“We’ll be fine,” said Samantha. “We just have to be careful.”
“We go down to the beach in pitch blackness, the dead will be on us before we take two steps,” moaned Bob.
“The moon is full. We have enough light to see by.”
Hugo looked down at the beach and saw the shadows moving beneath him. Just ten feet below his feet was a death pit, full of clawing hands and biting teeth. The only thing protecting them all from death was a single iron gate.
“The tide is in, the beach is too narrow to make it through the dead,” Jimmy complained. “We’ll be like a turd in a u-bend.”
Samantha groaned. She was becoming frustrated. “Another couple hours and the tide will go out again. We need to gather our things and be ready to go then. We can’t stay here. You can all see that.”
The gate seemed to creak then as a reminder. The dead weighed down on it like a tide of sand. Hugo listened to their moans and screeches and wondered how much longer until the gate toppled completely.
“Wait!” Jimmy said. He tilted his head. “What’s that noise?”
Everyone was quiet.
The moaning and screeching continued.
Hugo frowned. Do the dead make screeching sounds? I thought they just moaned.
Samantha’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh God! I hear screeching. There’s an infected person in the village.”
The screeching got louder. It was coming in their direction. Hugo had heard tales of the infected, had even seen a few on his panicked retreat out of France, but he’d been at sea so long that they’d faded into imaginary monsters. “What are the infected?” he asked, almost not wanting to know.
Old man Bob looked positively sick. He shook his head as he spoke and didn’t blink at all. “A person gets infected when they get bitten by a dead man or another infected. They get sick – real sick – before slipping into a sort of coma. Once they get back up, though, they’re like wild animals – unstoppable killing machines. We call them sprinters. They come at you like something straight out of Hell. We haven’t seen any for almost a year now. They all died off and turned into zombies – the infection kills them after a while, you see. We can handle the dead, Hugo, but the sprinters are a whole different type of badger.”
Hugo looked at his daughters. He hoped they were not listening. “What do we do now? About the…badger?”
“We arm up,” said Samantha, already marching away. “And we pray.”
Hugo huffed. The last thing he would do was pray, but arming up he could do. Too long had he floated around in the sea, relying on the protection of others to keep his daughters safe. Now it was time to prove he could look after them on his own. If something bad was coming, then it was going to have to get though him. And over my dead body.
The screeching continued endlessly, getting closer and closer. Hugo thanked Samantha for a carbon steel shovel and gave it a few practise swings. It cut through the air nicely. The garden tool was light but strong, sufficient to smash in a skull or two.
“What is going on, papa?” Sophie asked. “I hear someone out there screaming.”
Hugo gave her a quick hug. Daphne came over and got one too. “It is not a person,” he told them. “It is a monster and your papa is going to take care of it. The world that has been left to you is a dangerous place, my darlings, but if I have any hope of seeing you grow up I must stop hiding it from you. We must fight and protect one another. The times ahead will be hard and sometimes you will want to cry, but we will face it together and we will be okay.”
“I’m afraid,” said Daphne, hugging her older sister. “But I will be brave. I won’t let you down, dad.”
Hugo smiled at the English word. Letting go of papa was a sign that his daughter was finally leaving her old life behind.
“I won’t let you down either,” said Sophie. “I will do whatever I have to do to look after you and Daphne.”
Hugo patted her on the head. “We are glad to have you watching over us, Sophie. Now, both of you go get something to protect yourselves with and find someplace to hide.”
His two girls did as they were told, obedient, as he’d raised them to be. A twinge of pride took a hold of Hugo and for a moment the anxious butterflies in his belly flapped away. They soon flew back, though, because the screeching was coming from right up at the gate.
Hugo hurried after the others to the front of the pier. The twisted gate that met him there was almost enough to make him turn the other way. Hundreds of dead men and women filled the village and all of them were trying to get inside the pier. At the front of the mob, ramming his entire body against the metal bars was an infected person – a sprinter.
