by Alex South
Laura stared at the still figure. Then, Duke moved with an incredible speed. He straightened his body, and rose to his feet.
“Tricked you!” Shouted the little girl.
Duke moved slowly across the room, knelt down next to a cardboard box – his eyes never leaving her – and picked up a frying pan. Laura quickly glanced around, put her knife away, then yanked a plank of wood from a nearby shelf, accidently knocking a bucket, which fell and scattered nails and screws along the floor.
Duke crept closer. Laura backed away. He stared at her, waiting, waiting, waiting – now making a horizontal swing. Laura skipped back, the blur of metal splitting the air in front of her.
Another swing. Laura brought her plank around to parry. It shook violently in her grip. Another. Laura blocked it, closer to her body. The impact forced her plank sideways. She moved it back to meet the next blow. The air cracked as their weapons met. Her grip broke from the force. The plank flew out of her hands, bounced off a shelf and onto the ground.
Laura rushed forward and slammed into him before he could strike again. He stumbled and fell, hitting the floor. Laura pulled her knife out. Duke scrambled backwards, rising to his feet. Laura charged, colliding with him, stabbing wildly into the blur of motion before her – now on top of him, all her fury in her blade as she searched to puncture light in the darkness. He bent his knees and kicked her in the chest. She flew through the air, landing on her back. Her body scrambled to get her off the floor. Duke crawled backwards. Now up, Laura charged. He found his feet and rose. With all her momentum, she leapt at him, leading with her foot. The kick smashed into his chest, the force was such that Duke left the ground, landing at the feet of the little girl.
Before he could move, Laura climbed on top of him. He made a clumsy one-handed swing at her with the frying pan. Her left arm blocked it, she tried to line up the knife with his throat. Duke’s blows kept coming, beating against her.
Panicking, she sliced at his face, hacking his skin with the blade. Duke dropped his weapon. He grabbed her knife arm with both hands. She tried to pull away, using her free hand to struggle against his grip.
Duke yanked her to the side. She fell, knocking against the girl’s legs. The chair on which she sat skidded back slightly. Duke was on top of Laura now. His hands closed around her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Laura stabbed the knife into his side. Again and again. No effect. The world spun. Her head grew heavy and thick. She pulled at his fingers.
Something flashed in her mind… the girl’s leg was close to her, pale, bare. She grabbed it with one hand, and stabbed into it with the other. The girl screamed. Duke threw his hands to his head and screwed up his face. Laura sat up and grabbed his hoodie. She threw him away. His body collided Stacy. The chair fell onto its back.
She lent to her side, putting her hands flat on the ground and forcing herself onto her feet. Her throat throbbed. Her lungs snatched at the air. Instincts screamed for her to run. She moved towards the basement stairs, now climbing them. She had lost her knife somehow.
Her body burnt with exhaustion. Without looking back, she reached the top and slammed the basement door behind her. Now she ran into the kitchen. Moving around the table, she pulled a knife from the magnetic strip. Behind her came the sound of heavy footsteps and a loud thud. Turning, she watched Duke enter the room. He closed the door behind him.
He stopped and glanced at her knife.
They stared at each other, the wooden table keeping them apart.
Duke started to creep around. Laura moved in the other direction. Duke stopped and stalked back the other way.
A few seconds of nothing — then he charged. Laura ran the other way. He chased her half-way around to the room’s exit. She opened the door, slamming it behind her, now, as she left.
Bang! - it bust back open behind her. She crossed the room, drawing close to the hallway. Her head exploded with pain. The frying pan, having deflected off her skull, clattered against the corner of the room in front of her. She lost control of her momentum and fell.
She turned to see Duke following his throw by charging in her direction. Before she could rise, he was on her. They wrestled on the floor, she thrashed and kicked, managing to keep him away as she pushed herself against the wall and onto her feet. He wasn’t trying to bite her. He wanted to beat her to death. His punches rained against her.
Laura forced the door open, getting away from him momentarily and pushing herself into the hallway. Her hand reached for the basement door. Duke came crashing through towards her. Instinctively, she yanked the basement door open, swinging it in front of him. He hit it, but with such force that it swung back into Laura and knocked her close to the first floor stairs – which now she clamoured backwards onto.
Duke loomed in front of her. His hand grabbed her foot. She kicked at him. His grip was tight and her foot stuck in his hand. He pulled her towards him. She kicked again, pushing him back to smash against the wall, now turning and running up the stairs, only thinking about getting away. The stairs thudded behind her — the sound of him catching up. She fell forwards — her foot suddenly pulled back. She turned and kicked. He clawed at her legs. She kept them moving, jabbing her feet into his chest, and evading his grip. Her body crawled backwards, now at the top she scrambled to her feet and ran – rushing through the hallway and bursting into her bedroom. She turned, her hands moving to lock the door.
A pain exploded in her head as the door slammed open against her. She stumbled. Duke collided with her. They fell down together. He was at her side. She scrambled away. He stuck out an arm and caught her t-shirt. Laura pulled against his grip, as he began to yank himself to his feet. She slammed her palm into his fist. Breaking his hold, she stumbled, and fell. He, without the counter weight holding him up, also fell. Laura got to her feet and ran out of the room and down the corridor.
