There was a hand on his shoulder. It was Jack. “We have to go!”
Allen followed Jack’s gaze to the sea. Zeds marching from the cold waters, like an army.
Allen stood up, lifting Adam as he rose and turned. The cliffs. He met eyes with Grace and Jack, they all knew what each other was thinking, and as one they ran for the cliffs. They ran past Crowe. Allen slowed. The young sergeant lay on his back, his eyes closed, with what looked like a smile on his face. A deep red hole was in his chest. Allen felt something leave him; like a part of soul, one full of gratitude and love, and pass to the still body of Crowe.
He ran with the others to the cliffs.
One section had a gentle rise. They could climb, maybe not to the top, but at least out of reach of the zeds. Jack went first, followed by Grace. They settled on a ledge, about fifteen feet high. Allen passed up Adam to Jack’s waiting arms.
“Come on, Dad,” said Adam.
Allen paused and looked behind him. The zeds were split into two groups. One heading for them, the other for Dalby, but he was already in his boat. The engine was spitting out a throaty roar. It spluttered away from the beach.
Allen climbed the rock face. The four of them crowded on the ledge, unable to go any further.
Ellie opened her eyes and breathed in deep. Fresh, cold, country air; it permeated every reach of her body. The murky wood, dull by any objective reasoning was to her eyes the beautiful glowing light of all heavens. She didn’t know where she had been, but it had been somewhere dark, somewhere beyond dreams. She had nearly joined it, but she had fought it. She had pushed back, because she wasn’t finished with this world, not yet.
She sat up, and pain seared through her body. She looked down; there was blood all over her top, all over her jeans. It was hard to tell where the bleeding was coming from. She felt for the wound, trying not to allow the burgeoning waves of panic consume her.
There - just below her shoulder, a few inches above where she thought her heart was. Ragged, torn skin, white-hot pain to touch. She grimaced. An inch or two lower and it would have been her heart. So this was what it’s like to be shot.
What did she do now; did she bandage it? Moving her left arm was painful. She guessed the muscles had been torn up. The wound was dripping wet though, warm. An unsettling feeling like she had wet herself, but worse, it was blood. Her hands came away sticky and red.
Fuck it. She had to get back to Unity as quickly as she could. Before she died from blood loss or septicaemia or whatever the hell was going to kill her. She ripped off the left sleeve from her top. She scrunched it up into a ball and stuck it down her top over the wound. She doubted it would do any good, but psychologically it helped; she felt she was doing something.
She started to walk back to Unity, down the hill. Why was she walking? She began to jog, that was as fast as she could manage. Each jolt as her foot hit the ground sent a spike of pain through her body. Was the bullet still in her? Had it gone out her back? She had no idea. The whole area was a ball of pain. No nuance, no separating of agonies.
As she cleared the tree-line, she paused, involuntarily. Unity was ablaze. Thick columns of grey and black smoke rose from the holiday camp like some Japanese monster movie. A deep red glow was bedded in under the smoke. The sky was tinted a dark red. Fragments of ash or something floated in the air, like little grey fairies.
No time to waste anymore. She had to find Dalby and her son. She ran as fast as she could, and to hell with the pain.
Halfway down the hill, she stopped. A window in her mind had opened - that same window that she had been through just minutes ago. The one that reached into the universal mind. It had a universal voice, and it was telling her to stop. Not with words, not with actions, but a feeling in every molecule of her being. Beyond her thoughts, beyond the pain and the fear.
She stared at Unity, and the burning. What was it? What was she supposed to be seeing? What was she missing?
Minutes passed, as she stood there, still as a statue, the frustration and fear growing. She couldn’t reach it.
“What? What is it!?” she shouted into the wind, her voice lost to the background cacophony of the burning town below.
Tears now. Always tears, always despair. Just give me a break, please.
She turned around, shouting again. “What is it?!”
She stopped dead. Paused in mid-air as if switched off; a freeze frame, one arm aloft, one leg tucked around behind the other. It was uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to make a noise, not even the tiniest of little mouse noises. She didn’t want to lose what she was hearing.
