She sneered at herself, but a huge burp from Layla carried the smell of rotting meat and made her gag. Survival. One thing at a time. She was about to set a building on fire while she was still inside it. So one thing at a time.
She completed another circuit and emptied a few more bottles. The air was hazy with fumes and she felt lightheaded by the time she returned to the bed.
Layla had stopped moving.
Her head was on one side and her eyes were finally still. Bayleigh felt her forehead and jerked her hand away. She was cold now, utterly cold.
She rested her hand beneath Layla's nose and held it there. The breaths were shallow and feeble. She didn't move, even once her shoulder started to shake. She wanted to witness the moment, if only for her own closure.
It happened without warning or fanfare. A breath came out, brushing her hand like a spider. She waited for another and it never came. She could feel the cold rising off her friend. Only it wasn't her friend anymore. Her skin looked like putty, already chipping and flaking off. She pressed a finger against Layla's cheek, ignoring the blurring as more tears arrived. It felt hard, like someone had sprayed her with varnish. She pressed harder and it cracked, like eggshells.
She spun away and her feast of the previous night came up all over the floor. She spat, sucked in the taste of the lighter fluid and coughed. The cough became a hacking, painful thing that had her gripping her knees and bending at the waist. Time was up.
She staggered over to the shelf and scooped up two of the clickers. The last three bottles of lighter fluid went into the bag along with a loaf of bread and cheese, and she paused beside the barricade. This was, at best, lunacy. At worst it was suicide. But she'd get nowhere thinking like that.
She turned for one more look at Layla and wished she hadn't. A sound she'd never made before, a howl that climbed up from her gut, tore from her lips. Her friend was sitting up, sunken eyes staring, lips pulled back from her yellowing teeth. Bayleigh clicked the lighter and held it to the floor.
The line of fluid she'd spread carried the flame from her feet to the bed. She opened another bottle and tossed it onto the fire. It struck the bed and flames leapt up. Fluid splashed across the person who looked like Layla, but wasn't, and she ignited. The scream was horrible, so close to what Layla sounded like yet utterly removed from anything human, and Bayleigh looked away, scrubbing her eyes.
She set her shoulder to the bed and pushed. It slid a few inches and stopped.
Bayleigh groaned and wriggled as she felt the heat on her back. She pushed and it moved again, and stopped. She was going to burn alive. She squeezed her eyes closed against the fumes and the smoke and heaved.
Another three pushes and, as she was sobbing in despair, it tilted, the legs nearest her lifting off the floor. Sweat ran down her back and neck and her hair was wet at the bottom. The screaming had grown louder but she couldn't look behind her.
She pushed the bed with everything she had, and finally it reached tipping point. She grabbed the clicker from her pocket and shoved it at the bed as it fell away. The flames attacked her, leaping from the fluid-soaked sheets and she scrambled back, face seared by the heat. She fell on her backside and the fire that swarmed across the carpet caught her top.
She screamed and rolled over and over, going from hot to cold and back again. When the heat faded she opened her eyes and tried to get up. The bed was still travelling down the stairs. It hadn't hurtled as she'd hoped, although the cabinets on top were strewn around the ground floor. Instead it was bumping steadily down, the mattress now an inferno spreading black plumes to the ceiling. Layla was gone, consumed by the flames that licked over the bed in which she'd been sleeping.
The flames were spreading, catching hangings and drapes around the wall as the fire found new supplies of the fluid.
She had to move now.
She had to get up and move.
She took a deep breath and burst out coughing again, smoke flooding her lungs. She blinked as the world grew dark, then smacked the palm of her hand against her head.
She yanked her top off and wrapped it around her face. The stairs beckoned but she froze. She was about to run into a street populated by zombies in only her bra. She couldn't do it. She could face the zombies and the almost certain death that lay there, but she had to be dressed to do it. She didn't look bad in just a bra, but they had no right to see it.
She laughed, the sound muffled by her top. Of all the things to worry about, but she still couldn't get over it. She raced across the room and rescued a tea towel just before the flames reached them. She untied her top and pulled it back on, ignoring the charring around the bottom, then wrapped the towel around her face. Feeling more and more like a pirate, she dashed for the stairs.
The bed had run over one of the zombies, whose blackened body lay spread-eagled on the steps. The other was gone as well, consumed she hoped by the rapidly spreading fire. She was close behind the bed, waiting for a chance to leap past it, when she heard a groaning. She thought at first it was another zombie, but it grew louder. Glancing up, she saw the top of the stairs separate from the upper floor. They shifted beneath her feet and she slipped and fell, sliding towards the burning bed.
Her feet went out to stop her descent, and in the moment before she struck, she looked at the glass doors at the front of the shop. The zombies were still there, gazing in wonder at the flaming pieces of ceiling and furniture that were now tumbling to the floor. They weren't scared at all. Her plan was useless.
Krystal
She was lying next to him again. Only this time it was her arm wrapped around him. Ed was warm and surprisingly cuddly considering she could feel his ribs through his t-shirt. She snuggled closer and hoped he didn't wake up. She couldn't ever remember snuggling. Mum hadn't been the cuddly type. She'd been cuddled but always put down far too quickly. And Dad's cuddles never felt right. Funny how she hadn't realised at the time.
