The End of Everything | Book 8 | The End of Everything

by Artinian, Christopher

  “Never mind.”

  “No, tell me. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to talk about.”

  Mila looked at him as the others all crowded around the female Houdini, watching her work. Rod sat next to Mila with his legs in a V shape as his left ankle was spread to make sure the other person he was bound to had enough leeway. Every time one of them spoke it was in a shout, but as it fast became the norm, they didn’t even realise they were doing it.

  “I was just thinking how this could have been so different. That one decision to head into Andrew’s Bay on foot. If we had decided to turn around and head west I wouldn’t be here. I would be with my friend.”

  Rod reached across and placed his hand on Mila’s back. “The thing is you don’t actually know what happened to her. You don’t know if your friend’s safe or if she got caught by the infected. You don’t know—”

  “That doesn’t make me feel happier.”

  “It’s true though.”

  “Yes, but if I chose to head in the other direction, whatever fate awaited her, I would have been there. I would have been with my friend.”

  “She meant a lot to you.”

  “We were like sisters. The things we went through together, there is no one I would rather have had by my side.” A tear appeared in the corner of Mila’s eye.

  “But this happened because you were trying to protect her … and those kids you told me about. This happened by you making a sacrifice for somebody you loved.” As the words came out of his mouth his shoulders sagged.

  “Look who I am saying this to. We are both in the same ship.”

  Rod smiled. “It’s boat. Same boat.”

  “Whatever. I suppose this is the price we pay for protecting the ones we love.”

  Rod paused. He looked at the others then looked around the walls as the terrifying din continued to shake the very marrow in his bones. “I’d do it again a thousand times over.”

  Mila smiled sadly. “Me too.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Robyn parked the van at a diagonal as had been agreed. She leaned across, swung open the passenger door then climbed out of her door, leaving that open too, before running to join Wren and Wolf as they crouched behind a bush.

  It was not long before the whine of the motorbike engines could be heard, and the tension in the air became electric. Wren had both her pistol crossbows loaded; Robyn withdrew an arrow from one of her quivers, nocked it and waited. They looked to their left to see Izzy and Marcus, shotguns firmly in hand, standing with their backs pressed against trees. Beyond them were two more reluctant soldiers and still more lay in wait on the opposite side of the road.

  The sounds of the engines got louder and louder until they were just a few metres away. No longer were they racing, now they were idling. Robyn and Wren looked at each other as the tension mounted. They both raised their heads a little, peeking through the leaves, doing their best not to be seen. The bikers glared at the abandoned vehicle before turning towards each other. They each flicked up their visors, lowered their kickstands, and climbed off their bikes, swinging the rifles strapped around their backs towards the van. The Kawasakis were both still purring, ready for a quick getaway if they needed one.

  “They’re not buying this,” Robyn whispered.

  “What should we do?” Wren asked.

  “Not our call.” Robyn looked towards Izzy and Marcus, who now looked much less confident than they had in that small kitchen.

  Izzy looked back at her and shrugged her shoulders. “What does that mean?” Wren asked.

  “It means they haven’t got a bloody clue what they’re doing,” Robyn replied angrily.

  “What do we do then?”

  “You take the one nearest to us. Don’t kill him, but make sure he’s down and can’t get a round off.”

  “What?”

  “Three, two, one, now!”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “Oh shit! What was that?” screamed one of the men trapped in the cargo compartment as all heads turned towards the side of the lorry, which before it toppled had been the floor.

  Mila and Rod knew what it was immediately, and suddenly the plywood covering began to vibrate and judder much more than it had a few seconds earlier.

  “Scheisse! They’ve broken through,” she shouted to Rod.

  “Broken through?” someone else screeched, overhearing Mila. “What do you mean broken through?”

  “Calm down, everyone. We knew this was going to happen. Donna, how are you getting on with those locks?” Rod asked as calmly as he could for a man who was having to make his voice heard over hundreds of growling undead. For a moment, she didn’t answer, she just looked towards the wooden boards as Lucifer’s hammer pounded against them from the other side. “Donna?”

  She shook her head as if waking herself from a doze. “Err… They … they’re pretty straightforward when you get into the swing of it. It’s taking a couple of minutes a lock.”

  Rod nodded. There were twenty-four zefs in total, and seven had already been freed of the shackles. He turned back to Mila. “Looks like you and I are going to be married for another half hour at least.”

  “Uh-huh,” she replied, unable to take her eyes away from the plywood as, in addition to the thumping, there was now the unmistakable sound of scratching. “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think we’re going to make it to the honeymoon.”

  The forced smile left Rod’s face. He looked towards the others. Most had now turned their attention back to Donna as if she held the key to their freedom. “What are you thinking?”

  Mila turned to him. She knew exactly the question he was asking. “I think we have been unlucky.”

  “You know what I said about you having a talent for understatement? Forget talent, you are the queen.”

  “I mean where they have broken through. Look,” she said, pointing as secretively as she could towards an area where the two pieces of plywood flooring joined.

  Rod looked, and for a moment he couldn’t see it, but then it happened, both pieces of wood moved ever so slightly at the same time. “You mean out of everywhere they could have punched a hole they do it under one of the most vulnerable areas?”

