He crashed to the ground, narrowly missing Magda. They both lay there panting, like exhausted lovers after an energetic bout. They weren’t safe yet, but they had bought some time.
Burning Rubber
Carson thanked the Gods he was thinking clearly. Back the way they had come, there was fire. If they could get to it whilst the zombies were preoccupied with Mayhew, maybe he could put it to good use.
He raised his fingers to his lips, indicating the need for silence to Lavender. Keeping an eye for debris underfoot which, if knocked, would remind the undead that they were still there, out on the street, they made their way back to the pyre and its hideous burden.
They were almost level with it when Mayhew disappeared from view at the window. As one, the zombies turned to face them.
“Here we go!” Carson said, abandoning all attempts at silence. He began kicking at one of the stack of burning tyres, freeing it of the pile. It landed with a thump at his feet, his shoes smouldering where some of the burning rubber had stuck.
“Get behind me!” he said coughing, attempting to cover his mouth with his hand.
Lavender obeyed, seeing what Carson intended. She began kicking furiously at the remaining tyres. She was coughing too, raising her hands to her mouth in a futile bid to avoid inhaling the bitter smoke.
The ties that had secured the child-corpses had melted, to stretch like mozzarella cheese as Lavender kicked away. The body of the younger child slid to the ground as if it, too, had melted. That of the older child split horribly in two as a pair of larger tyres parted ways. The small body released a foul-smelling odour that, even against the stench of burning tyres, made Lavender retch. The tyre bearing the half that still had the head attached toppled over, mercifully hiding the sight from view.
“You thinking of keeping them at bay with fire?” Lavender shouted over the roar of the flames and the wheezing, wet rumbles of the approaching zombies.
“No, I’m thinking of making them fire,” Carson said, the man-zombie almost upon him.
Lavender could only watch as Carson bent, picked up a burning tyre, and heaved it upwards. She looked on, horrified, as his features began to blacken, whether with smoke or burning rubber she could not tell. She heard his cry of pain and effort as he lifted it high, dropping it neatly around the once-man’s head.
The zombie managed a hoarse grunt as the tyre fell, pinning its arms to its sides. Lavender noted it had stopped its progress. Flames had begun to lick both up and down its body, taking hold upon the tattered shreds of clothing, straggling strands of hair, folds of desiccated skin. Its flesh began to blister and crackle as the flames strengthened, pools of black rubber like hot tar forming, giving the appearance of shiny black leeches dotting its wasted limbs, smouldering and bubbling.
Carson’s foot flashed out, striking the zombie mid-chest and sending it crashing to the ground, helpless to rise as the embracing tyre held it in place.
He picked up a second burning tyre. Holding it before him like a shield, he feinted a strike. The next oncoming zombie – the teen - leaned forward, trying to grab him rather than leaning away. Carson moved fast, dropping the tyre around its neck as he had done with the first.
The teen-zombie sucked a blackened tongue wetly, leering at him stupidly as what was left of her clothing also began to burn. She had been slender in life; the tyre fell right to her feet, not trapping her as it had the man. Flames leapt high up her legs, Lavender suddenly overcome with the odour of roast-pork, even if the meat was somewhat rancid. The teen-zombie lifted one clumsy foot, almost free of the tyre, but not quite. Her foot caught on its burning edge and she went down. She writhed and struggled, the tyre beginning to drip black rubber, moulding her into place. Carson dropped a second burning tyre onto her chest, making sure there was no way she would rise.
Then he turned away, wheezing as if unable to breathe; stumbling away, seeking out fresher air. Lavender did not have the luxury of time to check on him, the double-zombie had taken up the space where the teen-zombie had just been.
Lavender braced herself to pick up a tyre and follow Carsons’ lead. He had done his bit, now it was her turn.
There came a roar. A deep, throaty, human roar that could never have been made by any zombie. Lavender wiped her streaming eyes, blinking madly, trying to see who approached.
