Adrenal7n

by Russ Watts

  “Hang on,” said Tony, “we’re almost there.” He was forced to navigate by using the side mirror, yet it was so covered in blood and gore that it was becoming increasingly difficult to see what direction he was going in. He was relying more on memory than vision.

  “Anytime today,” said Neale. He held onto the headrests and tried to ignore the pain coursing through his legs as he was thrown around the interior of the van. “No rush, take your time. I love central London at this time of year. Let’s take in a show, stop for a drink, you know? Sounds like bliss.”

  With a slow crunching sound the side door opposite Neale rolled back and he watched as two arms from the fog outside reached in and grabbed his feet.

  “Shit!” Neale yelled and kicked his legs. The hands lost their grip and recoiled back into the fog. “The sodding door came open,” said Neale, as he reached to close it.

  With his hand on the door another arm reached in at him and he jumped back as the zombie tried to pull at him. The fingernails were painted a bright red and grasped at thin air as Neale pushed himself away.

  “Hold on,” said Bashar, trying to remain calm. He turned in his seat and attempted to use the hammer to strike at the hand holding the door open. He cracked the knuckles and knew he had broken at least a couple of fingers, but the hand remained steadfast.

  The van lurched over something causing Neale to lose his grip on the shelving behind him and he spun toward the open doorway.

  “Grab me!” Bashar reached out a hand and Neale gratefully took it as the zombie beside them began to climb into the van. The red fingernails belonged to a thin arm that was attached to a young woman. Her other arm grabbed hold of Neale’s leg above the shin, and she quickly pulled herself up so that her upper body was inside the van. Her face leered with evil intent. If it wasn’t for the huge chunk of flesh missing from her cheek she would have looked quite attractive with her low-cut top and tanned skin.

  “Get it off!” pleaded Neale as he tried to kick the woman off him. With the van jostling him around it was impossible to keep still.

  The zombie tried to bite him but as she lowered her face Neale spread his legs apart and the zombie bit into the metal covering the floor of the van. Several teeth shattered and the zombie raised its head again.

  Thick blood, almost black, spilled out of the girl’s mouth from between her broken teeth, like a river slowly pouring through a jagged, rocky riverbed.

  Bashar hit the girl’s hand again, splintering her fingernails. It had no effect and her grip on the door was as strong as ever. She lurched again and brought her head down just above Neale’s kneecap.

  Neale had no other choice but to let go of the shelving to get her off and stop her from biting him. He grabbed her hair and yanked the girl’s head up. The van bounced over the kerb and Neale found himself slipping out of the open door along with the zombie. He looked up at Bashar.

  “Don’t let go of me,” he pleaded, as the van spun out of control. “Don’t let go.”

  Bashar strained to hold onto Neale, but the van was pushing him up against the door and the force was pulling him back. His hand slipped and Neale began to slide away from him, out of the van.

  “Neale!” Bashar watched as the girl grabbed his upper thigh and prepared to sink her teeth into him. Neale had a loose grip on the woman’s long brown hair, but he was slowly sliding out of the van where he would quickly be engulfed by the others and lost in the fog. Bashar reached for him, but was pressed too far back to reach him anymore. He watched helplessly as Neale slid inexorably toward the open door and the zombie’s open mouth, knowing he would not survive. If only he had been able to keep hold of him. Bashar cursed and wished he could’ve done more. Neale had slipped through his fingers and was seconds from a grisly, painful death.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lulu saw that Neale was about to be pulled from the van as the zombie climbed on top of him and Bashar had lost his grip. Tony was desperately trying to get the van under control and she realised that if she did nothing, Neale was going to die. She rushed to grab his collar. The gaping open doorway yawned like a diseased mouth and Neale frantically grabbed at the toolbox to stop himself from slipping out. It tipped over and a variety of tools clattered to the ground outside, cascading over Neale and striking the zombie. They had no effect on the dead girl though and Neale flapped at thin air as the tool box flew out of reach.

