by Adam Millard
'I think that would be for the best,' Terry said, returning to Revelations.
They drove in silence for the next few miles. The snoring from the back worsened, before there was a thumping noise and the sound of Marla cursing. She had given Jared a slight nudge – or a powerful kick – and now he was wide awake, trying to figure out what had caused him to wake.
The flickering lights of a gas-station neared, and Terry began to prepare his shotgun, just in case.
'In and out,' Shane said. 'I don't expect there to be too many lurkers around, not way out here, but you never know so don;t take any fucking chances.'
'Same goes for you,' Terry replied. 'You see anything creeping up on me, make it count.'
Shane nodded.
He pulled the Jeep onto the forecourt and hoped to God the refuelling went without a hitch.
'I take it we're staying put?' Marla's voice said, although she didn't sound too annoyed at the prospect.
'There's no point all of us getting out,' Shane said as he switched the engine off and opened his door. 'I've got Terry's back, which is one more than I'm comfortable with.'
Terry was already making his way across the court; he was equidistant to the pumps and the station. Shane was about to call out when he noticed the eerie silence about the place and decided against it. Besides, there was nothing creeping up on Terry, nothing on the other side of the windows, either, although Terry would probably see more once he reached the place.
Shane was pleased to put his feet on dry-ground as he dropped down out of the Jeep. The concrete cover of the gas-station was more comforting than he could have hoped for; not even one flake of snow landed on him as he reached for the pump.
Then, he found himself wondering whether the fucking Snatch took unleaded or diesel. He had been stupid not to check before taking it, and now he found himself standing at a fuel-pump with a metaphorical impotent cock in his hand.
Momentary panic washed over him; he knew the consequences of making the wrong decision. It was a fifty-fifty decision that he didn't want to have to make.
Terry was already at the door to the station. As he entered – to the tune of an electronic signal – Shane knew that the one man who could possibly know was otherwise engaged.
*
The station stank of mouldy cabbage and something else that Terry couldn't quite put his finger on. As the door closed behind him, he raised the shotgun and made his way down the centre-aisle towards the counter.
Stations like this one required an attendant, somebody to press a button to allow the pump to start working. It was, of course, to prevent people from just pulling up and stealing fuel, yet on this occasion it was nothing but a fucking nuisance.
Something had gone down in the station, but Terry doubted that the blame lay with looters. Everything still appeared to be there; there was just more of it on the floor than on the shelves where it belonged. A bloody smudge decorated the fridge to the left of him, a clear handprint dragged downwards towards the ground.
Where was the body?
Terry could hear the sound of his own heartbeat as it hush-thumped inside his head. He dry-swallowed and gingerly stepped up to the counter.
Peering over, he saw the rigor-mortised arm of the female cashier who had unfortunately picked the wrong night-shift. She was fresh, perhaps twelve hours, which meant that there were lurkers in the area.
Stepping around the body – which was missing most of its head and a lot of its torso – Terry began to search for the switches that activated the pumps.
The only problem was that he had never paid much attention to gas-station attendants whilst they did it; either that or he was out by the car, waving frantically to get their attention.
There were lots of buttons, including a big read one which probably alerted the local PD in the event of a robbery.
Out here, it would take them at least an hour to send a unit, and by then it would almost certainly be too late. Maybe the oversized button was merely to make the attendant feel more comfortable; sort of an electronic placebo.
Terry glanced out through the window and saw Shane looking as confused as he was. The guy was searching for something beneath the bonnet of the Snatch, and for a moment Terry found himself panicking.
Is there a problem? Is it fucking overheating?
And then he clicked; Shane was nonplussed over which type of fuel to use.
Terry managed to locate the set of buttons required and clicked the one for PUMP EIGHT. There was a deep thrum as the pump kicked into action. Shane almost banged his head on the open bonnet. Terry tapped gently on the window in a vein attempt to get Shane's attention.
It worked.
Making a D – for Diesel - with both hands, Terry smiled, then made the universal signal of the Dickhead at Shane, who began to smile.
With the Snatch being filled, Terry decided to grab a few things. Since the barracks was severely depleted of it, he shoved handfuls of pills and medicine into his jacket. By the time he was finished, his pockets bulged, filled to capacity.
They would be grateful back at the barracks, though. It was too late for a few, but those that remained needed all the help they could get.
He stepped slowly over the stiff cadaver, who apparently was called Julie when she had been in better shape – and moved for the fridge. Ignoring the bloody handprint, he swung the door open and was delighted to find several cans of Red Bull hidden behind the milk.
He cracked one open and downed it in a few gulps. With the rush of sugar and caffeine, he felt like he had been reborn. The accumulation of several days' fatigue vanished in an instant. It truly was the drink of the Gods.
He grabbed two more cans and turned for the door. It was then that a cold, dead hand grasped him hard around the throat.
*
They came out of nowhere; silently, which made Shane wonder if they were evolving somehow.
He was almost finished pumping gas when Marla screamed from the back of the Snatch. He dropped the pump as her screech echoed through the forecourt. As he turned, he saw three of them, pushed up against the station, trying to get in to Terry.