Mayhew came bursting onto the scene, his eyes mad, screaming like a crazed man. He was running at full speed, with what looked like a spear. Lavender stepped back instinctively. The lurid sex-zombie did not appear to have noticed Mayhew’s arrival, so intent was it on Lavender. She was very glad she could not see things from Mayhew’s end as he suddenly dropped the metal prop low and rammed it, still at full speed, into the rear of the male zombie.
It made a gurgling sound as the pole, aided by momentum as well as the zombie’s own moist and yielding innards, travelled the entire length of its body to come out the other end, protruding from its mouth like a rusty tongue. It stopped dead, the madly flailing female zombie it was still buried deep inside clawing wildly at Lavender, unable to reach her now her counterpart had come to a stop. Incapable of looking round to see what the problem was, it kept trying to crawl forwards. If it hadn’t been so horrific, it might have been a sick sort of amusing.
Lavender looked around for some way to finish the she-zombie. There were no obvious makeshift weapons immediately to hand.
A ragged nail scraped painfully across Lavender’s shin. Infuriated, she turned to find the creature had advanced a few inches, enough to reach her. Forgetting the need for a weapon, Lavender kicked it, hard. Expecting fetid mulch to squelch sickeningly at the blow, she was rewarded with the crunch of bone instead. Encouraged, she kicked again, following up the first strike. Again, again and again she kicked until the zombie’s jaw was loose, hanging by meaty threads, the cheeks caved in and hollow, the forehead mashed to a pulp. Finally, the thing stopped moving. Its hands gripped one side of a still burning tyre, flames already exploring the zombie corpse. Lavender would be glad when the flames engulfed it properly, hiding the aberration from sight, reducing it to nothing more than a pile of harmless ashes.
She fell back, coughing and wheezing. She was bone-weary, her head pounding, her chest so constricted it felt as someone was squeezing it from within. She looked around for Carson, found him sitting in the front seat of the police car they had earlier abandoned. He perched sideways, his feet planted on the ground. As always, the familiar sight of him gave her courage. She went to him, ready to fall at his feet, exhausted. He would tell her it was going to be all right. He always made everything better.
“Well done!” he said, an impressed look on his face, “Really well done, um… Well done…” he looked searchingly into her eyes, it was only then that Lavender saw faint traces of sadness and despair there, like a man lost. Her heart almost broke at the sight.
“Carson?” she said softly, hoping the others couldn’t hear this exchange.
“No that’s not right,” Carson said thoughtfully, shaking his head, “I’m pretty sure Carson’s not right. That’s me, isn’t it? Carson?”
Lavender went cold all over, a sudden chill descending in spite of the layer of sweat from her exertions and the heat from the fire. She had been dreading a sign as obvious as this one, hoping against hope that it would never come.
“That’s right,” she whispered reassuringly, reaching up to stroke his cheek like she might a child, “You’re Carson,” she said, then choking back a sob, said the hardest words she’d ever had to speak in her life, “My name’s Lavender,”
Like they’d only just met. Like he didn’t know her at all.
*
Shaken, exhausted, weak; they made a sorry bunch as they once again walked the way they had earlier come, collecting Magda along the way. She had a deep slit the length of her right forearm. It was a sign of just how shattered she was that she allowed Lavender to rip her shirt and put a tight, if untidy, bandage around it.
“Try and kee
p it above your head,” Lavender advised, not bothering to add that fresh blood would smell good on the air to any nearby undead. She linked her arm through Carson’s; a gesture which she hoped the others would see as merely affectionate, though it was as much to steer him and keep him close.
This time they made it to the end of the street unchallenged. Now and then, the hairs on the back of Lavender’s neck would rise, she would swear she felt eyes upon her. She tried to look furtively up and down the street for any signs of life – or unlife. It was unlikely to be a zombie, she assured herself. They simply attacked.
Unless they were Thinkers, of course.
She shoved the thought aside. They would take on whatever they were faced with or die trying. There really were no other options.
A shape flitted down an alleyway, just beyond Lavender’s peripheral vision. She looked over at Mayhew and Magda for any sign they had seen anything. No response. She would keep it to herself then, for now. No need to upset Carson with it until it was necessary.
