by Jack Lewis
Their skin was grey and marked with bites and blood. Some wore flannel shirts stained claret, while others were naked. One of them wore nothing but a pair of gym shorts, and he stumbled forward, dragging his leg behind him. His lower leg was broken, and a jagged bone stuck out from his shin.
Ed felt a weight pressing on his chest. Since the encounter with the infected at the cabin, he carried a thick log with him. It wasn’t sharp enough to pierce a skull, but he preferred the idea of it to just using his fists.
“See them?” he said.
“Yeah,” answered The Savage in a clipped voice.
The infected approached them from all sides. The closest was twenty metres away. It stopped as it approached. It craned its head to the side at an angle, and it snarled. As it got closer, Ed gripped the log in his hands. When it was less than ten feet away, he saw that the infected was wearing a necklace with a peace logo fastened to it.
The Savage stepped forward. He held his penknife in his hand and pushed the lever to show the blade.
“Here, boy,” he said.
As the infected strained for him, The Savage gripped it by the head, lined up his knife and plunged the bladed through its temple. He released his hold and let it fall to the ground.
The groaning grew around them until it drowned out the noise of the wind. Ed gazed from one side to the other. His skin tingled as the infected came at them from all angles. The stench of rot hung heavy in the air.
As the infected attacked them, The Savage dispatched them with his pen knife. Ed swung his log at anything that approached. He hit one of them so hard that it fell to the floor, and Ed raised his boot over its head. He looked down at it, but something held him back. He couldn’t bring himself to squash its skull.
“Jesus Christ, Ed,” said Bethelyn. An infected strained for her. She ducked under its reach, and ran over to Ed. She raised her foot and brought it down on the infected on the ground. He heard a crack as its skull caved in under the weight of her boot.
The Savage grunted. One infected swiped at him, while the other approached him from behind, lips curled up to show yellow canine teeth. Ed reached him in time to push the infected away. He hooked his foot behind it and shoved it to the ground. This time he took a deep breath and brought his foot down, and he felt bones crunch underneath his boot. His stomach rolled.
The Savage swung his penknife around and stabbed through the brain of the infected woman in front of him. She gave a pitiful cry and sank down on the mud.
Bethelyn screamed. Ed turned just in time to see an infected man wearing a striped shirt sink its teeth into her shoulder, just above the collarbone. Ed ran over and pulled it back by the hair. Bethelyn shouted in pain. Ed raised his log, but Bethelyn put her hand out and caught his.
“He’s mine,” she said.
She took hold of the infected’s hair and pulled it down to the ground. Before it could get up, she brought down her boot and squashed its head into the floor. The infected went limp, but Bethelyn brought her foot down again and again, panting each time her boot crushed bone. Her face grew red, and blood and skull fragments soiled the ground.
Ed walked over and put his hand on her uninjured shoulder. She shrugged him off and then looked at him, face twisted in rage. It was as if something had awakened in her; energy that had been missing since they had left Golgoth.
The Savage stood over the body of an infected. He gave it a nudge with his foot to see if it was going to move. Satisfied, he turned to Ed and Bethelyn. When he saw her wound, he almost winced.
“That looks nasty,” he said.
Bethelyn’s chest shook with each breath. She put her hand to her shoulder and touched it. She winced. Her fingertips were stained red.
“Don’t worry,” said The Savage. “You can’t get infected.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t catch something. I need antibiotics. I was bitten back on Golgoth, too. It’s a wonder I haven’t caught anything yet.”
A roar broke through the air. It was so loud that it seemed to shake the branches of the trees. A sheet of cold settled over Ed. A few seconds of silence passed, and then they heard it again. It was so loud that it could have come from just beyond them.
“That’s our cue to leave,” said The Savage.
“We’re going nowhere until we get something for her shoulder.”
The Savage looked around him as if he expected something to leap out from behind a tree.
“I told you,” he said. “You two are immune. That means their bites won’t affect you.”
Ed pointed at one of the infected on the floor. Bethelyn’s footwork had pulverised it so much that the ground was covered by brain tissue and jagged pieces of skull.
“Have you seen their mouths? Who knows what kind of bacteria their mouths are crawling with? They aren’t exactly examples of oral health.”
Bethelyn’s face drained of colour. She touched her wound again and grimaced.
“I watched a documentary once on Komodo dragons. Their mouths are so loaded with bacteria that one bite kills you. I need to get something for this.”
The Savage paced in front of them. “Didn’t you just hear that?” he said. “I’m not sitting around and waiting for Ripeech to come and whisper his sweet nothings. Bite or not, we’re going.”
“You selfish bastard,” said Ed. “After everything we’ve done for you.”
“Everything you’ve done for me? Ha.”
