Finding Her

by Rick Wood

“Yeah. So when you hesitate about killing a zombie, or a – a fuckin’ cannibal – you just remember what world we live in now. A world where I – where a guy must kill his own family for their own good. Because he can’t stand to see them eat other families. Then you tell him he needs to cheer up, that he’s too ill-tempered, that he should drink less; you tell that broken man that–”

  He paused. Lifted his head. Ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

  He turned toward Donny and looked him in the eyes.

  “Would you mind driving the last hour? I need a kip.”

  “You want me to drive?” Donny asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Gus got out of the car and walked around to Donny’s side, waiting for him to get out.

  Donny did. He took the steering wheel and drove slow and steady for the final sixty minutes, allowing Gus to sit with his eyes closed.

  And for the first time in a while, Gus didn’t scream or cry out. He just slept.

  Minus Four Hours

  36

  A lonely raindrop planted itself upon the faded scars of Gus’s forehead, prompting a vague flicker from his closed eyelids.

  The open window no longer gave him the aerodynamic wind resistance that indicated they were moving, and he assumed that they had either arrived at London, or they had encountered a problem.

  “What’s going on?” he grunted. “We there?”

  He groggily turned his head, rubbing his fists over his eyes. He grew irritated at the lack of response to his question and sat up, waiting for the blurs to fade from his vision and the inside of the car to return to clarity.

  As he turned to his side, he noticed an empty driver’s seat, and there was no companion nestled in the backseat.

  “What the–”

  Lifting his head, he noticed two figures standing a few yards away, completely still. One could be mistaken for believing they were two waxwork models, such was their lack of movement, except for their unmistakably thin, scrawny bodies.

  Gus kicked the car door open and stumbled out, his nestled bullet sending a shooting pain up and down his leg.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. Despite the bullet being lodged in his body for so long now, the awkward pain still took him by surprise. After stretching his leg out, he managed to limp toward the backs of Sadie and Donny, both stood upon a grassy verge next to a short, steep slope.

  “What the hell? I thought you’d at least wake me when we got–”

  The reason for their stillness and shock became instantly apparent.

  “Jesus Christ,” he gasped.

  Down the steady slope of the verge they stood upon was a wired fence. Behind that was a large brick wall that read the words:

  DANGER

  Quarantine Zone

  DO NOT ENTER under any circumstance

  This sign was large, in white bold writing over a thick red background, repeated every few metres across the wall.

  Do not enter under any circumstance, it read.

  Gus coughed up a laugh.

  “Ironic, ennit?”

  But the other two still didn’t answer.

  As Gus’s eye line lifted, their silence became justified.

  His jaw fell open. He attempted to find the words, but just opened his mouth to inaudible sounds. Incoherent syllables spewed out from between his lips in a hazy stutter, verbalising the disjointed ramblings of his manic, fragmented thoughts.

  The smell hit him first. The overwhelming scent of death. Decay mixed with rotting flesh, hovering toward them across a foggy smoke, filling the air like a toxic spill. Aggravated groans joined the despondent howls, mumbling below the repeated smack of thousands of the infected packed against a solid wall.

  They went on as far as the eye could see. It was almost impossible to distinguish one zombie from another, such was the mass of them. The stronger, more recently deceased clambered atop the weaker, crumbling bodies. Their faces melded into one greyish pale mass, with streaks of dried blood encased upon dirty rags that fell off bony, sickening bodies.

  The wall carried on for a broad circular distance, disappearing around the corner to their left and their right. As far as the radius went, the undead continued to batter against it.

  Gus attempted to peer into the distance, to look for the end of the masses of ravenous hungry corpses – but there was none. They did not end.

  He finally understood why Eugene had decided to lay bombs upon this vicinity as immediately as possible. It was the survival of the barely fittest, the battering of the less decayed against the less vile.

  How the fuck am I going to get into that?

  “Right,” Gus said, once he realised they had been stood agape for longer than he was prepared to acknowledge. “Ideas, anybody?”

  Donny’s head slowly rotated toward him. Severe, disturbed confusion stuck to his face as if someone had glued some deformed expression upon him.

  “Ideas?”

  “Yeah. I mean, you know, once we figure out where we’re actually finding this girl.”

  “You mean, you don’t even know where to find her?”

  Gus went to react aggressively; then it occurred to him that it was a pertinently valid question.

  “I just, kinda, thought I’d wing it.”

  “Well, not being funny, but I don’t think we could just set Sadie in there and unleash her. That’s too many even for her.”

  “That’s too many even for a soddin’ army. How we supposed to deal with that?”

  Gus turned to Sadie. This would be a really good time for her to start talking.

  She shook her head vigorously.

  “Zombies, big!” she barked.

  Gus nodded, wishing she had something more constructive to add.

  “Lots,” she persisted. “In there – death.”

  Gus nodded again, wishing she hadn’t added anything at all.

  “Well. If this is how I’m going to go out, it’s how I’m going to go out.”

