by RR Haywood
A rucksack is taken and unzipped. She goes for the underwear and takes a box marked with her size. It gets opened, the three pairs inside are pulled out as she realises she’s gone for thongs from force of habit. They get lobbed away and it takes seconds longer to find normal pants. Actual normal pants that have a backside. She finds them, gets the box open and pulls the garments free and only on bending over to pull a pair on does she stop and realise Paco is right there staring at her. She scowls at him and hops on the spot with one leg through to turn away and quickly yank them up. More multi-pack boxes of knickers are opened and pushed into the bag.
Trousers. She charges off with a glance at the door then remembers she needs bras and spins to go back but stops dead with her nose at his chest. She balks, back-steps and apologises before veering round him with a frantic look in case he’s decided to break the contract and eat her.
Paco just shuffles round and stares.
She looks for bras. Bras are important. They keep boobs in place. White shows the dirt too quickly so she looks for black but finds only lacy frilly things. She searches on then stops and spins away to look for sports bras and once again runs into Paco. She tuts, veers and goes round him while gagging from his stench to the other stand and the boxes of lycra sports bras. Perfect. She opens a box, tugs one out and goes to pull her top off with the mindset still in place of the obedient puppy. Something changes. The air charges. She turns while gripping the hem of her top ready to pull it up to see him staring at her hard with his eyes now sharp and the veins in his arms pushing through the skin on his tensed arms. She backs away with fear building in her face, ready to turn and flee but he moves faster. Exploding to a run with such speed she screams and drops to curl into a ball on the linoleum floor. His feet pound past her head so close she flinches and rolls to get under a rail of clothes. A second later she hears the impact of meat against meat followed by the crash of a wooden plinth going over. She gets on all fours, staring wildly through the gaps to see a pair of legs running at another pair of legs that suddenly aren’t there anymore. A grunt and the body is dumped on the floor to be followed by a foot coming down to stamp into a neck that breaks instantly.
On her feet and she spots the infected male writhing to get free of the smashed plinth that he was thrown into as Paco turns from the one he killed. Figures run past the window. Several of them that she hears at the point of seeing. Another rail goes over from a male sent flying by a solid arm smashing him in the face.
The door fills with more coming in. More snarling figures with lips pulling back and hands clawed into talons that charge at Paco who charges back with his own mangled growl.
She grabs the bag, the clothes and runs bent double through rails and down aisles. Her heart hammering to get away and hide. Hide. Find somewhere and hide. She spots a door and runs, skidding on the floor frantic and wild. She gets through and down a corridor bordered on both sides by three quarter length doors made of slatted wood. She crashes through, gets the door closed and flicks the hook over before dropping and shuffling back into the corner to draw her knees up and cry.
Without vision the sounds are magnified to be worse than ever before. Twisted inhuman voices that howl and screech. Thumps and bangs rip through the store that seem to vibrate the walls. The big window goes through with a crashing noise that makes her sob harder and draw her knees closer. Wood splinters. Rails ping metallic and dull. Bones broken with sickening crunches. Wet sounds are mixed in. The tearing of flesh and heads bursting open. Her mind runs wild, full of images of infected ripping flesh in a frenzy of rage. She covers her ears, pressing her hands into her skull to blot the noises. Rocking back and forth while thick tears course down her face but the noises get closer. Something crashes into the corridor. Something else comes after it that stamps and breaks it apart. Doors are smashed down. Bodies impacting on the floor. Feet running then stopping and all the time those awful voices hissing, snarling, growling and gargling as they drown in blood.
The silence that comes is sudden and with an absolute end that is all the more evil. Feet move outside. Feet walking that crunch down coming closer and closer. She scrabbles back, pushing to drive into the wall while staring at the gap at the bottom of the three quarter wooden slatted door.