Ed’s cheeks started to burn. “Giving my blood isn’t enough for you?”
Irritation showed in the creases of The Savage’s face. “Let me tell you something -”
Ed interrupted him. He realised that his hands were clenched into fists.
“No. Let me tell you something. You helped us get away from Golgoth, but let’s not forget what you did there. Think that playing nice for a while makes it okay? You’re a monster. The sooner we leave this place, the better. When we get out of Loch-Deep, we’re done. I’m going to find James and then for all I care, you can die in a ditch.”
The Savage walked up to him and prodded his chest. Ed had to stop himself from reacting, but the rage strained to get free.
“Let me tell you something about James,” The Savage spat. “You’re going to be disappointed when you finally meet this big brother of yours. If you think I’m bad, wait until you find out what precious James has done. You’re going to wish you never found him.”
“Don’t talk about my brother like that.”
The Savage prodded him again. Ed’s face felt on fire.
“Your brother is scum,” he said. “But don’t worry. You’ll find out.”
He dimly heard Bethelyn say his name, but the anger rose up and he felt his temples pound. His breaths came slow, and he gritted his teeth. Before he could even stop himself, he swung a punch at The Savage.
As his fist crunched into The Savage’s face, the man’s mask dislodged. He stumbled back, and his mask fell to the floor. When he looked up at them, Bethelyn gasped.
The Savage’s top lip was missing. It looked like it had been chewed clean off his face, and where the skin should have been, all he had were red gums above white teeth.
Ed backed away. The thudding in his head started to subside, displaced for the moment by shock. His stomach churned.
The Savage looked up at them slowly. Without his top lip, it looked like he was snarling at them. His eyes seemed sad, and Ed couldn’t help but feel pity as he stared into them.
”So now you’ve seen it,” said The Savage.
“I’m sorry,” said Ed. An overwhelming shame flooded through him. His arms and legs felt exhausted, and he just wanted to sink to the ground.
“What happened?” asked Bethelyn.
The Savage stared at them, and for once, Ed felt like he was looking at his true face.
“This was the last kiss my wife ever gave me. It was my own stupid fault. Thinking that she could become one of them, but still be the same person. I didn’t know what they were back the
n. It was in the beginning. None of us really understood what they were. I was like you, Wetgills; green as a country pasture. I thought that if I could treat her like I used to, her brain could fight through the infection. So I did something unbelievably stupid, and this is what I got in return.”
He lifted his hand to his mouth and ran his fingers across the jagged skin near his nose. Ed felt revulsion in his stomach, but he ignored it. He was sorry that he hit The Savage. The man was right; in many ways, he was just like them. Just another person trying to survive.
The white of the sky above them was starting to dilute with the onset of night. A chill crept up on them.
“It’s getting late,” said Ed.
The Savage turned away.
Ed walked over to him. He reached out to touch his shoulder, but then stopped himself.
“I need your penknife,” he said.
The Savage turned and looked at him. He handed Ed the knife.
“And the container,” said Ed.
He pricked his middle finger with the knife and watched the blood well up. It came out in tiny drops, so he used the knife to deepen the cut, biting back on the pain as the blade slid through his skin. He held the plastic underneath his finger and let the blood pool in the bottom.
It was nothing to him anymore. It didn’t repulse him and it didn’t make him angry. It seemed routine, like something that he just had to do. He stared at the corpses of the infected as the blood dripped into the plastic. Somewhere in the distance, Ripeech cried out to them, and the noise shook the limbs of the trees.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Heather
Her body ached as she rode deeper into the darkness. It seemed like an endless rocky plain with the occasional tree or bush, but every so often she’d come across an abandoned car or a campfire that had burned out long ago. Her horse seemed to have no trouble forging ahead into the night, and the patters of its hooves lulled Heather into drowsiness. She started to wonder if it was time to take a short nap. She straightened herself and shook on the reins. The horses gave a snort.
She needed to stay awake. Charles’s house wasn’t far from here. There would be no sleep for her until she found her daughter. If that meant she had to ride until her body broke down, then so be it.
She heard a growling in the darkness. The hairs on her arms pricked up. She looked around her, expecting to see the glowing eyes of a wolf. Maybe there were even cougars this far away from the Dome and other populated areas.
The growl drifted from her right. She pulled the horse to a stop. She still had the Capita soldier’s knife, and she held it in her hand as though it was a part of her. The handle was sweaty against her palms.
Soon, the sound of footsteps matched the growl. Her eyes adjusted to the black around her, and she saw a figure approach. She took a breath and got ready to use the weapon.
The figure was small. As it got closer, she saw that it was a little infected girl wandering lonely over the dirt. There was a pained expression on her face; something more than the usual hunger that the infected showed.
