Adrenal7n

by Russ Watts

  Bashar kicked the door open and immediately a zombie reached into the car, its cold dead hands clutching at his legs. He had forgotten how repulsive they were close up, and how unnatural they felt. As Carrington recoiled, Bashar kicked the zombie backward, planting his foot right in its stomach. He shouted something at Carrington and inhaled the stinking air. He wasn’t afraid. He knew this was it. He knew that if he cowered in the car like Carrington wanted to, that he would die. He knew that if he didn’t get out that he wouldn’t see the sunset. He knew that they had one chance of making it to the helicopter. He knew he wasn’t going to give up.

  It was time to fight.

  CHAPTER 19

  Bashar was aware of the others shouting around him, but he was preoccupied with getting across the street to the building’s entrance. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He had to focus. He remembered how he had felt when he had killed his first zombie, Angie. It had felt like he was killing a young girl, as if he was murdering her instead of defending himself. It was different now. They weren’t people anymore. He didn’t think about who they used to be, or if they had been like him, just trying to find a way home. They were already dead, shuffling corpses that were simply in the way and needed taking down. They were just another obstacle between him and Nurtaj, like so much else had been before. He had tried to make their lives better, to do what he could for her, and he wasn’t about to let a few thousand walking dead bodies get in his way.

  Bashar shoved the cleaver through the skull of a man in a business suit. The bone cracked open and Bashar pulled the cleaver out, the blade awash with pieces of brain.

  “Carrington, stay close to me.” Bashar saw Carrington push a zombie away with his hands. The woman staggered back a few paces and then resumed her attack on the PM. “Use the hammer. Hit it in the head.”

  Carrington looked at Bashar. “But she’s—”

  “She’s dead, Carrington. Do her a favour and put that hammer through her fucking brain.” Bashar took a few steps toward him but another zombie appeared by his side: a man in a white hospital gown, needles sticking out of his arm. The flesh was bluey-yellow and his face almost as white as his gown. Bashar smashed the man over the head with the cleaver. With the zombie down there was a small gap opening up. Bashar saw Marama and Rad fighting off two zombies, also wearing white gowns, and Neale punching and kicking at a woman who was trying to overpower Lulu. “Carrington, come on.”

  Carrington smacked his hammer against the dead woman’s head and her body crumpled. Bashar could see the shock on Carrington’s face and he reached for his arm. “Carrington, forget it. Come with me.”

  With Carrington behind him, Bashar headed for the building. Tony and Lissie had already made it across the road. He could see them standing behind the tall glass doors. Neale and Lulu were running hand in hand across the road, weaving in between the dead who seemed to be appearing almost out of nowhere. Occasionally Neale slashed his knife in the direction of the dead, and sometimes it was Lulu that took them down. The white mist that was still seeping through the streets hid their approach. There weren’t just hospital patients or nurses either, but all sorts of people. Bashar saw children in football shirts, men and women in work attire and jeans, old men with shaggy beards and young girls with short skirts. In that moment, as he looked at Tony, he saw half of London waiting for him. Their teeth clacked together and their dead bodies wanted him, but he wasn’t going to relinquish yet. He wasn’t about to give up on Nurtaj until his limbs had been torn from his body and his brain was mush. And he didn’t intend to die for a very long time.

  Bashar saw two workmen in dirty overalls approach from behind one of the ambulances, and he pushed Carrington toward the building. “Get over there with Tony. Run.”

  Carrington ran for the glass doors and Bashar swung around. Marama and Rad had been cornered. Their path to the others had been cut off by the dead. More were pouring in from Weston Street and Marama and Rad were squashed up against an ambulance. They were managing to hold the zombies off but with their way out blocked they wouldn’t have long. There were some roadworks next to the ambulance where Bashar could get to them. A small gap next to a brick wall if he could get over the hole that had been dug in the pavement. He darted between the grasping arms of the dead and jumped over a dead body, brains oozing from a crack in its skull.

  Bashar found a way past a pile of traffic cones and a small truck. The pavement had been dug up and two sheets of metal placed over the hole left behind. Several zombies had fallen into the pit and were trying to crawl out. The metal sheeting over the pit held firm though, despite the dead underneath shaking it. Bashar jumped over another dead body and onto the flimsy metal sheeting. On the other side he found a workman blocking his path to Marama and Rad. The zombie wore a hard hat and an orange vest that clung to its large stomach. There was a dark bloody wound on the man’s neck.

