by C. A. Earl
‘Matt!’ he yelled, looking into the group of strangers in the doorway and then at those pressed up against the windows. Sweat glistened across his forehead as he scanned one unfamiliar face after another. ‘Matt! Are you there? Matt!’
Paige slipped from Ashley’s embrace and grabbed his arm. ‘You’re looking for Matt Reilly?’
Ben nodded furiously. ‘I’m his brother. Is he here? I can’t see-‘
The pretty girl shook her head. ‘He’s still at the centre.’ Looking from Ben to Ashley and then Harry in the background, her brow furrowed in confusion. ‘For God’s sake, will one of you please tell us what’s going on?’
Ashley gulped and ran a trembling hand through his scruffy black hair. ‘Okay’ he mumbled softly, as more people gathered in the open doorway. ‘Hear me out. This is gonna be hard to take...’
Sitting in the road twenty feet in front of the bus, Chris McReedy carefully removed his mask and goggles and took a deep breath. Seemingly forgotten by the others, his tired eyes wandered over the bodies of the two fallen soldiers. He groaned and slowly climbed to his feet, instinctively touching the wad of bandage on the side of his head. It was sticky with dark blood. Not long now, he thought.
Suddenly, a salvo of gasps and cries of anger made him look toward the bus. There were at least eight or nine people on the road now, their raised voices demanding answers (mainly from Ash) while a petite girl sandwiched in the middle acted as referee. Despite her slight figure - tiny in front of the looming Harry Skinner – the girl gave the impression that she was more than capable of handling herself. From his short distance away Chris caught odd snatches of the barrage of frantic questions, none of which could be answered before another was thrown:
‘Where did this happen?’ / ‘Did you see my wife?’ / ‘My sister was on a bus yesterday; did you see her get away?’
As the volume of questions increased, the youngster stooped to pick up his rifle and also grabbed the other that Ashley had left behind. He took his time, partly because of his weakening condition but also because he was in no rush to be among such an outpouring of anguish and fury. He could do without being cross-examined too, especially as questions about his head wound were bound to arise. With a rifle balanced over each shoulder, he reluctantly trudged toward the bus, eyes glancing casually to the left.
What he saw next froze him in his tracks.
Behind the group of people, unseen by anyone else, the injured driver was somehow up on his knees. Blood was dripping from the bottom of his mask, the result of multiple ruptured organs, but this was no transformation into one of the living dead.
In his trembling hand was a pistol.
‘Gun!’ yelled Chris, stumbling forward and losing his footing on a piece of debris at the vital moment. He hit the ground and dropped both rifles as a series of screams punctuated the air, followed by a single pistol shot and a burst of automatic gunfire. The stricken teenager rolled over, the searing pain of his head wound hurting more than ever. At first crawling on his hands and knees, he somehow managed to get back on his feet, swaying as the world came into focus once more.
On the road ahead of him, gathered in a large circle and looking inward, were now around twenty people. Another ten or so were still on the bus, their horrified wide-eyed faces pressed up against the windows. Calling on every ounce of remaining strength, Chris limped the last few feet and pushed through the circle, gasping in horror at the sight that befell him.
Lying face down on the road, his body peppered with bullet holes, was the soldier. And next to him, his eyes already glazing over, was the huge motionless form of Harry Skinner. Blood was pooling around the big man’s head, dribbling from a wound in the side of his neck.
Chris looked up, unable to speak. Ashley was directly opposite him, stock-still, while Ben was standing next to the Scotsman, his whole body shuddering. A wisp of blue-grey smoke was coming from the barrel of his rifle.
Chris McReedy’s head began to spin again, almost to the point that he thought he might faint. It felt like he was underwater, with muffled voices and blurry images swirling all around him. Harry Skinner had been their heavy hitter, an invincible, uncompromising giant of a man who got things done.
And now he was dead.
‘Snap out of it!’ shouted Ashley, emerging from the haze to punch Chris in the shoulder. ‘He’s gone, that’s it!’
