by Stuart Keane
Goodright unslung her rifle and cocked it, aiming down the sight, ready to shoot if required. She moved it along the line of bodies, rehearsing the shots. She had about thirty seconds before potential contact. Steadying her feet against the movement of the escalator, she poised, ready.
"Stand aside," she said, her words weak and empty.
Nothing happened.
She cleared her throat. "Stand aside. Now." This time the words had more impact, and resonated on the silence, but the creatures remained inert, ignoring her command.
Twenty seconds.
"Fine. Have it your way."
Goodright fired.
She hit the most central creature, one wearing a crumpled grey business suit and a terrible toupee that now hung sideways on its exposed skull. The bullet smashed into his chest and sent it recoiling backwards. It toppled to the floor, leaving a slim gap in the formation. Ragged flesh and scorched clothing lingered in the air before splattering to the tiles below, the toupee following a second later. Goodright could smell charred flesh and the slight essence of onset rot.
Fifteen seconds.
She fired again, taking out the next in line, increasing the gap. The shot hit the formerly female creature in the shoulder. The figure spiralled to the right, its left arm snapping as its lithe frame crunched into a shop wall. A low groan escaped its lips as the arm lolled sickeningly by its side.
Ten seconds.
Goodright hesitated, thinking, and fired a third round. She hit the furthest to the right in its left shoulder. The creature's severed arm whipped into the air and slapped the floor behind with a soggy splat. Its remaining form slumped into the gap she had created.
Goodright smiled.
Five seconds.
She slung the rifle around her arm, breathed out, and leapt over the edge of the escalator. She hit the floor with both feet, rolled, and sprinted for the mall exit. The remaining creatures turned and watched her, initially confused by her movements. They shuffled into life, but by then, it was too late. They stumbled over one another in an attempt to chase their foe, their speed compromised.
Goodright exited the mall without a backwards glance and ran to the police van. The sunshine caressed her face, and she smiled. She hustled across the pavement and headed for the passenger door.
A creature slammed into her from the right, from behind the van, knocking her to the ground. Goodright crumpled to the concrete with a thud, the breath knocked out of her. Her rifle was beneath her, pushing into her spine. She put her hands up to protect herself.
The creature stood over her, its destroyed face blocking out the sky. Exposed skull gleamed in the bright sunrays, the fetid flesh and hair hanging off in large decaying chunks. One eyeball was gone, leaving a deep black void. Goodright looked away, and saw the mass of shadow moving within the mall. The creatures were after her. In seconds, she was a dead woman.
A gunshot rang out, and the figure toppled to the floor beside her. She glanced up, sticky blood smearing her face and chest. Harrison was aiming his shotgun out of the driver window, watching the mall exit. Bruce was leaning out of the passenger window, his Glock aimed at her. His eyes were wide, his face pale. Goodright smiled and stared at the fallen creature beside her, a hole in its chest.
Nice shot, kid.
Goodright clambered to her feet and ran for the van. She pulled her sidearm, ready for another encounter. Bruce slipped back into the van as she returned to the passenger seat. Closing the door, she looked back. Saw Bruce and Morgan sitting there.
Harrison looked at her, relief in his smile. "I thought we'd lost you."
"Yeah, well … you nearly did. Get us out of here."
"Just the one, huh? After all this?"
"You were there. Trent … I'll explain later. Drive."
Harrison steered the van back onto the road as the creatures swarmed out of the mall entrance. He took a quick glance in the wing mirror. "Fuck me."
Goodright nodded. "There's a ton of them. I saw hundreds. And they're smart, too."
"You okay? Were you bitten?"
"No, I'm fine. I got lucky, but do me a favour in the future?"
Harrison nodded. "Anything."
"We stay together, and on our own. Just the four of us."
"We're the police, we can’t just ignore other survivors."
"Yeah, well, next time, you go in alone. This isn't normal society anymore. I got out by the skin of my teeth; we might not be so lucky next time."
"I see your point." He steered the van around a corner. "So … where are we headed?"
"We need to get out of Barrington."
"We can't just leave. What about containing the outbreak?"
"There's … there's no containing it. There's hundreds of those things, and thousands of defenceless people in Barrington. Those numbers … well, they don’t work in our favour. I wouldn’t be surprised if this thing is already out. You saw how smart they are."
Harrison nodded. Said nothing.
"Besides, two police officers and their survivor friends are not going to make a dent in this. We can't help everyone." Goodright leaned her head against the passenger window. A loud sigh whistled on her lips. "This isn't the movies, we have to accept that."
Harrison nodded.
"So, unless something comes up, it's just the four of us."
Harrison sighed, defeat on his face. "So what do we do?"
Goodright smiled. "We have a van. I say we stock up, ensure our survival. Weapons, food, the works."
Harrison glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Bruce, Morgan, you hear this?"
They looked up, their young faces wracked with worry.
Harrison chuckled. "It's time to go shopping. Christmas just came early."
ELEVEN
Liverpool Street Station, London.
