by Russ Watts
Her cold eyes met his and the woman stopped. Bashar felt his innards twist and a familiar feeling spread over him. He felt like he was looking into the eyes of someone he had met, and yet he didn’t know this woman. He didn’t know anyone who would be out in the streets of London under these conditions and he fought the urge to scream. He dragged his eyes away from the mirror.
“Move this van Tony, right now.”
“But what—?”
Bashar heard the scraping noise begin again. The mysterious woman and zombies were almost upon them.
“Seriously. If you want to see Lissie again then you have to move this van forward. Drive!”
CHAPTER 7
Tony glanced in his side mirror and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Two figures were rising up from the road and dragging their bodies along the side of the van. Charging the van forward, Tony gritted his teeth and pumped the pedals. He was aware of Lulu screaming as he drove over the bodies but he ignored it just as he ignored Neale’s clamour for him to go faster. Tony knew what his van could do, and whilst he had never driven it through a pile of dead bodies before, he was sure it could gain enough traction to get over them. He blinked away the tears and the sickness in his throat as the van lurched over the top of the first body. It was like driving off road and he was thrown around in his seat as he continued pushing the van forward. He heard bones snapping under the wheels and terrible moaning sounds. Praying the groans were from the people following them and not the poor folks he was driving over, Tony kept the van going at a steady pace. It slewed from side to side as its momentum kept it going, occasionally losing traction only when its wheels sunk into the soft flesh beneath. Then it would suddenly surge forward as it found something to grip onto. Tony knew only too well what he was driving over and was grateful when it abruptly ended. The pile of bodies wasn’t too high, but seemed to go on for several feet until they found the road again. As the wheels found the tarmac again the van suddenly picked up speed and Tony yanked the wheel hard right to avoid rear-ending a double decker bus. The rubber tyres squealed as he drove the van around the end of the bus, missing it by inches, and the smell of burning rubber reached his nostrils. The fog was still thick, but he didn’t want to slow down or stop. He had to trust his instincts to keep them going forward. He knew that Henrietta Street led straight into Bedford and all he had to do was keep them on the road. He could see the centre line and knew the piano bar on his right was the last building before he had to take them right. Tony gunned the vehicle and as the lights found a courier van abandoned in the middle of the road he swerved around to the right of it. Through the fog his lights illuminated the pavement and he caught a glimpse of the piano bar. Tony yanked the steering wheel hard and swung the van out onto the wider road ahead.
“Watch out!” Bashar yelled as the van headed straight for the back of a delivery truck. The rear doors plastered with adverts for a sports drink were ajar, and a pair of motionless feet were sticking out of the back, the owner of them hidden in the gloom of the truck.
The van’s headlights illuminated the truck only at the last moment and as Tony swerved the van around it he heard the left side of his van make contact with the truck. The sound of metal meeting metal at high speed left a tearing, screeching noise ringing around Tony’s head but he kept them going, desperate to put as much distance as possible between them and Covent Garden. There had been so many people, so many who had died there; the tourists who had come from all over the world had died in their hundreds and he had just driven over their bodies. Tony felt sick, but he had not had a choice. There had been no other way. He knew those walking around the van had been dead too. He didn’t know how, or why, but they were dead all right. Everyone was dead. The thought made him feel sicker, but he pushed on. Lissie was out there, she had to be. He would fight off every one of those dead pyscho-fuckers to get to her.
“Tony, slow up or we’re going to end up crashing,” pleaded Lulu.
“She’s right, mate,” said Neale. “Back the truck up, or we’re toast.”
“In a minute,” said Tony. Sweat was pouring down his temples and a drop traced its way down his neck to the top of his back. “I know these roads. We’ll be okay. We just need to get some distance.”
The van rocked violently as Tony drove right over a bicycle, its fragile wheels buckling under the weight of the transit van.
