by Burke, Rowan
Lance got a couple of feet down as I scouted back in the room, but to my dismay, Carl had picked up the petrol canister, launching its contents all over the room, all over Stacey, and all over himself.
“Um, Carl, what are you doing?”
This was the first time I felt panic overcoming me. There was no way the bedsheet-rope we had concocted was anywhere near strong enough to hold two people, and the fall was way too high to chance jumping, so in that very instant I felt trapped, I was imprisoned.
“Carl! What the fuck are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
Emptying the last of the canister all over himself and the monstrous form that used to embody his beloved girlfriend, Carl used his bruised, bloodied fingers to pull out a zippo lighter from his back pocket. Stacey continued trying to bite him, now being permitted to swipe and grab him drawing more blood and creating more wounds to which he seemed either numb or accustomed too. With one hand, Carl held her head, looking into her eyes in attempt to find the soul that once lived there. In the other hand, he raised the zippo.
Fuck.
His thumb pulled back the cog, releasing gas as he tried to create a spark.
Oh fuck.
Attempt two caused a huge flame souring high above its silver boxed creator.
Oh fucking fuck.
“I love you Stacey”
His words cascaded with sincerity, clearly revisiting times of love and adoration they had spent together.
In that moment, the room slowed down, the noise stopped entirely, and all I could see was them. Stacey took back her original form as they stood hand in hand, dressed cleanly in all white with no sign of their wounds, pains or struggle. The room taking on the form of a framing vignette, he pulled her in and held her tightly to his body, unable to contain a smile of heartfelt contentment from beaming across his face. After holding her for a few seconds, he pulled her back, stroking her blonde hair behind her ear as he gazed into her bright blue glistening eyes. He saw memories of the good times they had shared, he saw a piece of his heart firmly affixed in the glint of her pupils, he saw his future; a family, a home, a wedding day, he saw everything they had ever wanted, all there, all in that moment. His eyes began overflowing with tears, not of sadness but of elated joy to be with her, to be standing there with her in his arms.
Carl ran his fingers through her long, shiny blond hair before pulling her in to match her lips with his. Physically engaged, he gently shut his mouth as the two became one, their souls forever intertwined.
I saw love when I stood there, nothing else. But then I saw a spark; it wasn’t a spark of adoration, but was the spark of his lighter held high above his gasoline soaked body. I saw the spark that immediately propelled me back into reality; the reality of which had Carl holding Stacey as she began biting him and ripping apart his skin.
The decayed bodies of the undead suddenly got the better of the sofa barricade, bursting through the living room door like a ruptured dam, rapidly filling the room with their hungered determination and foul, rotting flesh stench. With their entry, Carl, still staring at the physical form which played new host to his once loved partner, dropped the lighter. The fire took to the gasoline quickly, parading across the remnants to make a determined flaming stampede in every direction. It filled the room like a quick sunrise moving its way across a field, the light of the hot element filling every crevice and securely attaching itself to every object, surface and zombie in the room. A vast and extensive transition took me from the romance I had witness only seconds before to what I imagined Hell to be; a burning fire consuming everything in its wake, causing the undead to scream as their bodies perished under the intensity of the flames.
“Lance! Quick! GO!”
My screams of desperation bellowed down to Lance who had only made it half way down. Left with little choice, I pulled myself over the window ledge, and without getting a firm grip of my feet on the exterior bricks of the wall I wrapped my hands around the sheet to slide down. Lance adopted the same manoeuvre, yet already establishing a grip permitted him to slide gracefully down to the pavement, whilst I did not entertain the same diplomacy. I tried to inaugurate at least one hand in a secure grip, but with each hand relying on the ability of the other, I soon found I had no grip at all and was making a far quicker descent than intended. The flames erupted out of the window above me, sending shards of glass and bits of whatever else into a Hellish cloud which rained down on the outside high street. My viewpoint saw this ahead of me, yet the image was moving further away as I reversed with some conviction down this vertical brick road. My hands and feet tried to grab anything and everything to stop gravity doing what it does best, yet my attempts came at no avail as I hurtled to my inevitable concrete crash matt below. It took an age to hit the ground, enjoying the fireworks as I fell, but the pain when I eventually found the pavement came intensively quickly. Lance had rolled out of the way at the last second as I managed to catch him up significantly with gravity aiding my descent. I winded myself, which although took a moment to regain my breath wasn’t actually that bad of a ramification. However, it was the pain writhing up from my ankle that drove the nerves all the way up to my brain, releasing the most extensively agonising feeling that I have ever had the displeasure of experiencing.
Being accident prone, my ankle was one of many bones that I had already had the misfortune of breaking due to various sporting and tomfoolery reasons, but this didn’t feel like a break; it felt like a complete shattering of any structure in that area. The cracking reigned with dominance over the sound of the flames above and the thud of my back hitting the pavement, like someone squeezing a thick roll of bubble wrap through a thousand megaphones lined up end to end. I was happy to be out of that room, happy to have escaped the looming claws and jaws of the zombies who had just filled the room I was in, and I was happy to be once again reunited with my friends, but that really fucking hurt.
