by Aline Riva
“Hurry up!” Emma urged.
He shook his head.
“Everyone is gone. I want to stay and fight.”
Emma indicated to the empty space beside the fishing boat.
“The other boat is gone! The kids are gone too! Serena made it! Your wife is alive!”
A spark of hope ignited in his eyes just as the first of the oncoming horde reached out and he turned and brought the cleaver down hard, cutting off a hand and then slicing the throat of the corpse. The others were advancing quickly now as he jumped onboard and Marc dashed to the cabin and raised the anchor then started up the engine.
The dead were staggering forward, swamping the dock and stepping into water as the boat shifted away. Corpses were sinking then rising with the tide as they hunted their prey, but the engine was running and the boat had turned, then it moved out from the dock, picking up speed as it headed for open water and far from the island of Wolfsheer, a place that had once been a safe haven - now an island that was home to the undead.
Chapter 12
As the boat cut through the water, no sound could be heard but the engine, the movement of calm sea and the cry of gulls overhead in clear skies. The afternoon sun was starting to lower, the sea breeze took off the heat of the day, but all survivors onboard were silent.
Marc was watching the horizon. Land was in sight, the same shores that Emma had visited, that place crawling with undead, a whole town of them – and it didn't seem anywhere else would be any safer. He thought of the oil rig and recalled the ball of orange flame as it had exploded. That had been five years back, all that was left now would be a monster of twisted metal looking stark on the horizon like a beast rising from the deep. The sea had handed over its shelter to the undead. Now the island was lost, too...The only place to go was back to the mainland.
“Marc, I have an idea....”
He turned his head and saw Alex standing beside him. He was still spattered with blood from the battle and had a crazy hint in his eyes that suggested any second he was about to launch into a lament about wishing they could all sprout wings and join the gulls, for there were no zombies up in the air...
“Not now,” he said wearily.
“I was going to suggest a destination.”
“Circus?” asked Parsons as he came over to join them.
“Yes,” Alex replied, “We need to stay out here, far from the coast and travel down that way,” he gestured with a sweeping movement of his hand, “For around sixty miles. Then I suggest we go to the mainland, find a quiet shore and weigh anchor. Mist Point is a good place – I've passed it several times on my travels, its a small sea side village and I've never seen a trace of the undead when passing by road. We can take a suitable vehicle and I can direct us to Circus. I know the clear routes.”
Marc exchanged a glance with Parsons, who nodded.
“We can't stay on the boat forever and we have a wounded man who needs help, we have to go to shore,” he agreed.
“Fear not when we reach Circus,” Alex added, “I know a safe way in.”
“And then what?” Marc asked.
“We hope for the best,” Alex replied, “It's a large town... new faces will easily blend in. We just have to be careful.”
“I'm sure we do,” Parsons said, then he stepped out of the cabin and went over to the side of the boat, leaning on it as he scanned the sea and his heart sank. All the time they been at sea, he had searched the waves for the other boat – but it was nowhere to be seen. He reminded himself that Serena and the children had got away, and that Serena would have taken a gun with her. They were safe, they had to be – he could not bear to live with any other possibility... He turned his head and looked to Emma, who was sitting on the deck talking to Zodiac. Vicki was sitting in silence, resting against the side of the boat with her eyes closed as if she wished she could shut out the horror of all that had happened as easily as closing her eyes to the light of day.
“We're heading in, sixty miles down the coast,” Parsons said to Emma, “Then we're on the road. Alex is taking us to Circus.”
Emma nodded, then carried on talking to Zodiac, reassuring him the other children would be fine - they were far from danger, she promised, then she forced a smile as the boy nodded in agreement.
Below decks in a small accommodation area, Christian had been laid out on a bed. His eyes were barely open and his breathing was shallow. His upper body was bathed in sweat and as the wound was cleaned and then dressed the world was a blur of pain.
“Keep still,” said a familiar voice as he taped the dressing to his shoulder, “I spent months in your care after I was pulled from the water. I'm not claiming to have learned much about medicine or surgery -yet - but I know what I went through and what you did to fix me. Now I'm going to try and do the same for you – at least until we reach the shore and find some help. You've got five days... and you will make it even if I have to cut that bite out myself! I didn't pull you out of that rock pool and save you from drowning to have you die on me now, not after all this effort on my part! Is the pain relief kicking in?”
The pain was easing up as the world stopped blurring and Christian blinked. He looked up to see Greg standing over him.
“Sit up,” Greg said, and reached for him, pulling him into a sitting position as his body ached and his shoulder throbbed.
“Help me out,” Greg added, “Put this shirt on, come on Christian, you're not a child, you can still dress yourself.”
Christian ignored flickers of pain that made him run with sweat as he put on a t shirt, Greg helped with his injured arm and then Christian managed the other, and pulled the t shirt down straight.
“That's better,” Greg said, “You need to keep warm and you couldn't wear the other one – full of zombie spit and germs, I threw it over the side of the boat!”
