by Ryan Casey
And that was all that mattered in this world anymore. Friends.
He stabbed an old, balding creature right in its gut, ran around the side of the Civic and forced open the passenger door. The infected swarmed to the left of the car, too dumb to figure out that the right was just as legitimate a turning point.
Which was good.
It worked for Hayden.
“Sarah,” he said, crouching down by the car, grabbing the top of the door.
She looked up at him. Looked up with tears in her eyes. With more blood running down her head. With resignation in her face. “You—you go,” she said.
Hayden shook his head. Shook his head and stepped away from the door. Stabbed the zombie staggering towards him right in its neck, pushed it back against the rest of the crowd, toppling them over like dominos.
He crouched back by the car. “I’m not going anywhere without—”
“You have to,” Sarah said. “I’m—I’m stuck. I’m stuck and you have to … you have to get to Holly. You have to survive.”
Hayden swallowed a sickly tasting lump as he stared into Sarah’s eyes. Realisation welled up inside. The same realisation as when he’d left Gary behind back in the woods. The realisation that his own life was at stake here. That his very existence was on the verge of being compromised.
That everything he’d fought so hard to preserve was at risk of ending.
But if that was the case, so be it.
He stood.
“I made you a promise,” he said.
Swung the glass at the next of the zombies.
And then the next.
And the next.
“I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”
Stabbed another zombie as more of them poured around the side of the Civic, as some of them dragged their bodies across the broken metal at the front of the car, piercing their limbs and stretching their skin in the process.
“So I’m not going anywhere,” Hayden said.
He ran into the zombie standing directly opposite him.
Slammed into its rotting body and knocked it right back into its companions.
And when it fell to the floor, when it took its friends down with it, Hayden ran back to the car.
Grabbed the top of the door.
Stuck his teeth into his tongue as more zombies approached.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Dragged as hard as he could.
Rusty metal scraping against the potholed concrete.
“I’m not—”
He fell back.
Didn’t understand why at first. Not completely.
But then he lifted his aching head and saw the car door was open.
Sarah was just inside.
“Quick!” Hayden said.
He rushed over to Sarah. Rushed over as more zombies stepped around the car, just a metre or so away.
He grabbed her arms.
“Sorry. This … this might hurt.”
And then he dragged her out of the car as hard as he could.
Although she screamed, although she punched at his skinny ribs, he got Sarah out of the car.
He got her out of the car and wrapped an arm around her back, helped her to her feet.
And then, together, they ran as quickly as they could away from the mass of baffled zombies, towards the coach, towards Holly, towards …
He stopped when he saw the long-haired man standing by the coach door pointing a pistol right at them.
“Well, hello there,” he said. “You two look like you could do with a ride.”
Thirty-Nine
“Pop your hands behind your head and walk over this way, you two. Quick.”
Hayden didn’t put his hands behind his head. He just kept them by his side. Kept on gripping on to the sharp piece of glass.
Staring at the gun pointed right at him.
The footsteps of the zombies traipsing ever closer to him from behind.
He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to walk into the coach—not on this lunatic’s terms.
But he knew staying out here was suicide. For him. For Sarah.
Maybe the coach was suicide too, but it was somewhere.
“Come on,” the straggly-haired man said, yellow-toothed grin across his face. “Hardly got time on yer side, like.”
He sniggered like it was some kind of joke.
Hayden just kept on holding the glass.
Kept on staring back at this man.
“You knackered my coach. Only fair that you take a look at it with me. Help me out with the … the repairs.”
A smile stretched even wider across his face.
Behind them, as Hayden and Sarah stood there, battered and bruised from the accident, more zombies approached. They couldn’t stay out here. Couldn’t stay on the road.
They had to take their chances.
They had to get onto the coach.
The man lifted the gun.
Aimed it right at Sarah’s head.
“Won’t ask you again. Man can only be kind so many times, y’know? You wanna put yer hands behind yer heads and walk this way before I—”
“Okay,” Hayden said, raising both his hands, putting them behind his head. The glass still in his palm. “Okay. We’re coming.”
He caught a glance of Sarah as he started walking. Saw the uncertainty in her eyes.
But she just had to walk with him.
She just had to trust him.
Sure, he didn’t trust himself, but at least he was willing to try.
She walked. She walked with Hayden and then both of them were walking. Both with their hands raised. Both walking away from the zombies, who followed, getting closer and closer. Soon they’d surround the coach. Soon, there’d be no way out.
They’d die here. Hayden, Sarah, Holly, this whack-job; everyone on that coach would die.
And Hayden was leading them right towards it.
“Right,” the man said when Hayden and Sarah reached the side of the coach, the zombies still following. “Now you walk up in this strict order, you hear me? The woman goes first. The sunflower, yeah. She comes up first. And—and then you. You come up. You meet my Pamela, both of yer. She’s proper welcoming. Proper friendly to strangers, you know?”
