“He’d come all this way for the sake of a few tins?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Lavender flinched at the question, reflecting. She might well, if she was hungry and pissed off enough, “Okay, so we stay here one night, tonight, and tomorrow we move on. I get the feeling that the bigger the gap between us and Joel the better, am I right?”
“Right,” Naomi agreed, nodding.
“Okay, here; you take the sack again, I’ll take the scissors. If we run into trouble you don’t stick around, you just run like hell, and you drop that, tins or no tins, got it?” Naomi nodded, agreement.
Lavender held the scissors in her closed fist, ready for use. For good measure, she had tucked the tin opener into her jeans too. ‘Anything’s better than nothing’ had become something of a refrain, of late. They stuck out awkwardly, looking uncomfortable against her bony frame.
“Right, are you ready?” She asked of the girl.
“I’m ready,”
“Carson, you ready?”
No response. Lavender thought his neck must be stiff and aching after all that gazing at his feet. She tugged at his sleeve, to motivate him into walking. Together, one behind the other, they climbed the steps to unknown territory.
Oh, I Do Like to Be…
The minute her foot came to rest on the top step, Lavender sensed something was very wrong. All her instincts told her there was danger ahead and plenty of it. Although she felt slightly better with the scissors in her hands, she knew they would be next to useless if it really came down to it. She thought about grabbing a few of the larger loose rocks down on the beach. They would be too heavy to carry more than one at a time and she would need both hands to deploy them. No good. She looked around, all her senses suddenly heightened, tense with expectation
Immediately in front of her were a couple of stalls, totally empty and ransacked beyond all usefulness. A forlorn string of faded bunting flapped listlessly, one end still somehow attached to the decaying white wooden frame. Next to them were a row of more solid brick buildings, their signs for the most part still advertising their wares: a chip shop that had evidently been both dine-in and take-away, called ‘The Plaice to Be.’ The others were all named in a similar vein: Beach Adventurer’s Bounty; Windmill’s Seaside Supplies; The Shore Café Bar; High Tide Toys & Gifts. Beyond them, at the far end of the promenade, two Penny Arcades stood alongside one another, the ferocity of their erstwhile competition for punters still evident in the signage; Prize Every Time! Everyone’s a Winner! Lots of Fun for Everyone! Play for Pennies and Fill Your Pockets! 18+ Gambling at rear of Arcade – win up to £100!
Lavender approached cautiously. The first arcade bore a sign reading, ‘Welcome to Silver Falls Penny Arcade.’ The one next to it simply bore the title, ‘Penny Rains.’
She tried to imagine these places full of bustling, excited people. She found she couldn’t. The fading signs, letters missing here and there, the evidence of looting, vandalism and worse clear from the smashed in windows and the general debris only depressed her. She looked over at the caved in glass walls of machines that had once held money, sweets, trinkets and toys. Their clawed, crane hands were hanging at crooked angles, or missing altogether. She shook her head, trying to understand why on earth anyone would have stopped to loot stuffed toys in the event of the zombie apocalypse. Maybe they had hoped to appease kids and keep them quiet wherever they hid out. Maybe it was just down to the simple fact that some human beings will steal anything it it’s there for the taking.
None of the machines were intact. Having emptied the Penny Falls of all the coins visible at the front, looters had moved on, to tip the slot machines over and break into the built-in safes at the back somehow. She wondered how far money had got them. In her experience, other things became far more valuable than coinage very early on; things like weapons and ammunition, medicines, tools and fuel. She wondered if any of the looters were still alive to tell their tales.
Something buried in the shadows at the rear of the arcade shifted. At her back, Naomi tensed, ready to fly. Carson stood behind her, at last looking up, but his eyes were dull and uncomprehending. He looked nothing more than puzzled at where he was.
Lavender clenched the scissors in her fist, holding them up like a dagger. She didn’t move a muscle, waiting. There was the unmistakable crunch of a heavy foot upon broken glass. Lavender could just about make out a booth at the back with the words ‘Get Your Change Here’ painted onto a beam across what had once been a teller’s window. There was a slow-moving silhouette there. It was coming her way.
