by David Moody
The features of the lower part of its face were virtually indistinguishable. The hole where its mouth should have been was double normal size. Its jawbone hung down, looking as if it had been ripped away from one side of its head. The corpse’s dark, empty eyes stared unblinking into the headlights of the motorhome.
‘They’re moving,’ whispered Emma, forcing herself to look anywhere but directly at the body in front of them.
Donna looked up and then gently accelerated, hoping that the movement of the motorhome might be enough to dislodge the body and push it to one side. When after a couple of seconds it hadn’t moved, she simply pressed her foot down hard and crushed the obnoxious, disease-ridden thing beneath the wheels of her vehicle.
Following the prison truck and the personnel carrier, Donna carefully steered the motorhome through the gate and turned right onto a narrow tarmac track.
9
The convoy pushed on through the early evening and into the night, following the twisting road through the endless darkness, not knowing where it would eventually take them.
The nervous silence in the personnel carrier was uncomfortable and oppressive and yet was expected and understood. Its nine passengers were all struggling and suffering for a number of reasons. Each person was individually as anxious and uncertain as the next. Cooper kept his mind occupied by watching the road ahead constantly, scanning from side to side for bodies and hoping to find somewhere where they could stop for a while and catch their breath. They had nothing with them -
no food, water, weapons or anything - and it was obvious that getting hold of some supplies whilst keeping safe had to be their first priority. He had known it was going to be like this if they’d needed to leave the base at speed. He’d intended stockpiling supplies in readiness for such an eventuality. The fact that the military had provided them with meagre rations and had maintained strict control over their equipment had made it impossible for him to build up any reserves. They’d hardly had enough to live on, never mind any to save.
In the back of the vehicle Michael stared at one of the soldiers leaning against the door. The soldier was sobbing.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked. The suited figure turned its head and looked at him.
‘Kelly Harcourt,’ she replied. Michael was surprised although he knew he shouldn’t have been. Under all the battlefield dirt and the heavy protective suit he’d assumed that the trooper was male. Although it was dark and most of her face was hidden by her cumbersome breathing apparatus, he could still see her eyes, her nose and the top part of her mouth. She looked too young to be in uniform.
‘And is this the first time you’d been above ground?’
She nodded.
‘They told us what we were going to see,’ she said quietly, ‘but I never expected it to be like this. I didn’t think that…’
He shook his head.
‘Believe me,’ he sighed, ‘whatever they told you, it’s worse. You haven’t seen anything yet.’
As quickly as it had begun the exchange ended. Michael regretted sounding so negative, but how else could he be?
His awkward attempt to make conversation with the soldier had been instinctive and natural, but when he couldn’t think of anything more positive to say he instead chose to say nothing. What could he possibly tell her that would make any difference to the hopelessness of her position? He couldn’t help her or reassure her or comfort her. He couldn’t make any promises about her safety or her health or security. He couldn’t really tell her anything and that, he decided, was the hardest and most frustrating part of all.
Now that they were outside and unprotected again, he truly understood just how important the military base could (and should) have been. He thought about the different places where he’d spent any length of time over the last six weeks
- the community centre back in Northwich, Penn Farm and now the base - none of them had been able to provide the shelter and protection he’d craved and expected. Nowhere had been strong enough. Filled with a sudden gut-wrenching emptiness, Michael realised that in spite of his seemingly constant efforts, he had achieved nothing since the nightmare had begun. Okay, so he was still alive and in relatively good physical condition, but he was as vulnerable, cold, anxious, tired, disorientated, unnerved and helpless now as he’d been on the very first day.
Was this how it was always going to be?
Progress along debris-strewn roads was slow. The landscape through which they cautiously moved was relentlessly dark and bleak with just about the only movement coming from those random bodies quick enough to react to the noise and light produced by the three vehicle convoy. Almost an hour and a half after their unplanned and uncoordinated journey had begun, the survivors skirted round the furthest edge of relatively small town and then came upon a collection of large, nondescript buildings sited just off the main road. The soldier driving the personnel carrier slowed down. Some kind of industrial estate, when they looked deeper into the shadows they were able to make out a cinema, a restaurant, a call centre, office blocks and various dilapidated factories and several other shells of buildings in various stages of construction or demolition. It appeared that the area had been in the middle of a huge regeneration project when the project managers, the architects, the backers, the bankers, the construction workers and everyone else involved in the place had died.
Michael looked around hopefully. There didn’t seem to be too many bodies around, perhaps because of the relatively close proximity of the underground base. Thousands of corpses had been drawn to the bunker over several weeks.
Because so many of them had ended up around the base, it stood to reason that the dead population of the surrounding areas might well have been substantially reduced. Although they may return in time, for the moment Michael guessed that they were still being drawn towards the mayhem at the base that the survivors had just left behind.
‘Let’s try here,’ he suggested, leaning towards Cooper and the driver at the front of the vehicle.
The driver cautiously led the convoy deeper into the estate, following a winding road which connected a number of car parks the size of football pitches, largely empty save for the odd abandoned (and numerous crashed) vehicles.