Now he was sitting up and the pain was held at bay, Christian laughed as he ran his fingers through sweat dampened hair.
“Spit and germs? They transmit the virus through biting!”
Greg chuckled.
“I'm not the expert on this, you are...” then his smile faded. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him intently.
“Here's the deal. Once you get that bite cut out, I want you to teach me everything you know. I want to learn how to save lives. You saved mine, let me give something back?”
He looked at him hopefully.
“If I make it, yes I'll teach you,” he replied.
“By the way,” Greg added casually, “I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life five years ago... But thanks, I am grateful.”
A wave of emotion hit him as Christian looked at Greg and recalled their bitter falling out.
“About the fight we had -”
“No,” Greg held his hand up to silence him, “That's in the past. Let's forget about it and move on, starting with you doing what I say and resting until we reach the shore, okay?”
“Deal,” Christian replied, then he noticed Greg was wearing his long leather coat, but was shirtless beneath it.
“Where's your t shirt?” he asked.
Greg got up from the bed and headed for the door.
“I took it off and gave it to you, there's no need to thank me. See you when we reach the shore,” Greg replied, then he left the room and closed the door behind him.
Christian stared after him in utter surprise: When he had been taken down by the creature, he had not expected to survive. Neither had he expected to be saved or had his wound dressed, and the biggest shock of all was knowing it was Greg who had saved him...
“Thanks, mate...” he said quietly as the bite to his shoulder vaguely throbbed and the boat moved onwards, heading up the coast to its destination.
Alex guided the way up the coast. When the bay came into view and they headed in, there was not a living soul nor a stumbling corpse in sight. They left the boat at the dock and Alex and Marc led the way, as Greg and Emma supported the injured doctor and Zodiac walked b
eside Vicki. Then Parsons caught up with Alex and Marc, asked questions about Circus and got frustratingly vague answers filled with praise for the place. Then they began the search for a suitable vehicle.
On the road near the dock, cars were scattered, some were crashed, others long abandoned, here and there skeletal remains were visible through dirty windows. In other cars, doors were open, old blood stains filled the interior and remains of corpse attack victims were draped across seats, looking ugly with their skeletal faces frozen in a lasting scream.
“It's like a graveyard,” Alex said as he kept a tight hold on his weapon and looked past the road to the upward climb that led into the village and beyond.
“I don't think anyone had time to get out,” Marc replied, “But this is a small place and I hear nothing and see nothing to suggest those creatures are lurking. I think this place was attacked early on. They fed and moved on.”
“I hope you're right,” he replied.
Then Parsons indicated up the road to a small turning.
“I'm going to check out the vehicles... Wait here. If this goes wrong, Marc I want you to be my back up. Everyone else stays here in the group.”
The others nodded in agreement and Parsons walked off.
As they stood together on the road and Christian's body sagged and Greg and Emma held him up, Zodiac spoke up.
“What should we do if our journey exceeds five days and Christian becomes a zombie?”
They both looked at him as Christian, once again in too much pain to bear much movement, simply gave a groan.
“Don't think like that,” Greg replied, glancing over his shoulder and giving his son a warning look, “Christian doesn't need to hear that sort of talk. We will get him help in time, he's not going to turn into one of those things. Put that worry out of your mind.”
Zodiac read the look in his father's eyes and nodded, saying no more.
Then the sound of an engine broke the ghostly silence and they turned to see a most welcome sight: Parsons had found a mini bus. He drove up the street and opened up the door and Alex and Marc stood either side of the bus, watching for something deadly to stumble out of the silence, as the others hastily boarded. But still no undead emerged, and once the others were safely on board and Christian had been laid on the back seat where he was grateful to rest, they boarded and the doors closed and Parsons took the bus away from the dock, heading uphill and through a ghostly, smashed up village where no life remained and no undead lurked in the shadows.
The road out of town was clear, they came up against an obstacle on leaving the village, taking a tight and careful turn around a large heap of crashed vehicles, but after that the road was long and straight and uncluttered, heading for the motorway. Alex sat in the seat behind Parsons, watching the road and giving directions. The route remained clear despite the many twists and turns and detours.
By nightfall, they found an open park with a large tennis court surrounded by wire fencing, and Parsons drove through the open gates, parked the bus then got out and locked the gate behind them. They slept in the bus all night, with Marc and Parsons taking turn on watch. By early morning Marc had given in to the early morning chill, got back on the bus and laid his weapon down and closed his eyes.
Zodiac woke first.
He scrambled off his seat and went over to his father, who sat in the row behind the back of the bus where Christian was sleeping deeply.
“Daddy!” he shook the sleeve of his coat.
Greg woke up sharply, sitting upright and running his fingers through untidy hair as he blinked away sleep.
“What?” he said in alarm.
“They're coming,” was all his son said in reply as he stood there, his translucent eyes wide with fear.
“Get up!” Greg yelled, waking the rest of the occupants of the bus with a sharp jolt.
