Sabrina groped for the glass on the side table. She picked it up and found it empty.
What’s a gal got to do to get a little TLC around here?
She laughed but was cut short when the invisible hands gave her another squeeze.
Why had no one come to check on her? It seemed only five minutes ago that she’d stumbled onto the front porch and felt the warm lumpy purge of vomit empty from her stomach. At first, she thought that it might have been something that she had eaten. Maybe an undercooked egg or maybe she’d just scoffed too much food. But then she remembered the needle-sharp pain that she had felt at the police station. The growls and grunts as she had batted the feral away, but not before the teeth had sunk into her skin.
Sabrina frowned, looked at the light leaking through the curtains and grimaced. She rolled over to where the room was darker, feeling the pounding ease ever so slightly.
Where were they now? Flynn and Courtney had promised to wait for her on the other side of the docks. Of course, Sabrina had insisted that they continue on to her mother’s. But she hadn’t really expected them to leave. When Sabrina had arrived with the others at the Scotland docks on their tiny excuse for a boat – despite the obvious signs of fleeing civilians at the Scotland jetty, a pile-up of cars and whatnot – she had somehow envisioned that they’d still be waiting. Maybe standing on top of a car, waving her down, signalling her like nautical sirens guiding mummy home.
That hadn’t been the case.
Nor had her vision of a functioning police station when she had arrived there. That had been the scariest part of it all. And, for the small time cop with the inflated ego, she supposed that was the hardest part to admit. She had told the others that there had only been a few zombies at the station from the start. Truth was that the place was flooded with them, all gathered around the front door where a light was flashing in syncopated rhythm with a wailing alarm. Sabrina had heard it from miles off. Presumably, these creatures had too. Even now she could hear the angered footsteps. The cries. She had found her way into the back, tiptoed through the halls, and side-stepped into the radio control room, discovering that it wasn’t half as easy as she’d imagined to stay calm in the department when zombies – wait, what did the kid call them… ferals – with familiar faces of cops she had once Skyped with scratching at the door. If it hadn’t been for the former controller lying dead in the corner of the room, or the gun clinging to his rigor mortis’d hand she might just have kicked the bucket then and there.
All things considered, she had been lucky. Sure. Maybe not lucky enough, she thought, covering her hip with her palm and feeling the warm sticky mess. But she had escaped the hazards of the freak bomb gas, and sometimes a bite is a bite.
That’s not true, though. Is it?
She lifted the duvet enough to see that her t-shirt was now clotting with the yellow fluid that had been forcing its way through the skin. She had cleared the last of the blood up before reuniting with the others but since that morning, when the first cold chills crept down her spine, she had felt it oozing.
Now look at her. A shivering, sweating mess that couldn’t even stomach five-star dining.
What if the bites are infectious? The thought that she’d been suppressing arose. What if it’s not just the gas, but saliva and blood too?
Sabrina did her best to laugh away the thoughts, instantly regretting it as a cough punched her so hard in the stomach that she dry-heaved again. Whatever humour still remained in her body was now leaving, replaced by creeping doubts and certainties.
A fucking feral, she thought to herself, shaking her head.
Sabrina knew that she was working against a ticking clock. She could feel it boiling up inside her, bubbling away somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Just half an hour ago her teeth started to grind involuntarily, clenching tight in erratic bursts, training themselves to gnash. Her fists tightening and closing, but only becoming aware after one had lashed out spasmodically, punching the air, then crashing back to the soft sheets.
Oh, how she wished she could contact Flynn. At least just to check in and find out if they were safe. To stroke Hayley’s hair one more time and tell her that everything was going to be alright. To sit with them both in the evening and watch the eight o’clock news before tucking Courtney to bed and cuddling on the sofa with Flynn. When had she really taken the time to appreciate that? She’d only ever let the stresses of her work come home with her and sit lonely with a glass of wine while Courtney sat in bed with a book. If only her phone hadn’t slipped out of her pocket into the water, she could call them now. Just to say hi.
Just to tell them she loved them.