She turned to the others, ushering them back with her hands. If they played it smart, they could avoid this confrontation altogether. Praying it wasn’t a Thinker, doubting it was, for it would surely have attacked by now, Lavender turned back to check on how much closer it was.
It was barely out of the booth. Relieved, Lavender looked around for a suitable place to hide, or to climb out of reach. At this end of the promenade there were more sand dunes, rising high and covered in clumps of tough grass – good handholds to help them up. She ran for them, the others following. Once at the top she crouched low, ready for more unpleasant surprises.
The climb down on this side was much steeper, which explained why she had not noticed the fairground before. It wasn’t much of a fairground, only a few token rides, but if it was zombie free, it might provide shelter from the growing cold.
There was a slow dragging-shuffle down on the promenade as the zombie that had been lurking in the arcade finally made it out into the open. Lavender looked on, incredulous, as the small, bent figure of an elderly woman slunk into view. That she was indeed undead was very obvious, from the unnatural angle of her head, the broken, limp way she held her arms and the rotting brownness of her skin. Lavender heard someone laughing, saw Naomi looking at her in disbelief, and realised she was making the sound. She stopped abruptly, pulling herself together. Old lady zombie or not, the undead were the undead, and not to be trifled with.
As if to prove her point, the elderly zombie turned its gaze sharply in her direction. The expression on its face was anything but amusing. Its’ thinning lips were curled in a scowl, its’ eyes full of menace. Something dripped messily from its open mouth. It was hungry.
“I’m going to have to put a stop to that thing before we go any further,” Lavender said wearily, “Ancient or not, I have a feeling it’s not going to stop until it gets one of us,”
“You think the scissors will be enough?” Naomi asked.
“They’ll have to be,” Lavender said, scanning the ground for more rocks, “If I can find one big enough just to send her backwards…” she was muttering to herself. She heard Naomi’s sharp intake of breath, heard Carson’s low moan, not unlike that of a zombie’s itself, and looked up, sensing things had changed.
They had, much for the worse. The elderly zombie was still intent on them, shuffling along at surprising speed now she had them in her sights. In the background behind her though, gaining on her fast, was a Thinker.
Lavender knew, from the thing’s purposeful movement and obvious intent, that it was a Thinker before the tell-tale amber light in its eyes were close enough to see. She and Naomi jumped to their feet, Lavender grabbing Carson by the shoulder and hauling him up. Panic seized her as she screamed at them to run; all the while transfixed, her legs abandoning her in the face of the rapidly approaching zombie.
It drew level with the old-woman zombie, which was unaware it seemed of its’ presence. It barely broke its stride as it hooked an arm around her neck and tore sharply upward, tearing her head from her shoulders with no more effort than snapping the wishbone of a roast chicken.
Chills of shock ran through Lavender, head to toe. The sheer ferocity of this Thinker once again appalled her. Something about it was less like Thinkers she had become so familiar with; was more like the lost and desperate thing that had torn itself to piece at the door of the container.
It was looking down at its handiwork. It raised the dripping head to its mouth, sniffed and then dropped it, as casually as a toddler might drop a toy it had lost interest in. Something garbled tried to escape the Thinker’s mouth. It was unintelligible and cloaked in a wet sucking sound as the creature’s tongue moved, but Lavender was certain it was trying to speak.
It turned to look at her. Her heart raced. She spun around, ready to tell Naomi and Carson to run again, only to find they were already half-way down the incline, hurtling towards the fair. Her legs feeling like lead weights, she ran after them.
The sand on this side of the dunes was a good deal deeper than on the other. Running in it was like running in deep water. Lavender was sobbing in despair as she propelled herself down the slope, half-falling, half-racing as she went. She could hear the Thinker hard on her heels. No way she could outrun the thing here. In desperation, she flung herself down, rolling down the hill just as she had done as a child, only then it was for pleasure. Now it was a reckless attempt at speed.