Jon helped me to my feet, or at least one of my feet as I hobbled on the shattered mess that used to be my other one. All five of us stood side by side, staring up at the flames protruding from the furnace that once housed me, and kept us safe for the past few days. It seemed like we should have said something to wish Carl and Stacey well on their journey to the next life, and to again thank them, Carl especially, for what he had done to give us a bit more time. There was a bittersweet feeling that they had gone together, arm in arm, irrespective of the terrifying turmoil that surrounded them. We sincerely hoped that the next chapter was an even better one for them, and that they got to enjoy their next lives together, away from fear, away from pain, away from zombies. There was no time for that serenading goodbye though, as although the zombie infestation upstairs was now a well done barbeque, not even half of them who had filled the carpark would have been taken out by the flames, plus we still had some more out on or near the high street we had spotted who we needed to contend with.
Even filled with the adrenaline of the near-death escape and fall to the pavement, I could not put anything on my ankle. It was smashed beyond recognition, with my foot facing the wrong way and two bones escaping my skin. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before, taking all my strength not to pass out, which I imagine the adrenaline did aid with. Derek scouted the streets and noticed a few deathly silhouettes headed in our direction which although were walking, were walking quickly, actually a little quicker than the ones we first met in the pub. Realising the time restraint, Jon ripped apart some of the sheets that had escaped the blaze, wrapping a tourniquet just below my shin to cut off the blood supply to my ankle. Brushing away the debris, he grabbed my foot and looked at me in the eyes.
“This is going to hurt a bit, mate”
He wasn’t lying.
Grabbing my backwards facing foot on both sides, he swiftly crunched it back into position, pulling the exterior bones back inside yet tearing my skin in the process. The pain was unreal; I couldn’t help but yelp in agony, like a small puppy getting his tai
l trodden on. That’s all I remember of that moment, the pain was so severe that it knocked me for six, and like a little bitch, I instantly, and ashamedly, passed out.
5.
Slowly coming to, I immediately recalled the pain of my shattered ankle. It still hurt with the same intensity, yet now felt slightly more compact, slightly more controlled, like someone had made me a sort of homemade cast. The only thing making it worse was that it was bouncing around.
Hang on a minute, all of me is bouncing around.
Why the fuck am I bouncing around?!
Gingerly, my eyes began to open to reveal that I was on my front, facing the ground, yet the ground was several feet below me. I was bouncing like mad, and could hear the noise of someone panting for breath from a mouth I assumed belonged to the person who’s arse my head was uncomfortably close to, with three other similar panting noises coming from different sources out in front.
“Hey”
I uttered, which caused a sudden halt to my bouncing momentum.
A voice then acknowledged that of my own.
“He’s awake”
Lifted up, over and down, I found my singular footing and adjusted both my body and mind to what was going on. Only now realising I had passed out, I instantly felt embarrassed, but Phil must have thankfully lifted me and put me across his shoulders in a fireman styled carrying position, then all four boys had just started running. I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but noticed that we were somewhere on the Rushmoor roads that link Fleet and Aldershot, a far few miles away from where I had so ungraciously lost consciousness, subsequently realising I must have been out for a good hour if not more. Phil looked understandably exhausted, so after giving him a hug of thanks, the boys took the opportunity to sit down for a moment and catch their breath. I didn’t have a watch on and had discarded my phone back at the flat, but time really now meant nothing anyway as every day was rolling into one. The vision was low though; it was near on pitch black, so I knew it must have been pretty late.
The blackness of the night was only exacerbated by the lack of buildings and street lights, further accentuated with the high trees from the deep woodlands arching over us from either side of the road. We were very much so out in the open, but quietness of an unpopulated area meant we could easily hear if something was coming, plus a lack of people hopefully meant a lack of zombies too.
“How are you feeling, princess?”
Smarmed Lance.
I didn’t answer. I was really embarrassed for the passing out, but also for the injury; I’ve never been one to show signs of an injury weighing me down or admitting a weakness, but everyone knew that this was going to be a huge detriment to our survival. I couldn’t run, and although Phil had carried me all this way, he simply wasn’t strong enough to do it continuously, nor would I expect it of either him or the other three.