Hayden looked into the eyes of the man and all he saw was madness. Insanity. Grip on reality, lost.
But he nodded because the cries of the zombies grew louder.
Because their footsteps got closer and closer …
Sarah tried to lift a hand to climb onto the ladders but she couldn’t. In too much pain. Still hurting from the car accident, something broken no doubt.
“She’s hurt,” Hayden said.
The man just stared on, not a glimmer of pity in his eyes. Kept the pistol pointed down at Sarah, at Hayden. “Is this gonna be a problem?”
“I can come up there,” Hayden said. “And then I can lift her when I’m—”
“You don’ have to lift her, sir,” he said, leaning out of the door and down the ladder. “I can lift pretty decent myself. Besides, Pamela’s waitin’. Never wanna keep her waitin’ too long. Ain’t that right, honey?”
Sarah didn’t say a word in response.
She just looked back at Hayden. Looked back at him and shook her head as the echoing cries of the zombies got louder, as they got within metres of the pair of them.
“Take his hand,” Hayden said.
Sarah shook her head. “I can’t—”
“Just take his hand,” Hayden said.
He put a hand on Sarah’s arm.
Slipped the sharp piece of glass into her hand.
And then he smiled at her.
She waited a second. Waited before doing anything.
And then she reached up and grabbed the man’s dirty hand. His nails long and filled with soil, uncut in years, turning green.
He pulled her up and he smiled all the way.
Smiled, as Hayden put a foot on the bottom step of the ladder.
No. Not away from certain death. Just postponing it.
There was no running from death. Never was.
Especially not in this world.
He kept on smiling right until he threw Sarah in the coach.
And then his face went serious.
He pointed the gun right at Hayden’s head.
“Sorry, pal,” he said, his voice barely audible over the drowning cries of the infected. “Think we’re outta seats.”
He smiled again.
And then he pulled the trigger.
Forty
Hayden swore he felt the blast as the bullet pierced his face.
Swore he felt his skull explode.
But he was still thinking.
Holding onto the ladder by the tips of his fingers but still thinking.
So conscious.
So alive.
He opened his eyes. Saw the lunatic hanging down from the coach door above him, gun pointing just to the right of his head. Only he wasn’t smiling, not anymore.
He wasn’t smiling because a piece of glass was wedged into his left shoulder.
He wobbled forward and Hayden took his opportunity.
Reached up for the man.
Grabbed his arm and dragged him down the ladder. Tried to throw him onto the road. To hurtle him into the mouths of the hungry zombies all gathered below.
And for a moment, as the man fell past Hayden, as he went flying down the ladders and over Hayden’s back, he thought he’d done it. He really thought he’d succeeded. That he’d dealt with the threat already.
But then he felt the man’s hand wrap around his right ankle and drag him closer to the road.
He turned. Looked over his shoulder, gripping tight as he could onto the coach ladders. He was way too weak to support the man’s weight. If he held on any longer, he’d snap Hayden’s leg away. Tear it from his body.
The step Hayden held onto couldn’t take the two of them. Hayden heard it creaking. Felt it slowly morphing as it dug into his fingers, as his body begged and begged him to let go.
No. He couldn’t let go. Not now.
“You fucker,” the man screamed, yanking harder at Hayden’s leg as he dangled right above the hungry mass of zombies. “Nobody lays a fuckin’ finger on my Pamela! You filthy sonna bitch lay a finger on my Pamela and there’ll be—”
Hayden booted the man right in his face.
Felt flimsy yellow teeth crack on contact.
Saw blood dribble down the man’s chin.
He looked up at Hayden. Looked up with anger on his typically happy face, zombies scraping at his boots, getting so closer to pulling them both even more. “Shouldn’ta done that,” he said. “Shouldn’ta fucking …”
He went quiet then, and Hayden wasn’t sure why. Not at first.
And then he felt a sharp pain around his Achilles and he understood.
The man bit down on his leg. Bit down so hard that Hayden felt himself going cold, felt his muscles going numb. So this is what it feels like. This is what it feels like to be bitten. This is what it feels like to know your life is ending.
This is the sound of the time bomb ticking.
Hayden kicked back at the man. Kicked hard at his solid head, at his eyes. He kicked, and although he was in agony, although the man kept on biting on his leg, blood spraying down and sending the zombies into more of a frenzy, he kept his composure. Kept his focus.
He had to get into the coach.
He had to get to Sarah, to Holly.
And he had to get away from here.
“Hayden!”
No sooner had he thought of Sarah than he heard her voice. He looked back up the side of the coach. Saw her holding her hand down for him. Didn’t look the securest of grips but Hayden would take anything right now. Anything but being stuck on here, this man’s teeth wedged inside his leg, the zombies getting more and more irate.
The ladders creaking.
“Grab my hand!” Sarah shouted.
And Hayden wanted to. He wanted so much to.
But he knew grabbing Sarah’s hand was too much of a risk. He’d just end up dragging her back down here. Pulling her into the jaws of the scrap; the jaws of the zombies.
