Adrenal7n

by Russ Watts

  Neale waved at Bashar. “I’m getting out of here,” he shouted. A hunk of crisp flesh flew over his head and splatted on the ground. “I’m going home.”

  Neale turned to the police car and looked right down the barrel of a gun pointed directly at him.

  “Get your own hiding place,” growled the man holding the weapon. He was lying across the seats wearing a plain T-shirt and jogging pants. His white sneakers were bloodied and sweat dripped down his face. “Get away from me or I’ll shoot you.”

  Neale stepped back in shock. “I just want a ride out of here. Are you… do you have the keys? I can drive if you like. Take you anywhere you want.” Neale glanced at the ignition but it was empty. He hoped he could bargain with the man. He clearly wasn’t with the police. He had probably sought refuge in the car and hoped things would pass. Neale looked back at the gun. “Seriously. Anywhere, you know? Anywhere you want.”

  “If I had the sodding keys I wouldn’t be stuck here, would I?” snarled the man.

  He raised his gun and fired. The bullet sliced through the air and whistled past Neale’s head, shaving three hairs off his head.

  “Fuck!” Neale jumped back from the car. “You wanker, you didn’t have to do that. It’s not me you’ve got to worry about. You see what’s happening out here, don’t you?”

  The man grinned. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen it all. I told you to piss off and you didn’t. Now those dead fuckers are going to be all over me.”

  The man lifted the gun and squinted with one eye as he looked down the barrel. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose onto his thumb. “If I’m going, I’m taking you with me, you cu—”

  A ten foot long piece of burning metal with three seats on top of it slammed into the roof of the police car. The sirens exploded as the roof crumpled and Neale was blown off his feet by the resulting blast. The man with the gun was crushed as the car was squashed underneath the weight of the piece of plane, and Neale felt rough hands grabbing at him.

  “Fuck off,” he yelled, the heat of the explosion still warming his face. He pushed away the hands, refusing to let the zombies take him. He would rather die fighting than cowering, hiding, or running anymore. He couldn’t believe he had escaped a psychopath only to be eaten by zombies in Carnaby Street.

  “Stop complaining,” said Bashar, as he dragged Neale back to the cover of the department store.

  The thundering sound of death approached rapidly from above, and Neale opened his eyes to find Bashar looked down at him. “You’re not a zombie?”

  “Not yet.” Bashar left Neale on the ground to nurse his wounds. “Any joy?” he asked Lulu.

  She shook her head. “Nobody’s answering and the door’s jammed shut.”

  “Watch your backs.” Tony shoved Bashar and tackled an approaching zombie with his wrench. The crack on the skull was audible even above the din, and Tony smashed it once more for good luck. The zombie fell to the ground, its brains oozing out of its skull.

  Bashar nodded a silent debt of gratitude to Tony.

  “How do we get in?” asked Lulu. “You sure your wife is inside?”

  Tony nodded. “I guess we have to force our way in.” He put a hand on the glass of a display window and looked at his wrench. “Stand back, this could be messy.”

  Bashar knew if they broke the glass to get in, it would leave a gaping hole in the front of the store where the dead could follow. There was no other option. The zombies were past the van now, so going back was out of the question. The burning police car was a welcome distraction and had caught some of the dead in its burning fingers. The sky was dark and it wasn’t just the fog. Bashar knew that the plane and the monster were almost upon them.

  Tony drew back his arm and prepared to strike the window.

  “Wait!” Lulu pressed her face up to the glass and cupped her hands around her eyes. “Someone’s coming.”

  “You sure?” asked Tony, keeping his arm ready. “It could just be a zombie.”

  “Carrying a set of keys?”

  Tony lowered his wrench. From the other side of the door they heard the rattle of keys and bolts being slid back.

  “Come on, come on,” muttered Tony.

  Bashar helped Neale to his feet. The screaming from the plane overhead was deafening. The creeping fog whirled and eddied around the zombies in Carnaby Street, making them look like silhouettes in a disco cavorting through dry ice.