The teenager refocused, glancing over at Ben. The older man was completely shell-shocked, his eyes glassy and lifeless, as though every tiny molecule of hope had vanished along with the giant’s death. Chris had seen this expression before: in the eyes of Reg Herbert when the old man knew that he was going to die...
‘You too, snap out of it!’ Ashley yelled again, grabbing Ben by the collar of his black uniform. Just at that moment another scream rang out, this time coming from onboard the bus. A middle-aged woman was looking out and pointing over to her right.
Ashley turned on his heels and swung around, scanning the many rows of half-collapsed buildings. Stumbling among the rubble and heading in their direction - the stench of hell preceding their arrival - were at least fifty zombies.
‘Shit!’ he shouted, giving Ben a shove. ‘Everyone on the bus now!’
Amid a chorus of nervous cries, Paige Ryder began herding the passengers back toward the open door. Dave Tattersall, moving just ahead of her, stooped to pick up the pistol from the dead soldier’s hand and tucked it into his belt.
‘Hurry!’ yelled Paige. ‘Get back on the bus!’
Standing at the rear of the group, Ashley Layton waited for the others to climb on board and then turned to face the approaching horde. Stumbling along in familiar rigid-limbed fashion, they were now around thirty feet away.
‘Can you drive this thing?’ asked a weak voice from behind him. It was the ailing Chris, leaning against the front wheel arch, needing it to stand upright.
Ashley rushed over and peered into the front cab, noting for the first time that the driver’s side was on the left. The layout, with two large seats, was more like that of a lorry cab rather than a standard bus. One lucky break: a set of keys were dangling from the ignition. The downside was that the steering column was set with a daunting array of cockpit-style buttons and levers. ‘Maybe’ replied the Scotsman, trying to convince himself. ‘I think so. Quick, get in. I’ll go round.’
Chris hauled himself agonisingly into the front passenger seat as in the main body of the bus Paige Ryder punched a button above her head to close the shutters. Behind her, collapsed in a seat opposite the doors, Ben Reilly stared blankly ahead, his mind temporarily detached from the action.
‘Let’s get the fuck out of here!’ cried Ashley, arriving at the driver’s side and clambering up into the seat. Slamming the door behind him, he glanced into his wing mirror and caught sight of the mass of creatures just as Chris did likewise beside him. Fifty groaning, stumbling zombies looked more like sixty or seventy now. Reaching down, the Scotsman mouthed a prayer and turned the key in the ignition. The engine whirred and coughed but then shuddered and fell silent. ‘Shit’ he mumbled, as Paige pressed up against the glass barrier behind him.
‘Come on Ash, get us out of here!’
‘I’m trying!’
Chris McReedy watched as the Scotsman turned the key again. This time it was followed by a sterile click and nothing else. ‘Try the buttons’ suggested the gasping youngster. ‘And the levers too.’
‘Okay, okay!’
Behind them, in the main body of the bus, growing unrest was threatening to become full-blown panic. The first few zombies had arrived and were bumping against the back of the vehicle, the broken tips of their raking fingers visible at the base of the rear window. The increased volume of screams from within did nothing to calm them either. Inside this giant metal canister was food.
Breaking away from the pack, four of the dead caught a scent of untainted blood and descended on the bodies of Harry Skinner and the driver. Three of them fell on the giant, biting
into the flesh on the side of his face and on the fingers of his exposed hands, while the fourth closed in on the other man. A peppered cluster of bullet holes across the driver’s chest offered an opening into the otherwise impregnable uniform. Ripping through the material the thing found what it was after, an enticing bellyful of warm gooey riches...
Back inside the bus, too scared to be near the windows or the shuttered doors, the passengers had abandoned their seats and were now crammed within the central aisle. Pushing and shoving, they screamed at the top of their voices as the attack from outside continued to intensify. Now the dead were bumping and thumping against both sides the side of the bus, their sheer weight of numbers making it rock.
‘Jesus Christ!’ yelled Paige, pounding on the glass behind the driver’s cab. ‘Ash! Come on! Get us out of here!’