“Tony, they’re gone,” said Bashar. He had seen the zombies disappear when Tony had taken off. They had been unable to keep up and since leaving Covent Garden he hadn’t seen any movement outside of the window. His left hand was gripping the assist handle above his head and he suddenly realised his right hand was clutching Lulu’s. Had he taken her hand or was it the other way around? He relaxed his grip and Lulu withdrew her hand sheepishly. She said nothing and placed both her hands on the dashboard as Bashar picked up the hammer he had dropped at their feet. “Just slow it a little, Tony.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Tony relaxed his foot off the accelerator and dodged a stationary motorbike. His heart was pounding but he knew they were right. It was madness to drive at such speed with such poor visibility. “I just wanted to get away from them.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” asked Neale. “I couldn’t see shit. Who was out there?”
“Zombies,” said Lulu calmly. “Fucking zombies.”
Nobody said anything as Tony slowed the van down and they entered Garrick Street. He had to drive along the centre line as both sides of the road were clogged with vehicles. Some still had their headlights on, some had their doors open, and yet there was nobody to be seen. Tony knew these streets should be busy at this time of day; there should’ve been thousands of people on them, and yet they were eerily deserted. Surely, he thought, surely there had to be others like them? Surely there had been other people who had been trapped inside and avoided the fog?
Reaching the next junction Tony decided to stick to Garrick as it was wider and easier than trying to cut through one of the side streets. It was hard enough avoiding the vehicles as it was, and he didn’t want to get jammed in again like they had back on Henrietta. On the corner of the street Tony spied another delivery van parked up outside a supermarket. The lights were still on inside the building and they were giving out enough light to penetrate the fog.
“Look, maybe there’s someone inside,” said Bashar noticing the supermarket at the same time as Tony. It actually felt odd seeing light, so used had he become to the grey gloom of the ever-present fog. “We could see if there’s help inside. Maybe they’re okay.”
Tony drew the van up closer. The strong fluorescent lighting projected enough light to highlight the store’s large bay windows that overlooked the street. There were large posters in the centre of each one offering amazing value deals. Pictures of chocolate biscuits and teabags with low, low prices were sitting proudly next to the dead bodies. Squashed up against every window were zombies, seemingly filling the store from wall to wall. Bodies pushed against each other as hands banged on the glass, faces clamoured to be freed and teeth gnashed in frustration. The van’s headlights picked out individual faces as Tony drew past the store slowly; young children with pieces of flesh hacked from the supple skin, old men and women with blood dripping down their chins, store workers with ripped uniforms and tourists with dead eyes.
“We’re not out of the woods, yet,” muttered Neale.
“Jesus, are they all dead?” asked Lulu.
“I think so,” said Bashar, deflated. The nightmare was becoming real, the bizarre scenario getting worse by the minute. What had done this to them? He remembered how Angie had bitten Bob. The old man had changed after that. Maybe something similar had happened here, causing everyone inside the shop to turn. They had probably locked the store, keeping everybody inside for their own safety, only to find someone inside was already bitten. They had unwittingly condemned themselves without knowing what they were doing.
“I don’t believe in zombies,” said
Lulu. “They’re just sick. Those people aren’t dead. They can’t be.”
“They can,” countered Neale. “Look at them. Look at their faces. They’re fucked up. No way are they still alive.”
Tony pulled the van away from the supermarket and back onto the road. He brought them slowly around the delivery truck and back onto the centre line where there was more space. The lights from the supermarket faded quickly and they were back in the gloomy fog instantly, the coldness and silent streets unnerving.
“Where are we going, again?” asked Neale. “It’s not exactly comfortable back here. How far are you intending to go? If you’re heading by Hammersmith you could just drop me off, you know?”
“We’re going to Lissie,” said Tony plainly.
Bashar noticed that Tony was peering over the wheel, his face set like stone. He was concentrating on driving and seemed worried. Bashar knew Lissie had been shopping and suspected Tony was worried that whatever had happened at the supermarket might have happened to his wife as well. It was a fair assumption and explained why they were picking up speed too.
