Maureen barely had time to scream as it reached for her, cold grasping fingers grabbing her hair as she tried to pull away. Tripping over the frame of the door the thing lost its balance, pitching both itself and its victim forward. As they hit the hard floor the snarling monster’s mouth opened wide.

  ‘Maur!’ shouted Helen, sweeping up a heavy saucepan from the floor. But she was too late.

  Like a starving animal the zombie bit down, finding Maureen’s flailing arm and sinking its rotten teeth into the meat of her wrist. She screamed as Helen came swinging at the thing with the saucepan, meeting the top of its head with a dull clang and splitting the pale rotten skin open to the bone. It fell backward with the force of the blow, rolling over as Helen grabbed her weeping sister and hauled her to her feet.

  Maureen was incoherent, trying to cradling her wounded arm as Helen pulled her close and stared into her watering eyes.

  ‘Run, Maur! As fast as you ca-‘

  Helen’s words were cut short as scratching nails jammed into the meat of her calf. She screamed, and then cold fingers grabbed her other leg, tipping her off balance. Maureen was pushed away as Helen fell clumsily forward, her chin crunching on impact with the floor. In a split second the maimed creature was on top of her, raking at her back.

  ‘Helen!’ Maureen yelled, backing away from the horror as her sister tried in vain to fight off the monster. At that moment the open back doorway was filled by another figure, that of the former postmaster. It took just one step forward and fell drunkenly through the entrance, tripping over both prone bodies.

  ‘Helen!’ Maureen screamed again.

  ‘Run!’ yelled Helen through tears of pain. Lying atop her, both zombies growled and stretched their drooling mouths open wide.

  Sobbing, Maureen turned and stumbled along the hallway toward the front door, but through the small windows of dimpled glass she could see yet more figures staggering up the driveway. She wheeled, grabbing the telephone handset from its cradle and throwing herself into the bathroom. High-pitched screams followed her as she fell inside, slamming the door shut and sliding the latch into place. Then she fell to the floor, dropping the phone, sinking her head in her hands as the screams reached a crescendo.

  And then they stopped.

  Maureen Herbert had no idea how much time had passed since the attack. Locked in the bathroom, she had somehow managed to clean and cover the wound while drifting in and out of a strange stupor.

  Now, as she sat staring at the sliver of light beneath the door, knowing that her sister was dead, knowing that there must be more of those things out there, she held one fear above everything.

  ‘Dear God’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t let me die alone.’

  ~ 15 ~

  As soon as the group were across the field and at the edge of Shoreham village they began to hear other screams. Up until now the rural meadows and hedgerows had shielded them from the noise but now it was as chillingly terrifying as they had first heard back on the road.

  ‘Stay back’ whispered Reg, gesturing the others into single file behind him. They fell into line as he edged forward, pitchfork raised like a roman guard’s spear, prongs pointing in the direction of oblivious zombies that crisscrossed the tree-flanked lane two hundred feet ahead. Shouts and screams continued to echo in the near distance; merging into a symphony of horror where it became impossible to tell where one cry ended and another began.

  Ben peered out from behind Reg, noting that he was breathing heavily while struggling to hold on to the pitchfork. The younger man bit his lip; he had twice offered to take the weapon and been refused. Clearly Reg was trying to prove a point – that he wasn’t done for yet - even if the rest of the world had turned to shit.

  Standing at the rear of the group Chris jerked sharply on Pepper’s lead, stopping a grumbling growl before it became something louder. Katie turned and snapped a glare at the teenager, receiving an equally harsh one back.

  ‘Right’ gasped Reg, looking back over his shoulder. ‘My sister-in-law’s place is just up here on the left. Now keep quiet and follow me. And as for you lad, make sure that dog doesn’t bark...’

  Keeping low, the group filed along the very edge of the road, using the bushes as cover and stopping if one of the shambling figures happened to ‘look’ in their direction. It took only a minute for Reg to find the open gate and the hedge-bordered driveway, and one by one they followed him up the paved slope toward the bungalow.

