Death Day

by Shaun Hutson

  There was a movement behind him and Lambert spun round, the dim light from the lighter totally inadequate for the task. He saw nothing but remained in that position, gun at the ready. Waiting and listening. Then finally, slowly, he turned again.

  The dull glow of the lighter shone straight into the grinning face of Ray Mackenzie.

  Lambert shouted in sudden terror, dropped the lighter and was plunged into total darkness once more. He rolled away, knowing that Mackenzie was coming for him. The Inspector fired one blast into the air.

  In the thunderflash explosion of the discharge, the entire vast amphitheatre was momentarily illuminated and Lambert saw an image which he had always suspected. Always feared.

  In the swift blinding light he saw them. Fifty. Sixty. Probably more. Living corpses all around him. He cursed himself for not having had the place searched before. It was so simple.

  But now, in that brief moment of light, he knew he had found them.

  For untold seconds nothing happened, then Lambert fired again, using the gun as a source of light. He fired off the five cartridges in rapid succession, moving towards the area where he knew the stairs to be. He didn't even know whether he hit any of the creatures with his blasts, but as his finger jerked a last time on the trigger, something warm and wet splashed across his face. His hand found the banister which led down the short flight of steps to the balcony entrance. He tried to jump the distance, tripped and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs, losing the shotgun in the process. He pushed open the door and a kind of dull half light flooded the bottom of the staircase. Lying at the bottom, Lambert looked up and saw th6 things crowding above him, Mackenzie at their head. The light stunned them for a second, long enough to enable Lambert to clamber to his feet and burst out of the balcony doors. He heard them thundering after him.

  A few feet of carpeted landing and he was at the stairs which led down into the foyer.

  Mackenzie burst from the doors in pursuit, others behind him and Lambert could smell their stench as he ran, taking the stairs two and three at a time. He reached the bottom and flung himself the last few feet, skidding across the tiled foyer floor.

  The living dead pounded down behind him, one or two of them reaching the ground floor a mere second after him.

  Lambert spun round, pulling the Browning from its holster. He fired with one hand, the recoil almost breaking his wrist, but by some miracle the shots hit their target and two of the creatures were felled. But now more were flooding the foyer and Lambert dashed for the twin sets of double doors, smashing the glass in one as he slammed into it, desperate to reach the main doors of the cinema. The things clattered after him, pausing a moment when he shot down two more. But now it was Lambert's turn to pause.

  He turned to the great, steel braced glass doors and almost shrieked when he saw the chains and padlocks which held them firmly shut.

  The first of the creatures came at him through the double doors and he blew half its head off, then another, recoiling from the light, shielding its eyeless sockets in pain. Lambert realized that the fight was his only hope. He tore down the curtains which masked the twin sets of double doors, flooding ten feet from him. The Inspector felt sick, overpowered by the collective stench which emanated from them. He gave himself a moment's respite and fired at one of the padlocks. The heavy grain bullet shattered it and Lambert tore the chain free, kicking at the heavy door, shouting when it stuck. He threw all his weight against it, aware that the bolder of the creatures were drawing closer to him. He fired. The first of them went down, blood jetting from the wound in its throat.

  Mackenzie ran at Lambert, his lips drawn back in that familiar hideous feral grin.

  It was the force of his charge which finally catapulted Lambert through the half-open door and onto the pavement outside.

  The other creatures cowered back from the light which flooded in through the glass and Mackenzie was left outside. Lambert felt his weight on him and struggled to free himself, aware that his attacker was becoming weaker in the light. Lambert remembered that he still held the length of chain and he lashed out savagely with it, catching Mackenzie across the cheek and laying it open to the bone. Those burning red orbs glowed intensely, defiant to the end. Lambert brought the chain whipping down across the man's skull. The heavy links split the flesh of his scalp, tearing away hunks of hair. Mackenzie dropped to his knees, his blazing red eyes still fixed on Lambert who had retrieved the Browning.

