Lavender gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but it felt tight and false across her lips. She moved on, scanning the building ahead, trying to stay calm and assess their best option from here.
Behind them, a door swung open, banging noisily as it was thrown wide, then shuddering wildly as if trying to free itself of its hinges. Neither woman needed more than that to break into a run, heading for the nearest entrance to the building.
A presence loomed behind them; one Lavender could identify without bothering to look. She nearly gave in to the sudden weakness that assailed her, feeling her strength threaten to leave her if she succumbed to her fear.
There was a Thinker behind them; it had started to run.
She heard Naomi scream. Unable to stop herself, she cast a backward glance, dreading what she might see. The girl was unhurt, merely giving vent to her terror. Barely three feet behind her and gaining, a Thinker of monstrous proportions was making ground.
It was easily seven feet tall, with a mop of steel grey hair now thick with some viscous liquid that shone in the white light of the day. Its face was remarkably whole, a shade of burnt-brown, as if it had fallen asleep on a sunbed set to ‘high.’ To her disgust, it was in fairly good shape, as zombies go; no limbs missing, no massive, rotting holes in its framework that might impair it. This Thinker was a big problem.
“For God’s sake run!” Lavender urged, picking up the pace herself. Naomi obliged, throwing the nailed plank aside to allow her arms to pump faster at her sides. ‘Wise move,’ Lavender thought, realising the plank would be next to useless against such a revoltingly whole abomination.
They were drawing closer to the building, but it was impossible to determine where to gain fast entry, leaving the Thinker behind. Impossible, too, to predict whether or not there were others like it waiting inside.
The Thinker made a guttural noise deep in its throat, causing Lavender to look back in terror. Aghast, she saw that he was no longer alone: coming up fast behind him were another half a dozen undead.
She had reached the car park, a row of ruined cars forming a half-barrier. Undeterred, she ploughed on, throwing herself recklessly across the icy bonnet of a vehicle sitting askew, parallel to the drive. From the corner of her eye she saw Naomi leap up onto the boot of another car, to run across its lethally slippery roof and drop down safely the other side. Any second now they were going to run out of places to run.
Then there was shouting. Not the shapeless, formless, hollow moan of zombies nor the quizzical, menacing growl of a Thinker, but real words, being shouted with the urgency and panic of living human beings.
“Up here!” someone was screaming at them, “Grab the ladders! Grab the ladders!”
Something clattered noisily ahead. Lavender flinched, looking up to see what fresh horror awaited her.
To her amazement, a ladder appeared flat against the front of the building. Immediately alongside it, a rope ladder uncoiled, rattling against the outer walls.
Naomi had overtaken her and was making for the rope ladder. Dropping lower than the rigid ladder, her feet were already on the bottom-most rung and she was hauling herself up it at pace before Lavender had caught up.
Not bothering to wonder where it had come from or who had lowered it, Lavender launched herself at the chance of rescue.
And missed. The ladder was too high up by a good few inches. She cast a frantic look backward, appalled to see the Thinkers had already reached the line of cars, the other zombies hard on their heels. She turned back, tried jumping once more, failed again. To her left, Naomi was being hauled bodily upward, gripping onto the thick rope sides of the ladder as whoever was on the roof heaved her to safety.
Sobbing with fear, Lavender immediately abandoned the ladder and ran, changing course to hurtle along the front of the building, weaving through cars left in all manner of shape and condition, heading recklessly to the end of the building in the fervent hope that something would occur to her.
She rounded the corner, oblivious to the caravans set out in once neat rows, stretching out across the park. There was nothing here but bare wall. Feeling sick, Lavender ran on, dreading what she might see when she turned the corner to the rear of the building.
There was a battered mesh enclosure that was meant to hold bins tidily in place. Its gates were open wide, the bins all spilled open and long ago emptied of scraps. Lavender didn’t pause to think, she simply stepped up onto a fallen bin, then up onto the bin bay itself.