  “Do something!” yelled Lulu, as she felt the thin cotton in her hands begin to stretch and tear.

  Neale reached one arm back to hold onto her as the zombie pulled on his legs.

  “I’m falling,” shouted Neale as he felt himself slipping from Lulu’s grasp.

  “Hold on tight.” Tony reversed the van into the road, bouncing over another dead body. He spun the wheel sharply and the van’s tyres squealed on the road. There was a bang as the rear of the van struck the front of a bus and sent shockwaves through them all as they came to a stop.

  The dead girl atop Neale flew off him and out into the fog. Bashar reached out a hand and grabbed Neale’s flailing arm. With Lulu holding his collar as well, they managed to stop Neale following it.

  “Fuck.” Neale drew his legs inside the van quickly, aware of the figures in the swirling mist and the presence of the dead surrounding them. With his legs tucked inside, Lulu and Bashar let go.

  “You good?” asked Bashar.

  Neale reached for the side door. Just as another zombie was reaching for him he pulled it shut. He looked at his legs and breathed out. His jeans hadn’t been torn and he hadn’t been bitten. It was a close call, and he knew if it wasn’t for the others he would be out there with a hot zombie chick munching on his brains. Neale nodded as he leant forward and put a hand on Lulu’s shoulder.

  “Thanks.” He jumped when something banged into the side door again.

  Lulu shrugged. “No big deal.”

  “Let’s not do that again,” said Bashar. He settled back into his seat and stared at the road ahead. The fog had descended rapidly once the red-headed woman had left. Yet it was not as muddy as previously and the road was visible for about fifty feet. There were zombies approaching, mostly from Leicester Square, yet they were truly coming from all directions. They staggered and walked through the crowded road as if controlled by someone. They moved like puppets, their joints responding reluctantly. Bashar wondered if rigor mortis applied in these circumstances. How long did it take for a dead body to seize up? How long would it be before the zombies out there surrounded the van and they all ended up like the girl who had tried to grab Neale?

  “Tony, I believe you were about to take us to Carnaby Street?” Bashar tapped his hammer on the dashboard. “I think now is good, driver.”

  “On it,” said Tony, the hint of a smile spreading across his lips. Sweat poured from his bald head as he floored the accelerator.

  They raced down Charing Cross Road and Bashar saw the zombies and shops flash by at speed. With the fog lifting, or at least not as thick as it had been, Tony was able to pick his route through the dead with a lot more ease that when he had attempted to navigate a way through Leicester Square. They passed black taxis and red buses, their doors open and occupants missing. Blood coated several windows and Bashar noticed a few dead bodies still trapped behind the wheel, their bodies mangled and half eaten like carcasses left behind by lions for the vultures. Some had been lucky enough to die and not come back.

  The buildings whizzed by in a blur, their names often obscured or too fleeting for him to recognise. Bashar recognised some, the fast food places and theatres, but for the most part they were hidden not just by fog but smoke. He began to notice many fires and black smoke poured from several upper windows. At the junction with Shaftesbury Avenue they had to slow right down to a crawl. Two fire engines had collided with each other causing the road to be almost blocked. As Tony skilfully found a way through the twisted metal, Bashar saw three firemen on the ground. Still in their uniform, one had both arms missing. So clean was the c
ut below the shoulders that it looked as if they had been pulled right out of their sockets. Another lay next to him, his limbs intact, but his stomach gone. The man’s ribcage had been cleaned and the white bones protruded from the torso with one of the fireman’s hands limply clinging to them. His head was missing and Bashar wondered if he had suffered any injuries in the crash or if this was just the work of the dead. The third fireman stirred when the van passed by. Bashar had assumed they were all dead but as they rounded the crash Bashar saw the man twitch and move. It looked as if his back was broken and the man’s neck was twisted so that he could no longer hold his head up. Bashar saw the man’s blue eyes and bite marks covering his face. One set of teeth from a zombie had left an impression like a horseshoe on his left cheek, and as the van began to leave them behind Bashar watched in the mirror as the fireman continued to crawl along the ground after them. Even though he was dead, he was still trying to get them. Using his hands to pull himself along the road, how long would it be before he gave up? How long could this go on?