No.
He had to hold on.
He had to do this himself.
He had to conquer this battle alone.
He looked back down at the man, face completely red in Hayden’s blood.
He tried not to puke. Tried to keep his balance. His composure.
Took a deep breath of the putrid air.
And then he did the only thing he could.
Stepped down the ladder.
Down towards the man.
At first, as he looked down into the dizzying mass of starving zombies, Hayden was convinced he was going to fall. That there was no chance he was going to hold on. That the pain in his ankle was going to overcome him and he was going to fall to an agonising end.
But no.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Because he had friends to look out for.
He had people to save.
So he reached down, one hand still gripped on the ladder, so tight it’d gone white.
He grabbed the filthy man’s greasy, rope-like hair.
And he pulled his head back.
Hard.
Initially, Hayden stopped. He stopped because the man kept on biting down on his leg. As he moved, some of Hayden’s skin split away. Blood spurted out of his torn flesh.
But fuck.
He had to keep on going.
He wanted to survive this so he had to do whatever it took.
Even if it took more agony.
He reached a little further down, the ladders creaking under his grip.
Reached to the man’s eyes, which were clenched shut.
And he scratched at them.
Scratched and prodded and jabbed at them hard, as hard as he could.
And then he kicked.
Kicked and jabbed and pushed his head away even though the skin split away from his leg, even though muscle tore away, bathed the zombies below.
He kept on kicking and thought about Sarah. Thought about Holly. Kept on pushing and thought about the people he’d sworn to stand by. Sworn to protect.
He kept on kicking at the man’s head.
Hoping it’d just crack like an eggshell.
Scratching at his hands as they gripped onto Hayden, desperate to knock him down to the infected below.
And for a moment, Hayden thought he had it.
As the man’s grip loosened, he thought he had it.
But then he heard something crack.
Something creak.
Felt movement.
He looked back at the coach and he realised exactly what it was.
The ladder was splitting away from the coach.
He was falling into the mass of zombies below.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
Forty-One
When the ladder split away from the side of the coach and creaked over the mass of zombies below, Hayden didn’t feel afraid.
Not for himself. Because he was beyond worrying about himself. He’d way transgressed mere self-obsession. No. There was no worry for himself anymore, even though the sounds of the zombies scratching and gasping around below him grew louder, even as their deathly stench thickened.
He worried for Sarah. He worried for Holly.
Because he owed it to them to stay alive.
He felt the man’s teeth tightening on his ankle, his grip solidifying around his lower leg, as the ladder’s descent rapidly increased. He knew the coach driver would be first to go. And he was okay with that. He was completely fine with it.
Because yes, everyone deserved a chance in this world. A second chance, a third in some cases.
But this man had kidnapped Holly.
He�
�d tried to kill Hayden, and he’d no doubt kill Sarah—or worse—if he got the chance.
So fuck him. He deserved to die. Painfully.
He felt the man’s teeth slide out of his leg, felt the mass of zombies surrounding him. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere without me,” he shouted, blood dribbling down his chin. “I ain’t leavin’ my Pamela with you. Ain’t no chance I’m leavin’ my Pamela with you.”
The bottom of the ladder clanged against the concrete.
The zombies swarmed around the pair of them like bees—angry, protective bees.
“Don’t think you have a choice,” Hayden said, looking the man in his eyes.
Then he pulled his foot back.
Booted him right in his face, cracking his nose.
And then he looked up at the side of the coach and he ran.
He felt the hands and the nails of the zombies scratching at him as he hurtled towards the coach door. Heard nothing but their hungry cries, and hearing them together in unison like this was almost peaceful. A drone. Like sirens readying their prey, luring them in before the inevitable, unavoidable slaughter.
And as he ran, as he hurtled towards the coach, as he kept the half-open door in his sights, Hayden thought he felt things. Sensations. Feelings on his skin he didn’t understand; feelings he couldn’t comprehend.
But still he ran on.
Because he had to.
That was his duty.
That was his purpose.
That was his life.
He threw himself at the bottom of the door. And despite the pain and the exhaustion crippling his body, he pulled himself up. Pulled himself up with his weak arms that used to always win him the nickname “Noodle Arms” back in high school P.E. classes. Arms he’d strived over and over again to bulk up, to make more attractive to those around him, to himself, but always lost the motivation whenever a spliff and a few cans of beer crept along.
Now, they lifted him.
Now, Noodle Arms dragged him up to the door.
Now—
He felt and heard two things.
First thing was the dragging at his leg. The opposite leg to the one that the psycho nut job had bitten. Something pulling him back down to the road below.
Second thing—the thing he heard—was the psycho’s scream.
As he gripped the side of the coach, he looked back. Saw the psycho in the middle of the zombies. Saw them sinking their teeth into his head. Thumbing around his eyes, sticking their bony fingers inside his mouth and splitting it apart.
