a plan. “Right, Em, follow me. The rest of you get ready to load up the rest of the gear when I bang on the door.”
“I r-really don’t th-think it’s a good idea for us to g-go back out there tonight,” said David.
Mike turned round sharply with his finger held up aggressively as if to silence the stuttering librarian. He held back the urge to snap and instead said quietly, “Just be ready.” He looked at his sister and the pair ran towards the stepladder.
Once on the roof, they made their way to the edge and peered over the side of the building. Despite the dark they could see that more than twenty RAMs had assembled. “So what’s the plan?” asked Emma nervously.
Mike crouched down and swung the rucksack off his shoulders. “First of all, we shed a little light on the situation.” He pulled out four of the bottles he had filled earlier. He unscrewed the lids, stuffed in the fuses then poured a little white spirit on the end of them to make sure the flame would survive the journey from the rooftop to the ground. He gathered the bottles up and stepped down onto the roof of the snow plough cab, then lit the fuses and threw the bottles across the street, creating four large splashes of fire that almost measured the size of a boxing ring. Emma jumped onto the cab roof to join him and suddenly none of the RAMs were battering against the library door any more. They were massing around the front of the snow plough.
Talikha held Sammy and Jake firmly, shielding their eyes from the unfolding nightmare. She held her breath as the creatures walked straight past the van and to the plough. She looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the ring of fire and the flame-lit outlines of Mike and Emma on top of the cab.
Mike turned to his sister. “The hope I had of doing all of this quietly has kind of flown out the window, so our best bet now is to finish it quickly.” He pulled out his shotgun and she drew hers. “Remember, the shot spreads, so be careful where you aim. These hold six rounds before reloading. We’ve got a total of thirty shells. I want to hold some back for later, but I’m going to empty mine then I’m going to get into the centre of the ring and take on the rest hand to hand. You stay up here, fire what you’ve got and then reload once. Remember, we don’t know what’s going to be waiting for us on the road.”
“I should be down there with you,” she said.
“Trust me, there’s nothing I’d like more, but I can’t trust anyone else to do this.” She began to look nervous, realising her brother’s fate was in her hands. “Don’t worry, Em, I’ll be able to see them now. It’s an even playing field again.” Mike readied his shotgun and aimed down at the snarling faces crowding around the cab. He pulled the trigger, releasing a deafening boom into the night’s air. A RAM’s head disappeared in a bloody gust of red vapour. Mike pumped the shotgun again and repeated his shot, this time on what had once been a police woman. Now her white blouse was torn and bloody, and her smile had given way to a hellish grimace that sent chills up Mike’s spine. Her head vanished like that of the first RAM as the shell spread. A thousand tiny lightning-fast fragments, each taking a small piece of tissue down to the tarmac with them.
Emma began to fire as well. Explosions, one after the other, dispatching beast after beast, sending the others into a furore. When Mike had fired his final shell, he put the shotgun back into his rucksack, jumped down the opposite side of the cab and ran round the vehicle the long way to give him more time to take position in the ring before he was noticed. He leapt over a barrier of lashing flames and ran to the centre just as Emma began to reload.
“Remember, Em, take your time and aim,” he shouted, as much to put her at ease as to attract the attention of the remaining RAMs. He had hoped some of them would linger around the cab of the snow plough – Emma was still in view – but his hopes were soon shattered as the remaining ten began running towards him at the same time. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as the first two bolted straight through the flames. He placed his rucksack down on the ground. He would need maximum agility to fend off so many attackers. He pulled what he thought was one of his machetes out of the bag, only to realise it was a hatchet. He flung it as hard as he could at one of the RAMs. The blade smashed through its nose and teeth, stapling its mouth shut, but not killing it. It stumbled backwards a little before gathering itself and starting towards him again. He looked down to his rucksack and made sure he took hold of his two machetes this time. He swung hard and fast, lopping off the portion of skull above the ear, making the first attacker drop like a stone. As the second got to him, more were already running through the ring of fire.
