When There's No More Room in Hell 2

by Luke Duffy

  "Jake, get this fucking thing back to the window, Steve is still in there!" Lee shouted.

  Jake began to back the vehicle up. Its engine roared as it struggled against the weight of the dead that surrounded it. A mass of gaunt and grotesque faces pressed in from all sides and their hands slapped against the glass and steel panels of the vehicle, rocking and jolting it under their blows. There were so many that Jake could no longer see the building behind them.

  John continued to scream from the rear compartment as Stan and Kieran did what they could to stop the bleeding. He rolled around on the floor, pulling away in pain from anyone that tried to touch him. The floor of the Land Rover slowly began to turn red with the flow of John's blood.

  "It's no use," Jake shouted. "There's too many of them."

  Lee began punching the dashboard in front of him in a state of fury. He rained down his heavy blows into the hard plastic and before long, it began to dent and cave inward beneath his overwhelming assault.

  "You fucking wanker, Jake. You fucking wanker!" he screamed repeatedly.

  Jake slammed the vehicle into first gear and pressed down hard on the accelerator as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my foot slipped…"

  The veins in Lee's neck threatened to burst through the skin as his rage grew. He wanted to smash his fist into Jake's face and pummel him to a bloody pulp for his mistake.

  "You're a fucking wanker, Jake. You fucking useless faggot. If Steve and Helen are hurt, I will feed you to the fucking things myself," he spat with venom. "Get us over to the tanker now, you dick, then you can go back for them."

  The Land Rover thrust itself free of the mass of bodies that had entombed it and picked up speed as it raced towards the far side of the car park, and the tanker. Jake pulled the steering wheel left and right, weaving the vehicle between the bodies that lunged for them. Some were too close to avoid and they were smashed to the ground by the impact of the steel bumper on the front and crushed beneath the heavy wheels, their ragged and broken bodies being spat out to the rear as the vehicle ploughed forward.

  Steve and Helen backed away from the gaping hole in the window frame that the Land Rover had left in its sudden forward movement. They had seen John fall and become engulfed by the dead before the crowd closed in around the window frame, blocking their view. Now, the dead poured into the supermarket, barging their way past the metal frame that had once contained the large window. They staggered and lurched into the store and began to spread out as they moved in their own directions along the walkway beyond the row of checkouts close to the windows.

  Steve and Helen gripped each other's hands tightly as they edged their way back towards the aisles, hoping to avoid detection as they silently made their escape. They both held their breath, placing each foot carefully and silently as they backtracked to safety. Steve fought against the urge to turn and run. His instincts screamed at him to grab Helen and charge along the aisle for the rear of the supermarket.

  They were cut off, trapped.

  There was probably still a large crowd of the things at the rear of the building and dozens, hundreds more poured in through the front. Stealth was their best chance of survival now. As long as the dead did not notice them, they could get through to the storage area at the rear of the building and plan their next move carefully and without making any rash decisions.

  They were almost in the aisle and out of sight of the creatures that spewed into the supermarket.

  The material of Steve's jacket suddenly snagged one of the shelves that jutted out from a display unit, stacked with cans of beer. The rack swayed and lurched to the side, threatening to spill its contents to the shop floor. Steve quickly reached out, holding his hand against it and correcting its movement.

  Two cans, perched at the top of the pyramid shaped stack, swayed as the last of the vibrations rippled upward through the display. Steve held his breath, his eyes willing the tin cans to right themselves.

  They toppled, clattering to the floor, the noise echoing throughout the supermarket like a church bell.

  The dead stopped still and instantly fell silent as the last remaining resonance of the falling cans dissipated into the walls of the building. Every one of them slowly turned in the direction of the sudden commotion. Their dead eyes locked on to the two terrified living people standing just metres away from them in the aisle way.

  For a moment, Steve and Helen stared back, rooted to the spot.

  The closest of the dead, its grey and wrinkled flesh sagging from its face as its deep sunken eyes studied the two figures before it, sluggishly raised a withered pale hand out in front of it. Its fingers gently caressing the air between them as its mouth slowly opened and a long, low haunting moan seeped from deep within its throat.

  The rest joined it in its mournful chorus, the supermarket suddenly erupting with the lament of the dead.

  "Shit," Steve gasped as he began to turn, dragging Helen with him. "Run."

  22

  Johnny watched the events unfold in front of the large building ahead of him. He sat clutching the wheel of the tanker, staring out through the windshield and urging the people that were fleeing from within the supermarket to move faster.

  The dead that had been attracted away from the main swarm around the supermarket entrance by his continuous horn blasts pounded at the body of the large heavy truck. Their dull thumps echoed around in the cab, sounding like a bass drum in the distance as they surrounded and assaulted the tanker. There was no way they could get in, he knew that, but it would not be long before there were so many of them that he would not be able to move the vehicle.

  "Come on, hurry," he murmured to himself as he watched the zebra-painted Land Rover begin smashing its way out through the crowd that swamped it.

  It lurched and rocked as the dead threw themselves against it, desperate to get at the people inside as they clawed at the hard exterior and windows.