  From point blank range, the policeman fired, almost shouting his delight as the bullet slammed into Mackenzie's jaw just below the ear, tearing it off before erupting from the back of his neck. Mackenzie sagged forward in a spreading pool of blood and Lambert put three more into him, finding something akin to pleasure in the damage the bullets wrought. He stared down at the body, frightened it would get up. At last he bolted for his car and snatched up the handset.

  'Grogan,' he barked, continuing before the man had even had time to acknowledge, 'get all the cars to the Empire in town. The cinema. They're here. All of them. They're here.' He was shouting now. 'And I want petrol, lots of petrol and tell them to hurry, for fuck's sake tell them to hurry.' He threw the handset back inside the Capri and dashed back to the front of the building, peering in at the remaining living corpses. Jesus, there must be upwards of eighty, he thought. He looked at his watch.

  5:30.

  Night was drawing in fast. Lambert prayed they would make it in time.

  * * *

  The three police cars arrived within minutes of one another. Lambert told all of them to switch on their headlights and keep them trained on the front of the cinema.

  'What about the petrol?' asked the Inspector, looking at Hayes.

  As if in answer to his question, a Shell delivery tanker rumbled up the street and Lambert caught sight of Grogan behind the wheel. The policeman drove up onto the pavement in front of the cinema and leapt down from the cab. Together, he and Lambert pulled the hose free and Lambert placed the nozzle just inside the main door of the building.

  'Turn it on,' he shouted.

  Clambering back into the cab, Grogan flicked a switch and gallon after gallon of petrol pumped into the foyer of the cinema. The policemen in the cars could see the living dead cowering back from the blazing headlamps, stepping in the flooding petrol, falling over one another in their attempts to reach the darkness. Many stumbled into the stalls for shelter but Lambert had men posted at each exit with orders to shoot anything that came out. Nothing would come out of that place tonight.

  A red light winked on the dashboard of the tanker and Grogan yelled that the tank was empty.

  Lambert ran to the safety of the nearest car then, taking a shotgun from Walford, fired four times into the petrol flooded cinema foyer.

  There was an ear splitting roar and a blinding flash as the flammable liquid went up with a high-pitched shriek.

  The creatures not immediately incinerated in the conflagration were either burned as the fire took hold throughout the entire building or shot down as they bolted from the exits.

  Almost in awe, the men of the Medworth force watched as huge tongues of flame licked up the outsides of the building, the entire place transformed into a huge oven. For four hours it burned, the smoke rising thickly into the night sky until at last, gutted and destroyed, the roof collapsed, sending out a blistering shower of sparks.

  * * *

  By first light the next morning all that remained was a gigantic blackened ruin, like some huge pile of charcoal, choking black smoke still drifting from the remains.

  The men had stood silently for a while, not daring to believe that it was all over but then Lambert had given the order for them to leave and, led by him, they had driven off.

  Lambert felt no elation, merely a crushing weight of weariness, of total emotional and physical exhaustion. His desire to rest overwhelmed all but one feeling.

  He thought of Debbie.

  * * *

  No one had seen the thing which had onc
e been Gary Briggs crawl from the boot of Puma Three that night. All had been too intent on watching the incineration of the living dead.

  When they left, the Briggs thing crept into the ruins of the cinema, searching. It knew that it would have to be quick for the sun would be at its zenith soon and the pain would be too great. But it found what it sought and it left the blackened hell where the other living dead had sought refuge.

  Now it hid in the church up at Two Meadows, sheltering from the light. At home in the bell tower where no sun could reach it.

  It knew what it had to do and knew how to do it. It rested, clutching the medallion to its chest.

  It waited for the coming of night.

  * * *

  'You'll do,' said Kirby, tucking away his stethoscope. Lambert pulled his shirt back on and began fastening it.

  'What about the rest?' asked the Inspector, tucking the shirt into his trousers.

  'They were fine too,' Kirby told him. The two men looked at each other for a moment then the doctor said, 'Back to normal eh, Tom?'

