Two, and then three of the zombies started to turn towards the ambulance bay. The shuffling and interest was enough to cause the pack to follow the ones in front, and soon there was a solid line of them leading around to seek out their next meal.
“You little bitch...or bastard...or whatever the fuck you are!!” Francie shouted. Pulling his leg back, he released a hard kick into Nicky’s stomach, forcing the air out of her body.
Leaving a dazed Josh on the ground with his trousers still effectively disabling him, he ran to the front of the van and jumped into the driver seat. He started the engine and squealed away from the bay. The back doors swung open and the plastic bags of drugs dropped out, splitting and spewing all manner of pills to get crushed underfoot by the approaching horde as they made their way around the parked vehicles..
The screaming of Josh begging for Francie to come back, rang the dinner bell even louder for the zombies, and the speed of their shambling footsteps increased.
The sting in Nicky’s back as she landed on the tarmac and the hard kick that had winded her, left her gasping for air, but she knew that her time was very limited with the approaching horde.
Sitting up, she saw the bags of drugs lying on the ground and reached round to grab one. It was the only object that she had nearby. She picked it up and got to her feet, still gulping down as much air as she could. Swinging the bag around her head for some momentum she let it slap into the face of the first zombie to get near. Of course it didn’t kill him, but it did put him off balance and he staggered into the next one behind him, causing a ripple effect through the first of the ranks, enough to buy a few valuable seconds for Nicky to run gasping towards the ambulance bay doors. Passing Josh, she felt like giving him a swift kick but didn’t want to waste her time on him.
She made it through the entrance with only a few seconds to spare. The horde had gathered around Josh and his screams were firmly locked away in Nicky’s psyche for future nightmares to come. She turned and saw that the automatic glass doors were stuck open. Shit! How do these things fucking work? She looked all around the frame and saw the keys in the locking mechanism at the top right hand corner. Reaching up, she turned the key to the ‘closed’ position and watched as the doors swished closed in front of her. She let out her breath, and slid down the smooth surface of the doors.
Turning her back on the gruesome scene outside, she rushed back to the pharmacy and saw her backpack discarded in the corner of the waiting room. Thankfully overlooked by the men in their excitement of gaining bigger spoils, she picked it up and checked inside. She was happy to see that her bottles of water, energy bars, and patches were still inside, she fed her arms through the straps and hoisted it onto her sore back. Ignoring the dead body of the small pharmacist, she exited the waiting room and turned back to the glass doors. As she stealthily approached, she saw her reflection in the shiny surface. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. A tall woman with long brown hair, a dirty sweatshirt, and a slowly deflating erect penis was shown back to her.
Yeah…that's really not a good look right there…she grimaced as she went to see if the zombies had moved on yet.
- Sister Emma –
Sister Emma was weary. Her bones ached, her skin hurt and her head was pounding like a set of jungle drums. The thin kneeler cushion attached to the pew in front of her was doing little to stop the pain radiating up to her hips and spine.
Was this a new torture that the Lord wished to bestow on her? If so, then she would gladly shoulder the burden. She had been doing so for the last forty-three years and it was a small discomfort compared to his sacrifice He made for mankind.
With only two years to go until retirement from her teaching post, Emma was nervous at what the future held for her.
Would the order of Jesus & Magdalene send her somewhere else or would she spend her remaining time here in a lovely sixteenth century convent secreted behind gates and in a beautiful rural setting?
It was not her place to question or request any such preference. But, she had been at her happiest here and secretly she wished she could stay here forever. Her Mother Superior knew best though, and Emma was prepared to accept her fate with grace. Well, nearly.
She was still a wee bit ‘feisty’ as her mother superior liked to label her. But, Emma just liked to be honest and let the powers that be know her opinions. God wouldn’t have let her have these points of view if she was never meant to voice them.
Growing up as a younger sibling to three brothers, it was in her nature to speak up just to be heard.
Even these days, a sneaky cigarette and the odd Bailey’s liqueur from time to time meant she broke the mould of the usual stereotypes of nuns, and was often in the confessional box cleansing herself of the guilt from her sins.
This was the main reason for her solo penance now in the chapel; to ask forgiveness for speaking up rather vehemently for one of her students. This wasn’t the first visit to the chapel she’d made for her vivacity for life and probably, no, definitely wouldn’t be the last.
Emma’s students were her children. She loved each and every one of them. Like all parents, she was tested from time to time, but Emma always tried to see the good in each of them and would lobby to help any and all of her students.
She was always a favourite with the pupils. Emma’s sense of fun and her youthfulness made their lessons interesting and the time fly by.
Emma rested her hot, aching forehead upon her clasped hands as she remembered the last big incident that had prompted her to end up moving schools.
Jonathan Chambers; the name caused a sadness to creep over Emma’s face. She had always tried to see the good in Jonathan, but, no one else seemed to bother. He was a ‘bad lot’ from a ‘bad seed’ apparently, but Emma knew that he was battling a very tough home life, and had been doing so from a toddler. She thought she was getting through to him, but found out he had tried to sell drugs to some of the younger children. He’d ended up in a terrible fight with his dealer just outside the school gates when he couldn’t get rid of his stash.
The fight was vicious and had traumatised some of the younger children, and the students were left still needing to have chaperones stationed outside the gates at the beginning and end of every school day.
Emma had visited Jonathan in hospital and had prayed for him for hours by his bedside. The knife the dealer used had sliced the poor young man from the top of his scalp down over his eye to his top lip, maybe as a warning to others? Thankfully, the surgeon had saved his sight, but he would always have a nasty scar and a puckered eye to show for it.
Jonathan never came back to school. She heard that he liked to be called JC now, and that the scar only seemed to give him more street cred than before.
Emma always felt like she had in some way failed him, herself, and God. The guilt squeezed at her heart and soul. She still hoped that he would make something of his life and find a righteous path. Many prayers were offered up to ask for clemency to be granted to her for this failure, and to this day he was included in her daily novena in the hope that could find some love in his heart.
Blinking rapidly, she broke the daydream. This isn’t right...I don’t feel good at all, Emma thought. She could feel the heat from her body build and billow around her habit. The grey, heavy linen felt more weighty and harsh than usual against her skin.
She tried to get up from her kneeling position in the wooden pew, but a wave of dizziness encompassed her; blooming black spots appeared within her eye line, and she dropped to the cold tiled floor, unconscious.
A distant noise started to infiltrate Emma’s mind. Slowly, through her closed eyes, a dim light started to break up the darkness. She raised her lids and the black and white tiles of the chapel floor came into focus and her eyes started to bounce around in confusion looking for the answer as to why she was on the floor in the first place.
She raised her head and squinted at the brightness of the sun that was pouring through the high stained glass windows,
creating a kaleidoscope of colour to shine on the white marble altar. The noise, increasing in volume, started to sound nearer and clearer, but her fugue state kept refusing to let her work out what it was.
How long have I been on the floor? What is that noise? Oh shit! My head hurts! God forgive me for swearing. Questions and thoughts flooded Emma’s mind.
Slowly she pushed herself into a sitting position in between the wooden seat and the back of the pew in front, her body protesting after being in the same position for some time. Raising herself to a sitting position on the wooden pew she realised with distaste that she had wet herself. The dampness could still be felt, though not dripping, thus telling her that it had been some time since it happened.
The noise she kept hearing was coming from the thick heavy wooden chapel door. A scratching, dragging, thudding. Sister Emma slowly rose to a standing position and unsteadily made her way to the doors.
She reached for the handle, and as a wave of dizziness hit her, she slid down the highly waxed surface, and ended up crouched down.
She saw what looked like a black liquid seeping under the door.
With shaking fingers she touched the fluid, and as she had seen in many of her favourite crime busting programmes on TV, she rubbed her fingers against each other and a dark red colour began to emerge.
A sharp intake of breath from Emma caused whatever was happening on the other side of the door to stop.
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that there could be nothing good going on around her, and sent a silent prayer upwards for strength, and finishing by kissing the crucifix hanging around her neck. She slowly and quietly stood and gently turned the large iron door handle. The door started to open on its well-oiled hinges, and the sight that greeted her caused Emma to freeze in shock.
She saw her Mother Superior, Sister Veronica, who in death, was lying face up with an expression of fear etched forever on her face, clutching her rosary beads tightly to her chest. Her intestines were being pulled and eaten by a rapturous looking Sister Eugene, who, with each new mouthful being taken, was causing the dead nuns head to thud against the door.
Blood was everywhere and so the source of the stain under the door became evident. A whimper escaped from Emma’s throat, and the bloodied Sister Eugene hesitated in her feast. Slowly, her head raised, her veil now crookedly sitting over half of her face. Her mouth both chewing and salivating, let globulous drips hang down from her chin. Her remaining uncovered eye locked on Emma. A pure white eye.
Quickly and quietly Emma shut the door again. The movement, being seen and heard, created a new wave of banging against the wooden door.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! God forgive me for swearing. What the hell is going on!? Rest in peace Sister Veronica...Lord, please accept her soul through your heavenly gate.” The words automatically whispered from Emma’s mouth, and she blessed herself, finishing with multiple taps on her chest.
Now more than just Sister Eugene was banging at the door, the noise obviously causing more interest to kindred souls. There was no key for the lock, but luckily there was a sliding bolt at the bottom of the two doors. Sliding them home gave Sister Emma a precious little, but, some comfort.
Unsteadily, Emma made her way over to the stone font in front of the pews, she removed her veil and simply dunked her head into the holy water. Taking in gulps of water before she pulled her head away, she immediately felt better, her senses coming back to her.
I need to get out of here; I can’t believe what I have just seen! I need to find out what is going on! Emma thought desperately.
She removed the scapular from her shoulders, and dried her face and short hair with it.
Feeling refreshed but still weak, Emma headed for the sacristy, the little side room located behind the altar, to see if she could find something, anything, to help her out of this situation.