Then stopped. The roof was still a long way up. She was trapped, the situation hopeless, nowhere to go from here.
Hanging Around
Gasping for breath, Lavender turned to face the inevitable. She realised she was still clutching the sack, wondering how she could ever have imagined it would have any worth as a weapon.
Heavy, dead feet came crunching down the gravel at the side of the building, along the path she had just run.
Instinctively, Lavender pressed herself flat against the wall. She almost jumped out of her skin when something fell against her face, banging the bridge of her nose painfully. It took bare seconds to realise it was the rope ladder.
She scrambled up it hurriedly, her foot slipping once in her haste. Below her, she saw something turn the corner…
She flew up the ladder and was about to stand and run across the roof when a chorus of voices yelled at her to stop. She did as she was bid, sweating and panting for breath. One look ahead told her why there such need for caution.
The roof in this corner of the building was missing, the room below clearly visible through the gap. On the other side of the gaping hole, two men were on their knees, the rope ladder firmly in their grip. Behind them, Naomi hovered uncertainly, concern evident in her expression.
Lavender forced herself to think rationally, to understand what she was seeing. It seemed the men had flung the rope ladder out across the gap and down the side of the building, in the hope that Lavender would see it. She thanked her lucky stars for their quick thinking. Then she saw something else.
The rigid ladder, the one she had been unable to reach when it dangled at the front of the building, had also been stretched out across the yawning space; a makeshift bridge to safety. It rested in touching distance from where she was balanced, its support no more than a few inches width of exposed wooden beam, its edges jagged where it had collapsed and fallen in.
It was precarious to say the least. If the ladder shifted she would fall into the room below. God help her then, because she had no doubt zombies lurked below.
As if to confirm her suspicions, there came a mournful sigh, unnaturally long drawn-out. Lavender looked down to see a zombie shuffling stupidly beneath her. Not a Thinker, judging by the fact that it did not look up. She was grateful for that small mercy.
“It’s okay, we’ve got the ladder this end. Crawl across!” one of the men shouted, seeing her hesitation.
Lavender nodded, pushing herself up onto her elbows to shuffle forward, shifting position to straddle the ladder. A violent tug from below almost sent her toppling backwards. She recoiled, twisting to see that the Thinker that had chased her hard on her heels was pulling at the rope still dangling above the bin bay. It hadn’t yet figured out how to step up onto the bin and then the bay, as Lavender had done, but it was tall and reached it alarmingly easily.
Lavender sat up, straddling the roof edge as if riding a horse, horribly aware of the fact that her leg was not as far out of reach as she would like it to be. She took a section of rope ladder in both hands, watching for her chance.
The Thinker relinquished its grip for a fraction of a second, sending a baleful amber glare her way. It was all she needed; she jerked the ladder up, coiling it hurriedly in her hands until it was well out of the Thinker’s grasp.
The bundled mess of ladder wrapped about her fist, Lavender threw the sack across the open space. It fell with a thud on the far side, one of the men reaching out to grab it and s
hove it aside, out of the way. Lavender began shakily inching her way across the precarious bridge, keen to be away from the abomination below. She was making good progress, the three watching her offering murmured encouragement, until she felt a shift in the atmosphere and one of them uttered a soft, “No way,” staring at something behind her.
Her body bathed in a cold sweat, Lavender peered over her shoulder, immediately wishing she hadn’t.
The Thinker was behind her, its head and shoulders visible where it was standing on the bin bay as she had done only moments earlier. It appeared there was some jostling below, the Thinker being pushed and shoved by its fellow undead. Lavender watched, horrified, as it reached out one huge, green-tinged hand to grip the wooden ladder where it rested.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, scrambling across as fast as she was able. The bunched ladder in her fist was slowing her down. She tried to shake it off, panicking when it began to tighten rather than fall loose.