  Lambert shrugged, 'I don't think anything will ever be bloody normal after what's happened here these past couple of months.' He ran a hand through his hair, 'I'm just pleased it's all over.'

  'Amen to that,' said Debbie, who was sitting in a chair across the room from the couch on which Lambert perched. They were in Kirby's surgery.

  'I hear Jenkins' wife had a little girl,' said the doctor, smiling.

  Lambert nodded, 'I sent him on leave to be with her. Walford and Hayes are off too. They deserve the rest after what they've been through. The others will get their chance in a couple of weeks.'

  'And what about you?' asked Kirby.

  'What about me?'

  'When do you take your leave?'

  Lambert slid down from the couch, 'I don't. There's still work to be done, John. I'm in charge of the force here; it's my job to see that it gets done.'

  'Tom, be sensible. After what you've been through, you more than anyone need a couple of days off.'

  'We all went through the same. What about Bell, what about Briggs? At least I'm still alive.'

  Kirby turned to Debbie. 'Can't you talk some sense into this hard-headed bastard?'

  Debbie smiled humourlessly and shook her head, 'I gave up trying to do that a long time ago.'

  Lambert extended a hand which Kirby shook warmly. 'Thanks for everything, John,' said the Inspector.

  'You can stop here as long as you like, you know,' Kirby told him.

  Lambert shook his head.

  'You're not going back home, then?'

  'Not after what happened there,' Lambert told him. 'I don't think either of us could face it again. There's a little place in Bramton, about twenty miles from here. I don't mind the journey every day. We couldn't stay here after what's happened.'

  Kirby nodded. Debbie got to her feet and joined her husband and they walked out to the car with Kirby at their side. He kissed Debbie lightly on the cheek and watched as both of them climbed into the Capri. Lambert rolled the window down and looked up at the doctor.

  'I'll be in touch,' he said, and started the engine. The Capri moved off and Kirby watched it disappear out of sight over the hill. He stood for long moments alone on the hillside, until at last the cool breeze drove him back inside. Into the warmth.

  * * *

  'Are you really going back straight away?' said Debbie, studying Lambert's profile as he drove.

  'What choice do I have?' he asked.

  'Can't you put someone else in charge for a couple of days? Christ, Tom, two days won't hurt will it?' There was a note of exasperation in her voice. He reached across and placed his hand on her thigh.

  'We'll see,' he said, smiling.

  They drove for a long way in silence, the policeman taking back roads, dirt tracks, anything he could to avoid the hustle and bustle of main roads. When they had reached a particularly secluded spot he stopped the car and got out. Debbie followed him. He walked away from the vehicle, catching her hand and pulling her close to him. They stood on the hilltop, the whole of Medworth and its surrounding countryside spread out before them. The air was fresh, filled with the scent of damp grass and wild flowers which added an occasional clutch of colour in the all encompassing greenery of the fields. Lambert bent and picked a single bloom, sniffing it before he handed it to Debbie. She kissed him, pulling him down on top of her in that damp field. Their hands sought each other's bodies, their tongues eager for the taste of the other's mouth.

  There, in that open field, high on the hill side, they made love with a passion they had never before experienced.

  High above the sun shone down, its warming rays covering them.

  * * *

  Lambert woke with a start and looked at his watch. He sat up, startled, shivering. Beside him, Debbie stirred and nestled closer to him for warmth. Lambert began to laugh. He laughed until the tears ran down his face. Debbie looked up at him, his own merriment contagious. She too began to laugh.

  She realized what he was laughing at. They were naked. Both of them, there on the hillside. They'd fallen asleep after their lovemaking, beneath the comforting warmth of the sun. She checked her own watch.

  Four-fifty.

  Still giggling, they dressed quickly and retreated to the safety of the car just as spots of rain began to fall from the rapidly darkening sky. They sat there for a moment, both now free of the tension which they had felt for so long.

  'Maybe just two days,' said Lambert, smiling.

