by Craig Jones
‘Clear,’ shouted someone.
‘Turn around.’
‘Clear.’
‘Okay, put your clothes back on. Where have you come from and have you had any run-ins with those things?’
‘Usk. I’m from Usk,’ I said as I dressed myself, pleased not only to be clothed but also that there were no longer guns aimed at me. ‘The town was being torn to pieces. I’ve been chased but no direct contact.’
‘All right. Now go through to the pitch side. We may want to speak to you again about what you’ve seen, so don’t go too far.’
‘Sure.’
I stuffed my wallet back into my trouser pocket but kept my phone out and brought up Nick’s mobile number. I dialed it, expecting nothing, but as I walked through and took a seat in the bowl of the stadium, Nick answered.
‘Matt,’ he whispered. ‘You’ve got to help us.’
My blood ran cold at his tone. ‘Nick! Nick. Oh, no. Where are you?’
‘Keep your voice down. We’re in the loft. I turned it into a safe room. We’ve got food and water, but those things…they’re looking for us. It’s like they can smell us.’
‘Nick, I…’ There was a bang from Nick’s end of the line.
‘Shhh.’
Then nothing for over ten seconds.
I raised my eyes and I saw for the first time that the roof was closed over. No wonder Mitchell had been so convinced that this place was safe.
Then Nick came back. ‘One of them was on the roof. Please come and help us, please…’ and the line went dead. I shook my phone, not quite sure what I was expecting to happen. I called Nick again but got nothing. I looked at my phone’s screen and saw my signal had gone.
‘No…’
There was a sudden burst of sustained gunfire from the doorway behind me, followed by heavy footsteps, and then voices.
‘Drop back, drop back!’
More gunfire, a yelp of pain and then screams.
‘Close the door, close the door now.’
‘But, sir?’
‘Close the door now! That’s an order.’
Gunfire again and I jumped to my feet and turned to face the exit when, mixed in with the shots, came the unmistakeable growl of the zombies as they charged the stadium. The metal door slammed into place, the noise echoing around the concrete corridor, muting the continued gunfire outside.
From where I was stood I could not see the main door, but now a few soldiers came into my line of vision. Even though the door was closed, they still trained their weapons in that direction as the metal was pummelled with what I could only assume to be the fists of the dead outside.
‘It’ll hold,’ said the authoritative voice that had demanded the doors be closed in the first place.
And then, from a seemingly younger soldier, the worst words possible:
‘Sir, I’ve been bitten.’
The troops that I could see tensed and backed off. A couple of them dropped into firing position and they raised the sights of their guns up to eye level. The hammering at the door continued. More people crowded around where I stood.
‘Oh, please, please,’ came the younger voice, and then a louder, ‘No!’
‘I’m sorry, son.’
The echo of the discharged bullet rang around the stadium.
A chilling wave of silence fell in its wake. Everyone, soldiers and civilians alike, either flinched or stepped backwards. Some of the troops turned their back on the scene. Others leant their guns against the nearest wall and stepped out of sight, then reappeared, dragging the body of their fallen comrade across the grey floor, past the toilet where I had been checked for injuries.
The officer in charge, the one who had pulled the trigger, walked around the corner towards us. He was a short and squat man with thick forearms. Like the rest, he wore standard Army camouflage gear and a peaked hat that didn’t quite cover a scar that ran along his forehead.
‘Please get back from the doors. Find somewhere and settle yourselves in. Now!’
People, myself included, did as we were told immediately.
33
There must have been at least a thousand people within the lower levels of the stadium. Some were alone; others had grouped together. Only the occasional soldier prowled the upper levels. My stomach groaned and I realised I had not eaten in hours.
I was surprised I did not feel worse after the amount I had drunk the previous day, but I guessed that adrenaline was coursing through my body, chasing off all kinds of ills, except for the pain in my lower back. The muscles were still tight but they had not gone into spasm again and I counted that as a victory at this point.
I thought about Nick and the children, locked in their own attic, hoping that the zombies would move on, that they wouldn’t be discovered. How much food did they have? How frightened were the kids? What could I do to help? I sat straighter in my chair. What the heck was I doing here when my tank of a car and I could be helping them?
I could get to the Range Rover and get back to Usk. The journey between here and there would be relatively clear of incident. The difficult part would be getting out of the stadium and then the city. I couldn’t see the soldiers rolling the doors open for me to take off on my crusade while the creatures were trying to smash the same doors down to get to their next meal.
It was settled, then. I got up off my seat and walked through to the concrete alleyway. From the landing above I could hear irregular gunfire, single shots as opposed to the continuous rounds of automatic weapons. I could see a lone soldier at the top of the stairs poised at a shattered window. He held a sniper rifle in his hands as he looked out, scanning the approach to the stadium. He would watch for a while, then aim the weapon and fire off a shot. I hoped that he was clearing the area around my car and would inadvertently help me in my quest. I just had to come up with a way to get out.
