Adrenal7n

by Russ Watts

  “What is it?” he asked, turning around.

  Lulu’s face was frowning. Her eyes were staring into the bar. “I thought I saw something.”

  “All the more reason to get going, then.” Bashar held out a hand to Lulu.

  She wiped her nose and looked at him. “No, not like the others. Not a person. Something different.”

  “Different?” Bashar took a step into the doorway. ‘Different’ was what had taken Wilf. ‘Different’ was something he could do without. He couldn’t see anything other than what he had seen before. The steps leading down into the bar, the pool table and the rack of balls all looked the same. There was a cue on the side of the table and then Bashar tensed up. Hadn’t there been two cues before? He tried to remember, but it had all seemed so insignificant before. He was probably imagining it, just like Lulu. What did it matter anyway?

  “Look, who cares. Let’s just go. You want to get home, don’t you?”

  Lulu nodded and attempted a smile. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  As Lulu reached for Bashar something came bounding out of the bar from underneath the pool table: a snarling creature from the fog that made Bashar draw his breath and shove Lulu behind him. A golden Labrador began to climb the steps toward them trailing a red harness behind it. The metal handle clanked and clattered against the steps and the collar around the dog was twisted around one of the dog’s front legs. The animal’s fur was matted with blood and as it ascended the steps it became clear to Bashar that it was not helping its owner, or seeking company, but was coming for them. Once an aid to its blind owner, the dog was now vicious and dangerous, and the gaping sores across its back testament to the injuries it had suffered before losing its owner. There was a severed hand in the dog’s jaw which it dropped as it sprang up the last step and launched itself at Lulu.

  Bashar pushed her aside and Lulu screamed. In the same moment as the animal pounced Bashar twisted and swung the hammer at it. Its slavering jaws narrowly missed Bashar and he ploughed the hammer into the side of the poor creature’s head. With a yelp it crashed to the pavement and its paws skidded on the cold surface. It turned around immediately and charged at Bashar.

  Bashar saw the dog’s eyes as it ran at him and was reminded of Roza. The eyes were lifeless, black, and soulless; he raised the hammer again and moved quickly, deftly sidestepping the attacking dog and hitting it once more, slicing off a chunk of fur. The dog skidded to a halt and whipped around. It opened its jaws but was unable to bark. It simply clacked its sharp teeth together and looked at Bashar. As he moved in to put the dog down, it ran to the side of him with the intention of grabbing Lulu. As she shrieked, she grabbed Bashar’s shoulder. He grimaced in pain as her fingers found his wound from the blaze and he tried to hit the dog once more. Caught out by the dog’s fast footwork, he succeeded only in striking the dog’s soft underbelly, and the dog clamped its jaws around his ankle.

  “Shit,” yelled Bashar, and he kicked frantically before the dog could get a firm grip. Its teeth sawed through his shoes, ripping apart the cheap leather, but slipped off before getting through to his skin. The dog reared up on its hind legs ready to go for the kill. Bashar felt Lulu let go of him and he raised the hammer in defence as the dog rushed forward.

  “Not today, bitch.” Lulu darted out from behind Bashar and grabbed the dog’s harness, getting both hands firmly on the handle. She yanked it firmly back and the dog tottered backward before tumbling down the steps back into the bar.

  “It’ll be back,” said Bashar taking Lulu’s arm. “We should hurry.”

  He looked into the bar and saw a figure emerge through the fog from behind the pool table. It raised what looked like a spear and Bashar prepared to duck.

  “Lulu,” Bashar hissed, “get down.”

  The figure released the spear but as Bashar waited for the whoosh of air as it sailed over his head, he realised the figure hadn’t thrown it at all. The shadowy figure simply stepped forward to the bottom of the steps and plunged it into the dog’s skull. There was a timid whining sound as the figure twisted and turned the spear into the dog’s brain, and then finally stillness.

  “What the hell was that?” whispered Lulu as she crouched beside Bashar.

  “I think it’s time to go,” said Bashar as he watched the mysterious figure stride toward them.

  “Which way is the van?” asked Lulu.

