by West, Mark
Another Infected emerges from the crowd. It charges towards Lincoln but is then flattened with a king hit to the centre of its nose. Blood sprays the crowd. The Infected collapses like a felled tree.
Lincoln tries to reach the Leader who is trying to shake off Koda. A massive beast-like monster steps forward, blocking his path. Its body is thick and trunk-like, its skin hardened leather. The Beast leans back and bellows a mighty battle cry, causing the birds to screech in protest. The Infected moan in response. Their best fighter has emerged.
The Beast swings a glove-like hand, catching Lincoln and sending him hurtling towards the inner ring of Infected. Lincoln’s body slams into them, knocking them to the ground. They engulf him and begin aggressively biting as he struggles to his feet. He eventually pushes them away and staggers back to the Beast, his face cold and emotionless. They don’t dare follow and fall back in line.
The Beast rolls its shoulder and pounds a fist into its hand as it moves towards him. It curls its lips, revealing serrated teeth and swipes again. Lincoln takes in the hurtling fist and side steps. He rolls to the ground and slips between the legs of the Beast. Before the Beast realises what is happening, Lincoln is latched onto its back and climbing it like a tree and hooking an arm around its neck. The Beast shakes furiously in an attempt to dislodge Lincoln. But he is locked on tight, squeezing and crushing the life from the Beast.
The Beast grabs at Lincoln’s leg. Lincoln quickly searches for an eye. He gouges at it, hooking in a finger through the socket and pulling. The Beast lets go of Lincoln’s leg as the eye is removed and tossed aside. The Beast howls and Lincoln goes for the other eye, plucking at it like a bird of prey.
Lincoln jumps off the Beast and lands on the ground, watching the colossal creature blindly bumble about, flailing its arms at the gathered Infected. They move aside, unwilling to be caught in its path of destruction and soon the monster disappears.
Koda lies on the ground after battling with the Leader and lets out a howl of pain. Fur has been torn from his body exposing raw skin and deep wounds. He rolls on his side and closes his eyes.
The Leader is also in bad shape. Its forearm has been crushed by the jaws of the dog and is partly severed. It glares at Lincoln and raises a fist. The pair lock eyes, both waiting for the other to be the first to strike.
Another call cuts through the air causing the fighters to turn. The mass of Infected are parting again, shuffling aside to create a gap for two new arrivals, who stride between the ranks with authority.
Chapter 48
Caged
Once again, Victoria wakes to find herself locked in a cage as the effects of the tranquilliser dart wear off. To one side of her is a pen full of pigs, muddy and pungent. Behind is another cage, similar in size, containing a single duck that is nestled in a pile of hay in one corner. On her other side is a cage with more pigs, smaller, perhaps a month or two old. There are also a few random chickens, potentially there to peck away the countless bugs crawling about the barn.
Victoria peers at the stalls opposite. Something is moving in the shadows. She stands in terror and sees the outline of a horse.
‘You too hey girl,’ she says glumly.
The horse tilts its head before backing away into the depths.
From what Victoria can see, the barn is enormous, with exposed beams and timber walls. Down the centre is a dirt walkway leading to closed doors, their outline of sunlight teasing her with the promise of freedom. Her morale is at a depressing and dangerous low. She needs to be back with Isabelle and chastises herself for leaving her child for a selfish expedition.
What type of mother am I?
As if by chance, one of the doors begins to open, exposing a figure. The person steps into the barn and walks towards her, purple mohawk bobbing on their head. They stop by her cage.
‘Eat,’ Travis says, slipping a square tray through a cut-out section in the bars.
Victoria takes the tray and looks at the food in disgust. ‘What is it?’
A ball of roughly mashed potato is clotted on the tray, next to it a cluster of peas and two long sausages. It looks like discarded animal food. Flies are already swarming around it.
‘Eat,’ Travis repeats, avoiding eye contact.
‘Water?’