He was about to pull up alongside a dark and apparently lifeless restaurant when Cooper made a suggestion.
‘Head for the cinema,’ he said quietly. ‘Everything happened early in the day. No-one would have been there when it started.’
His reasoning was sound. Most people seemed to have been killed sometime between eight and nine o’clock in the morning - long before the cinema would have been open for business. If there were any bodies inside, he thought, then at most there should only have been a few staff or cleaners.
‘Go round the back,’ Michael said, ‘just keep going for a minute.’ He followed the logic of Cooper’s train of thought but he wasn’t entirely convinced. The cinema may well have been quiet, but it was also designed to be dark and enclosed and the entrances and exits within each individual theatre would be limited. He was apprehensive. He didn’t want to make the wrong decision and find himself trapped in such a confined and restrictive environment. ‘Hold on,’ he said, looking up and over to his left, ‘what about that place?’
Michael gestured beyond the cinema towards a warehouse-sized shop. The driver kept moving forward, swerving instinctively but unnecessarily around three clumsy, lurching bodies which tripped out of the shadows.
The warehouse was in the furthest corner of the estate and was bordered on its left side and along the back by a high chain-link fence. Beyond the fence were trees. As they approached Cooper noticed a cordoned-off loading bay nestled against the side of the building.
‘Over there,’ he said. ‘Go through the gate.’
The driver did as instructed, carefully guiding the personnel carrier into the enclosed area. Still close behind, the prison truck and the motorhome both followed. The personnel carrier came to a sudden, jerking stop and,
feeling sick through a combination of nerves and the long, rough journey, Michael clambered out quickly and jogged across the loading area. Seconds later Cooper was with him and, between them, they pulled shut a heavy gate and secured it, cutting them off from the rest of the estate. A lone body had managed to get through. Cooper grabbed its neck and smashed its head repeatedly against the back of the nearby prison truck until it fell twitching to the ground.
‘Let’s get everyone inside,’ Michael suggested. ‘If we get under cover quickly enough then we might not attract very many of them. We might even be able to spend the night here if we can…’
A sudden flurry of movement to his right distracted him.
Instantly ready to batter and beat away another abhorrent body, he stopped when he saw that it was Emma. She threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, knocking him off-balance.
‘Couldn’t see you back there,’ she whispered. ‘I looked but I couldn’t see you. I didn’t know if you were here or whether you’d…’
‘We haven’t got time for this,’ Donna hissed disapprovingly. ‘Get out of sight for Christ’s sake.’
The survivors and soldiers nervously emptied out of their respective vehicles and bustled into the dark building.
Stonehouse, the highest ranking of the four soldiers who had travelled with them, led the way in through a side entrance which had been propped open for the last seven and a half weeks by the atrophied right leg of a dead member of staff. He held his rifle out in front of him, ready to fire but not sure what good it would do if he did. The group followed behind in a close but uncoordinated bunch and were almost completely silent until Jack Baxter spoke.
‘We should make a bit of noise,’ he whispered, ‘just in case there’s any of them in here. We should try and get them to come out of the shadows.’
‘It’s all bloody shadows in here, Jack,’ Michael mumbled, looking around and trying to make sense of their dark and dismal surroundings. They seemed to be in a household store of sorts and they were presently standing in the middle of the electrical department. To their right was a wall of depressingly dark and dead television screens, to their left a similarly dead and powerless display of stereo equipment.
The soldier leading the group stopped moving.
‘So what do we do now?’ he asked.
‘Get some bloody light in here for a start,’ a voice from the darkness replied. Michael recognised it as belonging to Peter Guest, a quiet whisper of a man who generally kept himself to himself and to whom he had only spoken a handful of times.
‘There’s bound to be something in here we can use,’
Donna said hopefully as she looked round through the gloom. She could hear movement nearby and, although she was almost completely certain that it was another one of her group she could hear, she wasn’t totally sure.
Standing just to the side of Stonehouse, Phil Croft raised his cigarette lighter to his face, the dancing orange flame burning a bright hole in the darkness. Scrambling through the shop debris towards the light with suddenly increased speed, a body lurched at Stonehouse, knocking him off-balance and pushing him back into the huddled group of survivors. Instinctively the soldier picked himself back up, shoved the corpse back on its already unsteady feet, and then lifted his rifle and shot the pitiful creature through the head. It dropped heavily to the ground at his feet, its face a bloody mass of putrefied flesh and splintered bone.
‘You bloody idiot,’ Donna hissed. ‘Christ, make some more noise why don’t you? We’d better get some damn light sorted out now because every dead body in this fucking place will be on its way over to us.’
‘Have you stopped to wonder why none of us bother carrying guns?’ Baxter spat. ‘A single shot might take one of them out, but there are thousands of the bloody things, and the noise you make getting rid of one will bring a hundred of them sniffing round you.’
Knowing that their words had just caused panic within the group of anxious survivors, Donna began to search the nearby shelves for something to illuminate the dark building. Others followed her lead. Kelly Harcourt, the soldier Michael had spoken to earlier, disappeared back outside and then returned with a handful of torches from the personnel carrier.