‘I’m trying! I’m fucking trying!’
Using all manner of combinations, the Scotsman pressed every button and pulled every lever while continuing to turn the key in the ignition. Each attempt ended with just another click, although it was impossible for him to hear that now. Sitting adjacent to him, Chris McReedy looked to his right to see the mangled fingers clawing at his window and then glanced back over at Ashley. The Scotsman’s face was dripping with sweat.
‘Just keep trying’ shouted the youngster. ’You’ll get it, just don’t give up!’
Turning away from the glass, Paige Ryder looked through the shuttered doors to her right. More zombies were gathered there than anywhere, maybe because it offered the clearest view inside but probably because it was the weakest point of the entire vehicle. Every slap of every cold, rotten palm made the doors shake, threatening to burst them open. The whole vehicle was rocking even more violently now too, and Paige noticed that a sliver of a gap was beginning to open up at the edge of the doorframe. Stark reality hit her. Either the doors were going to collapse inward or the bus was going to tip over.
~ 8 ~
Paige clenched her teeth and jammed her boot against the doorframe, immediately closing the gap and slicing off half a dozen rotten fingers in the process. Undeterred, the creatures continued to batter against the toughened panels, their grotesque faces smearing infected mucus over the glass.
‘That’s it!’ shouted a voice at her shoulder. ‘Keep your foot there.’
Paige looked sideways as Ben Reilly stole past her and threw his weight against the other side of the frame. Another visible gap was instantly closed, although Ben’s close proximity and the accidental clatter of his rifle on the glass quickly drove the dead into greater excitement.
‘That was close!’ yelled Paige as the terrified cries of the passengers continued behind them.
Ben nodded furiously, hooking his rifle over his shoulder and readjusting his feet to strengthen his stance. ‘Listen’ he said loudly. ‘I’m sorry. I – I lost it for a bit there...’
Paige heard him but pretended that she hadn’t. This wasn’t the time to mull over moments of weakness - even if those moments could get you or your fellow humans killed. Instead she concentrated on pressing her boot against the door just as the bus lurched more forcefully than ever. For one terrifying, heart-stopping moment, both wheels on the right hand side were completely off the ground. She tensed, holding her breath as they dropped back into place, the crushing impact testing the vehicle’s suspension to the max.
Seated within the driver’s cab in front of them, Chris McReedy finally made his mind up. He had already played his part in rescuing these people from the soldiers, but it was all going to end badly unless they actually managed to get out of here. Another quick glance to his left showed that Ashley was still struggling to get the bus started. The Scotsman needed time to clear his head, and that wasn’t going to happen unless Chris did something to improve his chances.
‘Keep trying, Ash’ he said simply, grabbing the mask and goggles and putting them on. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he reached for the door handle.
‘Bloody hell, Chris. No!’
Despite his frail condition, the teenager managed to push back against the fumbling bodies with enough force to make some of them fall. Slipping from the elevated step, he slammed the door behind him and wheeled toward the front of the vehicle. Five zombies immediately tried to follow, three of them tripping and falling over those on the ground while the other two stretched out their spidery fingers to grab him. Shrugging them off, he somehow got out of reach.
Ten feet away, lying where he had dropped them, were the two rifles. A further ten feet away were the bodies of the other two soldiers. Chris was halfway toward the weapons when he realised that one of the bodies had climbed to its feet.
Swaying in the familiar drunken fashion, the thing saw him and began to drag itself closer, its awful groan amplified by a still intact face mask. At that precise moment one particular thought flickered through the youngster’s jumbled mind. There seemed to be no rules dictating when a person ‘turned’; the metamorphosis appeared to take anything from a couple of minutes to a few hours. Even with zombies behind and in front of him, Chris’ thoughts turned to what would happen after his own inevitable demise. If he didn’t take matters into his own hands to negate it, he wondered how long his own transformation would take...
Sweeping up one of the rifles, the teenager swung the butt squarely into the side of the advancing creature’s head, knocking it to the ground. As it fell, he turned to look over his shoulder. Around a dozen of the dead had moved away from the bus and were plodding toward him.