The boys had made me a splint too, strapping bits of discarded wood presumably that blew out of the flat window against either side of my foot to hold it in place. The tourniquet was doing its job in that I wasn’t bleeding out, and they seem to have done a pretty decent bandaging job as well; not bad for a quartet of drunken louts acting under pressure. I was impressed, but I was more thankful, indicating as such with a look down at my strapped up foot followed by a smile at all four of them. They smiled back as if to say don’t mention it, but this was no time to stand around and kiss. I hopped into the woodland to find a reasonably thick branch offcut, snapping it down to a size that matched my height. I knew the guys would help me as much as they could, but I didn’t want to put them out, plus I was far too proud or stubborn or maybe even stupid to accept their help. This was my struggle and I’d just have to man up and deal with it. Using my new home (or forest) made walking stick, I trundled back into the road where the others were slowly getting back to their feet in order to start moving again.
These guys had my implicit unconditional trust, so the concern was not where we were going, more so how far away it was as I feared my stamina was not going to be up to much. I couldn’t quite make out where we were in the Rushmoor roads, but we were deep enough in the woodland area to know we were a couple of miles before hitting anything of note in any direction. The entirety of the stretch was about four miles which was predominately woodland and went through an army training area before leading you into Aldershot; a heavily populated military town. The latter fact struck me as the most probable reason as to why the lads had picked this as their destination, but exactly what purpose I was unsure.
“Are we heading to Aldershot?”
I panted, using my walking stick to avoid any excruciating contact between my foot and the floor.
“Yep”
Denoted Jon.
“For the Military?”
I probed.
“Erm…yep…”
Jon vaguely and bluntly responded.
I didn’t wish to question this too much as the debate had probably already taken place whilst I was unconcious. Lance, Jon, Derek and Phil were all strong minded, all opinionated, and all very smart, so I imagined the discussion had various suggestions from each party, with various pros and cons for each, argued directly and convincingly by the subsequent campaigner. Although I didn’t wish to question the decision, I did want to know a little more about it so felt the probing to be personally necessary, yet had to make sure I was doing so in a careful, considerate manner; everyone was getting tired and ratty, the last thing we needed right now is someone getting pissed off.
“I like this idea very much”
Possibly a lie, I didn’t know yet.
“Nice work guys”
No response.
“Is there a plan, or just to head in that direction to see what happens?”
Jon stopped in his tracks, the other lads following suit. I had seen Jon lose his shit once already, and I wasn’t in the right state both physically and mentally to witness it first-hand. I knew everyone had been tested to their limit, I knew everyone was completely exhausted, and I knew my questioning could easily have taken the group into a different, much tenser, possibly even aggressive dynamic. Jon looked at the floor and sighed whilst shaking his head, his hands clapped together as his head lifted to direct his gaze up toward the star-lit night sky through the gently moving leaves as they danced in the wind. His shake moved to a nod, like he was trying to convince himself of something, as his hands took a praying shape, darting back and forth to match the motion of his head. He turned to me quickly, swiveling a hundred and eighty degree on the spot, the sound of the gravel around his twisting heels being the only noise in the stillness of the night. Looking at Phil and Derek, I searched for some reassurance, but they both had their heads down and their backs to me, which made my heart race with anxiety.
It takes a lot for me to get scared, and even with the zombie attacks I had somehow managed to stifle my fear in order to react in the best ways I felt I possibly could, but this got me so worried that I could feel myself shaking. What happened whilst I was knocked out? What had they discussed or agreed? Was he just so worn-out that my incessant questioning had pushed him to the point where he wanted to knock me out again? From the looks of it, it didn’t look like I was going to get the gratuitous carry I received last time. Plus although I’m significantly shorter, I’d normally put up a pretty darn good fight and fancy myself taking the victory, but on this occasion I didn’t have a leg to stand on. Well…I had one.
Jon paced toward me, staring directly into my increasingly widening eyes as I tried to reverse from him to no avail. He stopped half a foot in front of me, the other three still looking away as if to be turning a blind eye of shame to whatever was going to happen. Jon, closed mouth, took several deep breaths through his nose as he raised his hands and put them on my quivering shoulders.
“Mate”
He exhumed.
“Y-y-y-yes?”
He leaned in closer, his hands tightening on my shoulders and his eyes still penetratingly gawking through
mine. What the fuck is he going to do?
“We’re going to Mark’s”.
My fear instantly turned to a disappointment and angry hybrid. Mark was a dick. I fucking hated him and these guys knew it, which I now realised was why they were being so secretive and blunt about where we were headed; they didn’t want me to know where we were marching to until the very last minute, when I absolutely had to go along with their plans. They weren’t annoyed with my questioning; they were worried about telling me of our destination. They had evidently utilised my unconscious state to make an agreed plan I would never have advocated, which I’m sure had good reason but for now, I couldn’t see the water for the shit.
Mark was a twat that, with the exception of my brother (who was probably completely neutral in the whole decision making process), had been friends with the all the guys since they were kids, growing up and going to school with him, and him still remaining a drinking buddy of theirs throughout their adult years. I had met him a couple of times, and although we clashed and never really saw eye to eye, we made a conscious effort to just do the sensible and mature thing of ignoring one another, exchanging pleasantries only when we absolutely had to.