Crying.
The distant muffled and shrill cry of a child.
She waited, tuning into each wave of the distant wailing. She turned her head carefully, towards where the sound was coming from. She took a cautious step in the direction of the noise, then another. Her eyes focused directly ahead of her. Grass, green fields, a dry stone wall in the distance.
A white plastic bag.
Why wasn’t it blowing away? Not a plastic bag. She quickened her pace. Then she was running. The white plastic bag was a bundle. It was moving gently. It was screaming.
It was Eddy.
She fell to the ground and scooped up her little man, tears flowing from her. Relief and emotions she didn’t know the words for overwhelmed her. She hugged and hugged him. His white baby-grow covered in blood from her wound.
Never again. She would never leave him again.
Unity was fucked. That was for sure, thought Chris as he watched the buildings that had been his home turn into red-black carcass skeletons, the charred remains of the building’s frameworks.
People fled. He recognized some of the faces, and he nodded to those that he did. Not many returned the nods. Either they were too scared and hell-bent on escape that they looked right through him, or those that saw him looked just that little bit more scared, and pulled their children closer, and ran that little bit more quickly.
He raised his gun as another family emerged from the smoke covered road, hoping to get out of Unity with their lives, and he fired at the zombies edging closer. They fell, and the family said nothing to Chris, but ran past him, through the gate and out into the Wilds.
Chris coughed, his lungs getting tired of the smoke and grime that saturated the air. His ears were ringing from the sound of machine gun fire and screaming. Another crunch as another building fell. An explosion as another truck released its petrol tank to the flames.
Told you it would all end in tears.
Yeah, alright, Nan.
Something caught Chris’s attention. A figure not running from Unity, but towards it. He stood and watched as the person approached. Too fast for a zed.
Long dark hair flowing in the wind. A red top… no, a white top, but covered in blood. Carrying something. He heard the crying before he saw the baby.
Ellie and Eddy. Chris smiled. He didn’t know why.
“Ellie!” he shouted, waving. He took a quick glance around him to see if any zeds were approaching through the carnage, but nothing. “Ellie!” he shouted again.
She paused. A little too far away to make out who he was maybe. “It’s me, Chris.”
She stopped. Looked around, uncertainty as if she didn’t know where she was, then walked cautiously towards him.
“You on your own?” she shouted.
“Yeah, course I am. Everyone else has fucked off, haven’t they? This place is fucked, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed.” She was getting close now. There was a gaping wound in her left shoulder. She was carrying Eddy in her right. The poor boy was crying his eyes out, his face red with the exertion of it. Ellie had him grasped around the waist, it looked like it wouldn’t be long before she dropped him. Before she dropped herself. She was alive alright, but she was staggering like a zed. Her face was black with sweat and soot. Her clothes covered in blood.
“What’s happened?” she said.
He walked towards her and held out his arms to take Eddy.
“No!” she shouted, pulling him tighter.
“Come on, you can hardly hold him,” said Chris.
“No,” said Ellie, but with less conviction. Her eyes were closing over. She needed help. Chris would have to find one of the docs. Fuck knows how or where. Maybe one of the army guys. Where were they though? Everyone was gone.
“Shit,” said Chris, darting forward and grabbing Ellie as her legs gave way under her. He grabbed her, and the boy. He lowered them to the ground. Her eyes were heavy. “No, don’t take Eddy,” she mumbled. He lay her gently to the ground. He took Eddy in his arms. The little boy yelled, his lungs making a right noise.
“Come on little fella,” said Chris, rocking him gently. “Come on pal, it’s ok, it’s ok,” said Chris, making hushing sounds. The sort he saw the mums do down the Job Centre. “Ssshhh, little fella. It’s alright. We’ll get your ma some help. You’ll be alright, mate. You'll be alright.” He lent over and gently kissed the baby on the head. Eventually, the crying subsided. Eddy lay still, his big brown eyes staring up at Chris.
Who’d have thought it, eh?
Pack it in, Nan. But Chris was smiling.