  Gus charged to the boot of the car, wiping perspiration from his forehead. He had no idea what he was going to do once he had loaded himself with weapons, but he was used to winging it. Maybe if he got himself ready, an idea would present itself.

  He took a number of grenades, attaching them to the inside of his jacket. He slid ammo diagonally over his shoulder, a machine gun over his back, two Uzis on his belt, and a knife with a large, curved blade beside his one good shin.

  “You don’t really mean that, do you?” Donny appeared at Gus’s side, making him jump.

  “What?”

  “What you said about going out. I mean, after what you told me… You want to live, right?”

  Gus smiled at Donny. Not grinned, not smirked – smiled.

  “You’re young, kid,” he said.

  “I’m not a kid. Don’t patronise me.”

  “Okay. Fine.” Gus finished loading his body with guns and turned to Donny, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You want the honest truth?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Right. I have been waiting the last six months, biding my time, looking for the exact right moment to die. To leave all this… shit, behind. And this is it. This is what fate brought to me. Because this is how I go out. This is how I do it.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Donny, I’m only just starting to like you. Don’t make me smack you.”

  Gus walked back toward the edge of the verge, casting his eyes upon the sea of undead faces. Funny, really. Moments ago, he was full of dread. But standing there, feeling the weight of a dozen guns dragging his body to the floor, gave him a sense of resolution. Like he was home. Like this was where he was meant to be.

  “See that sun?” Gus pointed to the sun.

  “Yeah,” Donny confirmed.

  “It’s a little down from the middle of the sky,.I make that about two or three in the afternoon. Agree?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, the girl will be back by the time it’s set, and
you can’t see the sun for the moon no more. Look out for her.”

  “And you? Where will you be?”

  Gus looked at Donny, holding a lingering gaze in the young man’s direction.

  “Good luck to you,” he said, and ran down the slope without looking back.

  37

  Bill swung the axe around the basement like it was the lead of a rabid dog.

  Kristine pushed herself and Laney against the far wall, keeping them out of reach of the wayward weapon. No sooner had Bill decided that it was time they freed themselves of the basement than he had punched through the glass concealing the axe fixed to the wall for the eventuality of a fire and began wielding it with the control of a madman.

  “Bill, I really think we should think about this,” Katrina urged him.

  “What, you reckon we’re better off down here, canoodling every night?” Bill narrowed his eyes into a leer that sent a fiery shudder up Kristine’s inner thigh. She pushed her hand harder against Laney, unknowingly concealing her from the perverted danger before them.

  “No!” Laney objected. “You do not hurt Mrs Andrews anymore!”

  Bill grinned wildly. His free hand twitched inside his pocket.

  The sick bastard was enjoying her feistiness.

  “You’ve hurt her enough, you won’t hurt her anymore!”

  “It’s okay, Laney, it’s okay,” Kristine whispered. “It’s all right, I’m okay, we’re going to be okay.”

  “How can you lie to her?” Bill asked, that twisted look in his eye he got whenever he wanted to say something provocative for the sake of intensifying her helpless hatred further.

  “All I mean,” said Kristine, “is that we should come up with a plan. We don’t know what’s on the other side of that wall.”

  “A plan?” He let out a large, audible, “Hah!”

  “Bill, please.”

  “How’s this for a plan?”

  He charged up the stairs, forcing each wooden step to buckle under the pressure of his stubbornness. He twisted the lock open for the first time in God knows how long and placed his hand on the door.

  There was no use objecting. No use reasoning with a man that had Bill’s sick temperament and odious nature. He was going through that door, and unleashing whatever was on the other side of it upon them.

  Kristine had to move. She had to get Laney to that door. If a flood of the infected poured down those stairs, they would be trapped. They had the best chance of survival if they pounded up those stairs and embraced the inevitable chaos.

  She crouched beside Laney, looked her in the eyes with the best comforting expression she could muster, and held her hands solidly and reassuringly on her dainty biceps.

  “Laney, listen to me. We’ve got to go through that door. Whatever happens, take hold of my hand, and do not let go. You understand?”

  Laney gave an eager nod.

  “I trust you, Mrs Andrews.”

  What a line.

  What a terrible, loving line.

  She trusts me.

  That was the worst thing the poor girl could have said.

  It meant that whatever happened to that girl was on Kristine. It would be her responsibility, and her burden to bear.

  The sound of the door swinging open and bashing against the inner wall was met with a set of eager groans from the other side. Bill’s defiant scream rang out, and the lights of the corridor flickered as he disappeared from the corner of Kristine’s vision.

  She grabbed hold of Laney’s hand and took her as quickly as she could up the stairs and to the doorway. As soon as she reached it she halted, and looked at what they were dealing with.

  To her right, Bill was swinging the axe to and fro, waving it about. He smacked it into the head of decaying faces whose eyes still sprung open, slicing it through the chests of running corpses with their innards tumbling out.

  Whatever she thought of him, he was giving it a good go.

  But there were so many of them. And their numbers were growing thicker.