“What the hell -” Parsons began as he woke up startled in the driving seat and the others looked back at Greg in confusion.
“There's nothing here!” Vicki exclaimed as she looked out the window, “Nothing, Greg!”
“He can hear them before we can!” he said urgently, “He did it on the island, no one listened! Please, listen to my son!”
“Let's move out,” Parsons said, turning the key and starting the engine.
Marc got up and opened the door, jumped down from the bus and headed over to the gates.
“Be careful!” Vicki called to him.
“Don't worry about me!” he replied, moving quickly as he dragged the bolts back and dragged open the gates. It was then he saw them further up the road, in the distance - many of them. The undead were staggering towards the tennis court in heavy numbers. Now everyone sat in the bus could see it too. Marc turned back, ran for the open door, jumped on board and Parsons activated a switch and the door closed.
“Hang on,” Parsons said as he set his sights on the bodies lumbering towards them, “This will be a rough ride!”
The bus began to gather speed. Zodiac was seated next to his father, he had his eyes closed and his hands over his ears and his face against his coat as Greg put a protective arm around his son. Vicki and Emma were strapped in and holding on to the seats, Marc had a weapon ready in the event of any of the creatures breaking a window. Alex glanced at Marc and then grabbed his own gun, ready for the worst. All occupants of the bus were watching the road as the speed picked up, the vehicle heading straight for the corpses that stood in their way.
As the bus hit the corpses at speed the vehicle jolted, feeling the impact of each smash as body after body hit the windscreen and splashed it with blood, the wheels ran over the bodies on the ground, those caught to the sides were dragged under or dismembered on impact. By the time they were clear of the horde, the windscreen wipers were dashing back and forth, clearing away the blood from the now cracked glass. Then the bloodstained vehicle went on its way, heading along a clear route that led to a section of motorway where no wrecks or corpses blocked their path.
They drove for hours, with Alex reassuring Parsons this was the way to Circus. It was a long way, but the longest way around was safest, he had explained. By now he had earned their trust – the route was indeed clear and the journey ahead was long, but the threat of the undead was distant thanks to his memory for the safe roads that led him back to the place he called home.
It was a long, seemingly unending drive. The motion of the vehicle, now the painful jolts and collisions had stopped, was soothing to Christian as he lay on the back seat and the sensation of the wheels passing over smooth road surface eased him back into a deep sleep, allowing him to escape from the pain that had slowly crept back into his shoulder.
When he awoke, it was nightfall. The lights were on in the bus but it was pitch dark outside. He turned his face to the window to see a campfire glowing. Marc and Parsons were patrolling a small, empty car park.
“Hurry up with that fire,” Emma called out, “If anything is out there, a fire is the last thing we need, it will lead them straight to us!”
Christian sat up feeling stiff as his shoulder ached. He took off his borrowed shirt and cautiously touched at the blood soaked dressing. He was aware his temperature was burning up too, a sure sign that the infection was taking hold in the wound, increasing his chances of all the complications Greg had suffered five years before. He focussed on the view from the window to try and distract his thoughts from all that terrified him:
The others were sitting around the fire, there were discarded cans of soup nearby and a small pot over the flames, steam rose and Emma was passing around plastic cups and saying again that the fire needed to be put out soon. Clearly they had found a safe place and a food source... He blinked, looking into the darkness beyond the car park and made out the shape of a building with a darkened sign above it – they had found a small supermarket that thankfully wasn't picked clean...
Greg was not sitting with the others. He stood there, cutting a dramatic figure by firelight, his silhouette tall and slender i
n his long leather coat as the breeze blew it back, making it swish and flap like the cloak of a vampire in an old movie. He was leaning over the fire, there was a blade in his hand and it caught on the firelight as he held the tip in the orange flame, then he drew it out again. He turned to Emma, who rose from her seat and together they walked towards the bus. Suddenly Christian was thrown into panic as he realised what he had just seen: Greg had been sterilising that blade over an open flame...
“No, no...” he said breathlessly, “You're not a doctor, Greg!”
Then Greg got on to the bus followed by Emma and they made their way down to the back, joining him as Christian looked up at him in terror.
“You are not qualified to do this!”
Greg looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes and stubble on his face from the days spent on the road.
“I know that,” he replied, “But we don't have a choice.”
He reached over and pulled the dressing away from Christian's shoulder. As Christian looked at the bite, he saw the edges had darkened to black.
“I'll give you something for the pain,” Greg promised, then as he eased him down on to the seat Christian's body went limp with fear as all thoughts of fighting back drained from him thanks to his weakened state.
Emma laid a cloth on the floor and opened up the medical bag. Greg knelt on the floor of the bus, putting him at a workable level to the wound.
“You'll thank me later,” he said, and jabbed a needle into the bite wound.
Christian gave a yell. The others around the campfire looked around, then looked away, knowing he would soon be screaming much louder...
Greg picked up the knife, the blade hovered above the wound. Then he glanced towards the floor and spoke to Emma.
