by James King
The roar of the helicopter became louder yet as it hovered above the house. A moment passed and then, outside the window, lowering himself like a human spider on a thread, a soldier appeared. Ted could see that he had a kind of harness fitted to him, clips dangling in front.
“First one!” the soldier shouted through the open window.
“You,” said Ted, gesturing to Jenny, “go now, quickly!”
With a moan of despair and terror, Jenny started forward. But, before she approached the window, she stepped up to Ted, threw he arms around him, and planted a brief kiss on his cheek. Then she turned and went across to the window.
“Oh shit...” she said, “what the hell do I do?”
“Climb onto the window sill!” the soldier shouted, “put your arms around me, then I’ll fasten the clips around you.”
“Oh God,” Jenny moaned, “this is so fucked up...”
Trembling, Jenny climbed up onto the window sill. She perched there for a moment, squatting, clinging white-knuckled to the window frame as though she didn’t dare to move. But then, with a thin and terrified squeal, she groped forward to the soldier, first one arm, and then the other, snaking around his neck, her feet still perched on the window sill. Quickly, with efficient professional speed, the soldier fastened the clips around her and then they were pulled out of the window and upward. For a moment, Ted had the surreal vision of the two people swaying and dangling in the air, while beneath them, hands groped upward, clutching, clawing; ravenous. Then they were gone.
“Alright,” Ted said, glancing around at Dave, “you next.”
Dave gazed despairingly around the room. Then he fixed Ted with a hard gaze.
“I hate this,” Dave said at last, “leaving you here like this.”
Ted shrugged, “I know how you feel. But sometimes, it has to be done...”
Dave nodded miserably. “They’ll come back though,” Dave said, hope suddenly bright in his voice, “when they’ve dropped us off to wherever they’re taking us. They’ll come back for you. Shit – I’ll bloody make them come back if I have to fly the chopper myself.”
Ted offered a smile that felt haggard on his face.
“Yes...” he said, and his voice sounded infinitely tired, “...maybe they’ll come back.”
Like we came back for Tommy Landsdowne... Ted thought, and found his bullet riddled body...
And no sooner had that thought formed, than a loud crash came from the bedroom door. Ted glanced in that direction, in time to see the wardrobe shunted forward, and a gap of about a foot appear between the door frame and the opened door. Pale hands appeared within the gap, groping, testing, seeking, pushing forward, determined. This time they would not be denied. This time their invasion would be complete. There were only minutes left now. Perhaps even seconds.
“Oh shit - ,” Dave began, “– Ted - !”
“Get up onto the window sill,” Ted shouted.
“But - ,”
“NOW!”
With a despairing groan, Dave turned and began to climb up onto the window sill just as Jenny had done. Ted whirled his gun around, dropped to one knee ignoring its arthritic protest, and aimed at the door. He didn’t have to wait long for his enemy to appear. They shoved the door until it was wider than a foot, and then they staggered in through the gap, pale faced, blank eyed, slack jawed, drooling, moaning, relentless. Ted aimed and blasted the first that staggered in, its head exploding, painting the walls, adding to the existing bloodbath. Its body tottered, fell thumping to the carpet, while the one that had been behind it stumbled over it. Hastily Ted scrabbled in the cartridge box, reloaded, aimed, fired again. Of course, this wouldn’t stop them. But it bought time. Seconds now. Seconds were all they had.
“TED!” Dave shouted. Ted risked a glance over his shoulder toward the window. He saw that the soldier had returned, Dave was clinging to him and buckles were secure. “TED – WE’LL BE BACK. I PROMISE WE’LL BE BACK – I PROMISE –,”
But then he was lifted up and through the window, dangling, his life spared only by a single rope and the soldier he was buckled to. And then they were gone, and it was only sky out there, and the frenzied roar of the helicopter. And then that roar too lessened, diminished, disappearing into the cavern of the sky.
Ted looked back toward the doorway. It had completely surrendered now, the door wide, the wardrobe fallen. No door anymore, no barricade, no barrier at all between him and them. And beyond the door, there was dozens, hundreds, pushing forward, eager, keen, grasping and slavering. Even if he had a machine gun, he could not stop this ravening hoard. And so, Ted Hanaghan prepared his final escape.
He loaded the gun with its final set of cartridges. He snapped the chamber closed. Then, carefully, he positioned the butt on the floor and the muzzle beneath his chin. The aim must be perfect. The bullet must go directly through the brain. One shot, one chance. His finger snaked around the trigger.
But for a brief moment he paused. He breathed in his last breaths, tainted though they were by the stench of death. He gazed upon his final sunlight, so beautiful even as it revealed such horror. He felt his heart crash in his chest, an old and faithful friend that had preserved him through long years. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I am about to do, but sometimes... sometimes you just have no choice... and he thought about Tommy Landsdowne, dead upon the hill. And then he thought about all his comrades who had fallen on the field of battle so many years ago. They’d had less chance than he. He gave final thanks for all he’d had.
And then, as pale, grasping, ravenous hands were less than an inch from him, his finger squeezed the trigger.
He died like a soldier.
EPILOGUE
The helicopter swept across the landscape at about five hundred feet and about a hundred miles per hour. Dave sat by the window and gazed down at what lay below. The dead had claimed the land utterly now: thousands, millions of them covering the landscape in a seething rotting mass. And, from out of this throng jutted the shells of ruined buildings, the colossal flames of huge fires, and the ink black plumes of deadly smoke that wafted high into the atmosphere; darkening the sun to an apocalyptic shade. There was no respite, no relief, no clear acre, just doom and death and endless ravening monstrosity scrolling beneath the helicopter window.
And Dave thought about Ted, back there at the farmhouse. Dave had yelled that they would be back to rescue him, and at the time he had meant it. But now... now it seemed like a distant possibility. He had seen, just before his exit through the window, the bedroom door crash open and those pale hands reach out. He knew that Ted would only have seconds left. And Dave also remembered what Ted had said about the gun. The last recourse, the final escape... would Ted really have killed himself? Yes, Dave knew that he would. There had been a look in the old man’s eyes. Hard, cold, determined. And also... accepting.
Dave looked away from the window and the horror that it revealed and back into the helicopter. He saw Jenny sleeping at his side. And he saw the other survivors who the soldiers had rescued from other locations, a bedraggled group: ragged, dirty, pale faced and terrified. Then he glanced across at the soldier who sat nearby, the one who had winched them up.
“Where are we going?” Dave asked.
“There’s a military compound a few miles from here,” the soldier replied, “it’s secure. There are provisions. You’ll be deposited there.”
Dave nodded, but for some reason, he didn’t feel terribly comforted by the soldier’s words. A military compound where they would be “deposited”? Well, he supposed that was better than being eaten alive by the living dead, but still – there was something about it that chilled him.
Beside him, Jenny stirred. She rubbed her eyes and gazed blearily around the interior of the helicopter. She yawned, and then a look of fear seized her face as she remembered. As she remembered...
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice spaced, groggy, fearful.
Dave cast his gaze back out through the window.
He gazed at the sea of the dead, mile upon mile, and the sun tainted by burning darkness
“I don’t know...” he said.
THE END
Copyright © 2017 James King
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher.
All characters appearing in the work are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental
