by Drew Brown
Juliette followed Budd back into the first room, where he collected the shotgun and Deacon’s briefcase. When he was satisfied that they had retrieved everything, he took the key from the lock. From the side with the double hatch, he re-locked the door. Forcefully, he tried his shoulder against it, but the wooden barrier stood firm, not moving in the slightest. He was sure it would hold indefinitely.
“We’ll be safe in here, sweetheart.”
Juliette looked to the double hatch. “What about that?”
“They open outwards and they’re chained shut. No one but us can open them. And I, for one, don’t plan on it any time soon.”
“How long will they stay?” Juliette asked, gesturing to the sound of scurrying feet above them.
Budd picked up the shotgun, opened it, and transferred two new shells from the box. “‘til they give up trying to reach us, I guess.” He leant the shotgun up against the wooden wall. “We’ve killed quite a few of them; I’m sure some easier prey will stumble across here sooner or later. Then, we’ll make our escape.”
“What if they do not go?”
We’d starve. Oh no, wait, I’m wrong. We’d dehydrate…
“If we’re quiet and turn off the torches, I’m sure they will. And sooner or later, the soldiers will come and find us. They can’t go on vacation without their pilot, remember?”
“You make it sound easy, Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said with a smile. “Thank you for reassuring me.” She sat down beside the shotgun and rested her back against the damp wall. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and raised her knees to her chest. “I cannot believe that this is happening.”
Budd took off his rucksack, tucked the box of shotgun shells inside, and then lay the pack on the ground. He rubbed his shoulder, easing the pain of where the strap had cut into his flesh, and then settled down next to Juliette, close enough that their sides were touching. Budd spread the red blanket over them, but compared to the cold discharged from the damp floor and wall, the warmth the thick material gave was hardly noticeable. “The last couple of days haven’t gone exactly how I planned either,” he replied, struggling to suppress a sinister chuckle.
“You see humor in strange things, Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said. She switched off her flashlight and placed it next to her leg. The only remaining light was what filtered between the floorboards from the candles that burned in the room above.
“I’m still crossing my fingers that this is gonna be a nightmare.”
“It is not.”
“Maybe, but if this was a nightmare, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose I would.”
“Well then, if it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna keep hoping that, sooner or later, I’m gonna wake up safe and warm in your hotel suite, pressed against your naked body. And I’ll have room service bring me breakfast in bed. With a bottle of that fancy champagne you like.”
“That would be nice, Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said. Her hand sought out his beneath the blanket and her fingers rubbed against his palm. “But, I would settle for being next to the fire. Anywhere away from this smell.”
“You mean that isn’t you? I thought that’s what vegetarians smelled like.”
“Do not be rude, Monsieur Ashby,” Juliette said, although she laughed. “And please do not speak of food. I am so hungry.”
“Amen to that, sister.”
I felt tired, not through lack of sleep—as you know, recently I’d had more than most teenagers—but because I’d been through an “ordeal.” And I remember from my old military training that after such events—we dealt with combat missions, but I guess being chased by a class of zombiefied brats through a wood is a similar situation—the human body often decides it needs to take a break.
And who can blame it?
I didn’t resist the gaining weight of my eyelids; the basement, despite being damp, smelly, and unpleasant, was probably the safest place for miles. Instead, I thought ’bout the warmth of the fireplace, and I tried to listen to its faint crackling. It was much better than the scurrying feet and the drip-drip-drip of blood…
“My ex-wife, Jessica, worked in a slaughterhouse: she used to smell this way when she came home. And she always wanted a hug.”
“How many wives have you had, Monsieur Ashby?” Juliette asked after several seconds spent trying to remember how many he’d mentioned.
Other than the gentle rumbling of his snores, Budd made no reply.
21
Budd stirred from his sleep to find that he felt much warmer. It was an agreeable sensation, and he grumbled some quiet words and shifted beneath the blanket.
As he attempted to drift back into his slumber, he became aware that the warmth he felt was focused more upon his exposed face than the parts of his body concealed within the blanket. Even through his closed eyelids, there was still enough light to register in his brain.
The crackling fire was much louder than before.
Alarmed, he opened his eyes. “Rise and shine,” he said, pulling Juliette to her feet as he jumped up from under the blanket.
Her face was awash with the vanishing tide of sleep, but one look at the fire that raged in the room above focused her attention.
The cabin was ablaze.
“Time to blow this joint,” Budd said as he slung his rucksack over his shoulder and reached for the chainsaw.
Juliette picked up the briefcase and the shotgun. Last of all, she grabbed her flashlight from the dirt floor.
A pattering of feet over their heads caused them to look up. Neither saw any sign of what had made the sound through the cracks in the floorboards. There were only the rising flames, which covered much of the floor and had engulfed the walls and ceiling. The cabin creaked and groaned, buckling under the weight of its roof.
“Hurry,” Budd said.
“Do you think they did this on purpose?” Juliette asked as Budd started the chainsaw.
He gave her a quick glance, looking into her eyes, and then shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered, and then he went towards the double hatch in the alcove.