The young man had a thick black beard and shaggy hair – the look of a long-term survivor. Under the moonlight, his bulging eyes seemed to glow red and his gnashing teeth gleaned silver. The bulbous winter jacket he wore made him look twice as big as his skinny body likely was underneath. For some reason he smelt of rotten fish. It was so overpowering that even the stench of death could not overcome it.
Samantha charged forward and jabbed through the railings of the gate with what looked like a steel litter spike. She missed the infected man’s head but ended up burying the tip in his shoulder. She yanked it back and stabbed again. This time, the infected man seized the litter spike and tore it out of her hands. The sudden yank made Samantha stumble forward against the gate. Immediately the dead men and women set upon her, clawing at her through the bars. She fought hard and desperately, trying to drag herself away from the gate, but a dead postman had a hold of her bracelets. She was hooked like a duck at the fair. An old lady took a big hungry bite out of her wrist.
Samantha screamed and managed to yank her arm back through the bars, but it was too late. She fell to deck, clutching her wrist and sobbing. Blood poured down her arm and glistened.
The sprinter threw himself against the gate harder, impassioned by the blood.
Bob and Jimmy went and dragged Samantha to her feet. They shook her by her shoulders and tried to get her to focus, but she would not. Great, wracking sobs seized her and would not let go. Eventually, between breaths she managed to say, “I’m screwed. I’m…I’m fucking screwed.”
“You can die like a sobbing wench,” said old man Bob. “Or you can snap out of it, duc, and help those of us who still have a chance.”
Samantha fought to control herself, but eventually nodded. Her sobbing petered out and stopped. “Okay…I…I’m okay. I’m okay.”
The hinges of the gate whined and creaked. Then the entire thing moved by almost a metre. The bars slanted towards them.
“The gate is falling,” said Jimmy. “We have to get out of here right now. Hugo, get your girls. We’re heading for the beach.”
Hugo got going immediately, but before he even made it halfway down the deck, Samantha yelled out a warning. He span around. The infected man had leapt the slanting gate and made it over onto the deck. The animal was inside the cage and sprinting toward Hugo. Merde!
Hugo raised his shovel and prepared to meet his attacker, but was horrified when the sprinter stopped halfway and turned sideways. Sophie and Daphne huddled in the nearby doorway of an ice cream shop. The infected man had seen them.
“Hey, Mr Beard, over here.” Hugo waved his arms and rushed towards the infected man, shouting and whistling, trying to draw attention away from his daughters. But it was no good. His daughters cowered and cried in the doorway and the infected man was transfixed on them. Please God, no. Do not let him eat my daughters.
Houdini appeared out of nowhere. The little dog puffed up in front of the infected man and started barking in a tone Hugo had not heard before. The infected man looked down at Houdini with interest. Hugo’s heart skipped a beat. Good job, Houdini. You are protecting your girls, just like we used to talk about.
But the sprinter was quickly losing interest in the dog. It was Sophie and Daphne he was interested in. As he turned his attention back towards Hugo’s daughters, Houd
ini took it to the next level. The tiny papillon clamped his jaws down on the sprinter’s ankle and began tugging on it like a rawhide bone. It was enough of a distraction to keep Daphne and Sophie safe for another ten seconds.
Hugo charged at the sprinter and swung for the cheap seats. The sharp edge of his shovel connected with the infected man’s temple and sent him tumbling sideways, but, somehow, the blow did not fell the man. He snarled and spat, then lunged through the air at Hugo like a hissing adder.
There was no time for Hugo to bring the spade around again, so the sprinter barrelled into him and sent him sprawling onto his back. Hugo spluttered as the wind escaped him. The spade went rolling across the deck. I am done for. He grabbed at the infected man’s chin, yanking his bushy black beard and trying to keep the snapping jaws away, but it was like wrestling an alligator. Houdini snapped and barked, but was no longer able to cause a distraction. The dead man was unwaveringly focused on ripping Hugo apart. I can’t fight him much longer. He is too strong…too wild.
But then the sprinter tumbled away from Hugo.