Mike pulled at the hatchet, which made a snapping sound as it came free. The momentum of the RAM and the subsequent force provided by Mike sent the creature cascading out of the ring. He flung the freed hatchet again. This time it did not wedge, but the blunt side hit one of the creatures in the eye with a sickening crack. He stabbed his nex
t attacker up through its gullet, while bringing his machete round hard to plunge the blade through the temple of the next. He withdrew both weapons in time to hear the staggered steps behind him and swung round to finish off the now chinless beast that he had sent tumbling a few seconds earlier. The already bloody blade sliced through its neck, causing the creature’s head to spiral away from its body with small globules of congealed blood catching the light of the fire like dancing cherries.
Before he could turn around he was knocked to the floor by two RAMs converging on him. A boom sounded as Emma began firing again, and Mike rolled out of the way before the two figures seized him. He heard a body fall a few feet away, then looked up and heard another bang quickly followed by the sight of a RAM’s head flying apart in the light of the fire. The beast next to him was face down so he stuck the machete forcefully up through the nape of the neck with his left hand. As the other creature began scrambling over its dead comrade, Mike shoved his other weapon straight through its eye socket, slicing through the bridge of the nose as it went.
Another shot was fired and Mike was about to get to his feet when a huge grizzly figure loomed over him and lunged. His heart sank; he was unable to withdraw his machete. Stuck on the ground, he raised his hands, ready to take the weight of the huge beast in the hope that he could somehow wrestle his way out from under him without being bitten or scratched. He took a deep breath in readiness, and then out of nowhere a red cylindrical object smashed against the side of the brutish figure’s head with juggernaut force. The hulking creature toppled over and Mike looked beyond him to see Raj holding a fire extinguisher with a look of pure anger on his face. Another shot fired out and the final RAM fell to the ground. Mike stood up and gained enough purchase on his machetes to withdraw them from their victims. He walked over to the huge creature that Raj had downed and, although it lay still, stuck a blade straight through its skull to remove all doubt.
Sweat was pouring off Mike’s forehead despite the chill of the night. The pair walked out of the ring of fire side by side, like gladiators out of the arena. “I owe you one, Raj,” said Mike gratefully.
“Get Talikha and I safely to your Gran’s house and consider the debt repaid in full,” Raj said, opening the door of the van and catching his wife as she jumped into his arms. Sammy and Jake hurried out after her and threw themselves onto Mike. He held his bloody hands away from them but tried to clamp them with his arms. He looked across to the fire exit to see the librarians beginning to load the vehicles once again. Emma came across and flung Mike a wet cloth. It reeked of white spirit, but it was perfect for cleaning his hands and weapons.
“Look out, another,” shouted Talikha, pointing beyond the vehicles to a RAM running towards them.
“Let’s get loaded up quickly, guys,” said Mike, stepping over several dead bodies to reach the would-be attacker. Everybody had seen enough for one night, and Talikha quickly got the children back into the van while Mike dispatched the beast with one violent swing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Pack a bag for you and the runt, we’re leaving tomorrow,” shouted Fry as he walked through the front door and into the black hallway. He stood there for a few seconds waiting for a response, but was greeted with silence. He reached out to the small telephone stand by the door and found the torch he kept there. He flicked it on and the powerful beam illuminated the hall. “Are you deaf, woman?” bellowed Fry even louder, but once again, there was no response. He barged into the living room. The same silence greeted him there. “You better get yourself down here, bitch, I haven’t fuckin’ eaten since this morning.” Fry was yelling loudly enough to be heard by a handful of men passing outside. They went quiet as they walked by, for fear that they might incur his wrath. “You think you can just take yourself to bed whenever you want, you lazy fuckin’ whore? Get the fuck down here now.”