'Where the fuck did they come from?' Shane yelled, unintentionally drawing the three lurkers' attention. Terry, through the station window, was struggling with a single lurker. It had him around the throat, but Shane knew that it was no match for the old man, who was already lifting the shotgun into place beneath the growling creature's chin.
Bang!
Blood flew from the top of its skull, spraying the ceiling with a thick, black goo.
Terry was fine, already on his way out of the station to help with the other three.
Shane ignored Marla's screams – though it might have been Jared; it was difficult to tell – and placed himself in front of the Jeep. He put the first creature down with one shot to the head. The second – a bearded, vagrant-looking motherfucker – scampered forward at a speed that seemed beyond it. Shane levelled the pistol and fired, but only managed to graze its cheek.
A hole appeared in the front of the creature's face; its tongue was the only determinable feature remaining, as the rest of its face exploded outwards in a violent eruption. As the lurker fell forward, Shane caught a glimpse of Terry as he reloaded the shotgun. The old man had saved him, or at least that was how he would see it.
As the third creature rounded the side of the Jeep, Shane knew he had to act quickly. There were people in there, scared people who would probably not want to find themselves face-to-face with one of the undead peering through the back.
He lifted the Walther and fired. An explosion of blood and gore...well, that's what should have happened. Instead, the gun simply clicked.
Shane couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He should have checked the gun for rounds before packing it, and now – because he hadn't – it was about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
Without pause, he raced around to meet the creature at the back of the Snatch. It grunted, lunged for him, spraye
d the front of his jacket with dark, infected saliva.
The pistol slammed against the lurker's temple. Shane was glad to see teeth flying out of the side of its mouth.
Inside the Jeep, Marla was scrambling to her feet. She picked up a tyre-iron that she had been keeping a close eye on for the duration of the journey, though she didn't think she would need to use it.
Shane hit the creature again; its head snapped to the side. There was a crunch as its neck broke; its head dangled loosely now on a pivot.
'Shane, let me take it!' Terry called as he made his way around to the rear of the vehicle. Shane was preventing him from getting a clean shot.
'I've got it!' Shane said. He tucked the pistol into the front of his trousers and grabbed the lurker's broken face with both hands. He heard Terry mutter something from behind, but ignored it. The creature grimaced as if it knew what was about to happen.
Shane put a knee into the thing's belly and pulled. For a moment, he didn't think anything was going to happen...
And then it did.
The lurker gargled as its head came away from the rest of it. The body fell backwards, hitting the concrete with a meaty thump. Shane growled maniacally as he realised he was holding the lurker's head. Marla, staring out the back of the Snatch, turned the other way, not wanting to see any more.
'Holy shit!' Terry said, allowing the shotgun to drop to his side. 'That is just all kinds of wrong.'
Shane tossed the head aside and wiped his soiled hands on the front of his coat.
Terry stepped up to Shane, who was shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. 'It's okay, Shane,' he said, although he wasn't sure if it actually was. 'Can we just get the fuck out of here, now?'
Shane turned. His eyes were wide – like saucers – and his breathing was so heavy that Terry could feel the warmth on his face even though he was a foot away.
'We need to go,' Shane finally said.
'That's what I just said,' Terry replied.
'No,' Shane said, pointing towards the station. 'We need to go right now!'
They were coming from everywhere. Lurkers, about thirty of them, all scrambling forward through the snow. They must have been feeding on something at the rear of the building. There was a car-wash, just out of sight, and they must have been otherwise occupied.
Until now.
Terry ran around the Snatch and practically fell in through the door. Shane was already trying to start the engine, though his hands were so cold that he fumbled with the key for what seemed like an eternity before managing to get it into the ignition.
'Erm, can we go now?' Jared gasped from the back. He could see out through the mesh; in fact, they had the best view in the house.
Shane turned the key and half-expected the Jeep to fail to start, like it always did in the movies. When it kicked into life first time, he felt as if something was on their side, something preternatural watching over them.
'Drive!' Terry said, winding his window down halfway. Cold instantly filled the Snatch, For a moment, Shane had no idea what Terry was doing.
Then the old man levelled the shotgun out of the window, aiming towards the ground, and the pump which Shane had been using; the fuel was still pouring out.
'Uh-oh,' Shane said as he pulled the Jeep away from the station.
The creatures stumbled forward a few feet, confused, desperate to latch onto the vehicle and the people inside of it.
Terry waited...and waited...and then fired.
The Jeep seemed to speed up as the blast kicked the back of it. Marla screeched, as did Jared. Shane was too busy trying to keep the Snatch on the road to make any sort of noise. He could see in the rearview mirror, though, a bright orange ball of flame whipping up to the station roof. It was as if a mini-nuke had been detonated.
Lurkers were running everywhere, most of them on fire. Some of them had come apart with the first blast, and limbs began to rain down on the road like a storm in Hell. A leg bounced off the Snatch's bonnet and Shane had to swerve to prevent the Jeep from hitting a hedgerow.
