by Jacob Rayne
‘Wha—’ she said. Her head spun thanks to its encounter with the hard ground on the way to the van.
‘Relax,’ the man with the baseball cap said. ‘I’m Cheetah, part of the clean-up patrol. We’re getting rid of the crazy fuckers who’re causing mayhem.’
Janet’s eyes seemed to do a couple of spins before everything came into focus.
The man talking to her was in his early twenties, wearing a backwards baseball cap and a t-shirt that read, ‘My other ride is your mam.’ Despite the heat, he wore a long-sleeved leather jacket over which was a sleeveless denim waistcoat covered in patches of different rock and metal bands. His forehead was covered in a white greasy substance, some of which clung to his long blonde hair.
‘What’re you doing?’ she mumbled.
‘We ain’t copping a feel, lady,’ said the other man in the back of the van with them.
He was dressed similarly to Cheetah but didn’t have a baseball cap on. His t-shirt read, ‘Kill them all and let God sort them out.’ Like Cheetah, he too had white grease smeared across his face. ‘Name’s Ulrich, as in Lars Ulrich from Metallica, the best fucking band in the world. We’re putting sun cream on you.’
‘Why?’ Janet managed.
‘Cos it’s the sun that’s sending everyone bugshit,’ Cheetah said. ‘That’s why we’re wearing these jackets and have factor fifty on every exposed piece of skin.’
‘Makes sense,’ Billy said.
Ulrich passed him a fat tube of sun cream which Billy started liberally applying to his skin.
‘We were in a band before this shit kicked off. Just about to go on our first world tour,’ Cheetah said. ‘Fucking typical. We used to be a five piece, but they got Slugger, as you just saw. He was our rhythm guitarist. Our drummer, Brad, went this morning. There’s us two and Jonesy – the dude driving – left. Since they took Brad we’ve been driving around killing as many of the crazy fucks as we can.’
‘You’re welcome to join us,’ Ulrich said. ‘Or we can just drop you somewhere.’
‘My husband is still in the hotel,’ Janet said.
‘Shit,’ Jonesy said from the driver’s seat.
‘Sorry, lady, but there ain’t no way we’re going back there,’ Ulrich said. ‘He’s on his own, I’m afraid.’
Janet cried out, knowing the chances of ever seeing her husband again were slim. Billy put an arm around her shoulders.
‘Do you want to go back?’ he asked. ‘I’ll come with you if you do.’
She shook her head. ‘He wanted us to escape. If we go back and get killed then it’s all for nothing.’ Her body trembled, wracked with sobs. Ulrich commenced rubbing the thick sun cream into her legs.
‘Where do you want to go?’ Billy said.
‘The airport, so I can get the fuck out of here.’
‘Jonesy, you heard the lady,’ Ulrich said.
Paul and Sam moved slowly away from the hotel entrance, fully aware that the crazies would react if they made too much noise. One of the lunatics glanced in their direction, but didn’t seem to notice them.
They moved to the wall of apartments nearest them and hugged against it, trying to flatten themselves into the wood.
Screams echoed around the hotel complex.
Paul’s heart didn’t feel as though it could take any more. His breath wheezed in and out of his chest, every inhalation made agony by the shard of rib poking into his lungs.
The corridor ahead of them had a few of the tanned lunatics milling around. One of them was laughing to himself as he slammed a golf club into the caved-in skull of one of the hotel’s maids. Paul winced at the wet smacking noises the blows made and the thick arc of blood splatters that surrounded the body.
They crept forward, keeping one eye on the crazy with the golf club. The machete was a reassuring weight in Paul’s hand. He was dreading using it, but he knew he had to if he or Sam were in danger.
Paul knew that the only other way off the enclosed hotel grounds was to go back past the pool – where this madness had first began – through the staff quarters and out onto the main street.
The noises coming from their intended destination didn’t exactly fill him with hope.
The sun beat down upon Paul and Sam as they moved along the corridor towards the next patch of shadow. The warmth spread over the back of Paul’s neck and his exposed forearms and he was grateful for the thick layer of sun cream he’d applied before going out to sit by the pool what seemed like a lifetime ago.