  “Ja. That is exactly what I mean.”

  “How long do you think we have?”

  “I don’t know, Rod. There are too many variables.”

  Rod turned to look at the others once again. Most of them were still watching Donna, but there was a man in his sixties staring at the exact same spot that he and Mila had just been looking at. Almost as if he could sense somebody’s eyes on him, he turned towards Rod. In that instant, an unspoken understanding passed between them. This was the beginning of the end.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Robyn released the bowstring, and before the arrow had even launched, she heard the familiar clicks of her sister’s crossbows. A second later, a pained scream that drowned out the sound of the idling engines came from the biker whose right arm and leg now had bolts sticking out of them. He stumbled then collapsed to the ground, his hands no longer around the rifle still strapped to him but desperately hovering over one wound then the next.

  The man to his left remained like a statue for a few seconds, refusing to give in to reality. His eyes stared at the arrow shaft sticking out of the side of his ribcage. The pain hadn’t registered yet. Even though blood had begun to spurt from the wound like a faulty Coke machine, he could not accept that he was in the throes of death. Then, just like a marionette with severed strings, he crumpled to the ground.

  Robyn and Wren instantly broke cover, Wolf charged out behind them, and Robyn nocked a second arrow, ready in case the first man’s wounds were not as bad as they appeared.

  They reached him to find he had no interest in going for his weapon. Blood gushed from the leg wound, and the two sisters gave each other a knowing look.

  The others began to emerge from their various hiding places and outrage sounded in Marcus’s voice as he approached. “Wha
t the devil do you think—”

  Robyn ignored him, placed her foot on the wounded man’s leg and drew back her bowstring. “I think my sister got your artery. Unless you want to bleed out, you’d better tell us what we want to know and you’d better tell us quick. Understand?”

  “Look here—”

  “Shut up, Marcus!” Robyn said, lifting her eyes for a moment before lowering them to the wounded biker once more.

  “I…” Marcus didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever spoken to him like that before, and Izzy reached out her hand, placing it on his arm as if to say, “Don’t argue.”

  “I asked you if you understand,” Robyn said as Wren grabbed two more bolts and reloaded her crossbows.

  The man looked up to her with sad grey eyes. He was in his early thirties, and his face was turning paler by the second. “The third lorry, where is it?”

  His brow creased. How do they know about the third lorry? Robyn applied more pressure with her foot, and his eyes widened with pain.

  “Aaarrrggghhh! Please, no!”

  “Then tell me,” she growled.

  Izzy, Marcus and some of the others let out audible gasps as Robyn’s brutal interrogation continued. “It’s … it didn’t make it out of the city.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was a problem. A massive horde. We were attacked. We … we managed to get away, but the only route was...” His eyelids started to flutter as the pain became overwhelming.

  Robyn pushed her foot down hard once more. “Tell me!” she demanded, pulling the bowstring back further.

  “One of the lorries didn’t make it out … the one with the zefs.”

  “Zefs? What the hell are zefs?” His eyes started to close again. “I asked you what the hell are zefs?”

  “I … they’re what we call the prisoners … zefs.”

  “You’re sure? You’re sure it was the prisoners’ truck?” No response. “I asked you if you were sure.” She pushed her foot down hard again.

  “Aaaggghhh! Please stop. Please.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I saw it in my mirror. It went over on its side.”

  Robyn brought her foot up a little. The blood continued to gush, but her thoughts were elsewhere now. The anger had been replaced by sadness. “Mila,” she whispered to herself as she walked away.

  The faces of the others changed too. Whereas a few seconds before they had been painted by incredulity, now sadness daubed painful brushstrokes over each of their expressions. Two of the women burst into tears.

  Wren knelt down by the side of the man and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened in panic, and he flinched expecting another bout of searing pain, but he could see in the girl’s eyes that she did not possess the same ferocity as the other one. “Where?” she asked in a soothing voice.

  He blinked multiple times. The pain was slowly starting to ease, but he was finding it more and more difficult to stay awake. “Where what?”

  “Where did the lorry go over?”

  He winced, squeezing his eyes closed in concentration. He did not know Inverness, he did not know any street names; all he knew was what he had seen. He remembered back to looking in the mirror. What did he see? “Co-op ... road opposite Co-op.”

  “The Co-op in the centre? In the centre of the city?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Wren looked down at the man’s leg. There had been no letup in the bleeding. Even if she tied a tourniquet around the wound, at the very least he would need a transfusion and immediate medical attention, neither of which was possible. “Thank you.” She stood, picking her loaded bows up too. “Close your eyes,” she said tenderly. When she had fired the bolts, she had not intended to kill the man; she had just aimed to wound him. She had not intended for any of this to happen. She thought Marcus and Izzy would spearhead the assault, get what information was needed and maybe leave the men tied up by the side of the road or something … anything but this. But her sister had changed more than she could even comprehend in the time they had been apart. There was no pity, no mercy, just focus.

