by Casey, Ryan
“I need you to run the next fifty steps as fast as you can. And…and then I need you to stay behind me while I try something.”
“Run faster?” Riley said, his voice high and shaky. “I—I’m going as fast as I fucking can—”
“We need this!” Alan shouted. He fumbled around with the gun on his lap. The creatures were close, now. So close that Riley got that familiar whiff of death, of rotting. A smell he recognised instantly as the smell outside the tunnel. He cursed himself for even thinking he’d missed the “fresh” air outside.
He gulped. Got a tight grip of the wheelchair.
“Turn around. Run me in the direction we’ve come from for fifty steps. That’ll—that’ll give me enough time. Enough range.”
“Turn around?” Riley said. “But—”
“Just bloody well do as you’re told for once,” Alan said, in a tone reminiscent to how Riley’s granddad used to speak to him.
He bit into his lip. Bit into his lip, muttered swear words under his breath. Turned around, stared in the direction opposite, the footsteps of the army of creatures clanging at the metal so close behind.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going!”
Riley launched himself as fast as he could in the direction they’d come from. He pulled Alan’s wheelchair along behind him. The speed he was trying to go was so quick that the weight of Alan’s wheelchair felt like it was going to pull Riley’s arms out of their sockets.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven…
He kept on going. Kept going, trying his best to keep on a straight route, trying his best not to let go of Alan, trying his best not to pass out with his shallow breathing.
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…
He tasted metal in his mouth. Realised he’d been biting down so hard that he’d pierced his lips.
He’d be tasting more blood soon. Tasting more blood, when the creatures sunk their teeth into his flesh, pulled the guts out of his body.
Tasting more blood, when he came back as one of them. Feasted on whatever he could find down in this wasteland of a tunnel.
Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three…
He was lagging, now. Going so slow that he was practically walking. He didn’t have anything left in the tank. He was all used up. Completely running on empty. He hoped to God that whatever the hell kind of gun Alan had was good enough. He hoped that this plan of his to get in “range” was going to work. He didn’t want to die a tired man.
Forty-nine, fifty…
He stopped. Spun around. Saw that the creatures were a good thirty metres or so away now, but gaining ground fast. Alan was still messing with his gun. Messing, cursing.
“Are you ready?”
“Damn thing’s not bloody unlocking. Drat it. Drat it.” Alan glanced up at the creatures, seemingly relaxed compared to Riley. “I need you to hold them off until I get it working.”
The words hit Riley square in the chest. “Hold them—”
“Stand in-bloody-front of me and use your gun to hold them off!” Alan barked. “Quick, while we still have range.”
Every instinct in Riley’s body told him to run the fuck away. The Riley of old would’ve run away. The Riley of old would’ve left Alan here to distract the creatures. Found a place to hide, waited until the creatures passed, then sneaked out of the bunker to find another new place to hide and cower away.
But he wasn’t the Riley of old anymore.
As much as it annoyed him, he wasn’t.
He took a deep breath and threw himself in front of Alan’s wheelchair. Lifted the heavy rifle-type gun, unlocked the safety, and pointed at the creatures, twenty-five metres away now.
Here goes, he thought. Here goes nothing.
He pulled the trigger.
The first bullet blasted a bald creature in its chest, sending it toppling back into a few of the others. The gunshot was loud, so loud that it made Riley’s head ring. Even louder because they were stuck in a tunnel.
But shit. He’d sacrifice his hearing if it meant he lived. Didn’t even seem like the creatures were groaning anymore—what good was hearing anyway?
He steadied himself as the creatures got closer, blasted another shot at the front of the pack, sending this one flying backwards in a spray of blood and flesh.
He was doing okay. Doing okay, even though his hands were shaking, his ears ringing.
Doing okay, but single shots into a crowd of a hundred wasn’t going to be enough.
“Are you nearly ready—”
“I’ll tell you when I’m bloody ready!” Alan shouted. He was still fiddling away with this gun thing of his.