I ducked inside the toilet, the same one where I had been forced to strip to prove I had not been bitten, and turned on the tap. I closed my eyes and splashed water on my face. I leant forward and let my forehead rest on the cold glass of the mirror. I could still hear the crack of the rifle from the first floor landing. I placed my hands on the wall either side of the mirror and pushed my face away. I continued to study the reflection, but I wasn’t looking at myself.
I was looking at the pile of heavy hardware and boxes that I could see over my right shoulder. The same pile I had laid my clothes on top of. I let my eyes run down the mirror until I could see the floor around the bottom of the military equipment. It wasn’t the same as the rest of the tiled area. I spun around and quickly dropped to my knees. It was a manhole.
Why had it been covered?
Because it clearly led somewhere outside of the stadium walls, and if the zombies got into the sewers, they might just find their way in. I wondered how many similar access points there were and if they’d all been covered over. The toilet I was in seemed like the one in most use so I would be stupid to try to shift the equipment here, but maybe there was another toilet, further along the corridor, that would allow for more privacy.
I exited the toilet and, instead of going left and back to my seat, I turned right, directly into the path of one of the soldiers.
‘Access out here is limited,’ he said gruffly. ‘Go back inside to your seat.’
I didn’t want to cause a scene or draw any more attention to myself, so I turned on my heels and went back inside to consider my options.
The banging on the roof started about ten minutes later.
It was sporadic but it echoed around the stadium and drew everyone’s attention. Watching those around me crane their necks towards the sound reminded me of the zombies outside the gate of our house in Usk when they looked up at the moon. A few people got to their feet, others pointed and the general hubbub of conversation grew until a number of people gathered into a group and then began to walk towards me. I couldn’t think of what they expected me to do, but I was mistaken.
They bypassed m
e and went straight out into the corridor, shouting that the soldiers needed to start doing something. Two troopers blocked their path, weapons drawn but pointed to the floor.
‘You need to go back inside. We’re dealing with enough without…’
‘They’re on the roof…’
‘What are we going to ..?’
‘Help us…’
They spoke over the solders before they had a chance to explain, and then the jostling started. I got to my feet and stood in the doorway. This could be just the distraction I needed. The lead soldier tried to stem the tide but one of the women was screaming right into his face, and he pushed her away as his colleague called for backup.
Pandemonium broke out as the woman fell to the floor, a cigarette lighter bouncing out of her pocket. I bent and picked it up immediately. One of the men shoved back at the soldier, who reacted by bringing his gun up to firing position, shouting for everyone to back off. The rest of the group did so but more people came running from the pitch towards the melee.
As the standoff intensified I took my chance. While more soldiers appeared from the corridor, I stepped to the left, out of their way, with my hands raised to shoulder level to indicate that I didn’t want any trouble. Despite the raised weapon, more pushing and shoving began, and as the reinforcements intervened, I slipped away along the corridor. If I was spotted now all I would have to say was that I was getting out of the way, that I wanted no part of what was going on. If I wasn’t, I would duck into the next toilets and see if there was a possibility of getting out through the drains.
The ladies’ toilet had been turned into the morgue. In the corner, covered with a thin sheet, was the body of the solider that had been euthanized. There was no chance of him coming back to attack anyone; the puddle of blood that had formed around his head was testimony to that.
I’d been right about the manhole though; it was there, covered in a stack of heavy, green plastic boxes. It took me nearly twenty minutes to re-stack them about a foot closer to the door, so they no longer blocked access to the metal plate. If anyone were to glance inside on a quick inspection, they would think that nothing had changed—or so I hoped.
I lifted the cover of the manhole and placed it to one side. I peered down and saw that there was a ladder built into one side of the concrete wall. The narrow tunnel below had a walkway on either side of a stream of filthy water. I took the lighter I’d acquired from my trouser pocket and placed my left foot on the first rung of the ladder. In a few careful steps I was down on the narrow walkway. I flicked the lighter to life and looked about me.
It was dark but I could make out enough that I’d be able to find my way around. I extinguished the flame and put the lighter back in my pocket beside my phone and placed one foot back onto the ladder, boosting myself up so I could quietly pull the cover into place above my head. I stepped back down and once again ignited the tiny flame.
I followed the dank passageway back under the way I’d come and shortly came to another set of steps that I confidently assumed led to the first toilets. I bypassed these and continued on until I reached the junction that I believed would take me out under the walls of the stadium and towards my car. My footsteps echoed dully around the narrow tunnel. I fanned the light further on ahead and saw that there was a warren of passages running under and around the stadium.
Stepping with more care to ensure I made next to no noise, I advanced towards what appeared to be a miniscule sliver of daylight permeating the darkness. I found the steps built into the wall and followed their path upwards. The rusted underside of the metal cover was directly above my head. I mounted the steps and, having boosted myself high enough to reach, pressed my left palm on the underside of the cover.
The single gunshots had now become louder. No more regular, but definitely louder.