It gained her some distance, increasing the gap between her and the Thinker. She came to a stop up against a particularly stubborn clump of grass. She struggled to her feet and fell head first, going head-over- heels for a few turns. It was a dizzying experience, but it had moved her on still further. The bottom of the slope was no more than a few strides away. Pumping her legs, she barrelled down them to find level ground once more. She glanced back. The Thinker was mere feet away. Once it was on ground level with her, it would catch her in no time.
She ran, lungs bursting, heart pounding. The fairground was just as wrecked as the promenade. She had to think fast and dodge debris as she ran. She was running out of options, when a Ferris Wheel loomed large before her. There was no time to consider if the thing was still intact and structurally safe enough to take her weight. She climbed into an open carriage that sat more or less at ground level, pulling the gate shut behind her as if that would be enough to hold the Thinker off. She ran to the other side, sat on top of the rail there and hauled herself up onto the roof carriage.
She glimpsed flashes of the approaching Thinker through the mess of faded hoardings and shining, colourful metal that made up the rides. Wasting no more time, she began to haul herself up the long spoke that lead to the centre of the wheel. Praying her hands weren’t too slick with sweat to get her up out of reach, she wrapped her legs around the cold metal, and went to work.
She was about a third of the way up when the Thinker appeared below her. It looked up at her belligerently, swiping its arms alarmingly close to her feet. She knew better than to stop. Tucking her legs up higher, she redoubled her efforts to get out of reach. Determined to focus on where she was going, she felt a lurch of alarm as the carriage below her rocked, jolting the spoke she was climbing.
The Thinker had entered the carriage, much as she had done.
She had to get to the axle at the centre of the wheel. From there, she could shimmy up to the topmost carriage. The axle also offered a wider vantage point from which she could attempt to fend the Thinker off.
She reached the centre, her hands clammy. Somehow, she pulled herself up to straddle the thing, patting at her pockets for the scissors.
They had gone; probably fallen from her pocket as she had tumbled down the dunes. The tin opener was still tucked uncomfortably into a front pocket, digging painfully into her skin; fat lot of use that would be. She looked down, ready to kick at the thing if she had to, the only line of defence left to her.
There was no sign of the Thinker. Not in the carriage, not crawling up the spoke, not on the ground below. It had gone. So had Carson and Naomi.
*
Lavender decided to stay where she was for now. The Thinker appeared to have lost interest in her, which meant one of two things. It had been distracted by Carson or Naomi. Or a third option: by them both.
She took the chance to catch her breath, her position giving her a good all-round view of the fairground. Much of it had been dismantled, probably for the metal. In particular, the gaudily coloured roofs of the stalls were noticeable in their absence. She had sudden misgivings about the apparatus she was sitting on. She looked it over as best she could from where she was sitting. It looked whole, its parts probably too big and cumbersome to go to the trouble of dismantling.
It was then that she saw not all of the carriages were closed. At least three had their gates wide open. There were bodies within, she now observed. None of them moved or even twitched. More hapless victims she hoped, acknowledging the sick irony. It was better to be surrounded by the truly dead, than the merely undead. She knew that as well as anyone.
She pondered her dilemma. If she climbed back down to the ground now, the Thinker could well be waiting for her, ready to step out and grab her. If her hands slipped or she lost her grip and fell, it would be all over. If the fall didn’t kill her, the Thinker most definitely would. She doubted she had it in her to climb back up at speed again, if the need arose. She had no idea where Carson was, or the girl. She came to the conclusion that she was better off where she was.
Her decision made, she took her time looking over the fairground below, peering more closely into the gaps and shadows from above. Once, she would have been sure Carson would have found safety; now, she found herself hoping Naomi had managed to find somewhere for him to hide with her.
There was an eerie stillness to the place; the kind of heavy silence that preceded commotion. Lavender found she was holding her breath as she scanned the ground beneath her, the air filled with expectation.