  “Looks like a party,” said Neale.

  “What’s that?” asked Bashar. He pulled his eyes away from the dead fireman. The road ahead was littered with zombies, but Tony was proving to be a good driver. They rarely hit any with any power, and they usually bumped off the side of the van without doing too much damage.

  “Up there,” said Neale pointing to a balcony above a steakhouse. A flickering neon sign hung above the entrance and upturned tables lay on the pavement outside. “Nice place if you like a good steak. Looks like a bit of a party up on the balcony.”

  Bashar saw at least a dozen people up on the balcony. Most were pouring forward to one end with more coming from a dark doorway at the back. In one corner of the balcony was a young couple, a male and female holding chairs aloft by the backs, using the solid legs as weapons to defend themselves. The woman had climbed up onto the balcony railing and her long hair blew in the breeze. Her slim legs were perched perilously on the golden railing and she wore a long brown coat, making her look like a bird about to take flight. Her companion was in front of her, his back to the wall as he tried to fight back the dead. The zombies were coming at them hard, trying to find a way past the meagre barricade the man had built. A couple of bar leaners served as a barrier and he waved a timber stool around to ward them off.

  “We have to help them,” said Bashar resolutely.

  Tony ignored him and kept driving. After circumnavigating the fire trucks he had begun to pick up more speed. The van was almost past the steakhouse now and Tony was showing no sign of slowing down. Bashar looked at the balcony. More zombies were heading into the restaurant, drawn either by the neon light or the commotion above them.

  “Tony, we can’t just leave them.”

  The van slowed, but didn’t stop. Tony drove around a blue 4WD and sighed. “My wife. Lissie. I can’t—”

  “Look,” said Lulu, pointing upwards.

  The sound of the van must have caught their attention. Bashar forced his eyes upward and saw that the blonde girl was waving frantically. Her face was drawn and pale, and tears ran down her sorry face. The girl climbed up on the railing and threw a chair into the crowd of zombies. It struck one on the head, but bounced off and had no effect on the dead man. The girl began to wave both arms above her head.

  “Christ, she’s going to get herself killed,” said Neale. “Maybe we should stop, Tony.”

  The girl’s companion turned to the van and began waving at them to stop. They were both shouting, begging for help, but before Tony could bring the van to a halt, one of the zombies reached through the barricade of chairs and grabbed the girl’s ankle. She kicked out and booted the zombie in the face, breaking its nose. Even from the van Bashar could see blood splash the girl’s foot. But as the zombie reached for her she tried kicking again and lost her balance.

  “Oh my God,” whispered Lulu.

  The blonde girl fell backward and slipped off the railing. Her hands reached for something to hold onto, but she wasn’t close enough to reach either it or her boyfriend’s desperate attempt to catch her. The girl screamed and a horrible sound filled the air that seemed to blanket the whole city until it was cut short. The girl fell twenty feet and landed on the pavement with an audible thud. Lulu looked away and even Neale recoiled, unable to look.

  Bashar found himself unable to look away. He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As the girl’s terrible scream stopped he hoped that she had died quickly. He didn’t know if she died from the fall but her body wasn’t moving, and as the zombies surrounded her he hoped she wouldn’t feel the pain of being eaten alive. Bashar looked up at the balcony, at the man left on his own. He was reaching over the railing as if he could still get to his girlfriend, the look of horror on his face a look that Bashar would never forget. The tables behind him were being cast aside now by the growing crowd of zombies and one reached him, raking its fingers down his back and sinking its teeth into the back of his neck. The man cried out in pain and attempted to fight it off. He punched the zombie several times, forcing it back, but it was rapidly replaced by another. A huge zombie with muscles bulging from underneath a tight grey T-shirt set upon the man. There was no fighting back this time. Bashar saw the zombie sink his teeth into the poor man who was helpless to save himself. Very soon the man was submerged beneath a pile of the dead.