The crazy with the golf club seemed more than happy to continue to ruin the head and clothes of the maid, and didn’t seem aware of Paul and Sam’s presence. They ducked into a patch of shadow beneath one of the stairwells.
Paul glanced out of the hiding place and saw the insane grin on the face of the man with the golf club.
He looked past him and saw another crazy kneeling between the legs of a torn female corpse. His face was crazed with lust.
Both of them sickened Paul. He found himself wishing that all of this was happening to someone else.
Sam tugged his t shirt sleeve and pointed to their left.
An old man with a metal walking stick and a bloody flap of skin dangling from his jaws was staring right at them. His mouth moved slowly as he chewed the flesh, making blood run down his chin and onto his bare chest. His wrinkled skin was the colour of old leather.
With a speed belying his age and physical condition, the old man darted towards them. It was lucky he had the flap of skin in his mouth or he’d have probably alerted the other two crazies in the corridor.
Paul dodged the man’s clumsy swing of his walking stick, wincing as the metal pole clanged off the underside of the steps.
The other two crazies turned. The face of the man with the golf club lit up like that of a kid in a sweetshop and he started running towards them.
Paul swung the machete as hard as he could, but the old man blocked the blow with the stick, sending the machete skidding out of Paul’s hand and into the shadows at the base of the stairwell. Sam disappeared into the gloom in search of the weapon.
The old man’s skeletal fist burst Paul’s nose. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He tasted blood in the back of his throat. The metal walking stick slammed into his side, re-igniting the pain from his shattered rib.
Blinking back tears, he saw the old man’s leering grin. He felt movement by his side and turned to see the kid raising the machete and swinging just as the old man thrust the walking stick at Paul’s face. The old man’s right forearm came loose in a geyser of blood. He let out a cry and bent to pick up the stick with his remaining hand.
Paul saw the man with the golf club bearing down on them and realised they were best off running. He shoved hard, sending the old man skidding on the patch of his own blood to land in a heap on the ground.
Paul hurdled his body and set off towards the pool, Sam in pursuit. Behind them, the man with the golf club grunted and followed.
‘Ain’t no fucking way we’re gonna get to the airport,’ Jonesy said, eyeing the scene on the main road.
Crazies lurched from seemingly every corner of the street, their every movement serving only to bludgeon, maim, or kill. The sidewalks were stained with blood. The cries of the blood-drenched maniacs filled the air.
Mangled cars choked the roads, leading to an immense pileup which looked to contain at least fifty vehicles.
Janet burst into tears.
Billy put an arm around her shoulders.
‘There’s no escape,’ she moaned.
The sound of Ulrich racking his shotgun made her jump.
‘May as well take a few down while we’re here,’ he shrugged.
The noise had made a group of the sunburnt psychos look over at the van.
‘I think we should get out of here,’ Cheetah said. ‘There are just too many of them.’
‘You turning chicken?’ Ulrich teased.
‘He’s right,’ Billy said. ‘I’m no coward but there’s no
sense in dying unless we absolutely have to.’
Ulrich shrugged and made to get out of the van. Janet put a hand on his arm to stop him. He looked up at her.
‘You won’t last five minutes on that street,’ she said, fixing him with a solemn stare.
He stared back at her, then looked at his shoes. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
‘Where to then?’ Jonesy said.
‘May as well see if the lady’s husband is ok,’ Ulrich said. ‘Then maybe drive out of town.’
Gunshots interrupted their discussion.
‘Excellent,’ Cheetah said. ‘An ally.’
Jonesy shook his head, frowning.
A man laden with guns was staring at the van, an insane grin on his face. Before any of them could react he raised one of the guns and fired.
The van’s inhabitants heard the angry hissing sound of air escaping a burst tyre, then the van sank to one side. The gunman laughed as he started running towards the disabled vehicle.