The feet come into view. His feet. Paco’s feet. He stops and turns in and without being able to see him her imagination goes into overdrive. Her mind fills with the belief that he’s turned back to what he is. She hears his breathing that comes hard and fast. She sees the blood dripping that pools on the floor next to his feet. He shuffles forward to press his body into the door that creaks and starts to give. She stares up, terrified by what she cannot see. He pushes harder. Forcing pressure on the two tiny screws holding the hook in place. They give and the door slams open to smash into the wall. She flinches and stares in horror at the blood pouring down from the fresh bite on his scalp and the cuts on his arms, shoulders and legs. His fists unclench slowly and the arms relax that slacken the bulge of the muscles. Did I do good?
She sobs into her knees. Wishing to be anywhere but here. She can’t move but she has to get up. On shaking legs she rises to stand and look at him. Not a flicker of aggression shows on his face. Just softness and vulnerability.
‘Okay,’ she whispers, trying to firm her resolve. Get changed and get out. She strips in front of him. Shaking from head to toe, half aware of being naked and half not caring. There has been too much fright, too much adrenalin. She pulls her top off and turns round to unfasten her filthy bra that gets dropped to the floor. She tugs a sports bra on, a fresh top, jeans, socks and then finally the grey and purple rugged trainers that get laced and tightened. She fills the bag with hands that shake constantly and with arms that tremble. Finally she faces him, knowing she has to get past to get out.
‘Move back please,’ she asks hoarse and low, avoiding his eyes. ‘Paco, move back,’ she says firmer, louder. He doesn’t move. She waves for him to go back but still he doesn’t shift. She wants to sob again. She draws air and moves in, pushing her hand into his chest that instantly makes him walk back.
‘Thank you,’ she says curtly and falters for the merest of seconds at the broken bloodied bodies littering the corridor. She walks on. Stepping round the blood and out into the now devastated store. Every rail has gone over. Every plinth is smashed. The counter is destroyed. Blood spattered up the walls and blood on the floor that leaks from mangled corpses. She pays no heed but walks with her head down as her senses struggle to cope with the things she has seen and heard this last night and day.
Paco follows. His eyes forever stuck on her form as he passes unaware through the dozen people he just tore limb from limb.
Thirteen
She stares down at the pavement with her heart fracturing into a thousand pieces that crumble down into the void where her soul used to be. She becomes numb, deaf and blind and trying desperately not to believe this is a purgatory that will continue for ever more. A never ending walk through a town that runs thick with blood. Tears fall from her eyes but she doesn’t weep or wipe them away but waits until Paco follows her out of the shop to stand swaying in front of her. She looks up, seeing his chest heaving and the skin on his face looking drawn and tight. He mouths too, opening and closing his jaw. Not like he wants to speak but something else that she can’t understand. She doesn’t try either but stares at the blood pouring down his arms and hands. So much blood. She can’t tell what’s his and what’s from the kills.
A need to break the silence but shock renders her quiet. Instead she walks on in her new shoes with her new bag on her back. He trails behind. Stinking and breathing heavily. All that matters is leaving this town and getting out. Just that. A singular objective to be reached with a monster that clings to her wake to kill the other monsters.
She hooks her thumbs into the straps on her shoulders and drops her head to stare down at her new shoes that walk one step after the other.
They almost reach the end of the road b
efore the next attack comes. Nine of them this time. Not as many as in the shop but these look different. Five adult males. Three adult females and one child walking shoulder to shoulder in one line across the road in a sight that is the most terrifyingly morbid thing Heather has ever seen. They have order and purpose which makes them seem so much more powerful and deadly and even the sight of the child doesn’t diminish the visual impact. If anything it makes it worse.
She feels Paco change without needing to look. Like in the shop it’s as though the air around him becomes charged with static. When she does glance he is staring past her with that sharpness back in his eyes flicking left to right to take them all in as though assessing the threat with his lips pulling back to show teeth stained with blood.
She waits for him. This is the order of things now. She doesn’t know why but only that to get out of this town she has to wait for this monster to kill the other monsters. He doesn’t move but watches and in that second it’s as though she can take in every detail of his form. The cuts and nicks to his face. The darker shades of bruises. The skin around his right eye all swollen and puffy. His lips are cracked and dry. His clothes torn and hanging like rags. Heather stares as numb as before but with the belief that Paco will kill them and keep going until she can finally get away and hide. All that matters is surviving and leaving this town. Just that.