The man fumbled with his mobile phone, his blood-soaked hands trembling as the fingers slipped across the tiny buttons. The large bite in his neck throbbed and gushed with sticky, infected blood. It dribbled down his body and soaked through his clothes. A light patter sounded off the floor as he wobbled through the crowded station. People saw him coming and gave him a wide berth, their curiosity piqued but aware. No one called for help.
It infuriated Margaret Kennedy.
She watched the hapless stranger, her withered gaze unable to comprehend the severe injury that he had befallen. In all of her seventy-one years, Margaret had never witnessed something like this, especially not in a public place. Her good nature and her social status as a Samaritan, the latter of which had led her through this very station during the middle of the busy day, got the better of her.
As she neared the stranger, she noticed several people were changing course, veering away from him, not wanting to be associated with or gain responsibility for the injured man. It sickened her, but didn’t surprise her. Modern society was a selfish one.
She stepped into his path. "Excuse me, sir. Are you alright?"
The man paused and gazed at her with heavy eyes. "I … I have to get … get … home to my … fam … family."
"I can help with that. What happened to you?"
"I don’t know … know."
"You have a hole in your neck, sir."
"I know. A nice … nice man gave me a hug and I started bleeding." He raised a wobbly hand to his injury, wincing as he touched the puffy flesh. She saw the first septic signs of infection around the wound. Margaret looked at the man and realised his pupils were dilated. The whites were flecked with ruptured vessels. Drugs? She didn’t know, but it might begin to explain his condition. People did all kinds of stupid things while under the influence.
"We need to get you to a doctor."
"No … no doctor."
"What?"
"No … doctor. The nice man said the doctor started all this. This," he said, pointing to the bloody hole in his throat. "The doctor started this, and we should all comply."
"I'm sorry, sir, but you're not making any sense."
"My �
� my family." The man played with his mobile phone and spun it to show Margaret. She saw a photograph of a beautiful family, a couple with three delightful children. She could see them through the bloody thumbprint that covered the screen.
"Let's get you home, shall we?"
The man shook his head. "No. I … I can't let them see me like this."
"You need help," Margaret added.
"No. Just … just …"
Margaret didn’t have a chance to scream as the man lunged and sank his teeth into her throat.
Lakeside Shopping Centre, West Thurrock
"Which one do you want?"
"I want both," Terrance exclaimed. "Both." He held the two boxes of Lego behind his back, a rueful look on his face. "I can't decide, so I want both."
"You look constipated when you do that," Angela countered. She looked at her son with withering disdain, wishing he would toe the bloody line, just for once. She saw unappreciative glances in her peripheral vision, fellow mothers taking offence at her style of parenting. The customers of Lakeside being nosy, as usual.
Fuck 'em. Cunts.
She sighed, and addressed her son. "You can't have both, Mummy can't afford both."
"Can."
"I can't. And mouth me back again, you'll get sweet FA."
Terrance fell into silence. After a moment, he pulled both boxes into view and studied them, his young gaze flicking between them, making a difficult decision. Angela breathed out, relieved. She could do without another altercation with the store security guard. She looked up, trying to locate him, remembering the previous encounter that had him follow her halfway around the shopping centre. The embarrassment still stung.
"You picked one yet?" she said, trying to urge her son along.
"Not yet."
"Okay," she said.
Don’t rock the boat. You're lucky he's behaving today.
Maybe he does have autism.
Maybe the doctors are all spouting bullshit. Every child has autism these days.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
Angela looked up, her cheeks blushing red at the familiarity of the voice. The security guard stood there, the same one as before. A trickle of rising dread crawled through her body. "What? He didn’t do anything."
The guard smiled. "I know."
"In that case, I wish you to leave. He's just a child, and he didn’t know what he was doing. I can’t keep an eye on him for every second of the day."
"I just wanted to apologise for before, you know. I can imagine it was … embarrassing, to say the least."
Really?
Nice try.
"Well, thank you. It's fine. Thank you," she said again, confused. "Now, excuse me. I have places to be. Terrance, have you picked one yet?"
"Terrance. Lovely name, very traditional," the guard said, lowering to the boy's position.
Angela felt her stomach lurch. "What are you doing?"
The guard glanced up, a twinkle in his eye. "I'm saying hello to your son."
"No you fucking ain't. What are you, some kind of pervert?"
The guard straightened up and looked around. Curious, prying eyes were turning in his direction. With a hint of incredulity in his voice, he grinned. "Excuse me?"
"You don’t know my son. How dare you speak to him without my consent?"
"I was just being nice."
"No, you were … well, I don’t know what they call it, but it's inappropriate."
The guard backed off. "Fine." He walked away.
Angela wiped her face, her nerves fraying. She bent down and looked at Terrance. The boy looked at her. "I don’t want either, Mummy. If you can't afford them, you should keep your money."
Angela's heart broke. She smiled. "Really?"
Terrance nodded, his innocence abundant.
"I tell you what. We can get a McDonalds instead, how's that?"
Terrance smiled. "Yeah! They have toys in!"
"Want some chicken nuggets?"
"Yes." He tossed the boxes on the floor. One man leapt aside, startled by the unusual action. Terrance jumped on the spot. "Lead the way, Mum!"