The man with the golf club was not as fast as Paul had thought. They’d managed to outrun him quite easily and were now crouched behind the DJ booth by the outer perimeter of the pool area. The place was deserted except for the mangled remains of the people who’d died there earlier.
Paul willed himself to breath silently but it just wasn’t happening. They heard the man’s feet slapping off the paved floor. Paul saw his sunburnt legs come into view.
The sun was fully upon him and the boy, warming their exposed skin. The man with the golf club looked around, eager to spot his latest victims. It looked like he was going to pass without seeing them.
But then Sam let out a shrill cry.
SIX
Jonesy tried to pull the van away but the gunman had already shot out the other front tyre.
‘Everyone out,’ Cheetah said as the van slumped forward.
‘Just let me get a shot at him,’ Ulrich said.
Billy shook his head and pointed. All around the street, the crazies were turning to face the van, their attention drawn by the gunshots.
Ulrich groaned.
Billy heaved open the side door of the van and stepped out into the blinding sunlight. The heat was fierce and was already making his armpits and the back of his neck perspire.
‘I ain’t leaving the van,’ Ulrich said. ‘We’ve had nothing but good luck since we got this baby.’
Just as he finished his final word, a bullet tore through the windscreen and ploughed into his chest. Blood welled up through the wound and he fell against the van’s side door.
‘We need to get you to a doctor,’ Cheetah said.
‘No, leave me here,’ Ulrich said, blood seeping from his open mouth. ‘I’ll not survive that long.’
‘But you’ll die in this van,’ Jonesy said.
Ulrich nodded. ‘I’ll keep them off you guys. Good luck.’
Cheetah looked at him, open mouthed.
‘I can’t outrun them anyway in this state,’ Ulrich wheezed.
‘Come on, man, don’t be stupid.’
‘There ain’t nothing left anymore,’ Ulrich said. ‘The whole fucking world’s gone crazy.’
Cheetah pulled him into a bear hug and slapped him on the back. ‘You’re a fucking idiot but I still love you, man.’
‘Same here, it’s been a blast, dude.’
Cheetah let go and jumped out of the van. Ulrich’s shotgun roared, taking off the right side of a teenaged girl’s face. She landed on the road with a wet thud.
‘Get out of here,’ Ulrich said.
Cheetah showed why he had been given the name by setting off across the ruined street with impressive speed. He dodged the clumsy attack of a well-dressed man and buried his fist in his gut. The crazy let out a low growl and fell to the sidewalk.
‘Let’s go,’ Cheetah cried.
They followed him across the street. Janet limped because the feeling had yet to return to her leg.
Behind them, Ulrich’s shotgun discharged twice more. The relative silence that followed the gunshots was soon filled with a chilling series of screams.
When they looked back the van’s windscreen was coated with a thick layer of blood.
Paul was frozen in disbelief for a good few seconds. It seemed like the kid had wanted the man with the golf club to discover them. He turned to look at Sam, who wore a malevolent grin. His eyes were rolled back, exposing bloodshot whites, and his skin had a pinkish hue.
Paul groaned as Sam bared his teeth and lunged forward. He managed to move away just in time to avoid the boy’s attack. Sam’s forehead met the DJ booth with bone-shattering force. He slumped back, dazed, blood pouring from his mouth along with jagged shards of teeth.
Paul took the machete and got up while the kid was still out of it. He stood, correctly assuming the crazy was already aware of his hiding place, and tried to decide his best plan of attack.
The man with the golf club was lean but muscular and looked like he was a powerful striker. Paul didn’t fancy his chances. The golf club parted the air in front of his face, missing his already broken nose by millimetres.
Sam was coming round, letting out a low groan and cupping his hand to his mouth.
Paul ducked again as the golf club flew towards his head. He swung the machete but the blood-slicked handle slid from his grip. The machete arced through the air, cleaving off the man’s left ear in a hail of blood.
Two inches to the left and I’d have killed him, Paul thought. Just my luck.
The grin never left the crazy’s face. The golf club again sailed towards Paul’s head. The crazy sensed victory now that Paul was unarmed and he flailed the club wildly at his seemingly defenceless victim.