Sabrina’s thoughts broke as the door creaked open. At that same moment, a liquid fire streaked through her head. She grunted, clapped her hands to her face in pain. A moment later it subsided, and Kurt was standing in the centre of the room.
They stared awhile in silence. Sabrina gritting her teeth, feeling a particularly large bubble rise and pop within her chest.
A fucking feral.
Anger now, swelling, exploding inside him like fireworks.
A goddamn … goddamn … god …
She could almost smell Kurt. Saliva wetted her mouth.
Kurt opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Suddenly Sabrina felt sorry for the boy. The fireworks subsided, replaced by overwhelming grief and regret.
Dammit, she whimpered, salty tears stinging her eyes. But I’m not ready… I’m not ready to go.
33
Kurt observed Sabrina with sunlit curiosity.
“You’re sick,” he said flatly.
Sabrina’s eyes blazed. With a blink, she doused them, shaking her head. “You’re not wrong.”
“Does it hurt?”
Sabrina nodded.
“You think you’ll get better?” He knew it was a stupid question, but hope made him ask it anyway. By the look of the woman huddled beneath the sheets, face shining with sweat, he knew that she wouldn’t.
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
Kurt pulled up a chair beside the bed. He was solemn. He could hear the creaking outside of some kind of swing in the garden, David out on the front porch asking Beth for his camera, but other than that the room was quiet. Sabrina looked at him curiously, great concentration on her face. “What do you want, Kurt? You probably shouldn’t be here.”
Kurt leant forward, reaching for the duvet. Sabrina withdrew ever so slightly, the rage coming back. Her vision darkened. It looked as though she was about to shout at Kurt, about to curse and lash. Instead, she exhaled a controlled breath, shuffled with a grimace, and rolled onto her back. Kurt peeled the corner of the duvet and revealed the spot where the gunge stuck Sabrina’s t-shirt to her flesh.
“Scratch?”
Sabrina paused. “Bite.”
“At the station?”
Sabrina nodded. Kurt lowered the duvet back down. When Sabrina began coughing, Kurt disappeared with his cup and came back a few seconds later. He handed it to Sabrina and she guzzled it eagerly, water dripping down the sides of her mouth. “Thanks,” she gasped, wiping with her forearm. “You know, you’re a much smarter kid than they give you credit for.”
“Thanks,” Kurt said, suddenly bashful.
They sat in a silence only broken by coughs and wheezing. At one point Kurt refilled the cup.
“I wonder what it’ll feel like,” Sabrina voiced, more to the room than to Kurt. “I’ve never believed in God. Kinda figured that ship had sailed years ago when I learned about the Black Death, AIDs, and Nazi Germany. Kinda thought that there must be something in death. Some kind of afterlife to make life worth living before you die. But I suppose that I’m not really going to die, am I?”
She waited for a reply. None came.
“Just as well really. If I started running through a tunnel and there was a light at the end I’d probably switch around and run the other way. Can’t get me if I don’t follow the rules, eh?” She laughed, the rasping s
ound turning quickly to a cough. She clutched her aching side. “But that’s always been me. The stubborn one. No matter what I did or where I went. Flynn didn’t like that part of me too much. But I was a good cop. I wasn’t much more of anything else, but I was a good pig… a damn good pig. Now, what is all that worth? Flynn’s off God-knows-where, and here I am, no clue what’s going to happen, or where the fuck they are.”
Without notice, Sabrina’s arm lifted high into the air. Kurt thought that maybe she was saluting Flynn in some way, or reaching for something on the ceiling. It remained posed for a moment before her hand balled into a fist and a low growl crept from her throat. The hand collapsed and Sabrina punched herself square in the eye. A second later, she gasped, felt her face as though she couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Shit”
“Are you okay?” Kurt asked.
“Don’t come any closer!” Sabrina snapped as Kurt’s foot hovered a step forward. He didn’t need to say anymore. Kurt and Sabrina both knew why.
There was a commotion outside. Through the half-open window, they could hear David running towards the house excitedly, his words in a desperate whisper. “Beth. Beth! Come see. It’s here. It’s here!” A second later they heard her grunt and step outside.