Travis removes a bottle from the side of his cargo pants and drops it through the cage. ‘I’ll be back for the tray in an hour. I suggest you eat. You will last longer.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
Travis shrugs and looks at her for the first time. Victoria is surprised to recognise pain in his eyes. ‘Nothing.’ He turns and walks away.
Victoria places the tray on the ground and begins rattling the cage. ‘Come back! I have a family, a child!’
Travis pauses for a moment, his mohawk making him look like a crested bird silhouetted by the light. But he doesn’t come back. He continues walking to the door.
Anger fills Victoria. ‘Let me out. They need me! Let me—’
The door slams shut. Once again, she is alone. A pig nudges its nose through the bars of her enclosure. She kicks out at it.
‘Psssss!’
The pig squeals and runs away, barging into another. Victoria collapses into the straw.
‘I can’t stay here.’
‘This is nothing,’ a voice says quietly.
Victoria jolts upright and stares into the cage of pigs. Most are busy running their snouts through the mud. Some are asleep in a corner. She turns to the cage of smaller pigs, then to the chickens.
There is a shrill laugh from behind. Victoria spins to see a woman with wiry grey hair and red, puffy eyes sitting in the cage behind her, covered in straw from the waist down. She is gently stroking the duck, which is by her side.
‘Where did you come from?’ Victoria asks in astonishment.
The woman points to the tray of food.
‘You want to eat that.’
Her grin broadens.
‘Enjoy the sausages. They are my favourite.’
Her smile broadens, showing off rotten teeth. Victoria looks down at the tray and shudders. Ants are about to invade the lumpy mash.
‘What is it?’
The woman shrugs. ‘Everything and anything.’
She begins to chuckle, her eyes looking first one way, then the other. Victoria presumes she is mad.
‘This here is my duck,’ the woman tells her. “His name is Hubert.’
She says something else under her breath, but Victoria can’t hear over the clucking of the hens.
‘What is this place?’
The woman continues stroking the duck without answering.
‘Who are you? How long have you been here?’
The woman glances up before turning back to the duck.
‘This here is Hubert, my late husband,’ she repeats. ‘I’m …’
The woman peers towards the roof of the barn as if trying to recall a memory.
‘Yes?’ Victoria prods at the potato. She is so hungry.
‘Imelda,’ the woman says slowly. ‘Imelda Parkinson.’
Imelda shifts in the hay, exposing more of her frail body. Victoria notices she is wearing a silver gown covered in embroidered flowers. It has lacy shoulder straps. Her skin is tissue paper-thin, the bones of her shoulders standing out in stark relief.
‘How long?’ Victoria asks, her eyes fixed on Imelda. ‘How long have you been here?’
She dips a finger into the mash and tastes it. It is sweet and buttery.
‘Long?’ Imelda chuckles, face twisting in confusion. She shrugs again, giving Victoria that maddening smile. She watches intently as Victoria tastes the mash again.
‘What’s in this?’ Victoria asks, licking her finger. ‘It’s actually not bad.’
Imelda leans forward in the straw and begins to whisper.
‘They put sugar in the food to keep us … alive.’
Her eyes grow wide. She looks left and then right before leaning even closer, almost up towards the
edge of the cage. She smells like a septic tank.
‘To keep our blood flowing.’ She nods at the food. ‘The sugar keeps our heart pumping.’
Victoria backs away a little. She takes another bite and then picks up the bottle of water. Imelda is watching like a hawk, making Victoria feel extremely uncomfortable. She honestly feels safer being alone than having this woman near her.
Victoria leaves the sausages to last. They seem the best part of the meal. After a year of no meat, she is keen to savour the flavour, as Jackson would put it. She puts one of the finger-like sausages in her mouth and takes a bite. Surprisingly it’s very tasty, not unlike the ones she used to buy back home.
The tray is picked clean within minutes and placed back in the straw. Victoria turns to see Imelda leaning against the bars, watching.
‘Did you enjoy that my dear?’ she asks coldly.