Paul backed away from the swings, his eyes desperately searching for a weapon. The machete was a nightmare’s length away and he could see nothing else he could use to defend himself.
Adrenaline made his body tremble. He reckoned he was going to die at the hands of the man wielding the golf club, but he promised himself that he wasn’t going down without a fight.
He dropped beneath the man’s next wild swing, which shattered a plant pot on the window sill behind him. His back hit the wall and he realised he had nowhere left to go.
He fumbled behind him for a piece of the heavy clay pot, not wanting to take his eyes off the approaching lunatic, even for a second. One piece fell from his trembling hand and hit the tiles beneath his feet.
He cursed. The crazy was close enough not to miss now.
His fingers closed around a shard of clay and he hurled it as hard as he could. The fragment of pot missed the man by a narrow margin.
The next swing caught Paul in the gut, making breath explode from him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam stirring. His hands fumbled behind him for a piece of pot. There was one remaining, and Paul managed to pick it up with his shaking hand.
Before the man could swing what Paul felt sure would be the deciding blow in their confrontation, he hurled the shard of pot. The sharp corner scored a bleeding path across the man’s left eye, stopping his attack just before the club crashed into Paul’s temple.
Paul took the chance he’d been given and ran at the man, swinging his fists wildly. One of the frantic blows must have connected, because Paul registered that the man was no longer there to hit. When he looked down, he saw the man unconscious on the floor at his feet.
Paul resolved to get the machete and put his assailant out of action permanently. He ran across the poolside and picked up the weapon, wiping the blood off the handle onto his shirt. Anxious to get the job over with, he ran back to the man.
He lifted the blade, paused to psyche himself up enough to administer the killing blow, then slammed the weapon down hard. Blood sprayed into the air as if from a high-pressure hose, soaking Paul’s face and clothes. The man let out a weak groan and convulsed a little.
The blow had nearly taken the man’s head clean off.
Paul stared in disbelief at the dying body, again unable to believe
that he had killed someone.
When he looked up, he saw that Sam had gone.
Cheetah was keen to get away from the scene of Ulrich’s death. He had no desire to join his friend, but he also wanted to put the grim fact of his band mate’s death behind him. He headed for an alley which seemed to be populated by less crazies than everywhere else.
The gunman fired, just missing Cheetah’s head. Dust fell out of the brickwork and landed in his hair.
Janet cried out in alarm. She wasn’t the fastest person at the best of times but with her damaged leg she knew she was easy prey. The gunman’s next shot hit Jonesy in the back of the head, sending pulverised fragments of his skull flying into Cheetah’s face amid a cloud of blood.
Cheetah roared with fury as his friend’s blood dripped down his face. He aimed the magnum ahead of him and pulled the trigger. The noise nearly deafened Janet and Billy, who had finally reached the alley. The gunman rolled aside with superhuman speed. Halfway out of his roll, he fired again, just missing Billy’s legs.
‘Fucking hell, let’s do one,’ Billy said.
Janet nodded in agreement.
The gunman fired off a wild volley of shots, missing the three survivors but coming close enough to panic them.
Behind the gunman, a vast group of crazies had gathered. They were all letting out shrill cries as they charged towards Janet, Billy and Cheetah.
Cheetah ducked behind a wheelie bin as the gunman unleashed another wild burst of gunfire. In the quiet between gunshots, they heard the chilling sound of the gunman’s laughter.
The crazies started to stream into the alley.
Billy, Janet and Cheetah ran, moving erratically in an attempt to avoid the flying bullets. They turned a corner and found themselves at a dead end.
The crazies were already filling the alley, shoving and clawing at each other to be the first to get to their intended victims.
The trio were trapped.
Paul barely had time to wonder about Sam’s disappearance before a shape came flying at him. In his surprise he was caught off balance and knocked to the floor. Sam was above him, spittle flying from his snapping jaws. The kid possessed a berserk strength and he wasted no time in attacking Paul with his fists and head.
