A World Reborn (Novella): The Harrowsfield Outbreak

by Chris Thompson

  The helicopter was now close enough that a bright searchlight illuminated her, perhaps highlighting Tara so the snipers could take better aim, or so the man on the ground could find her as she tried to get away from him. She ignored it charged as fast as she could. She didn’t run in a straight line either. At first, Tara darted towards the portable toilets, slipping around them and then keeping them at her back as she hurtled towards the stage area, hoping the toilets would provide a little cover. There were storage sheds on the right while the stage was dead ahead. As she ran on, however, Tara’s heart began to sink. Behind the stage area, shuffling forward uncertainly, Tara could see the infected. They were likely being drawn by the sound of the helicopter, and as Tara continued towards the stage, so too did she run towards them. Feeling breathless, Tara pressed on, and within a few moments, reached the bottom of the stage. It was about as tall as she was and, being exhausted, she knew she couldn’t climb up manually, so would have to go along to the steps at the side. Looking back in the direction she had come, she saw the gunman running at her, his weapon raised. She heard no gunshot and saw no flash but suddenly, splinters erupted from the stage beside her; his shots were going wide, but not by much, and so she started to run the length of the stage, hoping to reach and climb the stairs at the far end before he got off another shot. She was passing over the mostly consumed remains of the infected’s first victims - mostly skeletal, some with small chunks of flesh still clinging to the bones, and Tara was careful not to lose her footing on them, stepping around as carefully as she could, while hearing wood being torn up behind her by silenced gunfire.

  The sounds ceased behind her and she figured he was likely reloading, or, she prayed, had completely run out of ammunition. She reached the edge of the stage and spun around the corner, barrelling straight into an infected and knocking both her and the creature to the ground. It grappled her, pulling her into a tight, deadly embrace before trying to rip her face with its teeth. Still holding the baton tightly, Tara managed to get her arm up and over the head of the infected, snapping it away before it could try and bite into her forearm. She let the handle of the baton slip down just enough, and then began to slam the circular end into its forehead. It was slow, difficult and awkward, but eventually, its skull began to crack open, and then a final blow crushed it; castoff blood from her assault spattering onto her cheek. Tara disentangled herself from the corpse, saw another trio of infected making their way towards her, and swiftly darted up onto the stage. The steps led to a curtained off, backstage area which Tara could use to move further across before putting herself back in the gunman’s line of fire. She hurried along, her boots making a loud noise as she zipped quickly towards the light blooming in from the main stage. Tara neared the edge of the curtain and slowed, coming almost to a complete stop. Putting her hands on her knees to stabilize herself, she took several deep, much needed breaths and tried to recover. Everything in her body hurt, and she wished desperately to rest for longer, but the gunman could be coming up behind her, or worse still, could be waiting for her.

  Tara approached the edge of the curtain as soon as she felt a little better. She saw the patch of dried blood and scattered skeletal remains where the mayor had gone down after being attacked, and a half dozen paces away, the blood covered dress his wife had been wearing with her picked clean skeletal remains inside it. It had horrified Tara, watching as the Mayor was dragged down by the infected followed quickly by his wife. They’d died together, being devoured by the undead mere feet apart. Tara knew she’d never forget that awful sight, along with many other terrible memories that would stain her nightmares for the rest of her life. The deputy who had been on stage at the time had been frozen in fear and the sheriff… well, he’d quickly beat a hasty retreat to get away. Peering around the corner as she was, Tara couldn’t see the gunman, but her ability to see clearly out into the grounds was compromised by the searchlight from the helicopter shining straight down onto her face. She recoiled back around the curtain and prepared herself. The deputy had been torn apart after the mayor’s wife, and by her reckoning, what was left of him should be directly on the other side of the curtain from where she was. She needed to go around the corner, reach his remains and try to find his gun as quickly as possible. With no idea where the gunman was, Tara knew she had to be fast or she’d be dead. Taking several deep, strengthening breaths, Tara prepared to make her move; she braced her legs and sprinted around the corner.

  It took several dazed moments for Tara to realize what had happened after she’d tried to round the corner; all she felt was pain across her upper chest and a similar intense pain in the back of her head. She was now on her back, the light shining into her face and only adding to her disorientation. As she refocused, she realized she’d been hit by something, and then realized what the something was. The gunman stood over her, his weapon hanging from the strap over his shoulder. His fists were balled and through the eye holes of his mask, Tara could see the barely concealed rage in them. He kicked her sharply in the side and pain flooded through her body. She was carried over onto her front, and tried to stand, managing to get to her hands and knees before a powerful punch was levied at her face, sending her sprawling down and landing in a pool of sticky, old blood. Trying to get up again, another kick struck her in the side and she collapsed on her back.