Sabrina tried turning her head but realised the window was too high to peer through. Kurt, on the other hand, merely glared at the window, not even tempted to look. His back still sore from David’s knife and Beth’s blunt accusations that Amy wouldn’t be able to survive. Kurt knew better.
They were both survivors.
“Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?” Kurt said, regaining Sabrina’s attention. “Water? More blankets?” Then, begrudgingly, “tell the others?”
“No. No, I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” She shuffled uncomfortably, heaved slightly, appearing to be battling the human equivalent of a hairball and spat the phlegm into a tissue. Kurt handed her his water, but she waved it away.
The wound began to leak again. A small yellow bubble surfacing before collapsing under its own weight, dribbling down the side of her hip and clotting on the bed sheet. The same yellow that Kurt had seen enough of over the last few days, doing its rounds.
Kurt raised his head, a thought making his cogs whir. “Have you seen it yet?” Kurt asked. If there was any time to ask his question it was now, Sabrina was surely fading fast. Who was she going to tell when she would soon empty her mind and become one of those. “The Deadspace?”
Sabrina covered her mouth and spluttered. “I don’t know what you mean by Deadspace, but I’m sure as hell seeing something. Keep talking to me, please. Your voice seems to keep me present.”
“So you’ve seen something? Something on the other side?”
Sabrina sighed. “Sometimes I can feel a change taking place. A hot rage from the pit of my stomach, a burning where the teeth got me. At those times, if I close my eyes I…” she was cut short as pain shot through her. Another couple breaths. She held her eyes shut. “Yeah… I can see something. But it ain’t pretty. It’s like the world is black. And there are things moving far away. I can’t see them… I…”
Another growl escaped her throat, forcing Sabrina to sit upright. Her teeth gnashed at the air and Kurt fell backwards in fear that he had stayed too long. She looked at him with an indescribable hatred and a whimper escaped his lip.
No…
Sabrina blinked stupidly, looked around the room as though she were unsure where she was, then fell back onto the bed and clutched her side again. “Oh Kurt, I’m so sorry.”
“Is there anything I can do?” It was awful seeing her like this. One part of Kurt wanted to stick around and watch the change. To understand what they were dealing with and see it first hand. The other part of him wanted to run as far away as possible, right now, before it could happen again.
I’m just a kid, after all. What’s a kid to do against a feral?
Sabrina reached for the water, took another couple gulps, then thought for a long moment. “Maybe there is… one thing…”
“Sure?”
Kurt was mildly aware that it had gone quiet outside once more. He could just make out the syllabic tones of David and Beth’s whispers.
Sabrina sat herself up slightly, one hand never quite leaving the ooze-soaked cloth at her side. Another arm spasm causing her hand to fly out and ping back as if caught on elastic, this time smacking herself on the opposite shoulder.
Her expression grew serious. For a few seconds, she scanned Kurt up and down. Kurt didn’t like the look. It reminded him of the look that Miss Barnable had given him when he first arrived at Tanker’s Foster Home. A look as though she were measuring him up, deciding then and there whether he’d fall into the box of hopefuls for adoption or the bin of lost causes. Lucky for Kurt, he arrived as a pair, and Miss Barnable liked pairs. They could be given away quicker and easier.
Or so she had thought.
“How old are you, Kurt?”
“Thirteen.”
“So that makes you a teenager, right? Well on your way to becoming a man?”
Despite the rattle in her breathing, Sabrina’s words felt like velvet to Kurt’s ears. Kurt sat up straight. “Yes.”
“I thought so. Only a truly brave man would be able to survive the last few days and come out unscathed. I knew it as soon as I saw you land on the sand beneath the ferry, you’re a survivor, Kurt. Look at you, you’re one of the last ones standing.”
Kurt felt himself blushing and hoped that the room’s gloom would hide it from his face.
“Can I be honest with you?”
Kurt nodded, leaning closer.