  Bashar smashed his cleaver into the man’s head but it caught in the hard hat and stuck fast. The blade had penetrated through the hat to his brain, but it hadn’t gone deep enough to stop the zombie completely. The workman advanced upon Bashar who backed up to the brick wall until he found there was nowhere else to go. His feet scuffed against something solid and he found himself pressed up against a skip. The cold metal made him shiver, but the zombie advancing on him wasn’t stopping for anything. Bashar wondered if he could climb into the skip and wait it out. Perhaps he could get Marama and Rad too, and they could hide until the zombies had gone, until someone came to help. The drooling zombie reached an arm for him and Bashar knew he had no time to go climbing into skips, or hiding or running. Waiting was a fool’s game.

  It was time to fight.

  Bashar ran his hand along the rusted edge of the skip and found a circular piece of metal. He pulled on it and at first it didn’t budge. Reluctant to turn his back on the zombie, Bashar knew he was going to need both hands if he was going to find something with which to fight it off. He wrapped both of his hands around the metal pole and pulled harder. It slowly came loose and moved from under the weight of the debris inside the skip. It felt like he was pulling it out of quicksand, and he braced himself against the side of the skip so he could get his weight behind it. The metal pole suddenly freed itself from whatever had been holding it back and jerked free. Bashar found himself holding a four foot long piece of scaffolding. It was just what he needed and turned around to find the zombie right on top of him. The dead man lunged and snapped his jaws around Bashar’s shoulder. He frantically ducked and the man careened away, his teeth narrowly missing Bashar and making contact only with the dirty skip. Bashar smashed the metal pole into the workman’s back and he growled. The dead man turned around and Bashar whacked the metal pole across his face, ripping open his jaw and smashing out most of his teeth. He brought it around again and the man’s face disintegrated. One final blow to his skull and the workman stopped moving. The hard hat rolled away with the cleaver still stuck in it.

  “Over here,” shouted Bashar. “This way.”

  Marama slammed her knife through a zombie’s skull and ran for the opening Bashar had created. She gratefully took Bashar’s hand. Marama was coated in sticky blood and the knife in her hand looked blunt. Her blonde hair was matted together with blood and small chunks of flesh.

  “Over the pit, run hard and fast to the building before the gap closes up.”

  Marama’s blue eyes looked at Bashar and he knew she had almost given up. She was shaking and he looked at her. “Marama, look at me. It’ll be okay. I’ll get Rad. Just go. Tony will help you.”

  As Marama ran across the metal sheeting Bashar turned back to Rad. The boy was wrestling with an ambulance driver in green overalls. He had done well to protect Marama but it looked as though he were about to lose the fight with the zombie that had him pinned. Bashar turned back to the workman and grabbed his cleaver from the hard hat, remembering the cold fingers that had plucked at him. He summoned up as much energy as he could and pulled the cleaver
out of the yellow tin hat. It broke in two and the separate pieces clattered on the road. Bashar swung the cleaver into the ambulance driver attacking Rad and split the zombie’s skull in half.

  “Thank God,” said Rad, as the dead driver fell.

  “Follow Marama,” said Bashar. “Quickly.”

  He pushed Rad toward the pit and followed him across it, nervously keeping an eye on the metal sheeting. If it slipped as they were crossing they would have no chance of getting out before the dead got them. Rad reached the far side and held out a hand to Bashar.

  “Let me help. You came back for us and—”

  A short elderly woman with curly grey hair and dragging a drip behind her withered naked body rounded the corner. Bashar tried to yell out to Rad to watch his back, but before he could say anything the old woman had pounced on Rad. Bashar jumped over the last of the pit as the metal sheeting slipped and he crashed into a road sign. ‘Warning – delays expected.’ A hand reached up out of the pit and took hold of Bashar’s foot. He pulled away and swung the cleaver neatly through the zombie’s wrist, severing the hand. He pinched the fingers off his meat cleaver and dropped them back into the pit.