Angela took his hand and led him through the exit.
The headless corpse toppled in front of her with a damp splat, spraying blood across her path. Warm spatters hit her in the face and arms. Angela squealed and flinched away. Terrance looked on at the body, a smile crossing his face. "Cooool."
The woman wiped her face, smearing the blood into her cheeks. She looked around.
Utter chaos.
Angela's brain screamed it to her, the only possible description for the impossible events that were unfolding before her disbelieving eyes. Her mouth opened, agape as the reality set in.
The headless corpse that blocked her path.
The two women who were tearing literal chunks out of one another. Lumps of flesh and muscle showered the ground like confetti. Their matching white Kappa tracksuits had turned a faded pink with their blood, the large tears in the fabric revealing the mottled skin beneath. Rolls of pale flab bounced and jostled as they assaulted one another. The look in their eyes wasn't human. She recoiled and looked away as the larger of the two snapped the other's neck with her meaty hands, before falling onto the body. They disappeared behind a decimated Sky TV stand, the logo sprayed with black spatter.
She looked elsewhere, terror setting in.
Terrance yelped in pain as her grip crushed his tiny hand.
Across the walkway, a thin man was gorging on a severed arm. At first, her mind's eye imagined a stranger enjoying a fresh hot dog, such was the normal nature of the scene, but as the fetid horror of the actual events set in, she realised.
Does he have ketchup smeared across his face? Nope.
A groan escaped her lips.
"Mummy?"
Angela said nothing as a man spun and toppled from the floor above, his head exploding as it connected with the barrier below. His skull disintegrated, spraying shattered skull and mushy brains outwards. His body disappeared to the floor below, smashing into a table with a crash. Muffled screams filled the air.
"Mummy?"
"Follow me, baby."
Angela turned and headed back to the Lego store. As she reached the entrance—the windows are sprayed with blood, how did I miss that?—the door slammed in her face. The security guard from before was looking at her, his eyes terrified. He smiled as he locked the door, leaving Angela at the mercy of whomever was causing this chaos.
"Open the door!" she screamed.
The guard shook his head and turned. He disappeared into the back of the store.
"Arsehole."
Angela studied the grotesque scene once more; saw a number of people lingering in dark corners. They were watching her, studying her. The man with the mutilated arm dropped it and focused on the front of the Lego store. She clocked the figures; noticed severed limbs, torn clothes and a variety of blood spatters on their persons. Their gait was unusual, crooked, the look in their jaundiced eyes vacant.
She knelt down and pulled Terrance to her chest. "Look at me, honey. Look at me."
Terrance did so, averting his eyes from the violence that surrounded him. She ran a hand through his hair and smiled, a tear rolling down her face. "I want you to follow me, okay? Don’t leave my side."
He nodded. "I'm scared."
"I am too, honey. I'll keep you safe," Angela uttered, not believing her own lie. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Angela gave him a deep hug, her eyes on the small crowd that were watching them. As they began to shuffle forward and moved closer, she saw the blood and viscera that oozed from various orifices, their multiple wounds, their torn necks.
She had nowhere to go, nowhere to run.
Angela hugged her son close, just one more time.
M1 Motorway, Junction 21, Leicester
Rosemary Ost sighed and slumped back in the seat. The traffic before her had come to a complete halt. Rain drummed on the roof of her car, a soothing sou
nd that usually calmed her. A wide sea of brake lights and glistening rooftops accentuated by the mild downpour sat before her, vehicles containing hundreds of people who currently shared her disdain for the standard procedure of British public roads. The windscreen wipers flicked back and forth, patient and squealing. The rain cleared, only for new droplets to replace it mere seconds later.
Rose checked her watch.
Three o'clock.
I'm still two hours and forty-seven minutes out.
At this rate, it'll be a lot longer.
The woman sighed again, defeated, unable to do anything about her routine, predictable position. Cars surrounded her for miles. She checked her watch again, and then gazed at the TomTom navigation device on her dashboard. The blue arrow sat on the red line, inert. The clock in the bottom right corner changed, counting down the minutes left in the day.
Hang on.
I've been sitting here for seventeen minutes.
The roads are bad … but seriously.
Rose thumbed the radio button, but nothing happened. She clicked several buttons, including the one marked TA, but nothing came through. The hiss of static filled the car. She thumbed it off.
That's odd.
It's a digital radio.
What the hell is going on?
"I have things to do," she uttered, her voice cracking. "I'm on a timeline."
A high-pitched squeal pricked at her ears. Rose frowned and sat up, her eyes on the soaked windscreen. The sloshy shapes of cars dominated the view; the vehicles uncomfortably close on all four sides, the bleak sky high above the only other visible element of the world. She breathed through pursed lips. The only movement before her was windscreen wipers and exhaust fumes, both of which danced in the distance.
Was I imagining that?
Is my mind playing tricks?
She hated this.
It wasn't doing her condition any good, being cooped up in a metal box like this.
I need to get out. I need some fresh air.
Where are you going to go?
Flickering shadows beyond the glass interrupted her thoughts.
She smiled, a brief surge of hope entering her thought process.