Kill the girl – an inner voice said.
She came to the stairs, taking them three at a time, the bottom drew closer. Heavy thudding sounds spiked the air behind her. Something knocked her forward. She distantly understood that Duke had thrown himself down the stairs. Tangled up together, they slammed down to the ground floor. Laura rose, moving to the basement door, yanking it open. Duke found his feet. He grabbed her. His momentum moved them towards the basement steps. She pulled at him, twisting his body to put him before her. They moved into the empty space. Everything became motion. The hard concrete steps slammed into Laura’s shoulder. Shapes spun and blurred, then jerked to a stop as she hit the bottom.
She got to her feet. Duke crawled between her and the girl, as if, together, they knew what she wanted. Now he rose. Laura glanced to her left, and pulled a rusty pogo stick into her hand. Duke breathed heavily. He took a few steps forwards. Laura took a few steps back. A part of her knew it was over. She was dizzy. Weak. Her stomach hurt. Her steps back were matched by his towards her. She couldn’t fight him more, not yet. Her lungs snatched at air, her mind screamed that he could charge at any moment. His eyes glanced at her weapon and then back at her. She continued to back away, through a narrow doorway and into the second section of the basement. Now she suddenly moved quicker, managing to put the table — with the circular saw resting on top — between him and her. She did so before he could react. A voice told her that he was tired too.
He stared at her, and, for a while, neither of them moved. “If I get past you I’ll kill her,” Laura shouted, trying to buy herself more time. “I’ll smash your head in, Stacy!”
She glanced at the circular saw again. He moved left. She moved right. He moved right. She moved left. He stopped moving.
Her heart beat rapidly, filling her chest and her ears. Without looking away from her, Duke grabbed a chair from the corner of the room, moved it, climbed it, and stepped onto the table. For a second, nothing happened. Then, he ran.
Laura moved closer, put her foot against the table and kicked. Duke, in mid-step, had his legs taken out from under him. He smashed against the ground. T
he table skidded away. Laura smashed the pogo stick into his head. The girl screamed from the other room. His hand shot up, cradling his skull. Again she struck, again, and again. He scurried away, moving under the table, which was now against the doorway.
Laura smashed the pogo stick onto the table, and onto the ground in front of it. Duke, hiding underneath, threw his arm out, clutching at the air, as if waving away a fly.
Laura stopped, her arms burning from exhaustion. Duke attempted to come out. She swung again, and he backed away. Laura watched as he moved back into the main section of the basement, glaring at her and then going out of sight.
Laura dropped the stick and picked up the chainsaw. She knew he would be back.
She looked at the power cable and worked out how far she could move without it coming unplugged. She couldn’t make it all the way across the room. She checked the front of it. The blade guard had been tied back, exposing the sharp metal. An idea hit her. “Stacy, you better not come back here. Listen to this.”
She waited for a few seconds. Duke arrived back at the doorway, holding a long metal pole in his hands. She looked at him, then started to fumble with the buttons. Pressing the trigger, but making sure not to press the safety at the same time.
“Come on. Come on.” She muttered, pretending that she couldn’t get it to work. Duke quickly climbed the table and jumped down on the other side.
Laura kept playing with the buttons. Just a little closer, she thought. She heard the little girl laughing. Duke charged, swinging horizontally at her head.
She ducked. She pressed the trigger and the safety button together, and lifted the spinning blade up into Duke’s stomach. His eyes opened in shock. He backed away, a stream of red springing from his guts. Laura lifted the saw into his face. Again, he stumbled back. Laura dropped the tool, knowing that the wire would not extend much farther. She grabbed Duke, put her foot behind his and pushed him over.
He was on the floor holding his stomach and rolling onto his front. She picked the saw back up, placed it over the back of his neck, and pulled the trigger. After a few moments, Laura knew she had done enough.
She climbed over the table, walked to the screaming girl and kicked her in the face.
…
No. That was her defence. No. As the truth hurtled towards her. No. That was her only refuge. A word. A denial. That was all she could hold up against the darkness. No… with her mind, with her soul, and on her lips – a whisper, more of a breath than a word.
“No… no… no.” She repeated it again and again. Each repetition as futile as the one it succeeded. This was all she had, as the darkness came, as it crashed down upon her, as it surrounded her.
The pain in her stomach didn’t mean anything now. A sudden fragile hope flickered in her, cutting through everything. What about John? Maybe he’s okay.
“He’s in the bathroom,” said Stacy.
Laura looked at her. Nothing else was said. It seemed as if every thought she’d ever had was wrong, and only a total shift of her constitution would take her out of this fog. Then some things started to click. The girl could read her mind. Stacy thought John was in the bathroom. If that was true, he was the one groaning and thudding on the door.
“Where’s Rob?” Laura said.
She closed her eyes. “In his room.”
“Did you do this?” Laura said to Stacy.
“I don’t know.”
A long silence.
“Why?”