No response came and Fry’s eyes flared with hatred as he marched back out of the living room and up the stairs. He stamped one foot down in front of the other to make his ascent louder. “You’re asking for it, woman. I’ve warned you before,” he shouted as he reached the landing. All the bedroom doors were closed. “Fine,” he said, in a lower tone, but with more menace. “As I’m up here, I may as well have my dessert before dinner.” He leered as he burst through his bedroom door. The room was empty. He marched back out and stamped across the landing towards the child’s room. “If that’s the way you want it, we’ll do it in your daughter’s room. It’ll be a nice fuckin’ childhood memory for her,” he said, booting the door open. He pointed the torch towards the child’s bed. There was a figure under the blankets, but he couldn’t see its head. He moved across, realising that the child had put a pillow over her face in fear; he ripped it away. The young girl didn’t move. Fry frowned in confusion. The child was terrified of him, she should have screamed the house down by now. He touched her head to find she was stone cold. He moved his finger under her nose. She wasn’t breathing. Fry stood up straight and panned the torch around the room. When he got to the window he saw the woman hanging there, as cold as her daughter. She had a small note around her neck. It simply read “SEE YOU IN HELL”.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” he said as he cut the washing line she had used to choke herself. She dropped to the floor. He grabbed hold of her hair and dragged her out of the room and into the bedroom at the back of the house, which overlooked what was once a well-cared-for and picturesque garden. He put down his torch and opened the window, then threw her out, grabbing the torch again so he could see her dead body break on the rockery below. He went back into the bedroom and did the same with the daughter. “Fuckin’ whores,” he roared as he slammed the window shut.
He marched down the stairs and out of the house. He had been to the “whore pit” a few times, but not since he had claimed a woman of his own. He didn’t like the thought of sharing with his minions and so, as he entered what was once the old village hall, the line of men waiting outside the curtained area exchanged looks of surprise and dread. He walked past them, not seeing any reason why he should have to wait.
“One woman not enough for you, then?” laughed a young cockney who had only been with the raiders for a few days. He looked around at his friends’ faces, expecting them to join in the joke, but they just looked nervously away.
Fry stopped dead and turned his head towards the young skinhead who had dared to address him. “What the fuck did you say to me?” His eyes bored holes into the young lad’s skull.
The smile left the skinhead’s face and his skin blotched red in the light of the fluorescent tubes provided by the generator. “I was just saying, you’re obviously too much for one woman to handle.” He tried feebly to pay a compliment, but Fry had already decided this young man was going to be a vent for his fury.
Fry smiled and nodded as he took a step towards the younger man. For a split second the skinhead thought Fry had seen the funny side of his joke, but then Fry pushed him up against the wall, grabbed him by his left ear and used his right fist to hammer his body and face. The skinhead tried to put his hands up to protect himself, but he had no idea where the next hit would strike. After a few seconds, blood ran into his eyes blinding him, but still the pounding continued. He pleaded for it to stop, but his words became unintelligible as his lips swelled and two of his teeth caved under the force of Fry’s knuckles. The splattering blood caused Fry to lose his grip on the skinhead’s ear. The skinhead sank to the floor and curled into a foetal position. Fry fumed even more – he was not yet finished – and kicked the cringing figure in his ribs, his hips, his head. The skinhead began crying like an infant. Finally, Fry was getting some satisfaction from the beating. When he saw the young man lose control of his bladder, he stepped back and slowed down his short, sharp breaths. He looked down at his fist. It was covered in blood, none of it his own.
Fry surveyed the faces staring at the crumpled, bloody mess. “Anybody else got anything to say?” he asked. There was no response, and he walked through
the split in the curtain, past the guard who managed the logistics of the entertainment, and onto the showroom floor. Makeshift cubicles had been assembled around beds and mattresses to give the men some degree of privacy, the women’s privacy being of no consequence. All the cubicles were occupied, but that didn’t stop Fry going from one to the next to see what caught his fancy. Some of the men were embarrassed, some scared, some just carried on. Many of the women had fear, horror and dread in their eyes as they knew that this was all their life was now. Fry stopped at a cubicle near the end of the first row. An attractive black woman with dead eyes stared back at him. She had a man on top of her, but she was clearly too strong to let it affect her. Her thoughts and her mind were elsewhere. She obviously had spirit, and that, beyond all else, was something Fry cherished in a woman.
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