  At the top of the driveway the old man’s aching legs buckled and Ben grabbed him just before he fell. Reg quickly regained his footing and waved him away, pointing to a large window next to the front door. Smeared across the glass were bloody handprints and stringy regurgitations of stinking yellow bile. It wasn’t exhaustion that had made him collapse; it was the feeling that he might already be too late...

  Reg wiped his brow and signalled to the others before gesturing over to the left. He took a deep breath and led them along the front of the bungalow and around a narrow passage to the rear. Ben followed closely behind, his body tensed for action, his throat dry and his hands balled into white fists. He felt sick, nauseated with fear for what they might encounter but even more terrified for the fate of Reg’s wife. And his fears were well founded. As they turned the corner they met one of the monsters head-on.

  With grasping hands outstretched it came at them, foul-smelling drool dribbling from its open mouth. Reg instinctively thrust the pitchfork forward, catching the zombie with a prong through its bloated cheek. Sarah failed to stifle a sharp scream as the old man pushed with all his might, forcing the thing back around the corner and hard against the wall at the rear of the bungalow. Stuck to the brickwork it struggled furiously, limbs waving like the legs of a pinned insect.

  ‘For God’s sake, somebody help me!’ yelled Reg.

  Ben ran past him, sweeping up a garden trowel that had been left in a plant pot next to a rockery. He spun around and punched it into the thing’s rotten neck, stepping back as a dribbling stream of rancid blood trickled free. Seemingly unaffected by the blow the zombie tried again to free itself, the wound in its rotten cheek splitting open as it began to push away from the wall.

  ‘Get it in the head!’ yelled Chris, holding on to the straining dog. ‘You have to get it in the head!’

  Ben strode forward and closed his eyes as he mashed the trowel into the side of the thing’s skull, feeling it collapse on impact like an overripe melon. He staggered clear, dropping the trowel in horror as the creature’s misshapen head sagged onto its chest.

  Reg clenched his teeth and yanked the pitchfork free, watching the thing smear the wall in dark crimson as it slid slowly to the ground. Exhausted, the old man turned toward the shattered, bloodstained back door of the bungalow, somehow trying to prepare himself for what lay beyond the threshold.

  Standing outside but looking in, he noticed a figure face down on the kitchen floor, a bloodstained bundle of rags and ripped flesh that barely registered as ever having been human.

  ‘Oh God. Helen…’

  The woman had been almost completely devoured, her throat torn open with such ferocity that only a small piece of cartilage remained between head and mutilated body. Yet horrifyingly, the head was still ‘alive’. Smoky-coloured eyes rolled, a partially eaten nose twitched and grinding jaws still moved from side to side, whining mournfully.

  Reg took a deep breath and gently leaned the pitchfork against the outer wall. Then he removed his glasses and used his other hand to rub his eyes, kneading the sockets as if trying to erase the image before him. ‘It’s my sister-in-law’ he said softly, as the others gathered behind him, looking on.

  ‘Reg’ said Ben. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to-‘

  But the old man did not wait for him to finish. Instead he slipped his glasses back on, gathered the pitchfork again and stepped through the doorway. He grabbed a towel from the draining board and moved determinedly across the messy floor, hesitating only to drape it over the twitching head on his way into the hall. There, standing directly in his path, was another zombie.

  This time, white-hot anger fuelled Reg’s reaction. In the blink of an eye he lunged forward with the pitchfork, shearing through the monster’s cranium and skewering its brain. For two whole seconds its entire body convulsed and then Reg yanked the prongs free, allowing the thing to collapse like a lifeless doll. Dark sticky blood began to pool around the corpse as the old man stepped over it and into the lounge.

  ‘Maur! Maureen!’ he shouted, realising almost immediately that the room was empty. Then from behind him, through a door on the opposite side of the hallway, came a sobbing sound.

  Reg whirled.

  ‘Maur’ he whispered loudly, hopping over the corpse again. ‘Is that you, pet?’

