by RR Haywood
‘Ank-you,’ he blurts, gravelly and broken but clear enough to be understood.
It makes her feel worse. The tiny nuances of emotions that lift and plummet and form the day of a human being.
‘Welcome,’ she says, slowing the Toyota to a stop at the edge of the junction. Right is towards the town. Left is away from the town but the direction she wants is ahead to go up that big hill and find somewhere to rest for the night. A nice barn or stables in a large field and with a sweeping view of the town below. The heat makes her think there will be a storm soon, which in turn sends a creeping sense of dread crawling up her spine. Astraphobia has dominated her life since childhood. A debilitating fear of thunder and lightning that stems from the realisation of a complete loss of control. That the forces of nature can make such noise and throw barbs of pure bright energy at the ground terrifies her. Her mother was a heroin-addicted prostitute that died when Heather was young. The system failed thereafter and Heather was left to suffer the awful circuit of foster homes where the foster carers were not allowed to hug or show physical affection, either that or they showed too much physical affection and in the wrong way. Those formative years shaped her life. She was intelligent but could never settle or make a decision on what she wanted from life. Only that whatever she chose had to be away from other people. All of those things manifested into a fear of a loss of control, and a storm is the biggest reminder of the insignificance of a mere mortal.
Now, for the first time in her adult life, she is making connections to people. Paco is a person, albeit an extremely strange one who is currently trying to pick his nose, drink Lucozade and stare at Heather all at the same time.
She heads left with an instinct telling her the road will lead up the hill. As she drives, and as Paco guzzles, picks, delves, fidgets and stares she thinks of the people down in the town and resumes the train of thought that Howie and the others are not what she expected.
She’d sort of tracked them for the last couple of days, and having seen what they leave behind, she assumed they would be hardened, cold, bloodthirsty bastards who didn’t give a shit about anything other than killing the infected. As it turns out, only one of those presumptions has proven to be correct, that they are hardened. Yes, she admits to herself, there are degrees within them of being bloodthirsty cold bastards but through necessity rather than design. In fact, they appear to be incredibly caring and loyal, and while at the same time as being highly capable, they are ridiculously incompetent. Mind you, it has only been what, twenty days since it began?
‘That’s fair enough then,’ she tells Paco then tuts as he quickly pulls his finger from his nose. She bursts out laughing at the sudden memory of the old woman shoving the coffee cup into him that was so wrong but so funny at the same time.
Paco goes still at her laughing but the sound is nice and even though he doesn’t know what made her laugh he grins and laughs too. Broken and guttural but clearly a chuckle.
‘Blinky, you come up and get changed,’
‘Yes, Miss Paula, Sir. One way now, Sir.’
Heather’s eyes flick to the radio with a puzzled expression at Blinky calling Paula sir. They are right there, in that town doing whatever it is they do. Again she gets that prickling feeling of weirdness at the connection and inclusion. She can hear them talking and they sound so normal and…well, informal she guesses is the right word.
‘Anyway,’ she tells Paco who looks over with deep interest. ‘We’ve got our job to do haven’t we?’
Paco doesn’t say if he considers the question to be direct or rhetorical but holds his Lucozade bottle upside down to show Heather it is now empty.
‘We’ll chillax tonight then…oh my god…did I just say chillax? I said chillax. I hate myself right now…’
‘Ether.’
‘Yes, I know. I said chillax. I bet that’s something you would say. Hey there, I’m Paco Maguire and I’ve shagged a thousand women and I like to chillax…’ she mimics a deep American voice at him as he waggles the bottle upside down.
‘Dirty bugger,’ she tuts at him. ‘Anyway, so…we’ll find somewhere tonight then make a start in the morning. Yes? Agreed? Paco? Do you agree? Say yes I agree…Paco? Say yes…’
‘Ess.’
‘Agreed then…’
‘Zade.’