“Very fucking touching.”
Chris nearly dropped Eddy as he jumped up and spun around to the voice. Dalby was behind him. “Out of my way, Chris.”
Dalby was holding a knife. His eyes stared at Ellie; black eyes, no soul behind them.
Chris shook his head.
“You got some balls now then?” Dalby made a snorting sound. “You forgot your gun, you fucking idiot.”
Chris glanced at the ground. He had put it down when catching Ellie. Now Dalby stood in between him and the gun.
“So get out of the way, Chris. Don’t be an idiot.”
Chris gently and slowly bent his legs. His eyes fixed on Dalby, he placed Eddy on the ground. He stepped over the child, so he was in between them both and Dalby.
For a moment, Dalby looked confused. Within a second or less, however, his emotions, or at least his face, was back under his control. Steely cold.
“This is a mistake, Chris.”
Chris shrugged. “Whatever, nobhead.”
Dalby lunged for Chris, pushing the knife towards him. Chris deflected the initial blow but lost his balance. He fell but managed to grab Dalby, who fell with him. They rolled on the ground. Fighting in real life was nothing like in films. In films, it was all clean, everyone knew what was going on, all smooth moves and shit. Not in real life. Not now. It was just a tangle of limbs, arms, and legs scrambling with each other. Pushing, pulling, kicking. Rolling on the floor. And somewhere a knife.
Chris was on top of Dalby. He had a hand around his neck and was pushing, squeezing with all his might. His other hand was tight around Dalby’s hand, the one with the knife. Pushing hard at it, trying to keep it away from his side, where Dalby was trying to guide it. Chris squeezed harder around Dalby’s neck. Dalby’s eyes were turning red as blood vessels burst. Spittle shot out of Dalby’s mouth, his face was going red, then purple. Chris was going to kill him.
The knife moved slowly towards Chris' side.
Chris squeezed harder around Dalby's neck.
A pain in Chris’s side. Innocuous at first, like a gentle punch, but which quickly became a throbbing missile of pain. It spread up his side, into his core, and juddered like a white light around his entire body. He rolled quickly to the left, reaching for his side. His hand came away, warm with blood.
Dalby wasn't getting up. His hand was hanging limp by his side, the bloodied knife tight in his grip.
Chris mustered his strength. One last effort, fucker. He pulled himself to Dalby and wrestled the knife from Dalby’s weakening grip.
Dalby tried to say something. He had a deep purple bruise across his throat. Blood around his mouth. Chris had crushed his windpipe. He was suffocating. Chris took the knife and plunged it into Dalby’s throat. Blood spurted like the little fountains you saw at garden centers, the ones with stupid fucking gnomes sat around them fishing for nothing.
Dalby stopped moving, stopped breathing.
Chris fell and grabbed the pain in his side. Blood poured through his fingers. He was weak, he couldn’t move anymore. His vision was swirling through blacks and whites and greys. He looked at Eddy. Ellie moved. She sat herself up on her arms, her half-open eyes looked at Chris, then at Eddy. She reached for the boy and hugged him. She stared at Chris.
You did good, Chris, said his Nan. Always knew you were a good un. I’m proud of ya. I love ya, lad.
Chris closed his eyes. Get the kettle on, Nan.
The zeds on the beach writhed like a wild animal from an alien planet. Hundreds of them, all crawling and stinking and reaching for Jack and the others on their little ledge, only fifteen feet above the black mass below.
Once Dalby was clear, the zombies had focused on the survivors on the ledge. Jack had watched in horror as they had rolled over Crowe’s lifeless body, tearing it apart in seconds. He should have been buried, thought Jack. He had saved us all.
Allen sat against the wall, tears in his eyes - a different man than he had been a few minutes ago. Being reunited with his son seemed to have unlocked a softness in him. He sat down against the cold rock, his arms around Adam, holding him tight, staring at the zombies.
“Can we climb?” said Grace, looking up the cliff face.
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “It’s a sheer face, and we have no ropes.” Seagulls bounced on and off the tall cliff face, showing off.