Riley turned back around. Let out a huge groan. God, this gun better be worth it. This nutty fucking professor better be worth it.
He fired another three shots at creatures at the front of the pack. One of the shots went wayward and rattled against the metal wall of the tunnel, but the other two hit their targets. The creatures didn’t fall though. The shots weren’t good enough.
They were screwed.
This was game over.
Riley fired, fired some more as the creatures reached twenty metres away, and then fifteen. He knocked creatures down, but the ones he didn’t get in the head just got up again, all of them moving towards him, their stenches clouding his thoughts, suffocating his mind…
“Now, Riley! Get the flip behind me, now!”
Alan’s voice took Riley by surprise somewhat, but he wasn’t in a position to argue. He threw himself behind the back of the wheelchair. Kept on pointing at the creatures with his rifle, but his hands were so shaky and the rifle so heavy that there’s no way he was getting another clean shot.
“You won’t be needing that anymore,” Alan said. He lifted his huge, black metal gun thing and pointed it at the oncoming creatures. “Wheel me back. And hold your breath.”
Riley started to wheel Alan back, further away from the creatures, completely drained of strength.
But he didn’t hold his breath.
He couldn’t, not when Alan pulled the trigger.
A huge stream of flames tore out of the front of this weapon, slamming itself directly at the creatures. The heat was searing. So hot that it felt like Riley was standing opposite a bonfire, his eyes stinging, his entire face burning.
But as he pulled Alan back, he watched with streaming eyes as the flames swallowed up the creatures. Listened as the orange fire crackled across their skin, like meat on a barbecue. And the smell—shit, the smell. Like off meat left out in the sun for the flies to feast on.
But the creatures were tumbling to the floor. The flesh was dropping off their bodies. Their eyes were bursting, blisters of pus and blood splattering from their skin.
The flames were working.
Riley kept on pulling Alan back as he bathed the dwindling numbers of creatures in more and more flames.
He kept on pulling Alan back even when the last of the creatures had fallen, nothing but a brittle skeleton.
And then he stopped. Stopped and stared at the burning furnace in front of them, filling the tunnel with ghastly smoke, making Riley want to heave.
Alan switched the flame-thrower off. Reached into the rucksack, yanked a thick metal wire away from a tank and attached it to another one, as sweat dripped down his red cheeks.
“One for fire,” Alan said, gasping, pointing at the tank that had been attached. “One for water.” He pointed the gun back at the furnace and hit the trigger. This time, a strong stream of water plummeted out of the gun, landing on top of the creatures, angering and then soothing the flames.
Riley coughed. Rubbed at his stinging eyes. Heaved onto the floor.
“Told you you should hold your breath,” Alan said, coughing and spluttering himself as more and more flames were replaced by more and more water.
Chapter Ten: Chloë
Chloë felt a bit better now the nasty-tasting gag was out of her mouth and she could breath
e a little, even though breathing just made her feel sick because the room smelled of wee and poo and sick.
She sat back against the wall. Her back was sore and her legs were aching from all the walking and running she’d done the last few days. And now she was getting a rest at last, but it wasn’t the sort of place she wanted to get a rest. She wanted to get a rest in a nice warm bed with comfy blankets, not a bad place like this.
The lady called Jordanna seemed nice and friendly, though. She told Chloë to stay strong, be brave, all things that Mum might have told her if she was here too. But she didn’t tell Chloë anything about herself, and Chloë didn’t want to ask, not yet, because she worried that she might find out that Jordanna was a bad person and she’d had enough of bad people already.
So she sat in the dark, mostly quiet, just waiting around. Some of the other people who were tied up in the room were mumbling and shuffling about now, like they were cows and they were getting nervous about being taken to be turned into beef.
“What is…Why am I here?” Chloë asked. It slipped out of her mouth a little louder than she’d hoped.