They stumbled on. Now and then they changed course hurriedly as the sound of doleful moaning reached them on the air. It was light, well beyond dawn, when Mayhew grabbed her arm and pointed,
“Look!”
She looked, dreading the prospect of another encounter. She barely had strength enough left to remain upright.
“There!” Mayhew pointed, and now she heard the note of relief and happiness in his voice, “The water tower! We made it back!”
She gave a tired smile, looked up at Carson to see if he understood. He nodded down at her, the distant look gone from his eyes, filling her with self-doubt all at once.
“We’re home,” he said, hugging her to him.
Home Sweet Home
There were signs that something was horribly wrong before they reached the building close to the water tower, where they had made the rooftop their home.
It had originally been student accommodation. A wide, tall building of four storeys, many windows lining its outer walls. It had been light, bright and modern once; teeming with excitable, busy youngsters beginning to achieve their potential. It still bore some of that hopeful presentation; chrome and glass everywhere you looked, smooth plastic hand rails that were rarely used, easy-clean flooring in marble flecked tile. Except now, much of the flooring was bloodied, muddied or smashed, smeared with God alone knew what. Most apartment doors were flung wide, revealing evidence of a hurried and panicked departure; clothes strewn, half-packed suitcases, unmade beds, crazily littered staircases. Carson had joked that if it wasn’t for the bodies and the occasional zombie they could be forgiven thinking it was just a normal student block.
That was before they had come upon several smashed and useless mobile phones scattered along landings and down the stairs. A set of car keys dangling puzzlingly from a light fitting. A pair of black high-heeled shoes, the heel snapped on one, its tip dipped in blood. A teddy with the message ‘All Grown Up, Still Love My Teddy’ sewn into its pale pink belly, a label attached reading “Uni or not, you’ll always be our girl,’ in deep blue ink, left battered and abandoned; peering out through the stair rail as if looking for the return of its owner. Carson’s joke lost some of its humour then.
Some of the doors remained closed. The whole group, including the three they had left behind before their excursion down to the sewers, had talked about opening them, the fear being there were zombies inside. Lavender had been concerned they would hold Thinkers, but Carson had pointed out that a Thinker would likely have worked out how to get out. If there were any student-zombies within, that was all they were; zombies.
They had found five and killed them all. Forsaking the student rooms after that, they had made their way up to the roof, where a smaller building stood. It had acted as a store room; full of folding chairs, bed frames, packets of shower curtains, boxes of plugs and lightbulbs and all manner of mundane equipment essential for keeping such a building running smoothly. The key had been carelessly left in the lock, though the caretaker was well beyond giving a damn about anything by the time they met him.
Lavender recalled how he had been prowling the roof. The second they pushed open the heavy fire door at the top of the stairs and stepped out, the tall, well-made figure of a bald man had made for them with a weird, drooling roar. It wore a high-vis vest, the neon yellow highlighting the hideous colouring of its face, skin sagging and drooping, making its eyes appear long and white, the pupils hidden beneath grotesquely stretched lids. Its bald head had begun to show patches of blue-green mould, giving it a dappled appearance. Lavender remembered how it had reminded her of pictures of the moon from childhood.
They had split up instinctively, spreading out across the roof space between the stairwell and the storage facility. The caretaker zombie lurched indecisively for a moment, then kept right on going; straight at Lavender.
Without a weapon at that point, she had stumbled backwards, half-formed plans springing into mind; she would tear the fire extinguisher off the wall behind her and batter it to death. She would allow it to follow her through the gap then slam the heavy door on it, pinning it there.
She didn’t get the chance to do any of those things. Instead, she misplaced her footing and fell heavily, landing hard on the metal threshold. She gave a shriek of pain, horribly aware that the zombie was almost upon her, planning on throwing herself backwards down the stairs if that was what it took to escape it, when Carson loomed large behind it.