Victoria nods. ‘Yeah. I did actually.’ It’s no lie. ‘Shame there was no sauce.’
Imelda nods vigorously. ‘Yes. Yes. I could see you did. Thanks to yours truly.’
Victoria scoffs, tired of the woman’s remarks. ‘And what did you have to do with it?’
Imelda laughs and runs her hands up and down the bars. ‘Well, I supplied the ingredients, my dear.’
Victoria looks at the duck. ‘One of your ducks?’
She hadn’t tasted duck in the sausage. But then she wasn’t sure what kind of meat she had just eaten.
‘Guess again.’
Imelda begins pulling herself back across the floor of the cage through the thick straw, using her arms.
‘I’m not one for guessing games.’ The words come out hesitantly. The woman is creeping the fuck out of her. ‘What do you mean?’
Imelda leans against the back of the cage and picks up the duck, placing it on her lap. She starts stroking it again, the duck submitting to the woman’s caresses and closing its eyes.
‘We were just like you, Hubert and me. We had the whole world ahead of us.’
She continues to stroke the duck; her eyes fixed on its feathers.
‘When the infection came, we hid. We were doing so well.’
She stares at Victoria with her red, puffy eyes.
‘They took us.’ Imelda says faintly. ‘They took us all.’
‘Who took you? These people?’ Victoria asks, leaning on the cage. She’s intrigued. ‘Who took you, Imelda. Who are these people?’
‘I told you, my dear. They took Hubert and me.’
‘You and the duck?’
Imelda begins to cackle.
‘Don’t be a stupid girl. This is not my Hubert.’
She tosses the duck from her lap and points to Victoria’s cage.
‘My Hubert was in there – that cage.’
She screams and tries to stand, but collapses back into the straw.
‘They killed him! They killed my Hubert!’
Imelda is banging the cage with her fists and screaming at the top of her lungs. Victoria backs away, her eyes wide with fright. She trips and lands on something buried under the straw. She pushes aside the straw to find bones. They are long bones, like the ones in an arm or leg.
‘Hubert!’ Imelda screams.
Imelda is leaning up against her cage, pointing at the bones.
‘They killed my Hubert!’
‘This is Hubert?’
As she says it, a cold shiver runs through Victoria’s spine. Realisation dawns on her. It’s sharp and sickening.
‘Oh god!’
The woman is sobbing, tears streaming down her hollow face. She lets go of the bars and lies back in the straw.
‘Imelda, your leg. You’re bleeding.’
Imelda wipes the tears from her face.
‘I told you I helped with the food.’
She smiles weakly and raises her leg from the straw, revealing a bloodied, bandaged stump.
‘I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen.’ She snickers. ‘Merry Christmas.’
Chapter 49
Brave William
William’s hands tremble as he holds the shotgun. Another Infected is now on the bonnet next to the woman, a bald man. He only has one eye, the missing one now a red, weeping hole. The pair scowl at him.
The woman begins thumping the glass with her hand, the man kicking it with his boot. The glass and frame vibrate, but thankfully show no signs of collapsing – yet. William still has time to make a decision.
A shadow moves across a small window embedded in the door. A moment later a pair of yellow eyes appear, rimmed with red. William knows he’s trapped, but he is the one holding the gun. He aims the barrel at the one-handed woman and then at the bald man, before turning to the door.
Which one first?
The truck has been standing in the burning sun all day. It is like an oven. William knows he can’t stay in there forever. He needs to make a choice. But the heat and the thumping are making it hard to think.
‘Go away!’ he screams, but they ignore his plea.
As the seconds tick, he can see more movement round the edges of the glass. Time is literally running out. If he doesn’t decide which one to shoot first, he won't get that choice.
The Infected slaps the door, smearing red streaks across the glass. William spots the fourth Infected milling about, waiting. He rechecks the magazine, counting six rounds, and locks it back in place. Four remain in the box stuffed in his pocket, but he doubts he will know how to reload the damn thing, let alone shoot it properly.