“I don’t think the others get how much they need you. There’s something special about you, Kurt. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something inside you that makes you strong. Makes you keep on going forward no matter what happens or how far you get knocked back. And, if my money’s on anyone to survive whatever’s happening at the moment, it’s on you.” She looked past Kurt to where her jacket hung over the door handle, then indicated with a nod that Kurt should bring it over.
Kurt obliged, feeling the hidden weight in the jacket. As he walked back another growl seemed to bubble from Sabrina’s throat, accompanied with a sudden snapping of her jaw, teeth clapping together loudly. From somewhere in the garden Almas barked. They heard David, “Oi! Bad dog. Scared the bleeder away!”
Sabrina seemed not to notice. With some difficulty, she smoothed out the folds of the jacket – police issue, lined with dozens of pockets and that embroidered yellow badge that Kurt had always admired – and fiddled through the pockets. “That’s why what I’m going to ask, I wouldn’t ask of anyone else. Not even your dad.”
He’s not my dad, Kurt wanted to say, but saw no point.
She pulled out her gun from the pocket. A standard looking handgun, polished and gleaming. She gave it a quick once over, flicked it into the air and caught it by its barrel. She presented the handle to Kurt who looked blankly at the weapon.
By instinct, Kurt took it. He rolled it over a couple of times in his hand, measuring its weight, feeling an enormous sense of power in holding something that Hickory Dalton wouldn’t blink twice at using if it ever got him out of a sticky situation. There were grooves on the side that looked decorative but may have had a more meaningful purpose. When he slid his hand around the barrel and stroked the trigger with his finger, he found it to be almost a perfect fit. A small grin crept onto his face.
“Fits nicely, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s heavy, though,” Kurt said, aiming the gun at pretend foes that jumped out at him. First to his left. Without thinking he pulled the trigger. The gun clicked.
Then to his right. Pa-POW. Click.
Then at Sabrina.
As he looked down the barrel of the gun he saw the intense look on Sabrina’s face. Before Kurt had a chance to pretend to shoot the infected cop, Sabrina reached out slowly, arm shaking, towards the gun. Her fingers crawl
ed up the side to where the little catch was that, on the force, meant the difference between safe carriage, and accidentally blowing your dick off.
She sat back and closed her eyes.
And it was at that point, without a word spoken, that Kurt realised what he was being asked to do.
34
Shortly after Kurt’s outburst on the stairs, David plucked a particularly dusty bottle of pinot grigio from one of the many racks that lined his basement walls. Considering himself a connoisseur, the selection of glass bottles had been ordered according to age, type, and location of origin. With an approving nod to himself, he made his way to the stairs, turned off the light, and emerged in the kitchen.
Karen and Beth were still sat at the table, deep in discussion. David wandered through silently, not even registering that Beth had lit herself a cigarette (a habit he abhorred and thought he had convinced her out of years ago), and sat himself down on the swinging bench on the back porch of his garden.
Finally, some peace and quiet, he thought to himself.
It wasn’t that he didn’t feel bad for tattling on the boy. In all honesty, in his half-cut state, he didn’t realise that Kurt had told him precious information. The boy hadn’t told him it was a secret, or that the others didn’t know the information. While Kurt sat on the back porch, David had topped up his glass and casually answered when Beth had asked him the question, ‘So, what were you two boys talking about?’
Damn kids. So emotional.
David shielded the sun from his eyes and felt the gentle swing of the chair. There was a good forty feet of grass from the door to the end of the garden, lined with perfectly kept flower beds of blooming colours and shades. Bordering its very end was a ditch, some six feet deep filled halfway with stagnant water. David often thought of this as the moat to his castle. Just beyond that was nothing more than trees. Thick conifers that started as dozens of separate trunks before bleeding into a thick cloth of green leaves. In the no man’s land just between the ditch and the trees was a large silver trough – David’s attempt to entice the local wildlife to an observable distance. Usually, the most he’d see on a sunny day as this would be starlings, squirrels, maybe an occasional cat. But on lucky days he might be blessed with a deer, a grey fox. Heck, once he had even spied a coyote.
Lazarus Page 20