‘Eh? Already! No more, Paco. Seriously…so what do we do anyway? Like just knock on doors and tell people they’re immune? Oh hi, we’re from the fort and this is the famous actor Paco Maguire that was bitten by a dog for being a zombie but he’s totally fine now…so yeah, you’re immune. Please go directly to the fort and do not tell anyone….especially the zombies…what do you think? Do we say that?’
‘Zade.’
‘No more, Paco. I suppose that’s all we can do really, isn’t it? Just find them and tell them what they are. I mean, what else can we do? Oh, oh yeah, I guess we could actually take them to the fort…you know…to make sure they get there safely. Hmm, I think that’s what Howie meant actually. What do you think?’
‘Ess.’
‘Yeah? You think so too? I think so too. Okay, we’ll do that. So we find them and offer to escort them. Do we do one at a time or several all at once? I think there’s a couple near here so we could do both…’
She drives and chats as the vehicle starts a gentle incline that grows steadily steeper as the road weaves up the side of the hill. High hedgerows on both sides block their view from anything but the immediate area.
Pure coincidence means they miss the infected pouring over the land towards the town they drive away from. They don’t see the lines rushing down the hill and they drive through the gap between two hordes crossing the road from one footpath to the other with no knowledge of any such thing. The engine blots any sound of running feet. The restricted view blots any view of the forms running. Instead, they climb steadily as Heather chats on feeling an ever so strange sense of being just slightly at ease with the world. Like things are right and not wrong for once.
‘Blowers, the others can come up.’
‘Yep, cheers, Paula.’
Heather looks down at the radio once again musing on how normal they sound and idly wondering what they are doing right now. By looking at the radio she misses the glimpse of the infected man disappearing into the field as she navigates a bend in the road. Paco continues shaking his bottle and also misses the infected man.
On they drive without any knowledge of what they drive through. It’s hot. The windows are open. They have things to do and a destination to aim for. They have guns and food and drinks. That air of complacency that infests the team in the town and makes them separate and relax their awareness extends to Heather now. They’ve had a battle today already. The team have had two in fact. The first in rescuing Paco and Heather and the second on returning to the fort. Those things, coupled with the heat, reduce the expectation of a fight.
The road winds on up the hill, snaking between the high thick hedges. At times she cranes to see through to search for the top of the hill but those times are fleeting and uncommitted in serious intent.
Paco asks for zade. She gives him water. He stares at the water and asks for zade and so they focus on the issue surrounding Paco having too much sugar and glucose, which serves to distract from the invasion underway.
They reach the crest of the hill. The pinnacle. The top. The summit. A plateau of land formed millions of years ago by the shifting of plates deep within the earth that made the peaks and dips. On this peak rests fields, meadows and glades of trees complete with stables, barns and all manner of gloriously rural outbuildings that promise an evening of quiet rustic shelter. They drive slowly so Heather can enjoy the decision making process. She reaches a five bar gate leading into a field that slopes down a little with a promise of a commanding view of the town below. A block of wooden framed outbuildings to one side. It looks good. She jumps out to open the gate as Paco jumps down to follow her opening the gate. She gets back in to drive through and waits f
or Paco to get back in so she can drive through.
She deliberates for a few seconds on whether to close the gate behind them or not and after weighing the options she concedes it is better to have an open escape route so leaves the gate open.
She looks ahead to the buildings and drives the Toyota bouncing over the pitted grass. A hose on the side is a good sign as it means they can have a decent wash and get changed. She sighs as she stops the vehicle and stares at the idyllic setting and that promise of a beautiful evening stretching out in front of them. Hopefully there will be bales of straw or hay they can split to make soft beds to rest on. Old blankets and a small fire to cast a flickering glow.
With the engine switched off, she clambers out and waits for Paco while remembering what Blowers said about taking her rifle with her. Does she need it here? They’ve got pistols and she’s got Paco. She goes to walk on then stops, tuts and goes back to the vehicle to pull the heavy rifle out that she checks the way she was taught to do.
‘Perfect,’ she says a few minutes later after breaking the lock on the barn door to see the best inside-of-a-barn she has yet to see. A concrete floor. Bales of straw. Old blankets stacked up. A gas stove too. Matches and even a pan for boiling water. She stretches and sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. She didn’t sleep last night but spent the previous day and night running and fighting. She should be exhausted and ready to drop. ‘Looks nice eh?’ she says to Paco.