The pair on the bonnet unexpectedly stop hitting the glass and eye him. Their withered skin is blistering under the sun. The woman at the door stops and peers up at him suspiciously through the small window, taking in the gun. She looks up into his eyes. He turns the gun towards her face and fires, not waiting for a reaction. His choice is made.
The sound is deafening, causing William’s ears to pop and crackle. The kick of the gun slams into his shoulder. He opens his eyes and sees the glass in the door is blown out, replaced with a softball-sized hole with jagged metal edges. The Infected’s body is lying on the road. He pumps the gun, replacing the used cartridge.
The fourth Infected rushes towards the opening and sticks a hand through. The sharp edges slice into its arm as it flaps about, grasping at nothing but hot air. William closes his eyes and fires again. Immediately he is jolted back in his chair and deafened by the loud explosion. After the initial shock he opens his eyes. He has missed completely, creating another hole in the door. The Infected slips its arm through and reaches for the silver lock, finding it quickly and pulling it up. The door clicks open.
William gasps in horror and cocks the gun as the door swings open. The Infected slinks in like a wolf on the prowl, keeping its head low. William slides back across the seat, finger hovering over the trigger. He is petrified. Sweat is stinging his eyes. He wipes his sleeve across his face, not wanting to lose sight of the devil before him.
‘You got this, William,’ he mumbles, then shuts his eyes and fires.
When he opens them, the Infected is slumped across the driver’s seat, its brain coating the inside of the cabin. William gags, bringing up bile.
The pair on the bonnet kick at the glass, enraged. He spins in the chair, aiming the gun at the bald one, who jumps to the ground and disappears. Within seconds he emerges at the open driver’s door.
‘I hate you all!’ William screams as he cocks back the action and aims at its body.
He doesn’t shut his eyes this time and watches as the bullet passes through its chest and out the other side, bowling the Infected out onto the road. Internal organs shower the neighbouring vehicle.
William turns to the woman with the missing limb. She dives as the bullet shatters the glass, sending down a rain of fragmented glass. Frantically, William cocks the gun again and leans forward, adrenaline coursing through his body. He frantically searches for the woman, but she has disappeared. He glances at the one on the road. It’s moving, but only just. Its body immobilised by its wound
s that are bleeding a sea of red and black.
Slowly, William edges to the open door, placing the last few rounds from his pocket into the magazine, just like in the movies, one at a time.
William backs down the steps of the truck, gun resting on his now bruised shoulder. He looks at the Infected on the ground, its body so torn it’s struggling to sit up. It stares at him with belligerent eyes. He points the gun towards its face with no regrets.
William moves out into the open like a natural, turning and spinning at the slightest sound. An image of Arnold plays in his mind. The part where he enters an abandoned warehouse – The Predator, he thinks – or was it Commando? Arnold is out in the open, bad guys all around. He takes them out, one by one, unfazed at the thought of dying, a true hero. That’s how he thinks of himself now: a hero to his kind, the last chance of survival.
William goes over to a group of vehicles wedged together and crouches to peer underneath – nothing.
Where is she hiding?
He turns back to the truck, taking in the broken glass and splattered blood, surprised at his bravery and quick adaptation to the weapon.
Unable to find the woman, William begins making his way back along the highway, cautiously weaving in and out of the vehicles towards Eden. His pants are uncomfortable and smell strongly of ammonia.
What will Eden think?
A movement catches the corner of his eye. He spins, gun up and sees a long shadow slipping behind a white van.
Be brave, William. Be brave.
There is the sound of scraping as William approaches, like nails on metal. His finger hovers delicately on the trigger as he side steps slowly around the left side, eyes focused and controlled.
‘Show yourself.’ No response.
William prepares himself for a spring attack, squatting to allow his pants to unpeel from his legs.
One … Two …
He jumps on the third count, gliding past the van and pulling the trigger at the figure crouched on the other side. He fires off two consecutive rounds, pumping the action as quickly as he can. Blood explodes into the air, painting the van red.