‘Why the hell didn’t you bring them in with you in the first place?’ Donna snapped, snatching one of the torches from her.
‘Give her a break,’ Baxter sighed as he peered nervously into the darkness.
The torches were handed round and several circles of bright light were shone around the vast shop floor. They heard the clattering of a display unit being knocked over as at least one more clumsy body became aware of their presence and began to stumble over towards them.
‘Let’s stay here,’ whispered Michael. ‘It’ll be easier if we stay in one place and wait for them to come to us.’
‘How long do we wait?’ a voice from behind him asked.
‘As long as we have to,’ he answered back. ‘Why? You got anything better to do?’
The first body lumbered into view. Moving with surprising speed and dragging one useless foot behind, the creature was illuminated by the light from Donna’s torch.
Its face (as much of its face that remained intact) was blue-grey and waxy in appearance with dried, parchment-like skin clinging to its skull, making it appear hollow and frail.
It wore the ragged remnants of a store attendant’s uniform - a blue shirt (with a collar that now appeared several sizes too big because of the body’s emaciation) and a red tie.
Donna found the fact that the body was still wearing a tie bizarre. It even had a name badge pinned to its shirt pocket.
The name had been obscured by mould and dribbles of blood and other bodily discharges which had dripped down from its decaying face over time. Cooper disposed of the body by swinging a fire extinguisher through the air and virtually knocking its listless head from its shoulders. It collapsed to the ground as three more bodies lumbered awkwardly into view.
Half an hour was sufficient time to enable the survivors to rid themselves of the last bodies and dispose of them in a heap outdoors. Pleased to finally be occupied for a while, many of the survivors then busied themselves around the building, collecting anything they thought might prove useful. The bodies outside had yet to materialise in the vast numbers the group had come to expect. When the hordes of corpses had failed to appear a handful of people had ventured out into the open for a few risk-filled minutes and gathered all the edible food and drink they could find from the kitchen of the restaurant next door and the concessions stand in the foyer of the cinema opposite. Mostly sweets, chocolate and tinned goods, it was better than nothing. By the time the men and women who had gone outside were safely back in the warehouse there were around twenty bodies gathered around the front of the building and half as many again clattering against the fence surrounding the loading bay, nothing like the massive numbers they were used to.
‘They’re not a problem when there’s only a few of them,’ Cooper explained, trying to educate Stonehouse.
‘Problem is that one of them will inevitably attract another and so on and so on until you’ve got hundreds to deal with.
And there are thousands upon thousands of the fuckers out there.’
Stonehouse sat opposite Cooper, slumped dejectedly in a chair in the area of the store where customers would previously have sat with staff and applied for credit. Baxter sat alongside them. Donna, Emma and Michael were also nearby, as were several other survivors. A short distance away the three other soldiers sat in silence on a pile of large cushions and garishly coloured beanbags which looked like they had originally been designed for use in children’s bedrooms.
‘So what happens next?’ Stonehouse asked. Baxter looked at him with sadness and pity, trying to imagine how the soldier must have been feeling, trapped in his uncomfortable protective suit, knowing that to take it off would almost certainly result in a quick, painful and instant death. He imagined that he himself might have been able t
o handle it for a few hours, maybe even a couple of days, but the four soldiers now travelling with them would have to exist like this indefinitely. He didn’t know how they’d be able to eat, drink or do anything else. Surely it would only be a matter of time before they had no option but to take off their suits. It was inevitable. Christ, whether they realised it or not (and he was pretty sure they did), they were just waiting to die.
‘I don’t know,’ Cooper replied, answering the soldier’s question. ‘We need to stop here for as long as it’s safe. We need to know exactly who and what we’ve got here. There are a lot of people here who need to…’
‘Then what?’ the soldier pressed, interrupting. He wasn’t interested in hearing about the state of mind of any of the survivors. Cooper shrugged his shoulders.
‘We move on I suppose.’
‘Where to?’
‘How the hell am I supposed to know?’ he sighed.
‘Bloody hell, I don’t know.’
‘Problem is,’ Baxter said quietly, ‘nowhere’s safe anymore. Christ, you lot with your bloody guns and your tanks and everything else couldn’t look after yourselves, could you? What hope do you think we’ve got?’
Cooper looked up at him and slowly shook his head.
‘Come on, we’ve talked about this a hundred bloody times already, Jack,’ he said before turning back to face the soldier again. ‘The bodies are rotting. Although they’re more controlled than they were before, the fact is they’re still decaying.’ He turned to face Stonehouse again. ‘We reckon it’s not going to be too long before they reach the point when they’re not able to function.’
‘And how long do you think that’s going to be?’
‘Just a few more months now.’
‘A few more months? Fucking hell, are we supposed to sit here like this for a few months?’
‘You might have to. Could you last that long?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
The soldier thought for a moment.
‘Doesn’t look like we’ve got any option but to try and get back to the base,’ he replied, his voice tired and slow.