‘Ess,’ Paco doesn’t actually know what he is saying yes to, but he does know that giving a verbal response seems to make Heather happy.
‘Can we see the town from here?’ she asks him.
He doesn’t know if they can see the town from here but follows as she walks on across the field that starts sloping down to that promised view of the land below. It takes a few minutes to get far enough into the field to allow the lay of the land to drop away enough and with the sun starting to set so she has to blink and squint and use her hand to shield her eyes.
‘Mo’s still on the door.’
‘Yep, thanks.’
The transmission startles her. The unexpected hearing of voices from the radio now on her belt. She recognises Howie’s and Paula’s voices and again wonders what they are doing as her eyes adjust to the glare and she begins to make out the details of the town below.
Time stops. Her blood runs cold as her heart thunders from normal to frantic in the blink of an eye. Paco stiffens, growing in stature as his hands ball into fists at the sight of thousands of figures running into the town from all sides. So many. So so many. She blinks and stares harder, seeing thick dense hordes already in the town. Every street seems to be full. Every road is choked with them. She scans while her hands tremble and her legs suddenly grow rubbery and weak.
‘Oh my god…oh my god…’
There, right in the middle of the town is the centre and the only place not filled with infected. One long road and right in the middle, even from this distance, are three distinctive vehicles. The Saxon. The van and the horsebox. They’re trapped. Encircled on all sides and that mass of darkness is collapsing in towards the last remaining patch of light in the middle. She spots what must be Jess and Charlie, the shape blurred but just about recognisable. Two more figures further down at the opposite end of the street. She can see the infected are metres away as they disappear into the premises bordering the empty street.
Her hands move to grab the radio that is lifted as she presses the button, inhales and shouts.
‘OUT…GET OUT…TRAP TRAP…GET OUT NOW…’
Twenty-Two
‘Mate, I’m telling you…you have to fucking snap out of it…’ Blowers says, staring at him. A last ditch effort. A last attempt as he patrols down the precinct towards the road that bends round to the specialist stores. He stops and looks round, seeing Nick leaning in the back of the van tinkering with the drone charging unit.
‘This a pep talk?’ Maddox asks, not bothering to hide the sneer. Blowers had decided to walk him down to the road as in patrolling the area but to buy distance and a few minutes to talk. He now bites the anger down and glares at Maddox wondering what he can do or say to make the situation better. Maddox looks round disdainfully in a way to show Blowers he’s not interested in the conversation. He spots Charlie at the far end of the precinct on Jess and venturing further down the road. Cookey and Blinky someway back from Charlie and over to the left side.
‘Maddox,’ Blowers says, forcing a tone of calmness into his voice. ‘What can I do?’
Maddox doesn’t answer but watches as Howie, Clarence, Dave, Reginald and Roy walk from the shopping centre.
‘Mate?’ Blowers says in frustrated desperation. ‘The boss won’t leave you at the fort with Lilly…he won’t let you go either in case you…’
‘A lesson in addition to a pep talk then.’
‘Fine,’ Blowers says, thereby giving up. ‘On you, mate…’
*
‘Seen what’s over there,’ Nick says on seeing Roy.
‘What’s that?’ Roy asks, wanting nothing more than to show Nick his longbow. He follows Nick’s gaze to the Halfords store, the vehicle audio, electrical and cycle parts shop so ubiquitous in every town centre.
‘Ah,’ Roy says, smiling back at Nick. ‘We could get some tools…’
‘I was thinking about rigging up the water thing,’ Nick says.
‘We’ll have a look,’ Roy says, falling into step with Nick as they walk across the road.
*
‘Well, I shall retire to my books,’ Reginald says, nodding at Clarence, Dave and Howie.
‘Yeah okay,’ Howie says, ‘er…so where are they?’