When they were a few hundred metres away, there was another explosion, this one bigger than the first.
And then the only sound came from the engine, and collective sighs.
'I'm thinking you need to work on that anger of yours,' Shane said to Terry, whose eyes were closed.
'That's a bit rich coming from you,' Terry smiled. He opened one eye, before adding, 'Pistol-whipper.'
After that, nobody spoke for a while.
SEVENTEEN
Colburn led the old woman to a secluded part of the camp. When she had asked him what it was about, he simply told her that it was not his business and that Victor Lord had requested her presence. The woman seemed to buy that – she had expected the captain to summon her at some point or other, although she thought he might have already gone off in search of his precious vehicle by now.
'So he doesn't like people?' the woman asked, lighting a cigarette.
Colburn stopped walking. 'What?'
She took another long drag before speaking. 'For him to live this far away from the rest of us, he can't really like us too much.'
Colburn opened his mouth as he realised what the old bitch was getting at. 'Well, he likes to make sure that he's tip-top so he can keep this place running smoothly.'
'Wouldn't want him to catch any of those poor peoples' colds.'
'No,' Colburn replied, irritated. 'We wouldn't.'
He led her up a set of stairs, and to be quite frank even he didn't have a clue what was at the end of them. He just hoped that she didn't catch on before he had a chance to do it.
'Why do you do what he tells you to,' the woman asked. 'There's no law, not anymore, and there sure as fuck ain't no military.'
Colburn bit his lip; it was all he could do not to just turn and boot her down the steps.
'Ma'am, I do what he tells me to because someday, this shit is gonna come to an end. When it does, I want to be first up for a promotion.'
The woman laughed. She didn't realise how close she came to a size-twelve in the fucking forehead. 'You think you'll be remembered for your honour after all this...blows over. You're even dumber than you look.'
Breathe, Henry, breeeeathe...
They reached the top of the stairs and Colburn took a right. It seemed to be the best choice, since he had no idea if the door to the left was even locked. It would have surely given the game away if he had tried to turn the knob only to discover that the room was out of bounds.
At the end of the corridor, there was a T-junction. Colburn turned left, once again hoping that the building didn't betray him.
It didn't matter now; they were probably far enough away from the others for him to do what he set out to do.
'You think that prick Victor's gonna recommend you for a promotion if the virus somehow miraculously stops?' the old woman asked. 'He hasn't got a heart, that man, so I wouldn't―'
The hand grabbed her around the throat. Henry Colburn had moved so fast – spinning on a dime – that she was still mid-sentence when her words were cut off.
'You fucking bitch!' he hissed, tightening his grip, hoping that she hadn't had time to take a deep breath before he caught her. 'Die...just fucking...die!'
She dropped to her knees, her eyes threatening to pop from their sockets. The colour drained from her at first, and then she was darkening, turning purple with asphyxiation.
Colburn couldn't look at her choking face; he closed his eyes and wished that she would stop making such godawful noises.
Her cold, bony hands were trying to prise his away from her neck, but she was old, and had hardly any strength. Any moment now she would go limp, and that would be it. He squeezed with everything he had, hoping that she fell still because he didn't think he could take much more of it.
And then he was staggering backwards, with no idea what was happening. Everything was a blur, apart from the sudden stinging sensation on the front of his face. His nose felt as if it had
been completely removed, although that might have just been his mind playing tricks on him.
He was on his knees, and still falling, when the fog cleared and he could see straight again. By then it was too late. The fire-extinguisher hit him full-on again, this time just above the right eye.
The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was a little girl holding a vintage-looking doll.
*
'I told you, Mommy! I knew the man was going to hurt her.'
'Yes, you did,' Susie said trying to help Maggie Cox to her feet. 'And I apologise for not listening.'
Kelly smiled, smugly. It was the first time – ever – that her mother had said sorry for anything, and she had been wrong on so many occasions.
'Is she okay?' Kelly asked, clutching Jezebel to her chest. 'If she dies, Mommy, I think I might cry.'
Despite the old-lady's gaunt appearance, she was heavy. Perhaps it was the fact that there were bones poking out just beneath the surface of her skin, and Susie didn't really want to hurt her any more than she already had been.
She managed to pull Maggie across the corridor and leant her up against the wall. She was conscious, but struggled to breathe properly. Fuck knows what would have happened if they had been a few seconds late. Well, Susie knew that the woman would be dead, without a doubt, which is why she had followed so closely, although not too close; there was no point putting her life and the life of her daughter at risk, too.
'The bad man tried to choke her to death,' Kelly said, taking a step towards the prone body of Henry Colburn.
'Come away from him!' Susie cried. 'The bad man is only having a little sleep. I don't want you anywhere near him when he wakes up.'
Kelly grinned. 'He's not sleeping, Mommy. You smashed him in the head with a fire-extinguisher. You knocked him out good and proper.'
'Well,' Susie said, rubbing the side of Maggie Cox's face to try to calm her down. 'Whatever, just don't go near him.'
