“We brought chocolate,” Lex announced. Dropping a pile of chocolate bars on the table. “What did we miss?” Oblivious to the tension, she plonked herself down onto the sofa.
“Sally was just telling me about how she stole the bus,” Claire said, relieved that the silence had been broken.
“Ooh,” Lex said, “I was wondering about that?”
Sally explained again. She left out the part about the children this time and Claire had the sense not to mention it.
“Fucking hell, Sally. You’re a legend,” Sam exclaimed when she had finished.
Sally’s cheeks went pink with pleasure at the compliment from Sam. Then she remembered that she hated him. “Whatever,” she said dismissively.
“You said earlier that some of those zombies followed you here. What happened?” Lex asked.
“There were some outside, just sort of milling around. When they heard the bus, they started coming towards it. So I got as close to the airport as I could, and they were still following me. I didn’t want them to follow me into the building, so I parked outside one entrance and then ran to another. I left the engine running and the radio on, hoping that they would be more interested in the noise than in me.”
“Were they?” Lex asked.
“Yep,” Sally confirmed. “I was really quiet, though, and parked at an angle, so they probably didn’t see me get out. We’ll need to work out a way to distract them again, so we can get back to the mini bus tomorrow.”
“Um … Sally …” Sam paused, “We won’t be able to use the minibus tomorrow.”
“Why not?” Sally snapped at him. “I’ve still get the keys.”
Sam really didn’t want to be the one to say this, but the other two girls didn’t seem to have picked up on the problem and were staring at him in confusion.
“You left the engine running and the radio on?” he asked as politely as he could muster.
“Yes, I just said that, to distract the zombies,” she snapped back.
Lex finally grasped what Sam meant, “Oh, Sam’s right. The battery will be dead. Even if it isn’t, there’d probably be no more fuel left,” she stated, looking at Sam, who nodded back.
Anger surged through Sally, anger at herself for making such a stupid mistake. The events of the last twenty-four hours were almost too much to bare, and she could no longer suppress her emotions.
“Of course you’d agree with your new boyfriend,” she spat, instantly regretting the words. This morning she had run over children. This afternoon she had shot a man. Being jealous over a boy was pathetic, but the words had been spoken, and she could not take them back.
“Boyfriend?” Lex asked in astonishment, “what are you talking about?”
“I saw the two of you. Over there. Getting cosy,” Sally said, her voice thick with venom. She knew she was being childish, but she could not bring herself to back down.
Sam watched on in amusement. Was Sally jealous? Of Lex and him? He thought she hated him. Interesting…
Lex laughed, “Sally, I’m not interested in Sam.”
“Yeah didn’t look like it.” Sally retorted.
“She’s not, Sal,” Claire added gently.
“Thank you, Claire. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” she snapped back.
“I’m not, Sally. The thing is … I’m …” Lex is not often lost for words, but this wasn’t how she wanted to tell one of her best friends, but Sally was almost unrecognisable in her anger. “I’m gay.”
Sally's mouth fell open. Then her phone began to ring.
Fifteen
The roads are quiet. So much so that I haven’t seen another car since I left the house, or at least not one that was moving. I’ve seen plenty of those things. As I pass by, they become animated, reaching out, only to stumble and fall as they grasp the area which was occupied by the car only seconds before. It’s comical to watch.
My progress is painfully slow. I keep having to stop, not least because I need to manoeuvre around the undead, but also because I keep stopping to check the map on my phone to make sure I’m going the right way. It’s taken me two hours so far, and it’s now dark outside. However, by my reckoning, I’ll be on the M4 in less than ten minutes. All being well, I should be at Heathrow well within the hour.
I’m starting to get a bit worried about petrol. I should have enough to get to Heathrow, as long as I don’t take any long diversions, and assuming that I’ve got the directions rights. I’m just not sure what to do about getting back to George’s once I’ve got Sally. Will fuel pumps work without any power?
I’m also worried about finding Sally when I get there. I’m tempted to call her, but what if something happens to me and I don’t make it? What if I make it, and she’s relaxed because she thinks I’m on my way, and by doing so puts herself in danger? What if I get there and she’s already one of those things? What if I’m too late? I decide not to call. I'll get to Heathrow and work out what to do from there.
I’m lost in thought, not paying attention to where I’m going. So I don’t see the man standing in the middle of the road until the last second. I slam the brakes on, but it’s too late.
The impact of the car sends the man flying over the bonnet. He rebounds off the windscreen, then slides motionless to the floor. I hold both hands on the steering wheel, shaking. Was that one of those of those things, or just a man, looking for help? I should call the police, that is what you do in an accident after all. I take the phone and dial the emergency number. All I get back is a busy signal. I guess I expected that. I suspect the police are too busy fighting off the infected to respond to a road traffic accident.
I cannot see the man in front of the car. Should I check? I weigh up the pros and cons, then decide, I have no choice. He is blocking the road, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I drove over someone who was not infected. I open the car door, hesitate, then pick up the putter from the passenger seat. It’s getting darker, but the headlights provide enough illumination for me to see the shape of the prone body.