  “Anytime you like,” said Neale anxiously.

  “Open the door,” yelled Tony. “Open it!”

  As soon as the door handle began to turn Bashar pushed the door back and the person on the other side was knocked back into a rack of summer jackets. Bashar hurried inside with Lulu right behind him. Tony followed quickly, with Neale slamming the door shut just as a zombie reached it.

  “Keys,” said Neale urgently. “Now.” He pressed his back up against the door, feeling the vibrations run through his body as the zombies began to pound and claw at the wood.

  “Here.” Bashar scooped them up from the smooth tiles where the figure had dropped them. He quickly locked the door and slid the bolts back into place.

  “We need to get further into the store, away from those windows,” shouted Tony. The beast outside was out of sight, but made his presence known by letting out a deafening sound that made the hairs on Tony’s neck stand up.

  “This way.” The figure on the floor scrambled to their feet.

  Tony looked unimpressed as she flattened down her pencil skirt and white collar. The woman was slightly overweight, with a roll of fat hanging over the top of the skirt that looked a size too small for her. She wore high heels that clicked on the tiles as she turned. “Follow me.”

  The woman began to lead them into the store. In the gloom, Bashar noticed she kept looking from side to side, as if checking the store for damage. If she knew what was coming, then she would be getting them into a back room somewhere instead of checking her stock levels and damaged merchandise.

  “You know, I really don’t feel so good,” said Neale, clutching his arm. The police car had exploded right in front of him and now that he was back on his feet he was beginning to feel the effects. His head was woozy and his left arm throbbed. He was sure he would find a multi-coloured chain of bruises if he lifted his shirt.

  “Nobody cares right now, Neale,” said Lulu. “All we—”

  The whole building shook as the plane crashed down around them. There was a massive crashing sound and boom as it blew apart, and a neighbouring building crumbled. There was a second massive boom and suddenly all the department store’s exterior windows shattered. Huge racks of clothes toppled over and loose items were thrown around as if a hurricane had rushed through the store. A howling sound echoed throughout the ground floor, and flashes of fire lit up the room.

  “Get down,” ordered Bashar. As the fog and smoke rushed in, they all sank to the floor. Bashar crawled forward and positioned himself next to the woman who had let them in. “You got somewhere safer to be?”

  The woman looked petrified. “Food hall. We’re in the food hall. It’s in the basement. We thought—”

  “Save it,” said Bashar. He turned to the others. The open windows were dangerous. Anyone, or anything, could get into the store now. “Food hall. This way. Be careful.”

  Bashar got up and skirted past a sales counter, stacks of gift cards scattered over the floor beside it. Carefully he proceeded further into the store with the others stealthily crawling along behind him. They passed from the beauty department into handbags, and then found themselves at the escalators. The interior of the store was dark. Looking up the motionless escalator, Bashar saw mannequins illuminated by fire. The upper floors seemed quiet and the only sound came from the fire raging around the building outside, flesh crackling and popping as the dead and the living were consumed by it.

  “Down there,” said the woman. She pointed to the escalators that led down into the basement. There were shopping trolleys piled high to block their way, t
hough a small gap had been left on one side. “That’s the only way in,” said the woman, as she began to crawl through the opening beneath the shopping trolleys.

  “Can we trust her?” asked Tony, as the woman’s legs disappeared through the rabbit hole.

  “I don’t think we have much choice.” Bashar knew if they stayed in the store where they were then the zombies outside would eventually find them. At least down in the basement they might be able to wait it out. The explosion from the plane would surely have killed a lot of them, and disorientated the rest. Right now it felt like the basement was not just their best chance, but their only chance. “Go, Tony, go. Lissie could be down there.”

  Tony began to crawl through the opening.

  “I’ve got a few questions for that woman,” muttered Lulu, as she followed Tony. “Like what was she doing while we were hammering on the door? Bitch nearly killed us.”

  “I know,” said Bashar, ushering the girl through. “Let’s just get away from the road and argue semantics later.”