  “We’ve had our fun, girl, but now it’s time for the chase to end.” The gunman told her. Whatever goodwill she’d curried from surviving earlier was long gone. Another kick and Tara felt something break, no doubt a rib or two. It was agonizing and disorienting; the light was blinding and her brain struggled to keep up with what was happening to her. Her thoughts raged against the end, and she prayed that these weren’t her final moments, that this wasn’t how she died. The baton was long gone, lost in the confused moments when she’d first been struck. She moved her left arm out, flailing to try and find something, anything that might be a weapon - anything that might allow her to buy a few more seconds of life. Her hand settled on something solid and sticky. Her hand was near a sharpened edge; she rolled over and snatched it up in a single, painful movement, getting to her knees and keeping the sharp edge pointed away. The gunman stepped towards her and she stabbed out with whatever was in her hand. He hadn’t seen the weapon she was carrying and didn’t react in time to prevent the shard of leg bone slamming into the unprotected side of his own leg. He screamed, and so did Tara, as she forced it into his leg as hard as she possibly could. He stumbled and retreated, and Tara’s hand slipped from the makeshift weapon. Looking down, Tara realized she was in the midst of the deputy’s remains, and so she looked frantically for his gun. It lay three feet away from her and so she crawled, desperately and as fast as she could and snatched up the weapon; feeling the dried blood beneath her fingers and palm. Tara heard footsteps behind her and so she turned, holding the gun out and firing as soon as she had a line of sight. She fired recklessly, not taking the time to aim, simply squeezing the trigger as fast as she could, each shot hitting the gunman somewhere - the chest, the upper leg, the shoulder. Most were absorbed by his armour, but a few winged him, as Tara saw small clouds of blood spurting from the wounds. He collapsed to his knees, roaring angrily and painfully, and then the gun clicked empty. With no time to locate spare ammunition, Tara flung it as hard as she could at his face. It hit him, but it was less of an injury and more of an inconvenience. He started to reach for his rifle, and Tara knew she had to press the attack; she couldn’t flee, she couldn’t keep trying to get away. It was him or her. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand - the deputies skull - and launched herself forward. Tara clubbed the gunman in the face with the skull with as much brute force as she could muster, and whether it was the surprise of the assault or disorientation from his wounds, Tara was able to strike him a second time; the skull cracking as she wielded it.

  The second attack knocked the gunman down, but in no way was he ready to surrender and admit defeat. In the blink of an eye he managed to shif
t his position, grab the rifle and slam the butt into Tara’s stomach; winding her and threatening her with a bout of vomiting, but she forced herself to block out both the pain and the nausea, because the gunman, though wounded, had swiftly turned the rifle and was bringing it to bear against her. Panic stricken, she lashed out with the skull again, only to have him grab her arm in a knuckle-whitening grip. Tara, the seconds of her life ticking away, could only strike and out with her free hand; first knocking the barrel away and then grabbing it and doing her utmost to shove it away from her. It wasn’t easy, and she feared she wouldn’t last for long in a protracted test of strength against her attacker. In desperation, she scanned him for any weakness she could take advantage of, and her eyes fastened on his right leg, which was bleeding on the outer side of the thigh, but it was just within reach. The barrel of the rifle was drifting slowly but surely towards her abdomen, spurring her into action with only moments to go before her gut was filled with bullets. She grunted with the effort of struggling to slow the rifles progress while balanced on one leg; to bring her foot up and stamp out, slamming it right onto the bleeding wound. He screamed and, for just a moment, his strength evaporated. Tara took advantage of his momentary lapse to wrench her arm from his grasp, before she smacked him as hard as she possibly could on the top of his head with the skull; so hard the crown shattered, but down he went. He was stunned for a moment, and she lunged forward, grabbing the pistol in the holster on his leg and snatching it free. She aimed it towards his head, no chance of missing this close to him and held it steady.

  “Why? Why did you do all of this to me?” Tara demanded.

  “Because you seem strong.” He replied weakly.

  Tara breathed heavily. She had the drop on him; there were a lot of things she thought about doing. She thought about demanding him to take off his mask so she could see his face; she thought about asking if his comrades would let her go if she spared his life.

  “I just want to get out of here.” Tara told him.

  “You have to earn it - show the strength that I saw in you last night.”

  “I’ve killed enough of the infected, and I’ve beaten you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Oh, you haven’t beaten me yet.” He replied calmly.

