Infection Z 3

by Ryan Casey

  Listen to the throaty snarls of the ones inside the garage.

  The ones that’d stayed so silent earlier.

  The ones that’d come out of nowhere.

  “Hayden!” Sarah shouted.

  Hayden tasted rot in the air. His heart pounded. Sweat dripped down his forehead. The zombies outside were still a good ten, nine metres away. But soon they’d be onto him. And then they’d be onto the car.

  And together, inside the car, the three of them would be crushed.

  Crushed under the weight of an unstoppable mass of solid flesh.

  “Hayden—”

  “Drive,” he shouted.

  Silence from Holly. Silence from Sarah.

  Then, “What the fuck d’you mean?”

  “I mean ‘drive’,” Hayden said, turning and looking at Sarah and Holly through the dusty car window. “No way any of us are gettin’ out of a mass of zombies like this.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “I have—have to try something. Something to … to clear our path.”

  “That’s suicide,” Sarah shouted.

  “Maybe so,” Hayden said.

  He heard the words echo in his mind.

  Drowning out the groans of the infected.

  Maybe so.

  It was suicide. Signing his own death warrant. Calling time on his own fucking existence all for the survival of others.

  But that’s what he had to do.

  That’s what he owed to Holly, to Sarah.

  For what he’d done to Gary.

  For leaving Gary behind.

  “Hayden just get in the car and we’ll … Hayden!”

  Hayden didn’t get in the car.

  He ran to his right.

  The wall of zombies on his left.

  Closing in.

  Getting closer, closer …

  Death staring him in the eye. Literal death.

  He ran down the pavement at the side of the infected-filled road. He didn’t hear the engine rev up behind him. Didn’t hear Holly or Sarah making their escape. Didn’t hear anything. All he heard was the song of the dead. The hungry cries of their rotting forms.

  Cries that grew louder.

  Closer.

  Cries that would soon engulf him.

  And as he ran down the pavement, sun beaming down between the grey clouds, Hayden didn’t feel fear anymore. Didn’t feel afraid. He just felt sad. Sad that this was what his life had come to. After all the sacrifices he’d made and all the hell he’d gone through—losing his parents, losing Clarice—this was where his life ended.

  He wouldn’t even know if he’d left a mark on anybody. Wouldn’t even know if the actions he’d done in the best interests of others would remain strong in the memory.

  Destined to die.

  Destined to be forgotten, just like everyone else.

  He saw the zombie drift out of the doorway up to his right and he knew now was the time.

  He turned. Saw the mass of zombies following him. Saw them staring at him with their dead eyes; eyes as lifeless as Action Men figurines.

  But he saw they were scattered.

  They weren’t a mass. Not anymore. There was room. Room for the car to get through. Room for it to drive out of.

  Room for Sarah and Holly to get away.

  And really, that was all that mattered now.

  Not himself. Not anything else.

  Just doing what he had to do to save his friends.

  But he wasn’t going out without a fight.

  He ran at the zombie stumbling out of the door and cracked the wrench against the back of its neck. It made a coughing sound, like it was choking on some foreign object, and then Hayden smacked the wrench into its neck again and it didn’t make a sound anymore.

  He turned. Saw the zombies closing in on him just a matter of feet away. Four of them, all bigger and bulkier than him, real close.

  The first he’d have to fight.

  The first he’d have to deal with.

  He calmed his breathing, gripped the wrench and then he stepped forward.

  Pummelled it into the skull of the first zombie.

  Shattered it on impact.

  The zombie tumbled down. Fell flat onto the road. Still wriggling. Still writhing. But down. That’s all that mattered now—that it was down.

  He’d finish it later.

  When he’d finished the other three stepping his way.

  The other six behind them.

  He tried not to let the fear inside as he slammed the wrench into the neck of the next infected. As he cracked it across the temple of the next one, smashed the teeth of the next.

  And the worst part was all those zombies were still living, in their undead sort of way. All of them hadn’t been killed, not completely. Their spinal cords were still intact.

  But Hayden didn’t have time to finish them.

  Just had to take down more of them.

  Just had to dodge the ones on the ground.

  Just had to hope for the best.

  It was when he saw the chubby, curly-haired woman hurtling towards him that he knew his days were numbered.

  He lifted his wrench.

  Waited for her to arrive—for her to throw her immense weight into his chest.

  Knock him on the road where the remains of the downed infected snatched away at his flesh.

  No.

  He had to stand his ground.

  He had to …

  He saw it in an instant. In an instant that trickled to slow motion.

  The car.

  The silver Honda driving around the back of the zombies.

  The infected all clawing at it, turning their attention to it, trying to reach it.

  Sarah at the window.

  “Quick!” she shouted.

  Hayden saw it.

  Saw the gap.

  The chance to run.

  The chance trickling away with every second.

  The gap filling up with more zombies, more infected, his chances of survival drifting away.

  He saw the fat woman lunging at him and he ducked.

  He ducked, stepped to the right, and then he ran.

  He kept his focus on the car as he sprinted at it with all his strength. His heart pounded. His legs were weak. Either side of him, zombies tried to grab him.