  As the rest of the group emerged from the kitchen to his right Reg pressed his ear tightly to the bathroom door. A sudden shuffling noise reverberated through it, making him jump back. He raised the pitchfork again, pointing the bloody prongs toward the handle as a sliding bolt was cautiously released on the other side. Slowly, the handle began to turn and the door creaked open.

  Reg peered through the inch-wide gap, catching a glimpse of familiar wispy grey hair and hazel eyes. ‘Maur, thank God…’

  The woman threw the door wide open, collapsing into her husband’s arms as the bloody pitchfork clattered onto the floor.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Chris, looking from the hallway out through the grubby lounge window. ‘Look, we have to get out of here!’

  The teenager was pointing at a seven-strong group of zombies that were shambling up the driveway toward them. Pepper, despite not being able to see them from her low viewpoint, growled at the end of her lead.

  Reg cradled his trembling wife, tears glistening in his eyes as he noticed her bound wrist. ‘Oh dear God, she’s hurt...’

  ‘Do something!’ Sarah cried hysterically, grabbing Ben’s arm. He flashed a look at Katie, desperately searching for an answer.

  ‘Downstairs’ whimpered Maureen in a voice wracked with pain. ‘The basement…’

  Staring down the stairwell into darkness Ben shook his head and turned back toward Reg. ‘Jesus, are you sure? We don’t want to get trapped down there...’

  ‘We don’t have a choice’ snapped the old man, pushing past with Maureen at his side. ‘There’s no time!’

  Ben watched the pensioners descend into the gloom and bit his lip before turning to the others. ‘Okay. Come on then. Everybody downstairs now!’

  Sarah and Katie filed past him followed by Chris and the dog. The teenage boy, a lanky streak of nervous tension, handed the pitchfork to Ben as he went by. The pungent smell of tainted blood on the prongs almost made the older man vomit.

  When they all were past him Ben backed into the doorway himself, spotting a shambling figure pass by the kitchen window a split-second before he pulled the door to. It was at that point he realised two things. Firstly, the door opened outwardly. Secondly, much more crucially, there was no latch on his side.

  There was no way to lock it.

  Gritting his teeth and thinking furiously, Ben quickly forced the prongs of the pitchfork into the recess between the top of the door and the frame. Then he pulled the handle of the pitchfork down, jamming it hard into the boards of the wooden stairwell, cringing as the frame above the door groaned under the strain but somehow held.

  Carefully, he backed slowly away down the stairs, steely eyes focused on the sliver of daylight showing from beneath the door. Silently cursing the creaking steps, he joined the others in the murkiness down below.

  ‘Did they see you?’ whispered Sarah, her voice quivering.

  ‘I don’t think so...’

  Barely visible in the gloom, Reg placed a finger to his lips. ‘Keep quiet’ he whispered, holding Maureen close to his chest but looking at everyone. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

  With waves of fear flowing over them the group huddled together and listened as various noises echoed down the stairwell from the kitchen above. They jumped as the door shook, a decaying body falling clumsily against it before righting itself. Ben’s heart jolted as the pitchfork shuddered but held firm.

  As one they gazed up at the dark ceiling, listening to the boards creak with the scuffling footfalls of the dead moving around the rooms overhead. Chris crouched beside Pepper and tried to mask her panting, knowing that even the slightest noise would reveal their presence. It was uncertain if, once discovered, the small door would offer any resistance at all…

  Reg continued to try and aid his wife, settling her down onto the floor and resting her head on his chest. He placed a palm gently on her forehead and gasped, shocked by the intensity of her fever. She was burning up; her face dripping with perspiration.

  As his eyes gradually adjusted to the poor light Reg looked down at her arm and carefully moved the bloodstained towel aside. Maureen winced and let out a pained sigh as the wound was revealed. Even in the gloom it looked horrendous. Red and swollen from wrist to elbow, the injury – quite obviously a bite - was already severely infected, the surrounding tissue all kinds of black and green and purple. Reg closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled slowly before re-covering it, looking up to lock eyes with Ben who had already caught a glimpse.