She entered the small room and closed the heavy door behind her. “Lord, please help me!” she prayed. She made her way to the priests’ desk. The papers and sermon notes strewn on top gave no insight to the shitfest that seemed to be occurring outside the chapel doors, (pardon me Father for swearing) but looking in the top drawer, the desk did offer up an opened pack of ginger nut biscuits. Yes! Thank you Father Dillon, she thought, knowing that no one other than Father Dillon would carry a packet of biscuits with him to chapel, his round belly and red face the telling tale.
Hunger overtook Emma and she scoffed the softened biscuits in record time. Her mouth felt instantly dry, her eyes fell upon the little copper tap inset into the stone wall that supplied the holy water for the font and the little plastic bottles that were so popular to the devout. Cupping her hand under the flow, she gulped the water down.
With her thirst sated, Emma wondered how she was going to get out of this chapel, and what would greet her when she did. She took a moment to wonder if what had Sister Eugene eating her Mother Superior was isolated or widespread. She could hear no sirens, could she assume, then, that this...horror...was only here in the convent? That no one had as yet called for help? Oh, if only she had taken the mobile phone that her niece had wanted to give her last Christmas! She knew that you could get news updates and all sorts as well as making actual phone calls.
The only clear window in the little room was small and located high up towards the ceiling of the room. She wouldn’t be able to fit through it, but she could certainly look through it!
Emma dragged the heavy desk over to the wall, grabbed the chair, and placed it on top. She lifted her long habit above her knees and climbed up onto the desk then gingerly stepped up onto the chair. On tiptoes she could just manage to see out into the distance. The view gave her little answers, and little hope, with swirls of black smoke in the distance and the faintest sounds of alarms now filtering through giving the only clues that this was not just outside her own door.
Climbing down, she removed the chair from the desk and slumped into it, still unable to make any kind of sense of what was happening.
Emma knew that without more information she would never be able to figure out how things had got to this point.
The last thing she remembered was the official ‘talk’ she’d with Mother Superior over her student, and the penance bestowed for her outspoken attitude, which resulted in her prayers for forgiveness to God in the Chapel.
She recalled feeling unwell whilst praying and that she must have passed out. For how long? She didn’t know. Long enough for the world to go to shit obviously! Giving a glance heavenwards, she uttered. “Lord, God...sorry for swearing!”
How to get out of the chapel was now becoming Emma’s number one priority. She couldn’t leave through the front doors or she may end up like Sister Veronica-God rest her soul, and there was no back door.
Emma bent forwards and rested her head onto her knees, until she got the whiff of her urine soaked tunic and sat back up straight. “Urgh!” she gagged. “That has got to be fixed! If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then I must be flipping miles away from you Lord!”
She went to the vestiary, a wardrobe used to house the priests’ robes for mass and various other ceremonies, and pulled the door open. The robes ready to be donned for mass were shining, resplendent from the hangars, but also tucked over to the right side was another hangar holding a spare pair of black trousers and black shirt. Yessss!
Emma wasted no time in removing her habit and underpants, and slipped into the shirt and trousers. Loose fitting, maybe, but infinitely better than before.
Her beloved rosary beads and crucifix, a gift from her father upon entering the church, and that she had had since serving her postulancy were kissed and placed once more around her neck.
A quick prayer of thanks was sent up, and Emma sat back down and leaning forwards to turn up the bottoms of the trousers to avoid tripping over them.
That was when her eye caught the square indentation in the rug. Usually covered by the desk, this would never normally have been seen.
Emma pu
lled the rug back to reveal a trap door. Of course! Emma nearly smacked her own forehead. This chapel, having being built in the 16th century, would have priest holes and tunnels running all over the place...had she just found one of these escape routes?
Offering up another silent prayer, she pulled up the square handle inset in the trapdoor and tugged with all her might. The door resisted and needed coaxing but Emma didn’t give up and eventually it opened up and stood at ninety degrees to the floor. Panting and with her hands on her hips she looked down to see stone steps leading down into darkness, strung with cobwebs wafting in the breeze.
A small shiver escaped Emma. She never did like spiders. As they were God's little creatures, she was often faced with a dilemma. A dilemma that often had her praying for forgiveness at killing one of the awful little arachnids. God above, why create something so creepy…? Catching herself with this thought, Emma smiled sadly and thought that now it looked like there was a whole new kind of creepy to deal with.
“Really Lord, what are you doing now? Cannibals... Really? Do you have a plan? Is there a reason for what you have laid in my path?”
Taking a deep breath, Emma lit a candle and placed it in one of the churches sturdy wrought iron holders. She put two of the little plastic bottles of holy water into her pockets, and started down the steps. She quickly blessed herself, “Lord, please protect me...Oh, and can I have a pass on the swearing for a while? I will make it up to you when I get out of here. Amen.” She finished with a sign of the cross.
The cobwebs were there for a reason and their architects were plenty. Emma wished she had kept her veil on for peace of mind; the thought of spiders in her hair made her shudder. However, she had her big girl pants on, or rather the big priests pants on, there was a passage to follow and Emma was thankful that she could follow it. She prayed that she be brought out into a better place.
Biting Back (Book 1): Four Women of the Apocalypse Page 6