  But he couldn’t look at them.

  Only at the car.

  He felt their nails scratching at his body.

  Felt the dust filling his nostrils, making him want to cough and heave and stop running.

  But he couldn’t.

  He had to run.

  All he could do.

  Car just a metre away.

  Car just—

  And then he felt a hand grab his shirt.

  The back door of the car opening.

  Felt his shirt ripping away, the cotton tearing as a zombie clutched onto it.

  “Come on!”

  He ran against the force. Ran into the tear. Ran towards the open door, towards the car, towards the back seat.

  And then something happened.

  Something he wasn’t expecting.

  The car moved.

  The back door slammed.

  And as more zombies grabbed hold of him, as more of them filled the gaps in the road and ripped at his shirt, Hayden watched the car drive away.

  Watched it disappear.

  And through the back window, he saw Sarah looking back at him.

  Shouting.

  Slamming her hands against the glass.

  And then the car was gone.

  Twenty-Seven

  Even surrounded by a mass of zombies, Hayden wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so alone.

  He smacked the wrench into the foreheads of the infected gathered around him. His torn shirt dangled from his body, the cold and the rain seeping through onto his skin. He wanted to put the zombies down, but he didn’t have time to.

  He had to follow the car.

  He had to push on to Holyhead.
/>   He had to hope.

  He kept his focus on the dip in the road. The dip Holly had driven the car over. And he thought about Sarah. Thought about the way she’d looked back at him. The way she slammed her palms on the glass.

  He’d been close. So close to the car door. Inches from the car door.

  And Holly had put her foot down.

  Hayden couldn’t explain why. Couldn’t understand why. Maybe Holly had panicked. Maybe she’d seen the infected getting closer and she’d just panicked. Decided Hayden wasn’t worth fighting for. Proven the very things she’d told Hayden—the things about leaving people behind, about being forced to leave people behind if she absolutely had to; if anyone absolutely had to.

  But she didn’t have to. That was the thing. There was no reason for her leaving Hayden behind.

  She’d just put her foot down when she was so close to saving him and she’d gone.

  Hayden heard the gasps behind him. Heard the splat of loose flesh as it dropped to the road. He didn’t look over his shoulder. Didn’t look back at the dead mass following. Only up the road. Ahead.

  Because that’s all he could do now. Focus on the road ahead.

  Holly was gone.

  Sarah was gone.

  For whatever reason, both of them were gone, and Hayden was alone.

  He tried to pick up his pace at first. Tried to run. But not only was he exhausted, he was worried, too. Worried about wasting energy. Worried about running out of fuel right when he needed it.

  Worried about the inevitable, the unavoidable.

  Death.

  But there was nothing he could do about it. No good in moping.

  Moping got nobody anywhere but killed.

  So he just had to run.

  He felt the dehydration kicking in when he’d walked for a good hour, maybe longer. Or maybe less than that. Hard to tell when you were alone. Hard to tell when the constant groans of zombies echoed against the walls of the buildings either side of you.

  All he knew was he needed a rest.

  He needed a break, somewhere.

  He needed strength.

  But he had to keep moving.

  He walked past abandoned cars. Smashed windows in the front, blood painting the steering wheels. A selfish part of him wanted to find Holly’s car. Wanted to find it stalled and broken down in the middle of this place. Didn’t want either of them to be safe until he was safe too.

  But he didn’t find the silver Honda Civic.

  Found lots and lots of abandoned cars, bodies inside some of them—men, women, children, animals—found lots and lots of blood.

  But no Holly. No Sarah.

  He staggered across the cracked concrete. His head starting to spin. Throat as dry as sandpaper. And he knew he was wrong for wishing Holly and Sarah hadn’t got away without him. He didn’t mean that, not really. Just he couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face this chastising. Couldn’t bear to think that he was worthless all along. That he was still just the layabout letdown he’d always been. That he hadn’t changed, not one bit, in spite of what happened with his home town, with his parents, with his sister.

  He couldn’t bear to look the old version of himself in the eye and accept that’s who he still was.

  Because no.

  He wasn’t.

  He was a fighter now.

  And he was going to fight to Holyhead.

  He was going to fight with all he had.

  The thought just entered his mind when he saw the movement up ahead.

  The first zombie looked easy enough to handle. White shirt pasted in blood. Thin black hair filled with dirt. Constant snarl on its face.

  But handcuffs were wrapped around its chapped, worn wrists.

  Hayden took a step towards it, gripped his hammer and readied to put it down when he saw the other zombies emerge from behind it.

  It was at that moment Hayden realised exactly what the scene of this wreck was. A police van. One of the big blue ones that the S.W.A.T teams use—well, not S.W.A.T, whatever the UK equivalent was, he’d never needed to check. Didn’t matter.

  What mattered were the pile of police officers stumbling out of it.

  In varying stages of decomposition.

  Kitted out in full body armour, helmets included.