She imagined she could lie here forever. Ed would wake up and turn to her, and he wasn't all that unattractive and maybe they'd screw. She giggled, biting her lip. Like that was ever going to happen. She knew how it worked but that was as far as her experience went. And he was so young. You didn't screw when you were thirteen, not when you were like Ed.
He still had his cute little suburban accent and good manners. Another few months on the street would sort that. She blinked, and the previous day came crashing in. Where were they? She sat up, no longer caring if he woke, and stared about. They were in a bedroom, a real bedroom, with a wardrobe and a chair and clothes strewn about the floor.
Speaking of which… she looked under the cover and saw her scrawny body covered only in a pair of greying pants and her one bra. Ed wore boxers and nothing else. She tracked back to when they left Canary Wharf.
Running through the fog felt like a dream. She remembered the sounds, moaning and groaning coming from all over the place, chasing them as they panted and ran until they couldn't breathe. They'd found a flat with an open back door and dashed inside just as the fog was chased away by the evening breeze. That was when they saw them.
Zombies. There were zombies everywhere, shambling and shuffling and lurching and slurping. She remembered turning the key in the lock and heading upstairs.
The house was locked. She sank down onto the bed, breathing easy. She wouldn't use the word safe, but they were better off in here, and if they hadn't been eaten yet, it probably wasn't going to happen any time soon.
She rolled onto her back and stretched. She'd read something once from the perspective of some homeless kid. It started off with this whole spiel about not being able to sleep on soft beds after you've been on the streets. She sniggered. What a crock. She could lie here forever.
Her stomach rumbled. She groaned and set her teeth. It rumbled again and with another groan, she slipped out of the bed and tiptoed to the wardrobe. The clothes inside were all way too big, size fourteen and sixteen, but she found some jeans and a belt and it didn't look too s
tupid. And they were new, or close to it. They felt rough and starchy but that was probably because her clothes were so worn.
She found a t-shirt and headed downstairs. She did a circuit of the kitchen, small though it was, opening and closing the fridge with a sort of dazed wonder. There was milk here, and cereals, and she didn't have to ask anyone or wait for someone to unlock the cupboards.
She demolished a bowl and went back for seconds. Then she found the bread and had toast. The kettle was boiling when Ed wandered in, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He'd found a female dressing gown. The belt was cinched just below his armpits, and it was a lovely shade of lavender.
Krystal giggled and he did a twirl.
'You look fabulous, darling, the zombies are gonna love you.'
His face fell and she regretted it straight away. 'But hey, don't worry about that, we've got cereals!'
She raised a box triumphantly and he managed a wan smile. 'Are they still out there?'
'Dunno, haven't looked.' The joy was gone from her voice also, and the dressing gown just looked silly now. She thumped the box on the table and walked through to the lounge. The curtains were mercifully closed and she peeked through the gap in the centre.
They were still there.
She watched, burping occasionally as the week's worth of food she'd just stuffed down kept repeating. They ambled as though they were going somewhere but had forgotten where. They were oddly peaceful. The moans were soft through the double glazing and there were no cars to break the silence. There wasn't much of anything really.
She waited for them to do something, but they seemed content just wandering. How had they been so scary yesterday?
'They're just walking around. Nothing to worry about.'
Ed looked up, crunching on breakfast. He rushed his mouthful, swallowed and raised both eyebrows. 'I think there's plenty to worry about. Where are we? Are we the only ones left alive? Why did this happen? How did it happen? What about outside of London? Where are the army? W—'
'Easy, slow down, bloody hell. Can we just have breakfast in peace before we flip out, yeah?'
He looked at her for another moment, then turned his attention back to his cereal.
Drinking tea from china mugs felt stranger than waking up in a normal bed. That was when it really dawned on her. 'Everyone's dead.'
'We don't know that.'
'No, we don't. But most everyone's dead, right?'
He shrugged. 'Looks like it.'
'So where do we go?'
'Why are you asking me? You're the one who knows what's what. You're the one who killed two of those things yesterday. Why should I know?'
'Hey, hey, sorry, it wasn't like I was just asking you, just thinking out loud, you know?'
He nodded, waving a hand in apology. 'Yeah, of course. Sorry, just…'
'Yeah, me too. We could always stay here. There's a warm bed upstairs…' He blushed, red from his cheeks to the roots of his hair and she chuckled quietly. Yeah, too young.
'But I mean, there's food in the cupboard and they can't get in here.' She went on. 'Why do we have to go anywhere? Oh crap, hang on.' She raced into the lounge and found the TV. 'How didn't I think of this when I woke up?'
Ed wandered in after her and leant against the wall. 'Cereal.'
She nodded and grabbed the remote. It felt like something out of the space age. She'd not thought twice about one of these three years ago but now it felt alien. It had more buttons too. 'Here, can you use this?'
He laughed, took it from her and pointed it at the TV. The screen lit up to a man in a suit, sat behind a news desk. She exchanged excited looks with Ed. They weren't all dead.