‘That’s it’ he said with a gasp. ‘Follow me.’
Back on the bus, Ben noticed the numbers on the other side of the shutters begin to drift away. The passengers in the blocked aisle had stopped yelling and were now a flinching mass of nervous gasps and sobs. Looking from one window to another, they too noticed that the numbers were beginning to thin out. ‘Keep quiet’ someone said in a stage whisper. ‘They’re going.’
So occupied in keeping his shoulder tight against the doorframe, Ben had not even seen Chris exit the front cab. Now, with the parade of dead moving past, he took a step back and angled a glance out through the windscreen. ‘Oh shit. Chris...’
Moving along the road, just a few feet ahead of his groaning pursuers, was the teenager. Even at the widening distance Ben could see that he was struggling to carry the rifle. Every step was less assured, clumsier than the last. It wouldn’t be long before they caught him.
Ben slipped his own rifle from his shoulder and took it in hand again. ‘Quick, we’ve gotta-‘
At that exact moment a huge shape moved past the shutters, blocking out the light. Ben froze as Harry Skinner – or the giant that used to be Harry Skinner – slowly lumbered by. Half of his bearded face was gone, the flesh ripped away so that pure white bone was exposed. One of his huge bear-claw hands had been partially eaten too; now only one finger remained, surrounded by stringy scraps of skin. Harry’s rapid transformation had tainted his flesh for the feasting dead. This was why their numbers increased so rapidly; most were reborn before they could be entirely consumed...
‘Don’t do it’ said Paige, touching Ben’s arm as the hulking giant moved toward the tail end of the procession. The passengers behind gave a collective sigh, most having just reached a semblance of calm. Physically and mentally drained, they slumped in their seats.
‘Are you kidding?’ Ben whispered loudly. ‘I’m not leaving Chris out there to get ripped apart. And I’m not letting Harry stay as one of them either...’
Paige stared at him, seeing Matt Reilly’s determination behind his brother’s expression. Ben was undoubtedly the softer-edged version, more reserved, more thoughtful, but right now he was channelling his brother’s ‘up and at ‘em’ attitude.
‘Thank fuck!’ came a muffled voice from within the driver’s cab. Ashley was pointing to a flashing green button on the steering column, one that had illuminated after seventeen different combinations of lever and button had already failed. ‘I think I’ve got it.
’
Turning the key in the ignition, the Scotsman let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a whimper as the chunky engine rumbled into life. At least five passengers behind him let out a cheer.
Ben pressed up against the glass barrier behind the front seats and looked out through the windscreen. A couple of dead stragglers turned at the sound of the engine but the rest continued their pursuit of the teenager. Harry Skinner’s reanimated corpse was now at the centre of the throng, his huge tree-trunk legs covering more ground than those around him.
‘Get after them!’ shouted Ben, slapping the glass panel. ‘Run them down if you have to!’ With a judder the vehicle lurched and pulled away from the side of the road.
Two hundred feet ahead, Chris McReedy heard the engine start but didn’t dare turn around. The shuffling feet and haunted moans were closer than ever; surely it was only a matter of seconds before he was smothered by them. Up ahead and to the left was a gap in the row of abandoned vehicles and beyond that was a metal roadside barrier with only sky visible behind it. If he could just get there he might be able to take a few of the dead down the steep verge with him.
‘Aghh!’ he cried as a fumbling hand flopped against his back. The zombie, a former civil servant called Colin, overstretched and immediately lost balance, falling forward and tripping four others directly behind. Taking advantage of the moment, Chris stumbled between the cars and reached the barrier, using every iota of energy to climb over. There was a flat shelf about two feet wide on the opposite side but then an almost sheer drop of around seventy feet, way steeper than he had expected. The gentle verge had been dug away and it had been done recently too; anything falling down here had no chance of climbing back up. Setting himself for the recoil, the youngster turned and raised his rifle, firing a single shot into the air. The mass of rotten bodies came at him hissing and snarling, four or five alone in the front row.