The nine come on at a pace that seems to take forever until Paco strides past her with a motion that seems to provoke a reaction that makes them charge and they come fast. Incredibly fast with a speed that makes her heart miss a beat as she sinks back into the wall.
Their line collapses to flank and come in at Paco from all sides. Of the five men, two are big and strong. Workmen like the builder. One is old with mottled skin and wispy hair and by rights he should be in a care home feeding through a straw. Instead he moves as fast as the others. One of the women is big with a solid frame, meaty thighs and heavy breasts that swing side to side as she runs. The other two look like normal mothers. Early thirties with short hair and creased faces from the stresses of modern living. The child is ten. Gangly and thin but with something awful and terrible in the evilness projecting from his eyes. They rush to impact at the same time and as strong and seemingly indestructible as Paco appears, even he cannot withstand the surge and goes down in a savagely violent flailing of limbs. Nine mouths and eighteen hands find skin to bite and gouge with a determined effort to draw blood and weaken him. His hands find the throat of the old man sinking in to rip it free with the first kill given. The heavy naked woman dives forward to cover his body with hers as she tries to bite down. She is next to be killed when his mouth finds the side of her neck that he bites to open the artery. Two kills given in seconds but the others keep biting and writhing while the fat woman’s dying corpse pumps blood into his mouth. A foot boots the child away. He gets a hand gets free, whacking another woman to be sent sagging back. Mere seconds are gained before the child rushes to sink his teeth into Paco’s leg.
Heather watches and waits for Paco to get up and finish them. His feet will stamp and his arms will break necks. He’ll fling the men aside and make the street run with more blood. He doesn’t feel pain or fatigue. He is one of them. A monster. All that matters is getting out and finding somewhere to hide.
He had gained an equilibrium with the infection suppressing the memories and images while something in him suppressed the urge to bite and infect but that equilibrium now tilts and swings side to side with increasing speed. Images and memories surge in to ebb away. Depth of feeling then nothing. A rush of emotion then a void. He thrashes wildly to rid the weight pinning him down with a fresh surge of unrestrained strength pulsing through his body. In the midst of the frenzy he finds a head that gets wrenched with a dull crack that reaches Heather still frozen to the spot.
It shifts again. Flashes of memory come back. Feelings, sounds, smells and sights. A dog. A woman. Another shift and the hint of the man fades to be the beast.
He rallies. Fighting harder than even Heather has seen before. Pain means nothing to him. His feet batter and his fists hammer. His head smashes into soft bodies that sink back from the barrage. He gets on all fours then on his knees and rises up onto his feet in a sight that makes Heather’s heart thrill and whump in her chest. He stamps down to break a neck but one of the women is on his back biting into his shoulder. He pulls her overhead to be smashed down into the ground. Another one on his leg biting hard gets shaken loose and kicked away. A man running from the side is flung into a wall. He is winning again. He will kill them all and come back to drool and be a puppy.
He does win. He kills them one by one but for each kill so he is bit, cut, raked and gouged. In the intense heat of a street made worse by high buildings and lack of any breeze he fights and wins. The nine become corpses the same as all the others as Paco sways and mouths while gulping air into his lungs. His fists clench and loosen then clench again. His muscles bulging but covered in filth. Finally he turns and walks back to Heather. His feet dragging on the road. His head drooping but he comes back the puppy to stare and wait.
She looks past him to the bodies then up to the deep blue sky. It’s so hot. She’s sweating just standing still. She needs water. She walks on, going wide round the mess in the road to reach the other side. Paco follows. His breathing easing slowly. Becoming less ragged and more normal but he still stinks. He stinks so bad. Everything here stinks. This town stinks. She wishes she never came here.