Hugo rolled onto his chest and thrust himself back up onto his feet as quickly as his weary bones would let him. Samantha had grabbed the infected man from behind and was wrestling him to the ground. He bit and tore at her arms and wrists as she fought to keep him restrained. “Get the spade,” she screamed. The pain was obvious in her voice. “Get the spade and end this.”
Hugo scurried over to where the spade had fallen and snatched it up. He took a run-up and swung the tool like a golf club. The blade struck the infected man in the centre of the face. Fresh blood – infected blood – exploded onto the deck and made Hugo shy away. The infected man continued to thrash and writhe in Samantha’s arms, not yet beaten. Hugo lifted the shovel again and let out the scream of a caveman. He thrust the blade down at the sick man’s neck, opening up his throat and lifting his chin. Blood gargled from the ragged gash. Hugo placed his foot on the back of the shovel and pushed with all his might.
The sprinter’s head sprang from his shoulders and rolled across the decking. Hugo threw the shovel down onto the deck and tried not to vomit.
Samantha collapsed onto her back, panting. She stared up at the stars and blinked. “Now me,” she said calmly.
Hugo frowned. “What?”
Samantha kept her head flat against the deck, exposing the pale flesh of her neck. “I’m infected,” she said, “and I don’t have long left. You need to make sure I don’t get back up.”
Hugo shook his head. “No. I cannot.”
“Do it. If you have any hope of keeping those daughters of yours safe you will do what needs to be done. Put the shovel against my throat and take my fucking head off. I’m going to be just like that guy in a few minutes. You need to deal with me now.”
“I’ll do it,” said old man Bob, marching up beside Hugo and reaching down to pick up the shovel.
Hugo reached down and grabbed the shovel first. “No. I’ll do it.” Time to start doing what needs to be done. The days of floating around aimlessly are behind me. He strolled up to Samantha and carefully placed the shovel’s blade against her throat. Then he leapt up with both feet and brought his full weight down on her neck. It still wasn’t enough.
Samantha’s neck split open and her head lolled sideways, but she still lived. She gargled and coughed as blood filled her airways.
“Shit,” said Jimmy. “Do it again.”
Hugo jumped back up onto the spade and completed the job. Samantha’s spinal cord snapped and her head came away from her body. Hugo strangely felt nothing. The woman had been dead when she was bitten, not when he removed her head. It would have been nice to know her better, but the world held little regard for friendships anymore.
Before anyone had time to mourn Samantha, the gate fell inwards with a resounding crash! Immediately the dead fell forward in a clumsy heap of bodies, falling to the deck and rolling around, but slowly they clambered back to their feet, one by one. Before long there were dozens of them making their way down the deck.
Hugo went and grabbed his daughters and held them close. Houdini yipped by their feet. There was no time to make it down to the beach now, and even if there was, the dead waited down there too. They were done for. En toute chose il faut considérer la fin.
Old man Bob and Jim closed-in beside Hugo with their weapons held high. “Looks like the end of the road, me ducks,” said Bob. “I’m sorry you didn’t all get to live as long as me.”
“That’s a blessing,” said Jimmy. “Your nutsack is like a dried-out teabag.”
Both men laughed, but Hugo did not join them. He kissed the top of his daughter’s heads and held them close. “I am sorry, my darlings. Je vous aime tous les deux.”
“We love you too, daddy.”
The dead got closer and Hugo fought not to close his eyes. He needed to be strong for his daughters. “Don’t be afraid, girls. It will be over soon. I am with you.”
Yip!
“Houdini too.”
The rotten, pus-filled faces bore down on them, broken ankles and twisted knees carrying them forward. Rotten teeth chomped the air, seeking living flesh. Soon they would have it.
When the dead were only a dozen feet away, the entire pier rumbled and shook. A monstrous sound filled the air and suddenly the dead began to part and fall beneath a wondrous beast. When the sound of gunfire began, Hugo could barely trust his eyes. “I don’t believe it,” he said to his girls with disbelief and excitement in his voice. “We are saved.”