He grabbed it from behind and lifted it, the thing dangling almost comically, legs bicycling, arms flailing. Carson whirled it around, spinning it away from Lavender. The zombie stretched back behind itself, trying to grab Carson now.
He gave a cry of disgust, an apparent near miss as the zombie turned its head and tried to bite. Carson jerked his head back violently to avoid its jaws and shoved, sending the clawing zombie flying.
It landed flat on its stomach; a soft-belly flop onto solid concrete. There was a splitting sound, the air all at once filled with a foul odour. Carson gagged and heaved, Lavender covered her mouth and nose with a cupped hand. It was a stench they all knew well now, yet would never really get used to; the stink of corruption.
The zombie pushed itself up onto all fours, the front of its neon vest all at once heavy with darkened blood as the tear in its stomach widened, allowing its contents to search for escape. It turned, once more focusing on Carson, a snarl on its foaming mouth.
Lavender stood shakily, not daring to look away. Carson had backed away as far as he could get, but that meant he was now up against a low wall and a metal frame; all that stood between him and a four storey drop to the ground.
Lavender looked around at the others for help, seeing immediately that she was the closest and best positioned to help Carson.
At a loss for anything else to do, she grabbed the fire extinguisher and headed after the zombie, its back turned to her now, hell bent on Carson. She had that to her advantage at least. She was limping, the crash landing on the threshold jarring her hip. She raised the nozzle and loosened the pin, unsure what she really intended to do with it. Even if the zombie was facing her, she was hardly likely to take its breath away, nor was she sure blinding it would make a difference.
It was almost in grasping reach of Carson. Panicked, she screamed; a shapeless, guttural roar of desperation, simultaneously pulling the trigger.
The fire extinguisher became immediately cold in her grasp, a stream of carbon dioxide hitting the back of the zombie’s neck. She gave a shriek of frustration, recognising that it was useless as any form of attack.
The zombie turned, glaring at her from baleful eyes. Surprised at any kind of reaction, Lavender raised the extinguisher and swung with all her might.
It caught the zombie clean across the cheek. Lavender heard the crunch of bone and saw the eyes roll still further back in its malformed head. The sudden sideways motion had caused the tear in its stomach to widen, allowing its contents to finally spill. Entrails spilled shin
y tendrils down its lower body, the smell worsening as they did.
Lavender took a step back, preparing for another onslaught; it hadn’t been enough to stop the zombie, but it gave Carson room to escape. He stepped smartly around the creature, snatched the fire extinguisher from Lavender’s hands, and delivered a second blow.
He aimed for the other side of the face, shattering the other side of its jaw and sending it stumbling. Its chilling, bone-deep moans had become little more than airy gurgling. One of its eyes had come loose of the socket and dangled searchingly down its ruined cheek. Undeterred, Carson swung again, this time sending it staggering backwards towards the rail where only seconds before Carson had been trapped.
The zombie opened what was left of its mouth in a feeble roar, its arms circling in front of it as if it meant to catch whatever was in range. It missed both Lavender and Carson, sending yet more of its fetid inners spilling.
“Fuck you!” Carson shouted, swinging a third time. The zombie came to a crashing halt against the low wall, the metal rail above. It tried another defiant roar, a ragged hand raking out, snagging on Carson’s jacket just as the extinguisher connected again. There was a frozen moment of suspended time when it seemed Carson’s doom was linked with that of the zombie. It teetered and rocked for a fraction of a second, then began to fall, its finger still hooked in Carson’s jacket, pulling him over with it.
“No!” Lavender screamed, grabbing Carson’s arm and digging in with both heels, holding him back with all her strength. She felt the weight of the zombie tug at his body, felt him slip in the slimy trail its bodily juices had left underfoot. There was a sucking sound followed by a wet pop, then they both staggered backwards, unexpectedly released from the zombie’s grip as gravity finally got the better of it and it fell, leaving its arm from the elbow down still attached to Carson, a blackened and swollen finger caught in a tear in the fabric.
Sleep, Think, Die (Book 2): The Undertaking Page 8