  Bashar turned away from the bar as if expecting to look across the street and find the white van there waiting for them, but all he saw was a wall of fog. Could he find it again? Was Tony out there? Bashar tried to recall the direction he had taken, to remember what way he had come, yet there was nothing by which he could get his bearings. No road markings, no street lights, no shops or people. He swallowed and pointed out into the grey, in the direction of where he thought they should go.

  “Over there. We go over there.”

  “Oh yeah, so what’s that?” asked Lulu. “That noise, you hear it?”

  From the left there came a soft rumbling noise and two tiny pinpricks of yellowy light. Like orbs in the darkness they glowed and began to grow larger as the rumbling noise increased. Bashar looked back at the bar and the figure advancing up the steps. What was going on? Should he stay on the street or risk entering the bar? As far as he knew the zombies didn’t use weapons and going out into the fog was a daunting prospect. Making his mind up for him, the figure reached the doorway and finally spoke.

  “You don’t look like the police, you know.” The man stepped out into the street and looked Bashar up and down. His eyes shifted to look at Lulu. “Nah, you’re no cops. You’re much better looking.”

  “You alone in there?” asked Lulu, defiance in her voice.

  “I am now, sugar,” said the man. “That bloody dog had me trapped in there. Thanks to you two distracting it I’m out now. Feels bloody good as well. I hate dogs,” said the man as he wiped the end of the pool cue on his shin.

  The rumbling noise behind Bashar suddenly turned into a growl and the figure was splashed with bright light.

  “Tony!” exclaimed Lulu, and she left Bashar’s side. The van had arrived, saving them an uncomfortable journey through the fog, and Bashar saw Lulu run to jump in through the passenger door.

  “Bashar, come on mate, let’s roll.”

  Bashar heard Tony’s voice come from the direction of the driver’s side, though the window was obscured by the fog.

  “Nice, you got a ride? Any chance of a lift? Something tells me the trains aren’t running.”

  Bashar felt compelled to run, to get in the van and just go. The stranger was a little odd, but he was alone and appeared harmless. If Tony didn’t mind then it seemed like the right thing to do.

  “Neale,” said the man holding out a hand.

  Bashar took the hand slowly and shook it. Neale was smiling, as if he was happy with how the day was turning out. He wore skinny jeans with frayed cuffs, navy blue trainers and a plaid shirt that wouldn’t look out of place on a ranch.

  “I know,” said Neale as he shook Bashar’s hand. “I know. Look this isn’t my usual gear. I was doing a gig last night and I ended up getting lucky. So it’s walk of shame time. Not that I mind. It was all worth it.” Neale winked. “Cute little waitress. She had a flat above the bar. Don’t know where she disappeared to this morning. She went out to get milk and never came back. With all this fog I figured she got lost or something. Then when I saw what was going on, well shit, I wasn’t in a hurry to leave, you know? Fucking crazy shit. People killing people. Some blind woman got absolutely annihilated. I swear I saw them eating her before they dragged her away begging for her life. Poor sod. I’ve been waiting for help, but seems the cops don’t have a plan for zombies. So I’ve been waiting quite a while. I did try to leave an hour back but that sodding dog wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t figure out how to get past it ‘til you showed. Gave me a chance, you know?”

  Tony honked the horn and revved the engine. “We should get going,” sa
id Bashar. “There could be more… people out here.”

  “People? You mean zombies?” Neale chuckled. “Man, I should’ve stayed in bed. What a fucked up day today is going to be. I could be under the covers with a hot woman, but instead I’m fighting off zombies. I’m not gonna end up like that blind old woman I saw get nailed earlier.”

  “And what about the girl you stayed with? Is she not here?” Bashar looked into the bar. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Neale when he said he was alone, but he didn’t seem overly concerned with the whereabouts of his conquest either. “If there’s anyone else in there, then now’s the time to get them out.”

  “No, there’s nobody else. The bar doesn’t open until evening. It was just me and Clare. I mean, Karen. No, wait, it was Clare. Or was it Clara. Shoot, who cares about a name, eh?” Neale grinned at Bashar. “As long as they’re up for it, I don’t worry about the little things. Anyway, like I said, she went out and never came back.” Neale shrugged. “No skin off my nose, you know?”