I walk tentatively towards him. He is lying face down. His right leg bent at an awkward angle.
“Hi,” I call out, feeling stupid. “Are you okay …?” I ask, feeling even more stupid. I prod him in the shoulder with the golf club. He stirs and lets out a muffled moan.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathe out in relief. I haven’t killed anyone. I crouch down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “How badly are you hurt?” I ask. He feels icy cold. I should get the travel blanket out of the boot to wrap around him.
The man groans in response and struggles to push himself up. He turns to me. His inky black eyes are looking up at me, his mouth pulled back into a snarl. The groan, no longer muffled, is loud in the silence of the countryside.
He lurches for me and gains purchase on my arm, dragging it towards his mouth. I yelp, jump back, and he loses his grip. I quickly stand up, but he grabs at my ankle. I try to shake him off but he is stronger than me, and his grip is too tight. Remembering the golf club in my hands, I smack him in the arm. Using all my strength and might but he does not even flinch. He just keeps on inching closer and closer to my leg. His groan is becoming louder and more frenzied, he is millimetres away now. I take the putter and smash it down into his head. It has little effect, and I know I am going to die. Images of Sally lost and alone flitter into my mind. I cannot let her down. I will not let her down.
A feeling of rage, unlike anything I have felt before, floods through me. I smash the putter into his head.
Again and again. I keep going. I do not notice when he lets go of my leg, nor when he stops moving, or even when his head explodes under the relentless attack. I just keep hitting him. Releasing all the anger and sadness I have felt over the last few days. I only stop when my swings become slow and sluggish. All my energy is spent. I want to sink down, curl up in a ball and cry. But I can’t. Blood, skull fragments, and brain matter paint the road. It is everywhere, it is disgusting. My stomach s
eems to agree, and I add vomit to the grim mess surrounding me.
When I have nothing left in my stomach, and the retching has abated, I stand up straight and return to the car.
I notice that bits of his head are still on the putter, I really don’t want to take it with me, but while it wasn’t a great weapon, it saved my life.
Instead, I wipe it on the grass verge, and then throw it on the back seat. The desire to cry remains, but it’s overshadowed by the urge to get away from this road. Away from this carnage that I have caused.
Within minutes, a sign for the M4 comes into view. I breathe a sigh of relief. The rest of this trip should be easy. I join the motorway. It is busier than the country roads were. Although not in the conventional sense. A few cars are moving, but most are stationary.
I drive slowly, check my rear-view mirror and pull up alongside one. Four people are inside. Two adults in the front, two children in the back. They strain against their seat belts. The two closest to me claw at the windows trying to get out. It breaks my heart to look at them.
A few days ago, they were a family. Now they are trapped in that car, doomed to spend the rest of their lives in this metal tomb.
Tears threaten again, but I must be strong. I accelerate away from the family and vow not to stop again until I get to Heathrow.
The vision of the family stays with me for far longer than I would like. Do they understand their fate? Is there a part of them that knows what they have become? How long will it take for them to die? Hang on, do they die? Could this be a short-lived threat, as soon as the infected die out then the survivors are safe again?
There are so many questions. So much that I do not know. There is only one thing I do. I need to get to Sally. Everything else can wait until she is safe. I put my foot down and carry on.
The road is clear enough to drive at a solid speed.
I do need to keep changing lanes to avoid the stationary cars, but fortunately, most of them are on the hard shoulder.
Some with doors open, the occupants seemingly attempting to outrun whoever was infected in their vehicle.
The rest of the trip passes without incident. As I get closer to the airport, my earlier decision not to phone Sally seems stupid. She may not have got there. She might have come and gone, or not made it at all. I follow the sign to departures and where I sat waiting on Sunday. I notice a lot of people hanging around as I drive closer. Actually, that’s not right. There are a lot of those things around. They seem to be heading towards a small mini bus that is parked up on the pavement next to one of the arrivals entrances. Oh God, what if someone is trapped in there.
Slowly, I edge forwards. The things don’t seem to notice me. My headlights illuminate the writing on the side of the bus.
It obscured by the things, but I think I can make out the words Little and something borough.
My heart sinks. Little Brickborough. That is the village closest to George’s house. I reverse a little, so I’m further away from the crowd, and switch off the engine. Willing the headlights to turn off. When you get home at night and it’s dark, it's an excellent idea for the lights to stay on a little after the car has stopped. Much less so when you’re trying to avoid being detected by a horde of zombies that want to eat you as soon as they see you.
Within a minute, the lights go out. It doesn’t look like any of the things noticed me. I pick up the phone and dial Sally’s number. Relieved that the networks are still working, I wait for her to answer, getting more antsy with each ring. She doesn’t answer, and the call goes to voicemail. I hang up.
Shit.
What do I do now? Within seconds my phone starts ringing, and I answer it quickly, a sigh of relief when the caller ID flashes; ‘Sally Carlton.’
“Sally, is that you?” I ask.
“Hi Chloe, yes it’s me.”
“Are you okay? Are you stuck on the bus?”