  “What happened?” Tony had slowed down the van but was still picking his way through the zombies that walked the streets of London, and was unable to see what was going on above him.

  Lulu began to sob quietly and Neale said nothing.

  “Keep driving, Tony.” Bashar looked at his feet. There was that sickness again, rising in his stomach. How long was it going to take to get through London? How long would it be before he was reunited with Nurtaj? As helpless as he felt, he was determined. If he had to kill a million zombies with the hammer in his hands, he would. He would do anything to get to her. Tony must be feeling the same. It wasn’t his fault what had just happened; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Bashar looked up out of the window, forcing himself to look at the dead. They weren’t people anymore. Their souls had long departed. These zombies were an extension of evil, plain and simple. They were organic shells that stood between him and his wife. And he intended to make sure they wouldn’t get in his way as he fought to make his way out of London. “Just keep going, Tony. Let’s get your wife.”

  Tony looked at Bashar. He knew from the reaction of the others and Bashar’s woeful face that they were too late to save the people on the balcony. He picked up speed and left the steakhouse in the distance.

  “I’ll get us there,” said Tony resolutely. As much as he needed to get to Lissie, he felt responsible for the people in his van. While he was driving they were under his care, and whatever had happened to the people on the balcony didn’t need explaining. It was the same as the coffee shop. Some lived, some died; that was the way it was now. He just needed to make sure that he and the three people in his van stayed alive long enough to find Lissie. He couldn’t take responsibility for everyone out there. He wasn’t running a rescue mission.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Lulu leaned forward.

  Large neon lights lit up the sky: red and yellow, green and blue, advertisements flashing across the dim sky. It was as if nothing had changed – half of London’s population seemed to have become zombies, yet marketing apparently still went on. The tall buildings looming over the streets welcomed shoppers in, yet they had nothing to offer but death. Impressive stone arches and glass and steel lined the street, imposing structures that were once beacons of a progressive London but that now threatened to herald a return to the Dark Ages. Lulu stared at the sky, the fog reaching as far as she could see and shrouding the neon lights in gloom.

  “Piccadilly? Great,” said Neale sarcastically. “It’s bloody packed full of tourists at the best of times. Hands up who hasn’t got a selfie with Eros? What’s it going to be like now? Maybe we should have
persevered with Leicester Square.”

  “Oh yeah, good plan, look how that turned out. You nearly became a human sandwich for those dead fuckers.” Lulu squinted as she saw the mangled heap of traffic up ahead. “Then again…”

  Down at street level, the road was opening up. A row of black taxis lined the left side of the road and in the centre was a double decker bus on its side like a beached whale. A throng of zombies surrounded it, banging on the upturned roof and climbing through the smashed windows. The dead horde pulled someone from the wreckage, thrashing and fighting, but unable to escape. Bashar saw a glimpse only, of a young boy fighting for his life. He was submerged quickly beneath the gathering horde, his screams buried beneath the avalanche of rotting flesh that consumed him.

  More zombies staggered through the cold streets like early morning drunks struggling to find their way home. A Starbucks close to Eros was ablaze and the flames were licking at the roof of a single bus that had mounted the kerb and crashed through the foyer. Broken glass littered the road and the swirling fog gave the scene a sense of menace. From the south came more zombies, ten or more deep, like a football crowd, swaying and swaggering up Coventry Street.

  Tony swung the van around the overturned bus, charging through the zombies who clawed at the van as it sped past. A woman ran out in front of them, her mangled face a vision of Hell, her bones broken, mottled skin hanging from her cheeks as if she had been attacked with a chainsaw. As the woman clamped her teeth down on a dismembered hand Tony smashed the van into her. There was no way around, no other course he could take, and he hit the accelerator as the woman blew apart. Her head bounced off the grill and the van lurched violently as he drove over the remainder of her motionless body. Lulu screamed as another zombie grabbed the wing mirror closest to Bashar. One hand held onto it as they were dragged along the road as the other attempted to pummel through the cracked glass.