  “I’m sorry,” the man whispered as tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “I’m sorry too,” she said softly as she fired a bolt straight into his heart. His eyes widened again before closing forever. Wren let out a sigh then plucked the three bolts from her victim’s body, wiping them off on his clothing. She walked across to the other man and pulled Robyn’s arrow from his ribs, once again cleaning the head. Wolf looked up at her and moved his head up and down her leg, doing his best to give her comfort.

  “The lorries will be here any second,” said one of the men, suddenly realising that, although the devastating news had still to sink in fully, they themselves remained in harm’s way.

  Wren looked around for Robyn who was now sitting on a verge with her bow at her feet. There was something beyond sadness in her face, beyond dejection. She went across and sat down beside her as panic began to set into the rest of them. Wren took Robyn’s hand. “Do you trust me, Bobbi?”

  Robyn looked across to her. Tears had already started falling from her eyes. “What kind of question is that?” she rasped. “Of course I trust you.”

  “Then you need to move the van. I know where Mila is. We can get to her.”

  A dismissive laugh snorted through the tears. “You heard him, just like I did. It’s over, Wren.”

  “No. No, it’s not. I lived for months on the outskirts of Inverness. I went in on a regular basis. I know how to get to that street. Yes, the lorry went over; yes, it’s undriveable and it’s probably surrounded by those things, but if it’s intact and they’re all just trapped in there, then there’s a chance. I know it’s a slim one but—”

  Robyn stared at her sister. “So we’re just going to waltz into Inverness, you and me, and take on a few thousand zombies on the off chance that the lorry’s still in one piece.”

  “Don’t talk down to me, Bobbi. Not you.”

  Robyn wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Wren, but how? It’s impossible.”

  “No, it isn’t. I had ropes and ladders and hideouts all over the place. You don’t survive in an environment like that without using your brain, and I know exactly how to get to that street without even setting foot in the heart of the city.”

  “They’re coming!” shouted one of the men.

  “Oh my God, we’re too late,” shouted another.

  “Are you serious? You can get us in?” Robyn asked as the fire suddenly returned to her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it was possible.”

  Robyn sprang to her feet. “Aim all your weapons at the cab,” she shouted, but, instead, people just began to flee like frightened sheep, other than Izzy and Marcus who stood there frozen. They could hear the lorries, but for the time being, they couldn’t see them.

  “I … I” spluttered Marcus.

  Robyn swung the bow onto her shoulder and grabbed the shotgun from Marcus, who didn’t put up any kind of fight. “How do I make this fire?” she demanded.

  “I … I’ve already pumped it. You just pull the trigger then pump it again,” he said, pointing to the fore-end. You’ve got four shots.”

  Robyn knew very little about firearms other than shotguns had a wide spread and could cause a lot of damage. She’d seen them used plenty of times in the past. She ran up the road towards the sound of the engines, leaving Marcus and Izzy standing with their mouths agape. Wren followed her with loaded crossbows ready for whatever faced them. It was a country lane, and although the tarmac track itself was narrow, there were wide verges on each side leading into the woodland.

  “Err … you know this is crazy, right?” Wren asked as she took her position by her sister’s side.

  “Crazier than heading into a city full of zombies?”

  “Okay, kind of on a par with that.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this, Wren.”

  “If you remember, it was me
who said we should set off in the middle of the night.”

  “Yeah, you’re right; it’s all your fault. I feel much better now.”

  The two girls stood there, side by side, waiting as the noise of the engines got louder and louder.

  “Love you, Bobbi.”

  “Love you too.”

  chapter 13

  Donna released the manacle around the older man’s ankle. He said his thank yous then sidled over to where Rod and Mila were standing. “Feel better?” Rod asked, gesturing towards the man’s foot.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “Things are really looking up now, don’t you think? It’s Rod, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Rod replied, shaking the older man’s hand.

  “I’m Bill. And you are?” he asked, turning towards Mila.

  “My name is Mila,” she said, a little taken aback by the formality of it all.

  Sensing her bemusement, Bill smiled. “Well, aren’t we frightfully civilised when a gruesome death is staring us in the face?” Both Mila and Rod let out small laughs. “It’s good, thick plywood, but it’s not going to hold forever,” he said. As well as watching the wood move, he had been studying the actions and responses of the other prisoners too. He was confident that Rod and Mila were the only ones who had noticed what he had noticed.

  “Mila was asking earlier if there was any way we could split the railings to make some sort of weapons out of the fencing.”

  Bill raised his eyebrows and he smiled appreciatively. “Not just a pretty face then, are you?”

  “Aha, but evidently you are just a sexist pig who thinks women can be nothing but polite smiles on legs.”

  Bill burst out laughing and put his hands up. “My apologies. I meant no offence, just a generational thing. You’re right, I’m stuck in old ways I’m afraid.”

  Mila looked at him angrily for a moment and then softened. “I’m sorry. You were just trying to be nice, however derisory and insulting it came out. I should not be so sensitive.”

  “German?” he asked.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess. But to go back to what we were talking about. No. Without tools there’s no way we’re doing anything with that fenc—” He suddenly broke off, turning to look at it. His head tilted slightly as he scratched his chin.