  Bashar nodded as if he knew what Neale was talking about. It seemed like Neale also needed a dose of reality. The girl he had slept with was lying dead in the street and he didn’t even remember her name. He seemed to think the dead people were just an inconvenience, something else to put on his blog until the next gig.

  “Neale, you’ll have to ride in the back. There’s only room for three up front,” said Bashar as he made his way to the side of the van.

  “Sure thing, boss. Where are you headed anyway? My place is in Hammersmith. If you’re headed west I could do with a lift. All this fog is crazy. The roads should be pretty clear, right?”

  Tired of Neale’s voice already Bashar hopped into the van and squeezed up beside Lulu.

  “All good?” asked Tony. “I thought when you ran off after Lulu that would be the last I saw of you. Of either of you.”

  “We’re good,” replied Bashar as Tony put the van into reverse. “The man in the back is Neale. He just needs to find his way home like the rest of us.”

  “Too right,” said Neale cheerfully as he slammed the sliding door shut. He poked his head forward between the seats and grabbed the headrest as the van began moving. “Right then, driver, where to? Don’t suppose Hammersmith is on the list?”

  “Not yet,” said Tony glancing at Neale in the mirror. “And the name’s Tony. This is my van so if you feel like half-inching any of my gear back there, don’t.”

  “Not a problem. I wouldn’t know what to do with this stuff. Put a guitar and a mike in my hands, and I’m happy. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a spanner and spade.”

  As Tony slowly started driving the van forward Bashar couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Even though he had risked everything in trying to help Lulu, she was still inching away from him. Neale probably thought he was charming, but was coming off as sleazy while Tony was distant, focussed on driving. Bashar hoped that he knew where he was going. The headlights were picking out objects no more than a few feet in front of them and Tony had to drive so slowly that it felt like they hadn’t got out of first gear. Tony pulled the van to the left and the headlights illuminated a pale street sign.

  “Maiden Lane,” said Tony as he drove around a discarded bicycle and swung the van back to the right. “Too narrow. Too much risk of getting blocked in. We’ll take Henrietta and get onto Bedford. The buildings aren’t so enclosed there and maybe the open air will allow some of this fog to disperse. I can’t see far in this crap.”

  Bashar reached a hand up to his shoulder. The bleeding seemed to have stopped though it was sore. “Can you find your way in this?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been driving these streets for years. I grew up wanting to be a taxi driver, but my old man got me into plumbing. Said I should have a proper job. These roads though are part of me. London is part of my family. I can do this. I have to. Lissie is out there.”

  “Lissie?” asked Neale.

  “My wife. I left her with my credit card in Carnaby Street. That’s where we’re headed.” The van’s lights picked out a black taxi in the middle of the road, its engine running and doors open. Tony slowly drove around it, and then pulled left onto Henrietta Street. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on? You heard from anyone?”

  “Nothing,” said Neale. “My phone died as soon as this fog came up. Can’t get hold of anyone or connect to anything. I really wanted to post an update on my gig tonight, you know? You think the fog will be gone by then?”

  “Is your gig really the most important thing on your mind right now?” Bashar sighed. “There are people dying and you’re worried about your career?”

  “Take it easy,” said Neale. “I just mean this isn’t going to last forever, you know? It’s just a temporary thing. It’ll blow over, it always does. Tony will be in front of the TV tonight with his wife finding out that this was just some crazy weather phenomenon due to global warming, I’ll be playing Maroon 5 covers to drunken old women, and you’ll be, well wherever you want to be. Chill.”

  Bashar watched as the van’s lights illuminated a body lying in the road. He doubted that this event was going to blow over anytime soon. In fact he doubted Tony was going to be reunited with his wife within the hour, certainly not in time to get home for the evening news. Neale was living in fantasy land. The fog wasn’t freak weather, it wasn’t even real fog. Bashar remembered the texture of it, the smell of death that seemed to float through it, and how it fell like ash once cut off from the rest of it. It was as if the fog was just a blanket by which to hide something.