She wondered how long the girl had been wandering across the wasteland. When had she become infected? What had happened to her parents? The Mainland was full of lost children, it seemed, and it wasn’t always the Capita’s doing.
She climbed off the horse. The girl took shaky steps closer. She snarled and showed white teeth under thin lips.
For a second, Heather felt so much pity that she almost wanted to give the girl a hug. Then she collected herself. The girl walked closer, and Heather struck her with the machete, carving through her skull like a grapefruit.
She looked down at the girl’s limp body as her blood spread over the ground. She couldn’t help but think how similar the girl looked to Kim, and an overwhelming pain spread through her.
Get a grip, Heather, she thought.
~
By the time she reached Charles’s house, dawn had cracked like an egg and started to run across the sky. It was a small cottage that sat alone in a barren landscape. The roof was thatched, and ivy spread across the walls. Charles’s horse, Ken, sat out front, tethered to a wooden stake in the ground. He lifted his head as he chewed on a mound of grass, and his tail swished in the breeze.
It was far from what she expected. The cottage almost seemed picturesque. She had always imagined that Charles lived somewhere dark and dingy. A place where happy thoughts were smothered by dark shadows, and the rooms were empty and cold. There’d be no furniture. Bare walls, and water dripping from a tap so incessantly that you heard it in your sleep.
She got off her horse and tethered it to the side of the house using its reins. She walked around the outside, ducking under the living window, until she was at the back door. There was a small window which showed the kitchen. She saw an oak table with stained brown wood. Against the wall was a stove with two hobs, the surface gleaming as if it had just been cleaned. Charles stood at the kitchen counter.
He had a child’s doll in front of him, and a needle and thread in his hands. He squinted in concentration as he pierced the needle through the side of the doll and then wound the thread through it. Gradually a hole in the doll’s side began to tighten. After a few seconds Charles tied up the knot and then stood back and looked at his handiwork.
Heather walked over to the back door. She gripped the handle and started to turn it slowly, scared that it was so old it might make a whining sound that would give her away. With shaking hands she gripped the knife and pushed the door open.
Before Charles could react, Heather had crossed the room and held the blade at his throat. Up close, he smelled of sweat. He held the needle between his thumb and index finger. The top of one of his fingertips welled with blood from where he’d poked himself.
“It’s always so nice to see you, Heather,” he said.
He started to turn around. Heather stepped back and banged into the corner of the table. She ignored the pain and kept the knife tight against Charles’s neck.
“Back up. Slowly,” she said.
She didn’t have a plan from here. She just knew that the kitchen was full of knives, and she knew how dangerous the bounty hunter could be. If she had her way, she'd hogtie him and put him on the back of her horse, just like the Capita soldier had threatened to do to her. The problem was she didn't know how to hogtie someone. It seemed like something they did in old Western movies.
“You want a tour of the house?” said Charles.
“Into the living room. Don’t make any movements.”
Charles stood as stiff as a board.
“Okay,” Heather said through gritted teeth. “You can walk, obviously. But don’t move those flabby arms of yours.”
She backed him through the hallway. The carpet smelled musty. There were photographs of a family on the wall, but Charles wasn’t in any of them. Maybe it wasn’t really his house. She guessed that after the outbreak, real estate deals weren’t brokered by agents and contracts. If you saw a house that you liked, then you took it.
When they got into the living room, she saw a girl sat on a wheelchair. She had a book in her hands, and her eyes moved as she scanned across the pages.
“Meet my daughter, Lilly,” said Charles.
Part of her had always thought he was lying, yet here was proof that Charles had a daughter. The girl had a blanket on her lap that covered her thighs, but the pale skin of her lower legs showed underneath it. Heather saw that they were covered in bite marks.
She had straight ginger hair that had been roughly cut just above her shoulder. Charles wasn’t much of a hairdresser, it seemed. She had a sweet face with freckles that seemed to glint on her skin. She could have been a pretty girl, but there was just a mound where her nose had once been, and the skin around it was red and dried. What happened to this poor girl?
“Are you going to kill my dad?” said Lilly. “Because I wouldn’t blame you.”
When she breathed, the air left her like a snort. Her voice sounded too old t
o come from such a young girl. Her hands rested on the arms of her chair. The spokes around her wheels were made of metal, but rust had started to gather on them.
“Mind if I go to the kitchen?” asked Charles.
Heather held the knife behind her back. It seemed wrong to hold a blade to a man’s throat in front of his daughter. She felt like she needed to keep up the pretence that everything was okay.
She nodded at Charles. He walked out of the room and into the kitchen. As she heard his footsteps come back, Heather gripped the weapon, ready to use it if the bounty hunter came back with a blade of his own. Instead, he came back with a milk bottle made of glass. Water dripped down the outside of it, but claret liquid swirled in the bottom.