  With every thrust Bill let out a scream. This only seemed to attract the attention of more dormant bodies down the far side of the long stretch of corridor.

  She urged him to stop.

  She said nothing, but she wished it with all her might.

  But he didn’t.

  He never did stop when she wanted.

  She looked to her left. More infected were coming at them from the distance, emerging from all the classrooms down the corridor.

  Where had Bill said that the media studies room was? The one with the radio?

  Two doors down.

  She saw it. Two doors to her left. A door with the sign Media Studies fixed upon it. They could make it. She was positive they could make it.

  “Come on!” she urged Laney.

  She took the girl’s hand and dragged her, ducking the outstretched arms of an approaching walking corpse clambering reaching for her.

  They made it inside just in time for her to swing the door closed in the face of a running beast, whose forehead smacked into the door, forcing blood and a rogue eye to slide down the square of glass at the top of the door.

  She twisted the lock, then backed away.

  Bill’s face abruptly peered in the door’s small window. He looked alert. The initial confidence he had upon launching his attack was gone. All around him were faces of the undead, descending upon him, clawing at him.

  “Let me in!” Bill screamed.

  Kristine didn’t move.

  She gripped Laney’s hand to make sure she didn’t do anything either.

  “Let me in! Let me in, you fucking bitch!”

  Kristine dragged Laney to the far corner and jumped at the sight of a dead body. Unlike the others, this one lay still, and without a face. In its hands was a shotgun pointed toward his absent chin, held by a hand that was home to a clear, red bite mark. Over the wall behind him, pieces of his brain had crusted to the wall.

  She turned and gagged, doing her best not to be sick.

  Laney stared at it, but did nothing. Said nothing.

  Kristine turned her away and shielded her.

  Kristine looked to the door. Bill was gone.

  “Wait here,” she instructed Laney.

  Kristine ran to the window, which was on the opposite side of the room to the door. It was smashed, but a few floors up and out of reach of any zombie below. Her eyes squinted from the light of the harsh sun, taking a while to readjust; she had almost forgotten what it looked like. The wind was light and refreshing on her face, but with the subtle breeze came the stench of rotting meat. She looked below her and noticed the car park was full of the infected, helplessly roaming about. None of them running, thinking, doing anything but limping aimlessly.

  She gasped and flung herself backwards, out of sight, and out of smell – she wasn’t completely sure what would attract their attention, but she did not want to take any risks.

  Unbeknownst to her, as all of this had happened, Laney had wandered across the room, her eyes fixed on the small piece of glass in the door.

  Kristine turned around and immediately grabbed onto her.

  “Laney, what are you doing?!”

  It was too late.

  Bill’s face smacked against the glass.

  But it wasn’t Bill.

  It was his face, his body, his disgusting, lecherous features – but whatever soul he had was gone. His eyes were yellow, his face ripped apart. He was one of them.

  Laney screamed. An ear-piercing, shredding scream that went right through Kristine.

  She quickly covered Laney’s mouth with her hand.

  But it was too late.

  Once Laney had stopped, the sounds from the school’s exterior grew bigger. The moans and groans outside the smashed window were no longer aimless wandering of helpless figures – they were determined growls. Hungry assailants, gathering for fresh blood.

  She edged toward the window and peered out.

  They barged against the wa
ll of the school, all of them amassing into a riot. There was not a space free of them. They had descended upon the car park in an instant, and more were galloping toward them, their ravenous eyes searching for their dinner. As far as she could see, their faces went on, chattering their loose teeth and smacking their cracked lips. They were clearly starving; their dead skin drooped from their bones, their mouths opening and closing like a fish in a bowl waiting to be fed.

  And they were trapped.

  From outside in the corridor.

  From outside of the school.

  The radio. It was their only chance. Across the room, next to the only corpse that didn’t move – it was there.

  Just as she noticed it, the door to the room began to buckle.

  38

  As Gus reached the base of the hill, it truly dawned on him that he had no idea what he was doing.

  There were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. More, even.

  He’d fought against the odds before, but this was something else.

  He had his machine gun over his back, Uzis on his belt, blade by his ankle, ammo over his shoulder, guns by his side – but he had never felt more naked.

  What was he supposed to do? The place would be blown to pieces in hours, and he was somehow supposed to locate the girl, extract her, and be back in time to watch as if they were having a firework display.

  His best plans occurred when he winged it. But even so…

  Just as doubt had begun to succeed in clouding his mind, the sound of the zombies grew less. Their groans began to move, their smell becoming less potent, and before Gus knew it, the ground was shaking with the tremble of thousands of feet thudding against it.

  He backed up the hill to get a better view. His mouth hung open in disbelief.

  There was a stampede of the undead pounding away, into the distance. The backs of their heads disappeared from view within seconds, all aimed in the same direction.

  Before Gus could make sense of it, the mass of bodies pressing against the sturdy walls had turned to a barren, empty car park, with pieces of litter floating in the breeze.

  This must be the luckiest moment he ever had in his life.