Gesturing for Juliette to stand back, Budd thrust the revolving blade into the right-hand hatch, piercing the bottom corner. The chainsaw made short work of the wood, which splintered and ripped apart. He cut upwards, in front of the hinges, all the way to the top, and then he cut horizontally until what was left of the hatch was dangling from the chain and the sky was visible through the empty space.
The gray fog was bright. Night had given way to dawn.
Revving the chainsaw, Budd clambered up the steps and emerged into the light. He could see the tree line just sixty feet away and led Juliet towards it.
“Over there,” she shouted, pointing to the left. There were three small shapes running towards them.
Budd’s eyes, however, were already going to the right: he could see four schoolchildren approaching, their details obscured in the darkness. The ghostly apparitions skirted their way around the cabin’s flaming hulk.
“We can’t escape,” Budd said, coming to halt. “Can you fire that?” he asked, nodding to the shotgun.
Juliette licked her lips. “I think so, Monsieur Ashby,” she answered. She put the briefcase down at her feet and took a proper hold of the heavy weapon.
“Wait ‘til they get close and aim for their heads. There’s more ammo in my rucksack.”
The mad dash approach of the schoolchildren ceased, at least in the direction Budd was guarding. Rather than rushing on, the four children had spread out, each one a few feet apart. They approached steadily, crouched down and ready to pounce.
They were thirty feet away.
Budd felt Juliette rummaging around inside his rucksack, her hand delving down as she searched for the box of shells. She retrieved it, as well as the flare gun. “Monsieur Ashby, you take this,” she said, handing him the bulky, makeshift weapon. He smiled, cocked the hammer, and then placed it at his feet. The device would make a dead
ly close-range firearm. The heat on the right-hand side of his face, radiating from the raging fire, was strangely comforting.
The creature-children were twenty-five feet away.
“How we doin’ on your side?” Budd asked, but he didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to risk taking his eyes from the four children that approached his front. They were close enough for him to see the dirt on their faces, and the tears and stains on their once-smart uniforms. Their hands flexed back and forth like claws, all except for the one on the far right of the line, whose left hand was missing.
The one-handed schoolboy’s face was pale; his brown, bowl-cut hair was highlighted against the white skin of his forehead. The stump was black with dried blood, and his eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles. Despite his injury, however, the boy looked equally as determined as the rest.
“They are getting closer, Monsieur Ashby. And they are staying apart. What should I do?”
“Stay put and keep your eyes on ’em,” Budd instructed. He stepped a couple of paces forward, revved up the chainsaw and raised it above his head. The four schoolchildren halted their advance. They were fifteen feet away, their eyes captivated by the speeding blade.
“Come on, Stumpy,” Budd called, looking to the injured schoolboy. “You remember Mister Chainsaw, don’t you? You wanna play some more?”
As one, the four schoolchildren sprinted at him, erupting with brutal speed.
He lowered the chainsaw to his waist, the height of their necks, and turned the blade on its side. Behind him he heard the shotgun fire, closely followed by Juliette gasping in shock.
There was no time to turn and check that she was okay; the first of the four had reached for him with outstretched arms. Budd lopped off the limbs at the elbows and the boy pulled away with blood squirting skywards.
The next child was upon him.
She was a plump girl with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her cheeks, high above her snapping teeth, were full and rosy and her eyes gleamed bright. As she reached the chainsaw, and Budd angled it towards her, she dived down below it, aiming for his feet.
Desperate, Budd tried to sidestep away, but the girl found her target and wrapped her arms around his right ankle. Her teeth compressed the stout leather of his boot. Frantically, he tried to shake her off, but then he gave up and instead plunged the chainsaw into her back so that the whizzing blade tore a widening slot in her torso. She released his leg and writhed around on the ground, trying to reach the blade in her back.
Budd laughed maniacally as the blood sprayed all the way up to his face. Behind him, the shotgun fired again. He started to raise the chainsaw, but before he’d removed it from the girl’s fleshy back, the third child was upon him.
The boy-creature threw his weight against Budd’s legs and brought him down.
Budd tossed the chainsaw to the side as he fell. He grabbed the neck of the boy, holding the snarling mouth at bay as best he could. When he hit the grass, he knocked his head against the turf. His momentary daze was ended when the fourth child, Stumpy, leapt upon his legs. The boy who’d toppled him was already on his chest.
Within a heartbeat, the schoolboys had the upper hand and they sought to scratch and bite him, while Budd struggled to get free.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Juliette fighting a small girl with blond hair. She was fending off the schoolgirl-creature by swinging the barrel of the shotgun like a club. Two other children lay in heaps on the grass; their chests and faces eviscerated hollows.
Budd released one hand from the neck of the boy who’d straddled his chest and then groped around on the grass, searching for the chainsaw. The weapon was out of reach, the motor winding down to a halt, too far from his grasp. He cursed, but then his fingers touched the handle of the flare gun and he fumbled to bring it closer. Coiling his hand around the grip, he pressed the gun into the face of the boy on his chest.
The boy’s hands seized the weapon and he looked along the barrel at Budd, cocking his head inquisitively. With a smile, Budd pulled the trigger. There was a bright flash as the flare shot into the boy’s mouth, smashing through his teeth, spewing flames out in its wake.