'…no details of the catastrophe, although it seems to be linked to a mysterious fog that sprung up in London early this afternoon near the Houses of Parliament…'
It wasn't this afternoon, it was yesterday.
'We are now being asked to evacuate these premises. We have been waiting for the emergency vehicles to collect us but so far there is no sign of them. We are recording this to put on loop when we leave. I would like to apologise on behalf of the BBC that we will not be providing live coverage of the incident, but would like to assure you we will return to live broadcasting as soon as possible.'
The man stood up and for a moment the camera focused on his stomach and the desk. Inaudible shouts came through the TV and he suddenly raced out from behind the desk. He made it out of sight of the camera, then a thud came loud through the speakers. Then there was silence.
Krystal stared at it, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She glanced at Ed but his hands were clenching and unclenching, and he looked like if he said anything he'd break down so she looked back at the TV. The screen flickered and the man was back behind the desk.
'A terrible event has occurred in London. We are only now getting the details of this, but it appears that everyone in the Greater London area has been poisoned and succumbed to some sort of chemical attack. The streets are lined with bodies and our helicopters can find no signs of life. Parliament was in session at the time and most of the cabinet are dead. Those remaining have been moved to a safe location and are now discussing the best possible course of action.'
The screen cut away to a shaky long distance camera shot of London from above. The whirr of helicopter blades blocked out most of what the reporter shouted but the pictures spoke for themselves. The streets were covered in prone figures and Krystal knew they would be stiff and cold.
When it cut back to the studio, the man behind the desk was pale and shaking his head. 'Unfortunately, we have no details of the catastrophe, although it seems to—'
The TV went dark and Ed threw the remote. It hit the screen with a dull thunk and fell on the floor. Krystal stared at it, chewing her lip. She couldn't cry. She needed to hold them together, but she couldn't get out of her mind Ed's face when he'd decided to kill Dawid. There was an edge to him she really didn't want to see again. Better he remain sniffy than lose the plot and do something stupid.
'So that's it. London's dead.' His voice was dull and flat, like he'd been emptied out of everything but the ability to speak. She still couldn't look at him, but she saw his reflection in the TV screen. He looked just like he sounded.
She shook her head. 'We're not dead.'
'Oh come on.' He yanked the curtain aside and the bright morning sunlight made her squint. Zombies passed back and forth in slow motion, heading nowhere. It made no sense, none of it made any sense.
'How did it all happen, what happened?' She heard the edge in her voice but couldn't keep it under control. 'I mean, where did it come from? He said something about the fog, it was the fog, wasn't it? Where did the fog come from? It started in town, right in the middle of town, who put it there, why did they do that?'
She wrung her hands together, staring at him. But his eyes were flat and he shrugged and pointed at the window. 'Doesn't matter. We're dead, same as everyone else. We're just going a different way.'
'We're not gonna die.' She leapt to her feet and grabbed his collar. She shook him. 'I'm not gonna die, I'm not, alright?'
He smiled like he'd forgotten what it meant. It was just a set of facial muscles moving, performing a long-practiced routine. She slapped him. Still the smile. She slapped him again and again, and his hands stayed by his sides and he wouldn't stop smiling. She spun away and lurched across the lounge, swallowing down the lump in her throat.
'Why do you want to die?'
He said nothing, and she ran out of the lounge and dashed up the stairs. The bed was rumpled and messy and she dived into it, but their warmth was gone from the sheets and they felt cold and alien. She lay, head on her flattened hands, staring across the room at a patch of wall. She wasn't going to die. Neither was he, she wouldn't allow it.
They should just stay here. The army would turn up eventually and it would all be sorted out. They could just stay here and go easy on the food.
The front door slammed.
Sh
e scrambled across the bed to the window and looked down. Ed strolled calmly down the front path.
Krystal screamed and ran for the stairs.
David
His neck ached. It hurt bad enough to wake him up, and he lifted his head, ever so slowly, off his knee. It was no wonder it ached, he was bent double, forehead pressing lightly against the dashboard. What was he doing here? Where was he?
Light came through the front window, bright enough that when he opened his eyes, all he saw was white. He blinked a bunch of times and scrubbed his hands across face. He'd crashed, slammed straight into the bloody statue of Eros. Typical. Love got him into this and love screwed him over, again.
He sat up straight, blinking, and glanced out the side window. He shrieked, a really girly yelp, at the zombie standing two feet away. The panel of glass between them seemed horribly thin. It was staring at him. It was either curious or stupid. It was difficult to tell.
He turned slowly away until he could stare between the spokes of the steering wheel at the milometer. He read the mileage at least twenty times before he looked back. It was still there. Despite the glorious sunshine, it was still creepy. It had dull grey skin dotted with patches that looked like soggy cornflakes once they'd dried. Its lips were split and puffy, cut through with deep red gashes.
The eyes were the worst, sunken and red-rimmed like an alcoholic after a really bad bender. But they were blank, the light gone from them entirely. He knew it was interested in him, it knew he was there, but its eyes gave no sign of it. For all he knew he could get out and walk away and it would stay right where it was. Only that wasn't true. Because the moment he got out it would fall on him and eat him.
Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga Page 2