  The gunman made a sudden move with the gun; Tara tried to squeeze the trigger, but nothing happened - her gun wouldn’t fire and he almost had a line on her. She realized, perhaps too late, that the safety was on, so she moved her thumb to flip the switch as his rifle discharged its first shot; searing, white hot pain flooded through her left hip, but she was able to pull the trigger, once, twice, a third time and on the fourth, a bullet blasted through his forehead. Tara dropped to her knees and felt hot, wet blood soaking down her leg. She moved her hand, pressing against the wound, but keeping the gun levelled at her target; just in case he rose up and continued trying to fight like some kind of monster from a horror movie. But he was dead, and so she looked out from the stage to see what was coming next.

  The helicopter began to descend, landing in the centre of the fairground. Once its descent had finished, the side door opened and a man wearing white robes stepped out, followed closely by a pair of armoured and armed figures who looked like the one she’d just executed. The robed man beckoned her towards him, and despite the pain she felt, Tara managed to get to her feet and start moving. Behind her, the baying of the infected was increasing; aggravated by the gunshots, the helicopter, and the scent of blood Tara was giving off. She shuffled off the stage and approached the man standing beside the helicopter. His two guards raised their weapons and aimed at her, but Tara didn’t slow down. She continued forward until she was a few feet from the bald, aged looking man in the white robes.

  “You’ve done well, child.” He said loudly over the sound of the helicopter rotors, a smile spreading across his face.

  “What do you mean?” Tara demanded.

  “There was some debate if you were worth saving, but Emilio insisted you were worthy.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “One of the things we’re trying to do is find the strong, the ones with the willingness to do whatever is necessary to survive, and help them find their way in the new world we are building.” The man explained calmly. “A few dozen have been saved here, and you can be one of them. Just put down the gun, get aboard the helicopter and we’ll tend to your wounds.”

  “So that’s why you’ve killed all these people?”

  “If they had been worth saving,” The older man commented with a shrug of his shoulders, “they wouldn’t have died. You’ve overcome much; more than we thought you could. Emilio was right, and you’ve bought your way out of here with his blood. But you must choose quickly; what will it be, child?” The man asked.

  Tara considered her options. She might not survive alone, but accepting their help seemed wrong. And, Tara realized, their help might have a price that was too high to pay. She made a quick decision.

  “You have a first aid kit or something on the helicopter?” Tara asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Give it to me.” Tara demanded. The old man smiled before he turned and nodded to the man on the right, who reached into the cabin and grabbed a green box which he handed to the robed man.

  “Are you sure, child?” He asked.

  “Certain.” Tara stated clearly. “I’ll be driving out of here on my own. If Emilio or whoever you claim he was really bought my passage out of here, tell your snipers not to shoot.” Tara told him.

  He nodded and handed the kit to her before climbing back aboard the helicopter, his guards following close behind. The helicopter slowly ascended and Tara stepped back, letting it get clear, before starting to move towards her car. She shoved the gun into the waistband of her jeans and gingerly examined the wound near her hip. It was above the bone, and seemed to have passed through the flesh, as she felt a painful hole on the other side. The infected were groaning all around her, but Tara blocked them out. She knew she’d be long gone before any of them reached her. Once at her car she retrieved the keys, opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat; tossing the kit onto the passenger side.

  Tara quickly opened it and retrieved some gauze, poured some of the antiseptic liquid onto it and then padded the front and back of her wound. There was a suturing kit in there too, and she knew she’d need to stitch the wound, but not until she was away from the infected. With a pained sigh, she started the car and drove out of the fairground, taking a different road out than the one she’d run down. It was clearer, enough so that she could drive without too much difficulty. She thought at first to make her way straight out of town, but curiosity overtook her, and she carefully made her way back to the hardware store. The infected had dispersed, and other than the ones trying to follow her car, she was okay to hold up outside. She looked up at the windows into the apartment. They were stained with blood, and there was a streaked handprint dragged down the length of the window. She considered going inside and checking, but it seemed apparent that Tobias hadn’t survived his selfish attempt to escape. Tara was alone now. Micky, Tobias, even Emily. Everyone she knew in town was dead, or perhaps had run off with the Reborn after proving their worth. Tara had one place to go. She checked the fuel gauge and made a rough calculation of how far she could travel before she’d need to stop for gas. She’d known she would have to stop at some point as she wouldn’t make it to Texas and her mother’s ranch on what she had, but it was a relief to know she could travel quite a distance from the town before she had to stop. Putting the car into drive, Tara started along the south road out of Harrowsfield, going off road to pass by the assemblage of abandoned cars, including those near the front which contained drivers who had been gunned down by the Reborn snipers. As she drove around them, Tara wondered if she too was going to be gunned down, and shrank down into her seat as far as she could go, but she wasn’t shot at, even after she turned back onto the road. She left the town behind her and, after a time, let herself sit more c
omfortably. With a great surge of relief, Tara realized: she had survived.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three