Jordanna leaned in close towards her. But Chloë could see that she was still looking at the slight bit of light creeping under the closed metal door. And she had a worried look on her face, so Chloë wondered whether something bad was going to happen.
“It…It’s hard to explain,” Jordanna said. “I don’t know…Dammit, it’s really hard to explain, especially to a…” She stopped there. Looked Chloë in the eyes, like her mum did when she was trying to explain arguments between her and dad.
“It’s okay that I’m a kid,” Chloë said. “I’ve seen…I’ve seen bad things like everyone else has.”
Jordanna let out a shaky breath. Half-smiled. “I bet, Chloë. I bet.” She paused. Looked back at the crack of light under the door, then turned back to Chloë. “Look, the best way I can describe it is…You’ll see some things here. Some horrible, horrible things. But you have to just look. You have to look and not scream and just…just do what they want you to do. Or they’ll make it worse. You understand?”
Chloë nodded, but she only partly understood. “What bad things—”
The door creaked open, and its metal slammed against the wall at the side. A beam of light shot through the doorway, making Chloë squint, her eyes stinging. The other people in the room gasped, whimpered, struggled.
Standing at the door was the man with the black hair and the big moustache. He was wearing a blue shirt again, and black trousers.
He peered around the room. Peered around it, not smiling, looking at each and every one of the people.
Chloë caught a glimpse of Jordanna scrunching her face, doing everything she could to get her gag back on.
And then…Oh no. Her gag, too. She had to get it back on.
As the man’s footsteps echoed into the room, people whimpering and cowering away, Chloë lowered her head. She scrunched up her face. Scrunched it up, doing all she could to try and slip the gag back around her mouth. But it wasn’t moving. And every time she did scrunch her face, she just smelled the nasty snotty, sweaty smell of the gag, and didn’t want to put it anywhere near her mouth.
“I believe it’s someone’s introduction this fine winter’s morning,” the man said, in a voice that sounded like Dad when he did his impression of people on the telly.
Chloë kept on scrunching her mouth. The gag was coming. She felt it slipping over her top lip, then back towards her teeth, and then…
She felt a hand. Felt a hard hand grab tight hold of her left arm.
She looked up. Saw Moustache Man staring right into her eyes. She could smell his minty breath, feel him breathing across her face.
“Sorry for the late introduction,” he said. “Needed to give you a lie down after your little escape plan, sweetie.”
He moved his mouth closer to her. So close that she could feel the hard bristles of his moustache rubbing against her neck.
And then he yanked his hands around her back and jangled around with some keys, before snapping Chloë’s wrists free of the cuffs and dragging her to her feet.
Chloë looked back at Jordanna. Jordanna was silent, still. Chloë wanted to shout to her, scream for her to help, as Moustache Man pulled her further and further away from the room, his hard hands clenching under her arms.
But then she remembered what she’d said. What she’d said about doing “what they want you to do.” And even though that scared her, what scared her even more was going against what Jordanna said, because Jordanna was alive and she must know something.
“Come on, sunshine,” the guard said, pulling Chloë out of the door, out into the fresh air of outside, dulled by the manky taste of the gag. “Can’t keep an introduction waiting. The rest of you, behave. You know how it works by now.”
Moustache Man reached for the handle of the metal door.
Chloë stared into the room. Stared back at the terrified eyes, the sad faces.
Stared back at Jordanna.
She thought for a moment she saw tears rolling down Jordanna’s cheeks.
But she didn’t see anything else because the door slammed shut and Moustache Man was pushing her across the yard along the side of the big metal Warburtons building.
“I’ll give you a piece of advice, ‘cause you’re a nipper,” he said as he pushed her past the vans, towards a window on the right. “Don’t scream. Ursula really, really doesn’t like screamers. Ask the blue-haired chick.”
He stopped when he said this. Stopped, right beside the window. Twisted Chloë round so hard and fast that it hurt her back and arms.
She looked through the window. Stared through the dust, let her eyes adjust to what was inside.