“I don’t see any other way out of this,” said Grace, standing up and testing a few hand-holds.
Jack sighed and stood up. She was right, what else could they do?
“Any ideas, Sarge?” said Jack.
Allen shook his head. “We’ll be good,” he said with a slight smile.
“How?”
“Relax, Jack, we’ll be good. Something will work out.”
Ok, so the Sarge was out of it for now. Up to him and Grace to get them all out of here.
The two of them walked up and down the ledge, above five foot thick, and about twenty foot long. Jack looked up and down, testing for handholds. He climbed a few feet, let himself drop down. He’d walk a bit further along. Try another climb, get five feet up, lose his nerve once he got too high, then drop down again.
“Hey, this bit’s ok,” said Grace. She had scaled a section of the cliff near the far edge. Must have been about ten foot up.
“Jesus, careful, Grace,” he said with a shape intake of breath.
She was hanging still, trying to feel her way around a sharp outcrop that halted her climb. She stretched and grabbed a small grey carbuncle.
She kicked out her foot, all her weight on her outstretched hand for a few seconds. It was too much, and her hold gave. She tumbled to the ground with a thump and a cry. Jack ran to her.
“You ok? You alright?”
She nodded, sitting up, and holding her leg. “Something’s gone in my knee… Shit, shit, shit!”
He put his arm around her shoulder.
Jack glanced at the beach. The activity on the ledge had got the zeds excited. They hissed and moaned and clicked with new excited violence. They began to climb on top of each other. Their hands clawing dangerously close to the ledge.
“Sarge, we need to do something,” said Jack.
Allen let out a small laugh. “Jack, sometimes you got to switch your focus outside of your local environment.”
“What?” Jack was getting annoyed.
“Your focus, switch it.”
“Fuck’s sakes Allen, what we need is-”
“The sea, Jack!” shouted Adam, pointing out, over the zombie’s heads, past the beach, to the water.
A small white object bobbed on the sea, bouncing up and down kicking out a white spray behind it. It was accompanied by a slight and gentle buzz, getting louder with e
ach passing second. A motorboat.
“Let me see,” said Grace. Jack helped her up, and she leaned on him, it felt nice, the weight of her body against his.
They stood in silence watching the boat approach. A large speedboat. It came to a halt just before the shallows, close enough to see a few figures on the bow. They waved their hands.
Jack and Grace waved back, shouting nonsensical words like “We’re here,” and other obvious terms. A small person joined the other two on the bow. Jack could recognize her from anywhere.
“Annie!” he shouted, as loud as he could. And just on the back of the wind, he heard, “Daddy!”
The other figures: Andy and Harriet. They waved and shouted, but Jack couldn’t hear what they were saying. Andy went back to the wheel, and the boat’s engine hummed as it turned and headed back towards the mainland.
“Where’re they going?” said Grace.
“I don’t know,” said Jack.
“I imagine,” said Allen, standing up and joining the two staring at the departing boat, “that they are going to get something to take care of this lot.”
“Flamethrower would be best,” said Adam.
Allen smiled at his son. “Let’s just sit tight.”
And that’s what they did.
For the next three hours, Jack and the others sat down against the cliff face, hardly moving, hardly speaking. The zeds calmed. And then a boat returned, just as the sun began its long descent to the horizon.
It was a different boat - a coastguard boat, most likely from the station a few miles down the coast. Andy was on the deck, standing by what seemed like a giant gun, but it wasn’t, it was a hose. And it didn’t spray water. It sprayed gasoline. A giant arc of the distinctive smelling liquid sprayed into the air and landed on the outer reaches of the zombies. The spray only lasted for a minute, and only covered the nearer edge of the dead.
A pregnant pause, and then a bottle, a flaming rag jammed in its neck flew from the deck. It only had to cover the thirty feet or so to the nearest zed, and it just had to land in the vicinity, which it did. As it fell, the bottle smashed and the molotov cocktail did its magic.
The Fall Series (Book 3): The Fence Walker Page 41