  “Fuck.” Hayden looked to the left. Looked at the rickety old building. Tried to figure out if he could make it in there, then make it out the other side perhaps. But it looked dark in there. Dark and dusty. Not somewhere he wanted to lock himself inside. Not knowing the horrors that lurked in the darkest of places. Not knowing the reality of unlocked doors in the new world.

  But there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  The armoured zombies were coming for him.

  So he had to do something.

  He ran over to this building on his left. Grabbed the handle of the front door, turned it.

  It wasn’t an unlocked door.

  And neither was the one beside it.

  Or the one beside that.

  He heard the groans getting closer. Looked over his shoulder and saw the infected were in the middle of the lane now. Blocking his way out. Meaning his only choice was this building. His only choice was one of the doorways or one of the windows …

  Yes. The windows. That’s what he had to try.

  He rushed over to the window, heart pounding, and he pulled his wrench back.

  He stopped when he saw what was behind it.

  Four zombies.

  All crouched over a fly-covered carcass of a woman.

  Ribs poking out of her body, through her skin, still yet to turn.

  All of them feasting.

  He heard the snarl behind him.

  So close. Closer than he’d originally thought.

  And he tried to move to the right. Tried to run.

  But he couldn’t.

  Another six zombies coming his way.

  More of them swarming the road.

  Crowding the area.

  Surrounding him.

  As he held his breath and his wrench, Hayden looked at the oncoming zombies and wondered whether this was it. Whether this was finally the moment his time ran out. And whether that was even such a bad thing anymore now that he was stranded, alone.

  No.

  He didn’t give up. Not anymore.

  He fought.

  He lifted his wrench and prepared to crack it across the neck of the first infected.

  But there was no first infected.

  There were ten of them.

  So he picked one. Focused on one. Ignored the ones around it. Prepared himself.

  He’d fight.

  He’d fight to the end.

  He’d—

  A smash.

  A cracking of bones.

  The smell of engine fumes, of petrol.

  And then an opening, right in the middle of the road.

  A car.

  A silver Honda Civic.

  “Get the fuck inside, quick!”

  Sarah.

  Sarah shouting for Hayden.

  He blinked. She couldn’t be here. Holly, Sarah, they couldn’t be back for him. They couldn’t—

  “We ain’t coming back for you again,” Holly shouted. “Get the fuck in the car right this second.”

  Hayden watched the infected drift between him and the car.

  Watched them fill the gap.

  He held the wrench as tightly as he could.

  Lifted it.

  Because he was a fighter.

  He’d always fight, now.

  Not just for himself, but for everyone.

  Just like they fought for him.

  And then, he ran.

  Twenty-Eight

  Holly Waterfield pressed her foot on the gas and hoped to God Hayden and Sarah weren’t on to her.

  She’d driven away. Accelerated away from Hayden. Left him behind in the middle of that mass of infected, that pile of zombies. A flash. A momentary flash in her mind that told her now was her opportun
ity. Her opportunity to get Hayden out of the way. Her opportunity to increase her odds of reaching Holyhead successfully.

  Because she didn’t want to kill Hayden. No, of course she didn’t want to kill Hayden. She didn’t want to kill anybody.

  But nobody could know the truth.

  The truth about the bite.

  The truth about Holyhead.

  If they found out, they’d kill her.

  So it was only fair. It was only fair really.

  She glanced in the mirror. Saw Hayden and Sarah sitting in the back seat. Both of them staring into the mirror at Holly. Suspicion in their eyes. It was justified. Sarah had been in the car when Holly drove off, after all. And she’d shouted at her. Screamed at her to go back. To return for Hayden.

  And Holly came so close.

  She came so close to turning around and firing a bullet between Sarah’s eyes.

  To finishing her.

  And powering on to Holyhead.

  But she couldn’t. Something had stopped her. Moral duty, some bullshit like that. A responsibility. Because she’d seen how much Sarah and Hayden trusted her. Well, maybe not trusted, but how much faith they placed in her anyway. She’d seen that, and she valued that. It was important. Something she couldn’t ignore.

  She wanted to ignore it, but she couldn’t.

  Not yet.

  Eventually—sometime very soon—she’d have to.

  Holly drove past more abandoned cars. Past more boarded up buildings, words like GOD SAVE US and REPENT FUCKING REPENT scrawled in red across windows. Words that Holly was used to seeing. Horrors that she was accustomed to wherever she travelled, wherever her journey took her.

  She hoped God would save her.

  And she hoped, in time, that she’d be able to repent for her sins.

  Not the sins she’d already committed. They were in abundance. But the sins she was about to commit.

  “Thank you.”

  The voice came from the back seat. Drifted through into Holly’s consciousness. Unexpected, soft.

  Holly looked in the mirror and saw Hayden looking at her. Blood and sweat crusting on his forehead. Shirt torn from his body.

  Holly cleared her throat. Attempted a smile. Tried to keep everything cool, everything in order. “It’s—”

  “You shouldn’t have come back for me. Neither of you. It … it was dangerous. What you did. Suicide. But we’re here. So thank you.”

  He looked right into Holly’s eyes and Holly couldn’t help but stay focused on them, couldn’t help absorb the burning sensation they lit up in her body.