“We’re not going to Hammersmith, dickhead,” said Lulu. “We already told you. Just be quiet for a second. Let Tony drive.”
“Oh yeah, want to swap? You sit back here on a toolbox and I’ll take the nice comfy window seat up front. Deal?” Neale tapped Lulu’s shoulder with a spanner. “Come on, sugar. Unless you want to join me back here. There’s room for two.”
“Piss off, perve. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m sticking with Tony. He knows what he’s doing.”
“And this other bloke? You sticking with him, too?”
Lulu looked sideways at Bashar and then back at the windshield. She shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Let’s all be quiet and let Tony concentrate on driving,” said Bashar. He felt like he was scolding two naughty children. He knew Lulu was still sceptical about him. She probably thought he was still responsible for this. He fitted the profile and her mind was going to take time to realise he was just like her. He was no more a terrorist than her. “Lulu’s right, Tony knows what he’s doing, but he’s going to need to concentrate on getting through these roads. We’ve all got our reasons for wanting to get somewhere, but this is the way it is. Hammersmith is a long way down the list, Neale. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to make your own way. We’ll just drop you off at the nearest tube.”
Neale snorted. “What a strange bunch you are. What is your name, mate?”
“Bashar.”
“Nice tie, Bashar. You look like you should be sitting behind a nice big desk. I mean there’s blood all over your shirt, but apart from that you cut the mustard. So what’s your deal? You were off to work and then bumped into these two, right? No, it’s too late in the morning for that. You should’ve been at work already. Let me guess, you were sneaking off to one of those cheap hotels in Russell Square for a quickie with your secretary. I know your type. You won’t fork out for The Savoy, you just get one of those square boxes with a single bed that you pay for by the hour, am I right? Long blonde hair, legs going all the way up to heaven, and—”
“Do you ever shut up?” interjected Lulu. “God, you are so full of shit. Bashar’s not like that.”
“Oh, you know him well, do you?”
“Better than you.” Lulu shifted around to face Neale.
Bashar could see her eyes light up and knew better than to interrupt her. He had been on the end of her sharp tongue already. Neale was so sure of himself and yet he was completely off. Bashar was about to tell him to shut his mouth but it seemed like Lulu was going to do it for him.
“I know that when I got grabbed by some fucked up girl who was trying to bite me that he came after me. I know that he tried to help my friend earlier, to help the old couple; I know that even if he’s not someone I would normally be friends with, he’s a better man than you, you selfish prick. I know that he’s no businessman like you think.” Lulu raised her voice and her anger began to come out.
“Oh, really?” said Neale.
“Yeah, what kind of businessman sits in a cheap coffee shop in the middle of the morning on a weekday? He wasn’t going off to fuck his secretary coz he hasn’t even got one. Look at his cheap suit. I’ll bet he works in a call centre or something, probably selling ice to Eskimos for minimum wage. I’m not having a go - at least it’s a living. What do you do apart from strum your guitar and flash your eyes just so you can sleep around? Big deal. Why don’t you try getting a proper job, then you can talk to me, yeah? All you’ve done since joining us is hit on me and bitch about wanting to get back home. You’re just a scared little boy who needs to grow up. I’ve got a boyfriend so drop it. I’ve got someone to look after me. Tony and Bashar will make sure I get home to him. My friend died this morning. What about you? You seen anyone you love die recently? You got a plan? You got any fucking idea what is going on? Do you even care about anything other than yourself?”
Lulu folded her arms and stared at Neale. Bashar bit his tongue and waited for a sarcastic comment from Neale, yet there was nothing. Lulu huffed and turned around.
“That’s what I thought. Deal with it, bitch.”