The Thinker had missed its aim; rather than taking hold of the ladder, it knocked it sideways. Lavender gave a shriek of alarm, gripping its sides as it shifted. She gave up trying to free herself and crawled on. She was almost in touching distance from the men, one of them reaching out his hand to grasp hers, when the Thinker took another swipe.
The ladder tipped, one end resting on the small ledge, the other pointing skyward, sending Lavender dangling into the room below. She cried out in both terror and pain as the knotted rope ladder about her wrist cut into her skin. She gritted her teeth and held on for all she was worth, knowing that she would not be able to keep it up for long. Any second now she would have to let go with her wounded hand. There was no way she could hold on with only one, and there was a zombie lurking in the room below.
“Hang on!” one of the men shouted redundantly. A sharp retort came to mind, but she had to save her energy for simple survival.
The Thinker swiped a third time, finally dislodging the end of the ladder completely.
Lavender drew in a sharp lungful of air, a gasp that hurt her throat. The men above had stood up, holding the ladder upright with sheer strength and force of will, but she was now dangerously low down into the room below, dangling like juicy bait on the end of a broad rod. Judging by the sudden frenzied shuffling of feet below, that fact had not gone unnoticed.
Instinctively, Lavender bent her knees, bringing her feet up as high as she could get them. Her grip was beginning to weaken, her hands slick with sweat. The unmistakable stench of rotting flesh became overpowering as the zombie drew near. For the second time, she thanked her lucky stars it was one of the brainless undead and not the other variety.
There was a lot of shouting coming from above. Lavender tried to focus on what they were saying, but the pain in her hand was becoming excruciating. She found a rung and rested her feet on it, to relieve the stress on her wrist, causing the men above to start shouting again.
“Keep as still as you can!” one of them was saying, “We’re going to pull you up!”
“For God’s sake just do it!” Lavender shouted back, giving into her pain and fear, “I’ve got company down here!”
She heard some muttered swearing. Seconds later, the ladder eased fractionally upward.
The zombie moaned; that deep, mournful sound that seemed to come from the heart of a cold, dead soul. Lavender paled, trying to stay quiet. She knew it was already too late; the thing had seen her.
It came for her, gobbets of drool frothing from its swollen mouth. Tucking her legs up still further, almost bending herself double, she shouted, “It’s seen me! God help me, it’s seen me!” She felt her fingers sliding inexorably down the narrow strip of wood she clung to. She sent up a silent prayer that they would get her the hell out of there.
The ladder moved upward again, then again, the zombie’s head suddenly in the space where the lowest of the rungs had just been. It reached up both hands, the flesh a shade of dark brown, small things writhing and moving beneath. The ladder jerked upward again.
Lavender lost her grip.
Her hands slipped, leaving her dangling in agony, the knotted rope ladder the only thing now holding her in place by her increasingly injured wrist. She swung her good arm wildly in the air, attempting to get a hold again, causing the men to scream at her to stop.
Her foot swung as she struggled to gain control. To her appalled revulsion, it kicked against the head of the zombie. She tucked her feet up as it frothed a response, trying to reach her.
“For Christ’s sake, pull!” she screamed up at her would-be rescuers. Nothing happened. She prayed they hadn’t run into a problem, or that the Thinker hadn’t somehow broached the gap and was on the roof with them. She was about to scream again, when the zombie below grabbed at her boot.
“Oh no you don’t!” she said, suddenly furious. Ignoring the blood that had begun to trickle down her trapped arm, she swung her free leg back as far as she could and aimed the strongest kick she could muster at the dead centre of the zombie’s face.
It collapsed inward, a stinking mess of distorted features, the bone beneath the well-rotted skin surprisingly soft. The boot of her toe covered in decaying matter, Lavender swung again, knowing that one blow would not be enough to do the job.