  A silent exchange occurred between the two men during which neither betrayed their thoughts. Then Ben looked away and down at the floor.

  ~ 16 ~

  ‘come and lay down over here’ whispered Ben, using the light of his mobile phone to point toward an uncovered sun lounger. ‘You’ll be more comfortable...’

  Aided by her husband, Maureen Herbert rose slowly from the floor with an agonised scowl on her ashen face. She shuffled toward the lounger and settled down in stages, gritting her teeth at the fiery pain that now wracked her entire body. As she carefully lowered her head Reg leaned over to kiss her temple and she managed a flickering smile within the grimace. Although his face was hidden in shadow she knew for certain it would be showing all manner of concern.

  It had been forty-two minutes since they had taken refuge in the basement and a whole eighteen minutes since the noises upstairs had stopped. They had tried to sit as quietly as possible but now cramp was setting in and Maureen’s condition was worsening. What they weren’t sure of was whether the dead had passed through the house or taken up a lurking residence in the rooms above. Only time would reveal the answer to that question…

  Chris rose from the floor and took out his mobile phone, using it like Ben to see around the basement. Ahead of the blue-white light he could make out various objects, most of them hidden beneath large dustsheets, as well as a rack of slightly crooked shelves that ran along one wall. On the shelves were pots of paint and varnish, decorating tools, light bulbs and a box of thick white candles.

  Candles.

  Chris touched Ben’s shoulder and pointed directly at the candles with the light of his phone. Ben nodded but responded with a mime depicting the striking of a match. The teenager shrugged and looked at the others. Katie and Sarah understood the silent request but shook their heads.

  ‘Reg’ Ben whispered, getting the old man’s attention before repeating the mime. Reg also started to shake his head but then a look flashed over his face and he replied with an action of his own, using his fingers and thumb to form the shape of a gun.

  Ben’s eyes widened in a ‘light bulb moment’ and he withdrew the replica weapon from the band at the back of his trousers. Handing it to the old man, he even managed a wry smile as Reg pulled the ‘trigger’ and a small orange flame flickered into life.

  In a box on one of the shelves Chris found an old crockery set and used three breakfast bowls to each stand a candle in. One at a time Ben lit them and the teenager placed them carefully on the floor, spacing the bowls evenly apart.

  Still trying to be as quiet as possible, the group moved over to the loungers and found another two reclining chairs under a dustsheet. With the exception of Maureen they each found a space on the chairs and huddled inwards. The old woman, shivering with fever, twitched uncomfortably as she stretched out on the lounger next to them, a clammy hand drooping in her husband’s grasp. A few feet away Pepper, now strangely calm, gave a canine sigh and settled down on one of the discarded sheets. The exhaustion of the day, constantly running from explosions and screams, had seemingly caught up with her.

  ‘Look’ Ben whispered after a moment or two, ‘we can drive ourselves mad trying to figure this thing out or we can try to survive it. We don’t know how widespread it is, but from what we’ve seen so far it looks like it might be the whole bloody country...’

  ‘We have to face facts’ added Katie, her voice heavy with anxiety. ‘We’ll all have lost family in this, maybe everyone we know...’

  Ben pulled her close to him, draping an arm over her shoulder as she nestled her head into his chest. He knew that her concern was mainly for her mother but there were others too. His brother, his sister-in law, his nephew, their friends, neighbours, work colleagues...

  Suddenly, something clattered onto the floor of the room above, making them all jump. Shuffling footfalls moved around the creaking floorboards, joined by muffled, breathless groans. Then, moments later, all fell silent again.

  ‘Fucking hell’ whimpered Sarah.

  ‘Look’ said Ben, staring back up the stairs with grim determination. ‘I know it’s not perfect, but that door is pretty well jammed shut. As for us, we’ve got to keep our heads straight and remember that fear is our worst enemy now. If we stick together we’ll get through this. Okay?’

  It was a rousing statement, but the faces that looked back at Ben Reilly were filled with fear and uncertainty. ‘Okay’ mumbled Chris, with absolutely no trace of confidence whatsoever.

 

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