There was no movement out of place, nothing to give anyone away. To someone cresting the dunes now and looking down, it would be easy to believe the place totally empty.
Her hard seat growing uncomfortable, Lavender shifted position, trying to find a way to sit on the unforgiving metal that wouldn’t be painful after more than a few minutes. It was as she was gingerly settling herself back into place that movement caught her eye.
On this side of the fairground there stood the remains of a Haunted Mansion. Weird figures still stood in the unglazed windows, looking down at the abandoned fair; a selection of werewolves, vampires, ghosts and ghouls tempting in passers-by, if they dared. Lavender was sure the motion had come from there somewhere. She squinted, screwing up her eyes to better focus.
There was something odd about the windows on the uppermost floor. She leaned forward a little, as if the couple of inches gained would make a difference, just as Carson leaned out, his arms crossed, a genial look upon his face; for all the world as if he was just passing the time of day, watching the world go by.
“Jesus Christ!” Lavender hissed, wishing she dared shout across to him, “Get inside you bloody idiot!” she willed him to hear her across the space, “Get back inside!”
She watched, painfully aware of how vulnerable Carson was, wishing he would just duck back out of view. She gave a sob of relief when she saw Naomi appear briefly at the window. The girl said something to Carson, who continued to stare out, ignoring her. She put her arm on his arm, to coax him in.
Carson’s hand flashed, back-handing the girl. She let out an involuntary scream and fell out of sight.
“Fuck!” Lavender swore hoarsely, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
She prayed the girl wasn’t too hurt, that she was on her feet, out of Carson’s reach. He had fallen back from the window at last, lost from view. She couldn’t hear any more shouting; none of Carson’s most belligerent tones, nor the cries of a young girl trapped and at his mercy. That at least was a blessing.
Then came fast movement, from the left of her field of vision. Lavender’s heart sank; the Thinker that had tried to catch her had reappeared, its focus fixed firmly on the Haunted Mansion.
Helpless
There was nothing she could do but watch. She was taken aback by the speed of the Thinker, at how quickly it reached the ride and clambered aboard it, disappearing behind a spookily painted
façade bearing a disembodied hand pointing inwards, the words ‘Enter Here’ floating above it. She heard the clumping, clumsy footsteps of the creature as it tore its way through the attraction, the whole thing rocking alarmingly as it went. She looked on, aghast. Every Thinker she had ever encountered had been sickeningly violent, its proportions intimidating, but this – this was something else.
She thought back to the Thinker that had ripped itself apart at the container. She remembered the ruined state of the gates. Watching this Thinker decimate the Haunted Mansion from the inside out, it wasn’t so hard to believe one such zombie could easily have destroyed those gates, too.
She watched for signs of Carson and Naomi. They were as good as trapped in there. If Carson was experiencing an absence, then Naomi was on her own.
The Thinker had managed to negotiate a flight of steps it seemed, for it suddenly appeared at an upper window, tearing apart the wooden figure that stood there as it if had caused it some offence. Lavender’s heart rate shot up; Carson was up there somewhere.
And then both Carson and Naomi were exiting the ride, slipping out of the doorway opposite the entrance. Naomi had Carson’s hand in hers, and Lavender experienced an odd mix of relief and jealousy at the sight. Naomi was wild-eyed, pulling Carson along behind her, running everywhere and anywhere, looking for a safe place, the sack banging painfully off her skinny shins.
It seemed like bare seconds later that the Thinker, impossibly, also appeared at the exit. It stopped, looked about with its amber eyes, sniffed the air, set off on its trail…
Carson and Naomi were less than fifty feet away. It was obvious from the fearful way the girl kept casting glances over her shoulder, changing direction, then changing her mind and dodging back again that she had no clear plan in mind. Lavender could do nothing but look on, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. How unfair, how wrong and cruel, that all these months of survival together should end in her witnessing Carson being torn to shreds in the ruins of a fairground, a feeble and terrified little girl his only companion.
Mindless Trilogy (Book 3): Brutal Truths Page 7