GARFIELD
The Challenger 2 Battle Tank had made short work of the motorway, clearing a steady path for the pursuing 4-tonne trucks. Lemon drove one while Cat and David commanded the other. The two paratroopers, Price and Barker, piloted the tank, while Garfield sat in the open hatch ring, manning a heavy machine gun on top of the turret. It was fixed in place and hopefully wouldn’t tear his shoulder to pieces like the SA80 assault rifle had. His deltoid muscle still cried out every time he moved.
The motorway was littered with wrecks and dead men, just as Garfield had expected, but the heavy tank shunted the puny vehicles aside as if the road was a bowling alley and the Challenger was a 14lb ball. Garfield made light work of any dead standing in the way, ripping them apart with the GMPG he manned on the turret. Any that came too close fell under the front of the tank and came out the back as bloody paste.
Their small convoy arrived at the pier a few hours before dawn. What Garfield found there made him cry out.
The first thing he saw was smouldering flame, lighting up the dark like a litter of bonfires. The first thing he heard was the moaning of the dead everywhere. Oh God, he had thought. The pier is gone.
But it had not been gone, not completely. Half the pier was missing, while the other half smouldered from dying fires. The dead swarmed everywhere like ants over an ice cream cone. Their collective moaning was so loud that it almost drowned out the roar of the Challenger’s monstrous engine. Something had happened while they were gone. The pier was gone. Where are they all? Where’s Poppy?
The tank flew forward up the deck, flattening hordes of the dead and leaping up over the fallen gate. Garfield fired the machine gun madly, shearing off heads and arms by the dozen. He didn’t realise it at first, because of the racket, but he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Empty bullet casings filled the air like angry wasps. His finger ached on the trigger.
Movement at the end of the broken pier made Garfield swivel the machine gun around, ready to fire at a new target. He was just about to pull the trigger again when he saw old man Bob standing there. The dead were closing in on him. Garfield swivelled left and right, taking down as many dead as he could find. When nothing else moved, he climbed out of the turret and leapt down to the deck. Barker had given him a 9mm browning and shown him how to use it, so he pulled it from his waistband and popped a shot off into a dead man’s skull that had reached for him from the floor. He glanced around, searching for any more danger, but Lemon had
angled one of the trucks across the gate and blocked any more of the dead from getting inside. Can always rely on Lemon. Where’s Poppy?
Up ahead, old man Bob was hunched over, grabbing his knees and taking great big breaths. There were people beside him who were all sobbing. It was clear the cavalry had arrived just in time. “What happened?” he yelled. “Where’s Poppy?”
Old man Bob remained crouched over. Standing with him was Jimmy, and a middle-aged man he didn’t recognise. There were also two young girls and a dog. Who the hell are they?
Jimmy couldn’t look at Garfield as he spoke. Instead he turned away and pointed at the gaping hole where the other end of the pier used to be. “Things are bad, man. You got here just in time. Everyone’s gone.”
Garfield hurried across the deck towards him. Bodies lay everywhere and he had to hop over them with each step. “What do you mean, gone? What happened, Jimmy? Tell me!”
Jimmy pointed out at the sea. In the darkness, Garfield could see several ships lit up and two dozen more lurking in shadow. A huge Navy frigate floated amongst them, lit like a beacon. “Some boats came. A shit-tonne of ‘em. They were looking for that guy you found in that lorry container. Tim, his name was. Some douchebag with a spear for a hand came aboard and started throwing his weight around, but Alistair and Anna were having none of it. One of the men who came aboard tried to…” Jimmy cleared his throat. “Tried to hurt Poppy. Things got screwed up and that battleship out there fired at us.”
Garfield felt like he was going to throw up. He had to take three deep breaths just to stay standing. “Okay…let’s take this slowly. You’re telling me that someone came and did this? Because of the man I found?”
Jimmy nodded. “His name is Tim.”
Garfield didn’t care what the man’s name was. “Where’s Poppy?”
Jimmy looked away.
“Where is she?” Garfield yelled.
A man he did not recognise came forward to answer his question. The way the two young girls were clinging to him, they must have been his daughters. He had a French accent. “I am sorry for what has happened, my friend. I think the little girl you are talking about is the one just behind you.”
Savage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel Page 24