  Slowly, it fought its way through, its engine powering the wheels forward and roaring with the strain as it began to plough over the walking corpses that littered the car park of the supermarket.

  Beyond them, he could see hundreds of the grotesque lifeless figures pouring into the building through the open window and into the dark interior. They fought and jostled against each other, their arms flailing and clawing at the bodies closest to them in an attempt to climb through the empty frame and into the store.

  The escaping vehicle was approaching fast now. It swayed between the reaching, lurching creatures that turned to meet it as it came closer, throwing them into the air and to the side like discarded trash as they were hit by the hard exterior and tossed to the side.

  He witnessed as one body stepped directly into the path of the oncoming vehicle. The bumper smashed into its lower limbs, snapping the bones into a million fragments as its body folded forward. Its face smashed down on the hood of the Land Rover, its skull shattering and splattering the windshield with rotted grey matter and congealed, almost black, blood. The remainder of it was dragged beneath the wheels, its body being mangled and crushed, and spat out behind in a bloody minced pulp of flesh and bone.

  Johnny could now see the driver of the vehicle. His eyes were wide with terror behind the wheel as the passenger thrashed and screamed in the seat next to him. He looked across to the footwell of the passenger seat of the tanker. Simon sat slouched with his back against the door, his head thrown back and his eyes shut tight as he clutched at his bloodied and swollen shoulder and neck. He sucked in deep breaths through his gritted teeth and he winced with each intake of air.

  "Simon," Johnny spoke. "Simon, can you hear me?"

  Simon said nothing, his eyes remaining screwed tightly shut as he sucked in another breath, his face grimacing. He nodded.

  "The people from the supermarket are on their way," Johnny said as he glanced back out the window to check on the progress of the Land Rover. He looked back down at the dying man whom he had only met two days earlier, but already
, considered him as his only friend.

  "We will go with them and get you some help, okay?"

  Simon banged the back of his head against the passenger door, adding to the dull thumps of the dead outside.

  "You know there's no help for me, Johnny," he gasped. "I've been bitten and you know what happens to people who get bitten. You’ve seen it happen, you said so yourself," he said between clenched teeth.

  Johnny felt helpless. He wanted to believe that his friend could be helped, that maybe he could survive.

  "Don’t say that, Simon. Don’t give up."

  Simon's head slouched forward, his eyes staring down at the floor between his feet. He slowly raised his head again and looked back up at the scruffy little man sitting behind the wheel. The tears filled his swollen red eyes again as he spoke.

  "I'm fucked, Johnny. I won't make it," he said with a shake of his head.

  Johnny turned away, his heartstrings tugging at him as he realised that Simon was right and had already given up.

  The vehicle from the supermarket raced up and came to a screeching halt beside them. The dead around the tanker turned and staggered toward the new commotion and began to slam their hands and their bodies against the Land Rover. The black and white zebra-striped paintwork was smeared with the dark brown and red handprints of the hundreds of rotting bodies that had been pounding against it. Anything that protruded from the vehicle, such as wing mirror frames and wheel arches, were coated and caked in clumps of clothing and flesh that had been torn from the countless dead that had clambered against it.

  Johnny reached down, gripping the lever to the window and began turning it, the glass slowly lowering in jerky movements. He leaned in close to the small gap at the top of the window and shouted out to the occupants of the other vehicle.

  "We have to go. We will follow you."

  The terrified face of the man sitting behind the wheel just stared back at him with bulging eyes as the dead continued to press their faces against the glass beside him. He was frozen, his eyes clearly showing that he was traumatised and in complete shock.

  Johnny saw the passenger lean across and grab hold of him by the scruff of the collar, shaking him violently in his seat. The passenger's hands waved animatedly as he screamed something to the petrified driver. Suddenly, they began to clamber over one another as they changed seats, the angry man now sitting behind the wheel. He glanced back up at Johnny through the blood and filth smeared window, anger and rage burning in his eyes as he put the vehicle into gear.

  Both vehicles were surrounded and close to being engulfed. They rocked and shook as the horde of reanimated dead slammed their bodies against them, wailing and moaning as they tore at each other for position closest to the living people trapped inside. Their cold grey and rotting hands reached up, grasping at the windows, their nails grating against the glass as they attempted to claw their way inside.

  Johnny heard the rumbling engine of the Land Rover change gear and the revolutions rise as the driver pressed down hard on the accelerator. It suddenly bounded forward, dragging some of the closest bodies beneath its wheels and undercarriage as it churned them like meat in a grinder, crushing and mixing blood and bone into a pulp.

  The wheels of the Land Rover spun against the soft tissue of the dead, struggling for traction as the suspension rocked beneath the weight of the crowd. The tyres suddenly gripped against the hard tarmac of the road and shot the vehicle forward with a cloud of black smoke billowing from its exhaust.

  Gripping the wheel and releasing the brake with a loud hiss, Johnny powered the tanker forward, ploughing the dead into the ground and turning the heavy truck in a wide arc to follow on behind the Land Rover.

  They headed for the exit, the dead staggering after them, reaching out and wailing loudly in frustration as they lurched after the living that fled from their grasp.