  “Rad?” Bashar found the boy grappling with the old woman whose dead body was gradually mounting Rad. He was holding the woman’s shoulders, forcing her head up and keeping her snapping teeth away from his face. The sight was absurd, yet there was nothing comical about it. Bashar could see Rad’s arms shaking. He was getting weaker, while the woman seemed to get stronger. She had almost climbed on top of him and her snapping jaws were mere inches from Rad.

  “Hold it still.” Bashar heaved and brought the cleaver neatly down between the dead woman’s shoulder blades. With it firmly embedded in her spine Bashar began to pull the woman off Rad, using the meat cleaver as a handle.

  “Bitch,” said Rad, as he crawled out from under her.

  Bashar put his foot at the base of the woman’s back. She was thrashing around like a fish on a hook and he plucked the cleaver out. Blood began to ooze from the deep wound that ran down her back, and Bashar put the woman out of her misery with a swift blow to the back of the head.

  “Come on, Rad.” Bashar ran toward the building with Rad by his side. The zombies in the street tried to stop them, but Bashar’s blade made swift work of any that came too close. They reached the glass doors and Tony dragged them inside.

  “Jesus, Bashar, what the hell was that?” asked Tony, as he pushed the doors back together. “I was about to give up on you.”

  Bashar slipped on the cool tiles as he entered the building and looked around the foyer as he skidded to a halt. That had been too close, way too close. He simply glanced at Tony as Rad tumbled in behind him. Nothing needed saying. They all knew it was a miracle that they had made it this far.

  The ceiling was high and yet the building appeared to be empty. It was eerily silent. There was an unmanned desk on one side and escalators in the centre of the foyer, with lifts on either side. A single dead body lay by the escalator, but the zombies were all on the others side of the glass doors now, drifting through the fog. Almost instantly several of them began to batter on the doors.

  “How long will those doors hold?” Bashar asked Tony.

  “Not long. We’re lucky the place appears to be deserted. Maybe everyone got out. We need to get going.”

  “Thank you,” sobbed Marama. She collapsed to the floor beside Bashar and slung her arms around his neck.

  “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay now,” replied Bashar. He gently pushed her away and Neale helped her up. Bashar got to his feet and looked at Tony. “I take it you found the stairwell?”

  “Over there.” Tony pointed past a huge bouquet of red roses and orchids in a glass jar. Lissie was dragging a litter bin over to a door to prop it open. “You okay?”

  Bashar nodded. “Let’s just get upstairs. I’ve a feeling we’re not welcome around here.”

  “I guess it’s too much to ask that the lift is working?” asked Neale hopefully.

  “You’re right.” Tony nudged Neale. “On your feet, mate, we’re not quite there yet.”

  “I’m not sure I feel so good.” Rad suddenly vomited over the pristine tiled floor.

  “Rad?” Marama cautiously approached him. “Rad, what is it?”

  Bashar got to his feet and studied the boy carefully. Was it just shock? As Marama began to rub Rad’s back the boy got to his feet unsteadily and Bashar saw the reason for his illness.

  “It must have been that old woman,” said Rad. He held out his arm showing them the teeth marks around his wrist. “I didn’t even feel it at the time.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Rad, it doesn’t mean shit.” Marama looked at him and held out her hand. “Come on, let’s get going. They’ll have medical supplies on the chopper. They can help you.”

  Rad looked at Bashar. He knew what it meant. His eyes were already feeling heavy. “Maybe I should stay here. I can find a room to lie down in. Just, you know, have a rest. You can send help for me later. I don’t think I have the energy to get up all those stairs.”

  Bashar remembered how quickly the infection had taken hold in the café earlier that day. The old man had succumbed to a bite from Angie quickly. He didn’t want to see Rad end up the same way, but was out of ideas.

  “He should stay here,” said Carrington. He pointed to the growing crowd of zombies outside the glass doors. “We can’t afford to burden ourselves with someone who could turn into one of those things.”

  “Rad is not a burden. He’s with us. I’d be dead if it weren’t for him,” said Marama. “What have you ever done? You’re only here because Bashar let you come along. I say we leave you behind.”