I pushed up and the seal of the manhole popped as it freed itself from its moorings. I looked around in a complete circle, and I couldn’t believe it. I had come out no more than five metres from the Range Rover. There were no zombies in the immediate area, but I could see and hear them up at the entrance to the stadium. To get to me before I made it to the car, they would not only have to cover the distance but also navigate the turnstiles. Checking my pockets for my few meagre possessions, I went for it.
I drove my body upwards and the lid burst away from me. Using my arms and legs to wrench free of the hole, I powered out of the sewer, dropping to my knees immediately to replace the manhole cover.
Big mistake.
I straightened up and saw that two of the infected had heard the clunk of the cast iron, seen me and were now running headlong in my direction. I froze on the spot.
The two rapid gunshots brought the two zombies to the ground, their truly dead carcasses sliding to a halt just a yard from my toes.
‘MOVE!’
The shout had a dual effect. It got me on my toes towards the Range Rover but it also acted as an unwitting signal to the rest of the creatures to attack me. I tore the driver’s door open and threw myself in. My back screamed in pain but I had to ignore it as I grabbed for the keys and, finding them, turned them in the ignition. The engine burst to life and I jammed the gear stick into reverse as the hungry shrieks closed in on me.
The gunfire continued, but too few of the zombies fell. Way too few.
Without closing the door I accelerated backwards and away from the macabre masses. When I had put some distance between myself and them, I swung the steering wheel to the left and jabbed my foot down on the brake. The Range Rover pivoted across the road, and in the first act of the fastest turn I had ever made, my door slammed shut.
I selected first gear, hauling the wheel in the opposite direction, and drove as hard as I could away from the stadium. I sped towards the castle, moving up through the gears and, more importantly, away from the chasing creatures. As I approached the junction I boxed the gears from fourth to second, preparing to turn right, I looked in the mirror. There was no way they were going to catch me, no matter how hard they continued to charge. I gave them the finger and accelerated away along the deserted streets.
34
I stopped in the middle of the road, straddling the white lines, about a hundred metres short of the Welcome to Usk sign. I had phoned Nick as soon as I’d cleared an eerily quiet Cardiff. The relief in his voice that I was coming back for them and that there was a safe place to take his family made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. He’d told me that there’d been no further footsteps on his roof and that he’d not heard any noise from outside in quite some time.
I was unsure whether this was his mind playing tricks on him or Nick simply saying anything he could to guarantee that I would not back out. Either way, I did not care. I may have failed my brother but I was not going to fail those children and their father. I dug into my trouser pocket, pulled out my phone and brought up Nick’s number. As I called him up I hoped that the network was still up and running. I finally breathed out when my ear was filled with the ringing tone.
‘Matt?’ answered Nick in less than a whisper.
‘Yeah. I’m here. Anything?’
My eyes swept all around, double-checking every movement, every blade of grass that blew in the breeze.
‘Nothing. I swear. I wouldn’t risk bringing the kids out if they were still out there.’
‘Okay. I’ll drive down your street. I’ll beep twice as I pass, then I’ll turn around at the end and pull up outside your front door. I beep once and you come out. Any more than once and you get back upstairs.’
‘Got it.’
‘Get ready. I’m on my way.’
I hung up and slid the phone onto the passenger seat. My heart was trying to smash its way out of my chest. I waited for a few seconds and realised that the only thing that was going to stop the fireworks inside my ribs was to pull my car back onto the road towards Cardiff with Nick and his family inside. I slipped the Range Rover into first gear and pressed the accelerator.
Nic
k’s street was clear. It held twelve houses on each side of the road, each with a driveway and a wide front lawn. At the end was a turning area, which I was pleased to see was free of obstacles. Their house was the third on the right and as I drove past it I pumped the horn quickly, twice. I sped up, moving from second to third gear, swivelling my head from side to side until I braked, swinging the steering wheel to the right and coming to a stop, directly facing the final house on the street.
As I reversed I thought I saw a brief movement in the front lounge window, and I paused for a split second before re-engaging the forward gear, squinting into the darkness behind the glass.
A face smashed against the window, leaving a smear of blood. And then its eyes locked me in its dead, hungry stare and the thumping of my heart stopped for the two seconds it took me to get the heck out of there.
I raced towards Nick’s front door; I thought I heard glass shattering behind me. I swung left off the road, across his neighbour’s garden, and I hit the horn, one short but powerful blare, before I applied the brakes.
The front door burst open and Nick was right there, centred in the broken glass of the passenger window. I glanced up at my rearview mirror and slammed the car into reverse.
‘NO!’ screamed Nick.
I pushed my foot down on the gas pedal as far as it would go and released the clutch so the Range Rover shot backwards. The rear bumper smashed into the midsection of the zombie that had been running towards me. I heard a crunch, felt the Range Rover lurch with the impact and then I saw, in the mirror, the creature hit the deck and slide.
I braked again but I was primed and ready to run it down and crush the life out of it. I watched as the monster tried to get up, but its shattered legs would not hold its weight. Instead it began to drag itself in my direction. It was moving too slow to catch us.