  “It isn’t global warming,” said Bashar. “No way.”

  The fog wasn’t going to dissipate under the morning sun. As far as Bashar could tell, it was the middle of the night. The spring blue sky was a distant memory and the warm sun a hazy dream.

  Tony slowed the van as the lights picked out another body, then another, and soon there was a pile of them lying across the road. The bodies didn’t move. Their faces were covered in blood, their clothes torn, their limbs mangled as if something had chewed on them and spat them out. The dead bodies stretched from left to right, meeting the buildings and blocking the road. Tony let the van come to a halt, but left the engine running.

  “What now?” asked Lulu timidly.

  “I’ll have to back up and try Maiden Lane, I suppose” said Tony.

  “What happened here?” asked Bashar quietly. He saw young and old faces, people of all ages lying in the road. How could there be so many dead? What had done this? Were there that many zombies, and if so, where were they now? Bashar shivered and gripped the hammer in his hand tighter. “There are so many.”

  “Well there’s no helping them now,” said Neale casually. “You want to head back to the bar? Come on man, just go over them. They’re dead anyway.”

  Tony turned around in his seat to face Neale. “Are you having a laugh? I’m not driving over them.”

  “Well you can’t go around, can you?”

  Tony leaned closer to Neale menacingly. “You ever heard the old expression three’s a crowd? Well four’s too much. You want a lift in my van, you keep your bloody opinions to yourself.”

  “I thought you said that other road was too small.” Lulu looked at Tony nervously. “I mean, they are dead. And I don’t want to go back there.”

  Bashar remembered the dead girl with the wooden leg protruding from her face and how scared Lulu had been. He didn’t want to go back either but there seemed to be little choice. There was no way around the bodies and their options were dwindling every second that they waited.

  “Tony is there—?”

  A bang on the back of the van made them all jump. It rattled the tools in the van and Lulu shrieked.

  “Shit, who is that?” asked Lulu.

  “I really think we need to get going, you know” said Neale. His confident tone had dropped a notch and Bashar noticed he was fumbling around in the back for a weapon. He had left the bloody pool cue behind when he’d got in the van and instead
found a long handled screwdriver.

  There was another bang on the back of the van and a scratching noise that quietened everyone inside. It sounded like the metal on the outer hull of the van was being peeled back with a rusty nail.

  “What on Earth is that?” asked Tony as the screeching noise continued.

  “Just get us out of here,” implored Neale as another bang came from the back of the van. There was a groaning noise and then another thud. “I feel like a piece of tuna in here.”

  “Tony, I don’t care if we go forward or back, but we need to move,” said Bashar.

  Though the side window was closed he could clearly see the wing mirror and all the figures in it. Down the side of the van there were two or three men walking slowly. One wore a blue parka with blood splattered across the chest. The man’s head hung askew, his left cheekbone was exposed and both arms hung limply by his side. Another man bounced off the side of the van and staggered forward. The pale-skinned torso was torn apart and bite marks ringed the man’s neck. There was not much left of the poor man’s face; his nose had been chewed off, both ears were missing, and his eyes were merely black empty sockets. He groaned as he walked and crimson blood dripped from his mouth. And even though Bashar knew these people were dead, knew they had to be zombies, there was something else that scared him even more.

  Outside of the van, walking amongst the dead men was another figure. This one walked with purpose, with confidence, with a stride that told Bashar this person was different; they were alive. The figure was wearing some sort of hooded gown, a black cape that kept them hidden from the zombies. Bashar stared at the blackness beneath the hood. As it came closer he was certain he could begin to see the features: two eyes like saffron and a wisp of auburn hair curling around delicate cheekbones. The black cape the woman wore was slit to the waist and Bashar caught sight of a leg, a long slender leg that looked like perfection. Yet Bashar was terrified. There was something strangely attractive and yet repellent about the woman. Who could be out in that fog, walking next to zombies as if she hadn’t a care in the world? It was then that Bashar noticed she was almost right outside his door. She was walking very slowly beside the van and the horrible scraping noise was being made by a single fingernail as she dragged it along the van.