  As Lulu slipped through the opening Bashar helped Neale through. He was suffering, but then they all were. None of them were having a particularly good day, and Bashar had a feeling it wasn’t about to get much better. As he followed Neale though the gap beneath the trolleys onto the escalator, he wondered how long they would be able to stay down there. The woman had said it was the only way in. One entrance meant one exit, and if they were attacked he liked to have his options open. Being limited to one small way out didn’t fill him with much optimism. Still, better to be down out of sight of the dead for now. Bashar crept down the escalator until he was able to stand, and then joined the others at the bottom.

  Someone had rigged up emergency lighting to see by. The overhead lights were out and there were no windows, but there were rows of torches atop the shelves of products giving a strange yellow tinge to the whole area. There were dark shadows and corners which made Bashar nervous, but he did feel much better for not being up top where it was more exposed. He was under no illusion that if the dead got in, they wouldn’t stand much chance. They were still alive for now and that was as good as they could hope for. If that black beast found them then their trip to Libertas would be over in a heartbeat.

  “Who else is in here?” Tony approached the woman who was picking a torch up from the top of a stack of chocolate bars. “Did you get all the other shoppers down here? Where are they all?”

  Lulu prodded the woman’s shoulder. “How come you didn’t come when we were calling? What took you so long to open the door? You know what’s up there, right?”

  “Do you sell booze?” Neale looked hopefully around the food hall. “Please tell me you do.”

  The woman looked scared and Bashar could see she was out of her depth. He approached her and took another torch from next to her. “Look, are you in charge here? Are there others?”

  “Yes. I mean no. I’m in charge. Not everyone made it. Some people left before we could lock the doors. Some…. The ones who stayed are at the back by the deli counter. We thought it would be safer to—”

  Tony took off down one of the aisles instantly. “Lissie? Lissie, you here?” he began calling out.

  “You’ll keep,” said Lulu, eyeballing the woman as she went after Tony.

  The woman didn’t respond but looked at Bashar and Neale. “I’m sorry, I just… We didn’t know what to do. We thought you might be, you know, dead. Like the others.”

  “Dead?” Neale rested against a tall stack of confectionary. He clutched his ribs and winced. “Do the dead knock on the door and ask to be let in? Last I saw they just ate their way through anything in their way. Didn’t do a whole lot of talking either.”

  The woman shrugged. “Well, you’re here now. What was it like out there? What was that explosion? We’ve been down here a while. We were hoping someone might come get us, but…”

  The building shook and dust fell from above. The tremors stopped, but Bashar knew the only thing that it could be was the monster. “Can we go to the others? I think we’ll be safer if we get away from these escalators.”

  “I need a drink, you know,” said Neale.

  “Follow me.” The woman grabbed a second torch. “We’ve some water back there that I authorised the others to open. I can claim it back on the insurance.”

  Bashar raised his eyes and looked at the ceiling as the woman walked past him.

  “Aisle ten, Neale. I think I can see the sign for alcohol,” said Bashar, as he followed the woman. “Catch us up. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

  “Aisle ten.” Neale pushed himself wearily up and nodded. “As long as they’ve got spirits, I’ll be right as fucking rain.”

  Bashar handed Neale his torch and watched him leave. Neale deserved a drink. They all did. The food hall was cold. As Bashar walked down the aisle full of tinned vegetables and beans he wondered just how long they might be forced to stay down here. The woman had said the others were back here, but there was no sound of chatter. There was not much sound of anything, aside from the muffled explosions above and the thunder that Bashar knew signified the huge monster was destroying London. Just how many had taken refuge down here?

  It didn’t take long to find out. The woman led Bashar to the delicatessen and he saw an unusual looking group of people. They were all dressed differently yet all shared the same look of fear and trepidation on their faces. There were two men wearing almost identical smart suits and thin ties, the quality evidently far superior than Bashar’s. One of the men was shoving a sausage roll into his mouth and the white shirt at his waist was straining to be released. The other man was prodding his phone with evident frustration at the lack of response. Nearby were two other men dressed far more casually, in hoodies, jeans and white trainers. Bashar saw a young man and girl in conversation and wondered if they were a couple. The young man was tall and thin whilst the girl he spoke to was shorter with a blonde bob. He wore a woollen jumper with large black and white horizontal stripes, black jeans and maroon Doc Martens. The girl was the polar opposite, dressed in a flowery chiffon top, knee-length white skirt and flip flops.