The ladder moved forcefully upward, too high now to take another swing. The men above seemed to have found a pattern, for now her progress was regular and steady; raise and stop, raise and stop. They had found a rhythm. She looked down at the zombie beneath her, expecting to see its ruined face, but it was on its knees, its head to the floor, a strange and sickening sound, like a thick lapping, coming from it.
Where the cuffs of her layered jackets met at her wrist, the fabric was now wet with her blood. It had pooled there; a fat, red globule, aided by gravity, pulled free of the gory mass, shining dully in the gloom. She watched as in slow motion as it fell through the dim air to land, unnoticed, on the undead’s head. She understood then what the creature was doing; even with its shattered face, it was attempting to feast on the specks of her blood that hit the ground as she hung there.
She felt utterly sick; the depraved act as gut-wrenching as any of the awful things she had witnessed.
The ladder heaved upwards again. She could have cried when she at last felt the cold air blowing on her face, the weak sun shining in her eyes. When her shoulders were finally clear of the gap, the men laid the ladder down and pulled her across the roof as she lay along it. They continued to drag her well away from the hole in the corner, like a body transported on an especially rickety travois. They stopped at last, laying her flat to look up at the snow-filled sky above. She closed her eyes, struggling to even her breathing.
While the men recovered from their exertions, Naomi went to Lavender, kneeling and attempting to extricate her wrist from its tightly wound trap. Lavender’s eyes flicked open; she tried to give the girl some semblance of a smile.
“Here, I’ll do that,” the younger of the men said, appearing behind Naomi and gently pushing her aside. He was brandishing a bowie knife, which he slid under the twist of bloodied rope, sawing back and forth until Lavender’s wrist was finally free.
She looked up at him, into soft blue eyes, a thick beard and a mixed expression of worry and relief, meaning to say a word or two of thanks, but the words wouldn’t come.
With a strange detachment, she noticed it had finally stopped snowing. The skies above were a leaden grey, threatening more to come, yet for now the air was still. Then the world spun and went black and nothing mattered very much, anymore.
Safe Hands
Joel looked Carson over with a critical eye as he fought to crest the dune. The man was a wreck; his clothes filthy, his hair awry, a wild look in his eye. At his approach Joel actually backed off at first, doubtful of the man’s mental health. He looked crazy from a distance, the way he weaved in and out; oblivious, muttering darkly. Joel even experienced a moment of panic that Carson had been bitten, that he was witnessing t
he approach of a zombie in the making.
The closer Carson got, the more obvious it became that was not the case. The wildness in his eyes was less akin to that of a dangerous lunatic, closer instead to the fear and confusion of a lost child. He saw Carson’s eyes come to rest on their small group and waved, hoping to encourage him closer. Carson waved back, child-like, his expression first registering doubt, quickly followed by hope. If Joel gave a shit about the man, it might have warmed his heart. As it was, all he could think was Carson was his ticket to finding Lavender and that little bitch Naomi, and he had scores to settle with both of them.
He hid his intentions behind a smile so false it hurt his face, sensing the discomfort of the others. He ignored them; their opinions were of no consequence. Instead, he put on a voice that managed to be at once hearty and welcoming, yet also heavy with concern. No matter that his insincerity rang clear for all who wished to hear it; as long as he convinced Carson, it would do.
“Hey, Carson! Thank God we ran into you! We’ve all been worried sick since you left in such a hurry! How are you? You okay?”
Carson blinked, looking down at his fist, still bruised and aching. He looked up again at Joel and the group, the tiniest nagging doubt at the back of his mind. He was sure he knew this man, and it felt good to be amongst people again, but something was wrong. The nagging feeling that something was missing was still sitting at the back of his mind. He shook his head as if to loosen the thought in the hope it would fall away.
“I’m hungry,” was all he could think to say.
Joel smiled, a more natural, assured grin this time, “Of course you are. We all are. How about we find somewhere to hole up a while and eat? You look like you need a rest,”
Mindless Trilogy (Book 3): Brutal Truths Page 10