The next attack comes seconds later. Two men and a woman that come pumped and charging to die as Heather sinks back into the wall to wait until it’s finished.
A few more steps. A small distance gained and they come again. Four males from ahead that Heather stares at emotionlessly as Paco stamps two of them to death while the others bite into his shoulders and rake his arms. He kills them the same as all the others. One with a neck twist that severs the spinal column and the other decapitated by a shard of glass from a plate glass window he is thrown through. Paco comes back. His head lolling side to side. His mouth yawing open and closed. His eyes blinking rapidly. She walks on.
She doesn’t stop walking when the next attack comes from behind but keeps on with her head down and only slows when it goes quiet and then only long enough for Paco to catch up.
So it goes. All the way down the street with ones and twos coming from the front and the back that get killed. All that matters is getting out of the town. Nothing else. She waits when she has to and keeps on when she can. Paco does the work. He is the monster.
Then it’s done and they reach the edge of the town centre to make a thankful transition into suburbia where the buildings are smaller and that feeling of being trapped starts to ease. Minutes go by without a snarling beast in sight, other than Paco that is and he doesn’t snarl now but shuffles with feet scuffing the ground while his arms hang limp. Heather scans ahead, the sides and the back and stays quiet. Listening intently. She knows this town isn’t big so it doesn’t matter which direction they go. Eventually they will reach the safer countryside.
The houses here look damaged the same as the rest and it takes a while for her to realise those signs of damage are increasing. Doors to houses broken and wide open. Windows smashed with the curtains hanging out. Bodies too that get more numerous with every street they enter.
Paco starts to react with that shifting equilibrium still struggling to gain an even keel. He whimpers and makes noises through a damaged voice box while his older injuries keep healing and his fresh ones clot the blood and start to scab. Not that Heather notices that rate of healing. She’s too focussed on passing from the risk of instant death that was the town centre to the doom laden air hanging over the suburban streets. She takes it all in with eyes that flicker from the shiny spent bullet casings to the pockmarks in the walls and houses. More bodies with every corner they reach. Bodies that have been gunned down and shot to bits. A dead man catches her eye and makes her look harder. The way he’s lying on his back w
ith his throat so torn up. She edges closer, taking in the puncture wounds and bite marks then looks again at Paco’s neck. They’re the same injuries. She’s sure of it. For a second she forgets she’s staring at a corpse but takes in the pattern of teeth marks and the way the flesh has been torn. Like an animal has taken a grip with its mouth then ragged side to side. When she looks round she spots more of the same but with differing levels of results. Some have had their throats ripped out completely, leaving gaping and now festering wounds.
Whatever killed them attacked Paco. Her mind fills with an image of a wolf but this is England. We don’t have wolves here. We don’t have any wild animals other than foxes and badgers and they sure as shit don’t tear throats out. Badgers would if they could but they rather lack the height. She looks quickly round to check the ankles of the fallen in case they too are savaged and bitten with a sudden idea of an errant zombie fighting badger ripping infected off their feet to chew on necks. No. All the ankles look okay.
Bullets everywhere too. Piles of them that mark where the shooters stayed still then scattered trails as the people ran on.
She spots other injuries from looking so closely. Injuries that haven’t been done by guns or badgers or wolves. Dogs! Why didn’t she think of it before? The idea pings in her head with the realisation that a big dog could easily bite like that. Like a police dog or something. Yes. Now she thinks of it so it makes sense. Bullets and dogs. It must have been the army or the police, maybe both of them came through here. Paco was bitten by a police dog. She remembers she was looking at the other injuries of limbs that have been cut off and throats cut. Bladed weapons did that for sure. Who on earth would get that close to cut a throat? What about the limbs chopped off? You’d need swords for that, or machetes, or axes. Something big with a long blade. The police don’t use swords. They use batons and pepper spray and anyway, most of the police she ever saw were fat. The army don’t have swords. Who uses swords? Knights? We don’t have knights these days. They’d be fat knights who moaned about pay and conditions if we did have them. They’d have formed a union and refuse to work on Sundays.