“Lighten up, kid,” Budd shouted, laughing.
The bright sparks forced Budd to shield his eyes, while cinders rained down to burn his exposed skin and smoulder upon his blue shirt.
The boy toppled backwards against Stumpy.
Juliette screamed.
Budd looked back and discovered that she’d lost her footing on the grass and had sunk to her knees. The small girl was too close to be fended off with the shotgun and was attacking in a haze of hands and teeth.
I might be a coward, but I’m an optimistic one: Juliette was stronger than her pint-sized opponent, and I knew first hand what good shape she was in—oh yeah, brother, that’s the truth. And, hell, even if we were bitten, there were still two antidotes in the briefcase.
So I was sure we’d survive.
Well, I was, right up ‘til I looked beyond where Juliette was fighting. Running through the fog, twenty-five feet away and closing, were another half a dozen of the little devils.
I’ve never been one for kids, and in that moment, I cursed every last one…
Budd tried to shout a warning as he attempted to dislocate himself from under the body of the boy he’d killed and to kick Stumpy from his legs. Instead of a shout, his words became a cry as teeth sunk deep into his inner left thigh.
Bitten…
He reached for Stumpy, but then he thought he heard a voice and he glanced to the trees.
“Budd,” the familiar voice called again.
A gunshot rang out from the woodland.
22
Stumpy was up and away from Budd in an instant, scurrying around the burning cabin, which was engulfed with tall flames that soared to the cloudy sky, billowing a tall pillar of black smoke that climbed into the obscurity of the still air.
More gunshots sounded from the woodland, the bright muzzle flashes showing through the leaves and branches. Budd considered chasing Stumpy and settling the score, but the thought of all the bullets whistling through the air kept him still.
Anyway, Juliette was more important…
He looked across to find her flat out on the turf, but then her head turned towards him and she smiled. In much the same way as Stumpy had done, Juliette’s assailant had attempted to flee, only to be shot down before she’d managed more than a few steps. The little girl still tried to crawl away, but the gunmen in the woods had her body in their sights and it shook and shuddered as each new bullet found its mark. Eruptions of blood and flesh followed every strike. Eventually, one of the bullets pierced her skull, travelling through her brain to explode out the other side.
She didn’t move after that…
Budd looked beyond Juliette to where he’d seen the newly arrived schoolchildren coming out of the fog. There was no sign of them. He and Juliette were the only living things left on the turf around the cabin.
The gunfire from the wood ceased.
After a few seconds of quiet, Budd took the opportunity to slither across the grass to Juliette. He kept his head down in case the deadly barrage restarted.
“Are you hurt, Monsieur Ashby?” Juliette asked as Budd reached her. Her face lit up with a smile and her skin seemed to glow in the fire-filled ambience of the foggy daylight. Before waiting for a reply, she shimmied forwards and kissed him on his cheek.
“I’ve been bitten,” Budd said, swinging his left leg around to show her the bloody wound on his inner thigh.
Juliette kissed him on the cheek a second time and then pulled up her leather jacket’s right sleeve. As she did, Budd noticed a tear in the black material. There was a semicircle of bloody tooth marks midway up her forearm. “I have also been bitten.”
“Budd, Juliette, we’ve found you,” cried a voice from the trees.
“Dudes, you’re alive,” shouted another as Andy and Sam emerged from the woodland, closely
followed by one of the black-uniformed gunmen. While the soldier stood prepared for danger, scanning the area with the stock of his MP-5 pulled into his shoulder, the other two dashed across the open ground to kneel alongside Budd and Juliette.
“We thought we’d lost you when we found Patterson’s body,” Andy said, beaming a smile.
“He is dead?” Juliette asked.
“There’re, like, chunks of him all over the road. It’s a total mess.”
“How did you get here?” Andy said. His eyes flitted over the corpse-strewn grass. “Are all these children?”
Budd nodded. “We bumped into them by a school bus on the road. Pass me the briefcase.”
Sam did as he was asked and Budd popped the latches and lifted the lid. Deacon hadn’t locked it. He picked up the first of the two hypodermic syringes. “Give me your arm, sweetheart.”
Andy looked at Juliette’s wound. “Do you have to do that here? Couldn’t it wait until we get to t’airfield?”
“Maybe,” Budd answered. He pointed to the wound at the top of his leg. “But if it’s too late, you’re gonna have to learn to fly real fast.”
“I see,” Andy said.
Budd inserted the tip of the needle beneath Juliette’s skin. He pulled back the plunger, drawing blood from the body to check that he’d located the vein, and then carefully injected the red liquid.
“Where’s t’scientist?”
Budd tossed the empty syringe into the fire. “Still inside,” he said, taking the second syringe. More than simply hurting like he thought it should, the bite on his leg felt as though something hot was being held against his skin. The sensation was spreading.
“Dude, is that, like, the last one?”
Budd released his belt buckle and then undid the buttons of his flies. He eased his trousers down a little and revealed the wound Stumpy had inflicted. Despite the blood, the impressions of the teeth could clearly be seen. Slipping the needle beneath his skin, Budd found his vein and depressed the plunger. The red liquid disappeared into his body.