  “I say we leave the lot of you behind.” Lulu began walking over to Lissie and the stairwell. “Look, it’s simple. If you want out of here, then let’s go find that chopper. If not then stay here and rot. It’s no business of mine. I’m going home. Anyone who feels like doing the same is free to join me. I’m done waiting around and arguing.”

  “Carrington, you’re not in charge yet,” said Bashar, shoving him after Lulu. “Follow Lulu and Lissie. It’s time to go.”

  Bashar watched Carrington head for the door muttering. “Watch him,” Bashar said to Tony. “Take your wife and get going. Lulu will help you if you run into trouble.”

  “And you?” Tony wiped the sweat from his brow. He was exhausted but he couldn’t stop yet. He had to get Lissie on that helicopter. “You’ll be right behind me, yeah?”

  Bashar nodded. “Damn right. I just need to look after the kids.”

  Tony smiled. “Don’t be long.”

  Bashar turned to Neale. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Neale stared at the zombies clamouring to get into the building. The darkening sky and fog hid them in shadows but there was at least a hundred now all banging on the doors and pushing against them. “If my legs don’t give out halfway up then I’ll be right as rain. As long as that witch doesn’t let these poor saps in, I’ll be even better. And if the demon trashing London holds off on bringing down The Shard for a few more minutes, then I’ll kiss you, Bashar.”

  “Cool. You want to help Marama? Take her with you?”

  Neale looked at her. She was cradling Rad, her blonde hair swept across her face that was plastered with tears. “Yeah, I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

  “And no funny business?” asked Bashar.

  Neale opened his arms and looked shocked. “Who me? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you don’t.”

  “What about him?” Neale looked at Rad. The boy seemed to be stunned. He wasn’t crying or shouting, just holding onto Marama, his black and white jumper stained with blood and sweat and tears.

  “I’ll bring him with me. If we can get him up to the helicopter then who knows, maybe Marama is right about the medics being able to help him. It’s worth a shot.”

  “And if he doesn’t make it?”

 
Bashar looked at the bloody meat cleaver in his hand. “That’s why I don’t want Marama clinging onto him,” he whispered.

  Neale understood and nodded in agreement. Together they approached Marama and Rad.

  “Rad, let me help you,” said Bashar, slipping an arm under the boy’s.

  As they stood, Neale took Marama’s hand. “Let’s go find that rescue chopper. Bashar will bring Rad. Nothing’s going to happen, you know? It’ll be okay.”

  Marama wiped her eyes. “I miss home. I just want to get back to New Zealand.”

  “I know,” said Neale. “Why don’t you tell me about your home when we’re on the stairs. It’ll take my mind off how bloody high we have to go.”

  As Neale led Marama to the stairwell, Bashar helped Rad along behind. “You might be okay, you know. You should try not to worry. You need to focus all your energy on getting up top. We’ve around twenty floors to climb.”

  “Yeah.” Rad looked pale. Bashar felt how cold he was and hoped it was just the shock and nothing more sinister. “Come on, Rad. I’ll drag you all the way if I have to, but I’d really rather not. I’m betting you weigh a lot more than you look.”

  A hint of a smile hit Rad’s face. “Too many kebabs. Student food. I’m not much of a cook.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Bashar, as they reached the stairwell. He pushed Rad through and then kicked the litter bin away to let the door close. There was no way of locking it, but when the zombies got in it might just buy them more time. The stairwell was cold and lit by some sort of emergency lighting. He could hear the clattering of footsteps from above as the others climbed, and the familiar voice of Neale as he chatted to Marama.

  “You studying too?” asked Rad, as Bashar let the door softly close.

  “Used to. I’m an accountant. Spent years studying. My wife helped me through those lean years. I owe her. If it wasn’t for her I probably would still be eating kebabs to this day.”

  Rad put an arm around Bashar’s shoulders and together they began to ascend the steps slowly. Bashar was worried by how long it seemed to be taking them but at least it felt safe. The close concrete walls of the stairwell were solid and thick, and they hid the noise from outside. Bashar knew the witch was out there somewhere, pulling Belphegor’s strings and making him dance across London. He knew the zombies were surrounding them, hundreds if not thousands of them, and yet as he climbed the staircase with Rad he felt fine. It was as if it was just them and nothing else existed in the world.