“No … I’m mean yes, I’m fine, I’m safe. No, I’m not on the bus.”
“Thank God … wh…"
She cuts me off, “How do you know about the bus?” she asks, confusion in her tone.
“Oh … right … yeah. I’m at Heathrow, near to where the bus is parked.”
The other end falls silent.
“Sally … are you still there …?”
“Yes,” there is a muffled sob. “I’m just so happy to hear your voice, Chloe.”
“Me too, sweetie. Listen, where are you?”
“We’re in terminal five. The airport lounge just after security. I think it’s called Galleries Club,” she goes quiet, and I hear her talking to someone else. “It’s the North one,” she adds.
“Okay, honey, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Chloe … be careful. There were some other people in here. They were going mental earlier.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up the phone. Awesome. Infected people are walking around, wanting to eat me, now some crazies that I need to avoid. I think about what I packed in the car earlier. The rucksack with the knife, chisel, and hammers is next to me in the passenger seat, along with the golf clubs and walking poles.
I attach the poles to the bag and wiggle it onto my back, which is not easy inside a small car. I put my phone in my pocket and grab the putter from the back seat. I take a deep breath. Okay, I can do this.
I open the car door and close it quietly. I can see a route to the terminal, but I want to avoid detection.
I take a few steps away from the car and remember the bag of clothing that is in the boot. Call me paranoid, but I do not want it stolen. I press the lock button on the key fob. The indicators flash on, accompanied by a loud beep. Fuck. Stupid car. Stupid me for forgetting that the car beeps when locked. Cars should really have a built-in apocalypse mode.
I glance in the direction of the mini bus. Every one of those things has turned and is heading in my direction.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Holding the three golf clubs, with the bag banging against my back, I run as fast as I can towards the building. At the entrance, I look back. They are still following me.
Fuck.
They are going to chase me right into the airport. I try to visualise the layout of the terminal. The check-in area is huge, but it’s a large open space.
It’s wide but not too long. I should be able to make it to security without them seeing me. The departure area is concealed, so with any luck they might just wander around, then maybe get distracted by something else.
I sprint across the bridge that leads into the main building. I can still hear them, but I can no longer see them. Once across, I dash past the check-in desks to security. Damn. I had forgotten about the maze of moveable barriers that mark out the queue. I duck under the first one, but the walking pole, sticking up from the bag pulls me back.
I lower myself further down, but the rope has attached itself to the base of the handle. I shimmy backwards, and the pole becomes free. I spend a second or two trying to lift the rope over the pole, but my shaking hands are working against me.
I have no choice.
I run left for about ten steps, then right for another ten, left for another ten, the finally the last few steps right lead me to the x-ray machine, which I dash through, grateful for the first time that there is no electricity.
I look back, the sound of groaning muted now by the distance I have gained. I doubt that they would manage to navigate the queuing system anyway. To my right is a small corner that leads to the North Lounge. In front of me is the balcony that overlooks the rest of the departure area. I step forward and look over. Even from this height, I can see that the airport has been trashed.
I step back quickly, because, while I am curious about what happened, I really want to avoid the crazies that caused this mess. I go right and head towards the double doors. I push them forward, but they don’t move. I tap quietly.
Nothing. I don’t want to knock any louder, because I don't want to draw
attention to myself. I retrieve my phone from my pocket and type in a quick text. As I watch, the message status changes to delivered. The phone switches itself off. I forgot to charge it in the car and now I have run out of battery.
Sixteen
“You should probably answer that,” Lex told Sally, who was staring at her in disbelief, while ignoring the phone vibrating on the table.
Sally didn’t reply, but she picked up her mobile as it fell silent. A smile brightened her face as she hurriedly dialed a number. Three faces stared at her as she talked into the phone. She paused to the check the name of the lounge with Lex. She was still smiling when she hung up.
“Who was that?” Sam asked.
“Chloe,” Sally replied.
“Who is Chloe?” he asked.
“She’s my dad’s PA,” Sally said
“Oh,” said Sam. Then he turned to Lex, “So, you’re a lesbian?” The cocky grin was back on his face.
Lex ignored him, “Sally …” she said tentatively.
Sally got to her feet, walked over to Lex and gave her a hug., “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
“It’s okay,” relief flooded through Lex as she hugged Sally back. She had known for so many years that she was different from the other girls. That she had no interest in boys, that she was not attracted to them. She had wanted to tell her friends, but she was scared how they would react. So instead she stayed quiet, forever waiting for the right time.
The time they spent together in the Quarantine camp had strengthened her bond with Claire, and she had told her a few days ago. Claire had accepted it without question. They had discussed the matter at length, and Lex shared her worries and fears about how to tell her family. She had known Claire would be supportive. She was a lovely person, she didn’t pass judgement, and she could see the good in everyone.
Sally was a different matter. Throughout their school years, Sally was obsessed with the opposite sex. She constantly talked about who she fancied. Boy band posters covered her walls, and in truth, she did not think that Sally would understand. Sally's embrace evaporated that uncertainty. She understood, and she didn’t reject her.
Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good Page 12