When she saw it—when she understood it—she did her best not to scream. She did her best not to cry out.
But she couldn’t stop the warm wee from trickling down the side of her leg.
Chapter Eleven: Riley
It took Riley and Alan the best part of an hour to clear the way through to Bunker 749.
The tunnel reeked of charred flesh. Steam was still drifting up from the burned bodies, cooled by the spray from Alan’s motherfucker of a multitasking weapon. Riley tried his best not to breathe in too deeply—he didn’t like the taste of rotted meat sneaking into his mouth, and after heaving from the smoke earlier, he didn’t want to take any more chances.
As they cleared the bodies of the silent creatures out of the way, every once in a while, one of them clutched out. But the bodies were so burned, so charred, that a simple knock to the head with the back of Riley’s gun was enough to put them down.
“Could’ve told me you had a frigging flame-thrower a bit earlier,” Riley said, as Alan inspected the bodies. He’d hopped out of his wheelchair for the first time of the entire journey, bar last night’s rest. And apart from a little limp, he seemed fine enough. Slacker. Absolute slacker.
Alan waved his hand back at Riley. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think we’d encounter a wave of infected waiting for us at Lancaster.”
Riley crept through the pile of bodies, his feet crunching down on brittle bones, on burned skin. “Where do you think they came from?”
Alan didn’t respond to this. In truth, he hadn’t said a lot since the encounter with the creatures. He seemed troubled. And who was Riley to blame him? The tunnel was supposed to be the safest part of the entire journey. Plain sailing, Alan had told him.
But somehow, around Lancaster, hundreds of creatures had got inside the tunnel. And somehow, by the work of a miracle, Riley and Alan had only just survived the onslaught.
“The creatures. Or infected, or whatever. They were…Well they weren’t like they usually are.”
“Silent,” Alan said.
“Alright,” Riley said, puffing out his lips. “I was just—”
“No, I mean you’re right. They were silent. The infected weren’t communicating audibly.�
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Riley felt a little bit stupid for not catching on to what Alan had been implying originally. He clambered over a few more charred bodies, heavy rucksack over his shoulder, wheelchair dragging along behind him. Trust Alan to get a bout of energy now. Pity he couldn’t have got it when he was forcing Riley to drag him away from the oncoming creatures.
“What’s that all about, anyway?” Riley asked. “I mean, on the top. That’s how they…it’s just what they do when they see us. They—they groan. And that alerts the others. Why wouldn’t these do that?”
Alan crouched down beside a creature. Well, what was once a creature, anyway. It was half a woman, now. Riley could barely make out the features on her charred face, but Alan seemed to recognise her.
“Alan, what—”
“Attalia Jackson,” Alan said. He sighed. Shook his head, scratched at his greying hair. “I’d spot that derrière from a mile away. Dammit.”
Riley approached Alan slowly. Approached this charred body he was investigating. Her ass was relatively untouched by the flames. And to be fair, Alan had a point. She did have a nice “derrière.”
“She was Bunker 749’s ‘me.’ Or, well, one of them anyway. She and another chap. David Heller, I believe. Although I didn’t know him half as well.” Alan sighed again. Rested a hand against Attalia’s blackened skin. “Looks like something happened in Lancaster after all.”
Riley looked around at the mountains of bodies surrounding him. Looked and watched out for any slight sign of movement, any slight indicator of undead life. “I’d say you’re probably right there. What does this mean?”
Alan winced as he pulled himself back to a wobbly standing position. He squinted, waved his hand at Riley to pull over the wheelchair. Riley dragged it into position, let Alan ease himself into it. Dusted himself off then perched his feet on the footrests. “It means we’ll have to stay on guard. And we’ll have to check Bunker 749. Get an idea of what happened. This…the only way these creatures could’ve got inside this tunnel is through that door of Bunker 749. Whether they’ve got in from the outside at Lancaster, or whether there’s been an interception further down the line and they’ve made their way through 749…we need to find out.”