‘I can only assume they are not here,’ Reginald says, as equally stumped as to lack of show from the other player. ‘I should imagine we have been seen…in fact I would guarantee we have been seen but as to why they are not attacking or showing I cannot, at this time, rightly say.’
He goes into his command unit. Now refreshed with tea and conversation that did not contain boobs, bums and willies as the main subjects. He rests down into his chair and starts opening his bag to take out his books while all the time feeling increasingly uneasy at the lack of contact from the other side.
*
‘So?’ Marcy says, urging Paula to explain and give the gossip. Both of them sit perched on the edge of the drinks cabinet entirely unaware of the dark shapes moving above their heads that creep out from the gaps in the ceiling tiles. Hundreds. Thousands. All of them held in place by the single conscious will of an entity evolving with frightening speed. Small ones, big ones and each with eight legs that they use to start abseiling down on almost invisible strands of web.
‘Oh nothing,’ Paula groans, rubbing her face. ‘Ignore me.’
‘No no no…tell me about Clarence.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Oh you so fancy him. I can tell…you keep looking at him then going all weird and flustered.’
‘I do not!’
‘You so do. Admit it…go on…’
‘What’s the point?’
‘You do then?’
Mo stands sentinel. Idly staring round and wondering where they will stay tonight. He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from or what causes it. He doesn’t hear anything or see anything but the rush inside is so strong it cannot be denied. It comes now. That feeling rushes through him in the otherwise silent air of an empty shopping centre.
*
The air is listless with no breeze and that single thing prevents the smell of the infected reaching her until they are so close there is no room for evasion or preparatory manoeuvre. Now she locks on to the smell. The fetid rancid decay of tainted blood that pumps inside thousands of bodies that she now, at this instant knows are on all sides. She gives voice instant and strong. She barks with a huge sound to tell them to stay back and stay away. She tells them who she is. She tells them her pack are strong and they will die if they come here. She gives fair warning to them and to her own,
all of whom snap to the voice of Heather screaming through their radios.
‘OUT…GET OUT…TRAP TRAP…GET OUT NOW…’
A blink of an eye. A beat of a heart.
‘CONTACT CONTACT CONTACT…’ Mo’s voice, bellowing from his position on the door.
Every window in the street explodes out in showers of glass as the infected, having crept unheard, unseen and undetected through the buildings, now charge forward while screeching to crash into the street.
The spectacle is staggering. The split second between calm and the detonation of utter chaos of every window on the ground and first floors smashing out with bodies surging into the street. Those that come through the first floor simply drop to snap bones or die from impacts with a sickening display of an intent to sacrifice host bodies for the goal in sight.
Mo releases his radio switch as the windows at the end of the shopping centre blow out in a huge crashing splintering cacophony of noise and motion. The rear doors to the shopping centre were left open by survivors who wished to have a discrete way into the mall. The infected took those survivors and knew about those doors. It crept through, staying low in shadows and barely inching forward as the mass grew from the hordes pouring across the land into the town.
That same blink of an eye. That same beat of a heart sees his pistols drawn, aimed and firing at the figures already recovering from smashing through the windows.
*
The structure of the Arachnid species differs between types. Some have six eyes, others have eight, some only two. Some eat the webs of other spiders. Some eat other spiders. They don’t have true blood either but an open circulatory system that pumps haemolymph from a heart through arteries into spaces surrounding their internal organs. It was this factor that either enabled or prevented the differing types of the species either taking or rejecting the virus.
As the infection gained the knowledge of the likely destination of Howie so it sent human hosts into lofts, sheds and garages to seek, find and pass the infection. Some bit into the spiders but that killed them. Others tried to bleed on the spiders but the creatures were too fast to flee. Others stuck their hands and appendages towards the arachnids and simply waited to be bitten. Spiders bite in attack and defence and so they bit to draw blood that was taken in. Some simply buggered off, heedless to the filth within the blood. Others turned and took the blood in that changed the composition of what they are. Those spiders became ramped, charged, pumped and frenzied, but like the rats from days before, their small bodies are unable to withstand the virus for any substantial length of time.