“I forget things.”
Again Laura struggled, her mind clawing at the darkness for something to stick.
“What happened?” said Stacy.
Laura said nothing.
Stacy closed her eyes, and only spoke after a very long time. “Duke thinks it was poison.”
Laura’s eyes flicked in the direction of his corpse. He was dead. He had to be.
“I still know what he thinks.”
Neither spoke for a while. An idea hit Laura: Rob’s blood! If John was a zombie, then the blood could save him. That was all she had left. Before she collapsed, before she grieved, there was that, the last thing she could do - her last fight back against this world.
“I’ve got a gun,” said Stacy, “You can use it.”
Why did she want to help? thought Laura.
“I’m sorry,” said Stacy, “you can kill me if you like.”
Laura gave up on thinking in private. “Why should I trust you?”
“I’m different now.”
“You tried to kill me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Stacy quietly.
Is this just an act, thought Laura.
“It’s true. I promise,” she said.
“Where’s your gun?” said Laura.
“The zombies have got one. I can put it through the letter box.”
Laura thought for a while. “So, what’s your plan? Wait for me to go to the door and then shoot me?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Why?”
Stacy was quiet for a beat “Because… if I shoot you then I’m stuck.”
“You want me to untie you?”
“No, I want you to kill me.”
“You want to die?”
“Yes, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m bad.”
Laura stared at her. Why hadn’t Duke killed her? She thought.
“He did!” said Stacy, “But you have to do it in a special way, because I always come back.”
Laura’s mind ached. But somehow, a choice came. She had nothing left to lose. And somebody left to save. “Well… if you help me… I’ll find a way. If that’s what you want… Does Rob know I’m here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“I can’t hear him anymore.”
Can you hear this, Laura thought.
Stacy didn’t respond.
“Why can’t you hear him?”
“Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes it goes away.”
“Can you tell me anything? Is he armed? Is he waiting for something?”
Stacy shook her head and said nothing.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Put the gun through… I’m going up…”
…
Laura crept to the top of the stairs. She could see the gun at the end of the corridor, and recognised it as one of those that Stacy had taken from them back in the park. She moved towards it, slowly – keeping her body sideways to create a smaller target, and making sure not to stand directly in front of the letter box. It would be too easy for one of them to put another gun into the gap and start firing. With each breath, she anticipated the shot. With each breath, her eyes strained for movement.
She reached the end of the hallway and picked up the weapon as quietly as she could, now she carefully backed away, each step a victory, each passing second bringing her closer to safety. The first floor stairs drew close on her left. She stumbled onto them, finally escaping the line of sight of any potential attacker.
Her fingers opened up the pistol, it was loaded. Now she put it into the waist of her trousers, behind her back. If Rob saw she was armed, he might try to run, he might close the bedroom door on her, maybe he would even manage to lock it.
She ascended the stairs, the groans and thuds from the bathroom growing louder. Now she was in the hallway, a few slow, agonised steps, and she reached Rob’s room. She took a deep breath. Her whole body was shaking. No matter what, she had a gun, he didn’t – she told herself.
“Rob!” She knocked at his door. “Rob, are you there?! It’s safe to come out.” She heard a few clicking sounds. The door opened slowly. Rob walked out into the hallway.
“Are you okay?” said Rob.
She put her hand behind her back and pulled the gun.
“Come downstairs.”
…
She led Rob into the kitchen. On the table were some mixed nuts in a glass container.
“Rob, what happen
ed?” said Laura.
He looked at the floor. “I don’t know.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Tell me about these nuts.”
“I found them. In a house. Maybe they were infected, but I didn’t know. I just wanted to help.”
“Did you eat them?”
“I’m allergic.”
Laura knew enough now. These were the nuts that Poppy ate. Poppy always had that mix. Brazil nuts, dried cranberries, dried raisins, a few other nuts that Laura didn’t know, and, of course, no peanuts. Poppy didn’t like peanuts. Rob had put it in a different container. That was the only difference. She guessed that he had kept the food hidden from them the whole time they had been here.
“Rob, I need you to help me save John.” She heard her voice shake.
He said nothing.
“I need you to take some of your blood. I need you to go in there with John and inject him.”
“What if he bites me?”
“You’re immune.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll go to the basement first.”
…
“Get the syringe,” said Laura, once they had re-joined Stacy.
“What are you doing?” said Stacy.
“Can you control John?” said Laura to her. “Like, can you hold him still; we need to give him an injection.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes I can’t do it.”
“Okay.”
“Why are you going to inject him?” said Stacy.
Laura ignored her. “Pick up that hammer,” she said to Rob.
Rob moved towards it and then stopped.
“She can control him,” Rob said.
“No, I can’t,” said the little girl.
“We should wait until she can. It will be easier,” said Rob.
“No, I have a plan.”
“Laura, he’s lying!” shouted Stacy. Rob glanced at her
“Lying about what?” said Laura.
“He’s not immune. His blood isn’t a cure!”
There was a long silence.
“You’re reading his mind?” said Laura.
“Yes.”
“Is that true?” said Laura.