  The Land Rover and tanker raced away, turning onto the main road that fed from the slipway to the entrance of the supermarket. They bobbed and weaved between the abandoned vehicles that littered the slip road and the lumbering creatures that stepped out in front of them as they attempted to reach out and grab hold of the speeding vehicles.

  A short distance later, on an empty stretch of road, the zebra-painted vehicle stopped. Johnny brought the tanker to a halt behind it with a screech of tyres and a loud hiss of hydraulic brakes. He moved the gears to neutral and remained seated behind the wheel as he watched the driver of the Land Rover climb out, and turn to look at him.

  The man stormed towards the tanker, his face contorted and red with rage. Johnny felt fear crawling up the length of his back as he stared back into the wild eyes of the approaching figure.

  He wanted to climb out and run away. He feared what this man was about to do to him as he was clearly overcome with emotion. He glanced across at Simon, slumped in the footwell and still clenching his teeth with pain as he gripped the gaping wound in his shoulder, the blood seeping from between his fingers.

  The man approached the tanker; his eyes glaring up at Johnny and making him want to look anywhere but straight at him as he attempted to sink himself deeper into his seat. The door was wrenched open and the raging man stood there, his face glowing red and foam forming at the corners of his mouth. His wild eyes glowered at Johnny as he scowled with the veins in his forehead threatening to leap from his flesh.

  "Who the fuck are you?" he spat.

  Johnny felt his throat tighten, his words becoming lodged in his chest and unable to escape as an all-consuming fear raced through him.

  The man gripped the door, pulling himself up towards him, his teeth shining in the sunlight as he peeled his lips back over them.

  "I said, who the fuck are you?"

  "I…I am, Johnny," he stammered.

  The cab of the tanker dipped to the side slightly as the man heaved his self upward and onto the step of the door so that his face was just inches away from him. Johnny could feel his hot breath against the side of his face. The man craned his neck, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the interior of the driver's compartment. His gaze fell on the body of Simon, slumped in the corner.

  He looked back at Johnny and growled, "The pair of you out, now."

  "But…but, my friend…, he is hurt. One of those things bit him," Johnny tried to explain, gesturing toward Simon. "Please, we only wanted to help you. We don’t want any trouble. We saw that you were trapped and we came to help."

  "Out, now," the man demanded again, his eyes speaking volumes and telling them that there was no room for negotiation.

  Johnny climbed down from the tanker. His knees trembled as he stepped onto the tarmac below. His throat was dry and he glanced about at the area around him. They were in the middle of an overpass, overlooking the slip road that filtered onto the supermarket car park area. He could see the large building of the store at the far end and the countless figures that continued to swarm the hole in the window and pour inside. Hundreds more were headed for the exit ramp, slowly making their way towards them.

  Three more men climbed out from the Land Rover and approached with quick and determined bounds. Johnny felt his heart skip a beat and his knees threatened to give as he watched them draw nearer. He wanted to run, to get away from them and go back to hiding in his house or walking amongst the dead as he continued about his business, as he had always done, but he could not leave his friend to whatever fate these men decided to deal out to him. Johnny would stay by Simon's side. He had already decided that to himself.

  The first to reach them, a slim built man in his mid twenties, called out. "Lee, calm down. He helped us out of that place, remember?"

  "Shut up, Jake," the angry man named Lee snapped back. "It's your fault that Steve is stuck back there and John is hurt."

  The two younger men, both wearing black hooded jackets and a look of malice on their faces, stood to the side of Jake. They glanced from Johnny and back to Lee and they looked unsure of what to do.

  "Come on, Lee, it wasn’t
his fault, it could have been any one of us that was driving the truck. Jake did okay. It was an accident, Lee," one of them said as he reached out and rested his hand on Jake's shoulder in a show of support for him.

  Lee turned on him, his teeth bared. "And who are you, Stan, Jake's new fuck chicken?"

  He turned back to Johnny who stood in silence, watching the exchange between the men.

  "You, get your friend out of there and go. You're not coming with us," he looked around at the others. "We're going back for Steve and Helen."

  "Come on, Lee, you can't just leave him here. He helped us and…" Jake began to protest against Lee's decision.

  Lee whirled and bounded towards him.

  Jake began backtracking, raising his hands up in front of him, ready to defend him against an assault. Lee cocked his elbow backward and clenched his fist as he closed in, aiming his blow at Jake's face.

  The two hooded men suddenly jumped forward before he could launch the punch, enveloping Lee in a two-man bear hug. The three of them crashed to the floor as Lee thrashed and struggled between them. He flailed his arms and kicked his feet, clawing at the eyes of Stan and headbutting him as they rolled and tussled in a heap.

  One of the hooded men jumped up, stepped back and began launching a series of heavy blows aimed at Lee's head. They struck with sickening thuds as they rained down on him mercilessly. Lee's head bounced from the tarmac, a stream of blood shooting from his nose and mouth then. His body was suddenly still.

  Stan unravelled his arms from around Lee and climbed to his feet, wiping at the blood that gushed from his own nose. The three of them stood for a moment, staring down at the limp form on the ground.

  "Sorry, Jake, but we had to do it. He was out of control, mate. He would've killed you, you know that," Stan spoke.