  Debbie leaned across and kissed him.

  He started the car and drove off. It wasn't until they reached the centre of Medworth itself that she realized what he was doing. Even after all he had gone through, the memory was still with him. She realized he was heading for the cemetery. To take one last look at his brother's grave. Lambert still bore the sting of guilt, but now, somehow, he had managed to come to terms with it. He had to see Mike's grave once more.

  By the time they reached the cemetery, the sun had retreated from the sky, driven away by a combination of gathering storm clouds and the onset of night. Twilight hovered like a hawk in the darkening heavens.

  Lambert shut off the engine and looked across at Debbie.

  'Stay here.' He smiled, warmly.

  But she was already out' of the car, reaching for his hand, their feet crunching on the gravel of the driveway. An icy wind had sprung up and the first large spots of rain were beginning to fall as they left the driveway and walked the pathway which led to Mike's grave.

  A silent fork of lightning split the clouds and Debbie jumped. Lambert smiled and hugged her tighter as they walked. They finally reached the grave and stood beneath the big oak tree which hung over it, listening to the rain pelting down. Lambert read his brother's name and felt no pain, just a deep sense of loss. The wound was healing and he knew it. He had at last found the strength to come to terms with his brother's death. It was as if the destruction of the past two months had somehow put it into perspective. What was the phrase…?

  Just a drop in the ocean…

  They stood for long moments, close to one another, ignoring the rain which dripped onto them. Then finally, Lambert said,

  'Come on.'

  It was as they turned that they saw the figure emerge from the church.

  At first neither moved and it was obvious that the person hurrying across the cemetery had not seen them. The oak hid them from its view. Lambert squinted through the pouring rain to get a glimpse of the figure, which seemed to be dressed in a uniform of some sort. And it was carrying something…

  There was a blinding explosion of lightning and Lambert saw who the person was.

  'Oh my God,' he breathed, 'it's Briggs.'

  Debbie didn't understand but she felt a sudden, ungovernable terror rise in her.

  'He's got the medallion,' gasped Lambert, watching, riveted, as the Living dead thing shambled quickly towards the patch of waste ground a hundred yards away. Waste ground. Outside the bou
ndaries of church land.

  The realization hit them both like a steam hammer, but it was Debbie who spoke first.

  'Tom, the Unconsecrated Ground. Mathias's grave must be there.' She was pointing to the line of trees which marked the outskirts of the scrubland. Lambert was running, screaming at her over his shoulder to get back to the car, bellowing to make himself heard above the driving rain and persistent roaring of thunder. Debbie watched him for a second then she too ran, the breath rasping in her lungs, heading for the cemetery gates and the safety of the car.

  Lambert reached the crest of the ridge in time to see Briggs tearing clods of earth up with his hands, furiously digging deeper.

  The Inspector paused and pulled the Browning from his holster. He steadied himself, aimed and squeezed off a shot. It threw up a small geyser of earth a foot from the rapidly digging Briggs who paid it no attention. Lambert fired again.

  This time the shot sped past its target and disappeared into the distance.

  The rain seemed to have intensified and even the loud retort of the Browning was drowned by the persistent rumbling and crashing of thunder.

  The Briggs-thing felt its fingers connect with wood and it redoubled its efforts, tearing the coffin lid free and exposing the moultly skeleton of Mathias. Grinning madly, the living dead corpse picked up the medallion, holding it aloft for a second, then placed it carefully on the chest of the skeleton.

  Lambert fired a last time and ran towards the thing crouching in the centre of the waste ground.

  His final shot was on target. It powered into Briggs' side just below the right armpit, tearing through the rib cage and exploding from the other side to send a confetti of shattered bone and gobbets of lung tissue flying into the air. The impact toppled the creature but didn't kill it. Blood pumping from its wound, it staggered to its feet to meet Lambert's onslaught. The Inspector used the butt end of the pistol like a club, smashing it down on Briggs' head with a force that buckled the metal. The head split open and the creature keeled over.