  Bashar followed the woman around the back of the counter, feeling all eyes turn to him as he joined the small group. He had hoped there might be a lot of people here. The more of them there were then the more chance somebody might have a working phone, or perhaps know a way out of there. Instead it looked like the handful of people in the store was just as scared as he was. Bashar passed Lulu who was sitting on the floor nibbling on a slice of ham. She glanced at him as he passed and offered half a smile before resuming her snack. Bashar suspected that was about as friendly as she was going to be. It was certainly an improvement on when they had first met. Bashar smiled wryly and let Lulu eat. As they passed the others he nodded and made eye contact, but found few smiles in return. Rarer even more was eye contact. He supposed it was natural they were suspicious. They had no reason to trust him, but as long as they were quiet and didn’t draw attention to themselves down here he could live with that. Having people cast him suspicious glances was a part of living in London. The end of the world had apparently changed little.

  “Tony?” In the darkness Bashar had almost not seen him. There was a double door at the far end of the counter, and Tony was there with his arms around a woman. Another woman was standing close by, her arms around the shoulders of a small girl. Was Tony’s hug one of love or consolation? Bashar approached nervously, hoping for good news, but preparing himself for the worst. “Tony?”

  As the woman who had let them in sat down heavily on a small chair on wheels, Bashar made his way to Tony.

  “Bashar,” said Tony beaming, releasing the woman from his arms. “This is my wife, Lissie.”

  A diminutive woman with curly brown hair, and hazel eyes to match, took Bashar’s hand. Her eyes were moist and when she spoke Bashar detected a soft Irish lilt.

  “Tony told me about you. He said you helped him. Thank you. Thank you for bringing him to
me.”

  Bashar shook Lissie’s hand. She was cold, despite the dark green jacket she wore. “It was all him. We didn’t do that much. If it wasn’t for Tony I’m not convinced that any of us would be standing here. It’s really me who should be thanking him.”

  Lissie smiled and dropped Bashar’s hand, and returned to the comfort of her husband’s embrace.

  “Told you I’d find her,” said Tony proudly. “She was waiting for me.” Even in the gloom Bashar could see the pain on Tony’s face. All the desperation, the fighting, the worry, the fear had been released now he had found her. The torches illuminated their tiredness now more than anything. Bashar felt his heart quicken when he looked at Tony with his arm around his wife. Nurtaj was in need of her husband too. Lissie had waited for him, but was Nurtaj doing the same? Her plane hadn’t even landed yet so she may have no idea what was occurring. Would they inform the passengers what the news was from London?

  Bashar smiled. “I knew she’d be here.”

  The woman who had been standing patiently in the shadows stepped forward. “So are you going to introduce me, Lissie, or are you just going to spend all your time mooning over Tony like you did thirty years ago?”

  “Sorry. Bashar, this is my friend Jo. She was helping me pick out a dress. We thought we’d found the perfect one too, until…” Lissie cast a sly glance over her shoulder at a set of double doors. “Well, until things went pear-shaped.”

  “Jo Creighley. I would say good morning to you, but there’s not so much that’s good about it.”

  Bashar warmly shook Jo’s hand. She was a slight woman with a round face and a button nose.

  “This is my daughter, Amelia.”

  Jo pushed her daughter forward but the girl clung nervously to her mother’s side.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Bashar.

  The girl said nothing and started to manoeuvre herself back behind her mother.

  “Amelia’s normally a very outgoing girl,” said Jo, “but this has got her upset. Well, all of us are, let’s be honest.” Jo smiled pleasantly enough, but looked over her shoulder at the double doors with obvious concern. Evidently the food hall held its own secrets.