Bashar placed his hammer on his lap. He wanted to see Neale’s face, but he couldn’t see him from where he sat. He could guess though. Neale had been put in his place and felt Lulu’s anger. Bashar was just pleased it hadn’t been directed at him. She had defended him, and seemed to believe he was on the level now, although her summary of his career was a little off. Still, it was better than Neale’s opinion of him. At least Lulu realised now that he was just trying to help. She might still have her guard up, but he began to accept it was just her way of defending herself, against not just him but anyone or anything that might attack her. She was scared too, and her aggressiveness was a part of dealing with that. Perhaps Neale’s jovial nature was his way of dealing with it.
Bashar looked out the window hoping to see more lights, but there was nothing but fog. The silence outside the van seemed to have crept inside. Since Lulu’s outburst nobody had said anything, and the silence lasted a few minutes before it was broken.
“Well, I like his suit. I didn’t think it looked that cheap,” said Tony.
“Sorry, Tony.” Bashar smiled. “Lulu’s right. It is cheap.”
Tony chuckled and drew the van up by the side of the road.
“Why have we stopped?” asked Lulu. “We’re not lost are we?”
Tony shook his head. “No, I know where we are. I’m just trying to figure out which way to go. We’ve got Charing Cross Road ahead of us. I could take it and get onto Shaftesbury Ave. From there I can follow the road all the way to Regent Street.”
“But?”
“I wonder if we’re not best to cut through Leicester Square. Might save a lot of time.”
“Might? If it’s a quicker route then just go for it,” said Lulu.
“Well it’s shorter and there should be less traffic. We shouldn’t have any problems in that department.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Neale quietly. “Just go.”
“People,” said Bashar. “Tourists. There might not be many vehicles but you can bet that Leicester Square would’ve been full of people this morning. It could be tricky.”
As if to prompt them into a decision a figure suddenly wandered into the van’s headlights. A little girl dressed like a princess and clutching a stuffed giraffe stumbled in front of them. The pink plastic wings on her back were splattered with blood and one of the giraffe’s legs had been ripped off leaving the stuffing billowing out. The girl sneered at them. One eye had been gouged out, as if yanked from its socket in a hurry, leaving her right cheek a bloody mess of torn flesh. She opened her mouth and reached her arms out as she approached the van. Dark blood spilled from her mouth, accompanied by a soft moan.
“Jesus H. Christ,” whispered Tony.
“Whichever way we’re going, Tony,” said Neale, “I suggest we do it, and quickly. I d
on’t care which way, as long as it’s away from her.”
Tony shoved the accelerator down and Bashar thought for a moment he was going to drive right through the girl. Instead he sped past her and Bashar heard the bump as the girl bounced off the side of the van.
“Still don’t believe in zombies?” Neale asked Lulu, prodding the top of her neck. The spite in his tone was obvious.
“I believe if you keep it up you’ll be a zombie soon,” said Lulu, shrugging Neale off.
Bashar felt nervous as Tony drove them into Leicester Square. They mounted the pavement and began to trundle across the paving. There were bags and clothes, discarded coats and odd shoes on the ground, and as they went further Bashar noticed the bags and rubbish: empty food cartons, free newspapers, flyers, caps, fizzy drink bottles, wallets, mobile phones, a turned over push chair and even a football that rolled by nonchalantly. It was evident that Leicester Square had lost some of its charm. Bashar noticed a stand offering reduced tickets to theatre shows. In the fog he could just make out 2-4-1 specials and student discounts, prices displayed in Euros and US Dollars. They rolled slowly by a souvenir shop, its doors wide open. The fog had seeped inside, much like at the coffee shop, and all Bashar could see was a rack of Union Jack hats. A display of mugs featuring the royal family had fallen in the doorway and the crockery was smashed to pieces. Bashar thought he noticed the fog shifting, perhaps moved by someone inside, but he hoped he was wrong. He hoped whoever had been inside had escaped. He was certain nobody could be alive now. Once the fog was in, there was no way of stopping it. It brought the dead with it.
