‘Maur...?’ croaked Reg, taking a step forward.

  Ben quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. ‘No Reg. It’s not her. Not anymore...’

  Ben was right. The thing that stood in front of them bore little resemblance to the woman it had been just a day earlier. The wispy silver-grey hair was now lank and greasy, dangling over a face that was pale on one side, purple/green and swollen on the other. The once bright hazel eyes were creamy white and filled with gunge while a twitching mouth dribbled with rank-smelling bile. The former woman’s body, rife with stinking infection, was now a twisted, rotten mockery of humanity. With a hiss the thing that used to be Maureen Herbert stumbled toward the three shapes, singling out one in particular.

  Katie Reilly screamed. She ducked away from the monster’s grasping hands and fell back against a shelf on the wall, knocking free an empty paint pot that clattered loudly onto the floor. The sudden noise made the thing pause for a split-second and at that moment Ben and Reg seized their chance, lunging forward to each grab a flailing arm.

  The two men dragged the struggling monster back, desperately trying to avoid chomping jaws that snapped firstly at one of them and then the other. A rancid stench filled their nostrils, making their stomachs flip as they struggled to restrain the thing.

  ‘Fuck!’ yelled Ben as all three pairs of legs suddenly became entangled. Pitched off balance they hit the floor together, both men tumbling either side of the reanimated corpse.

  ‘Hold her!’ Ben shouted to Reg, ignoring the pain in a banged elbow as he scrambled to his knees and pinned one cold hand back against the floor. The old man did the same and the snarling figure wriggled between them, legs kicking wildly.

  ‘Katie!’ yelled Ben, snapping his wife from her terrified stupor. ‘The tools! Get the hammer, quickly!’

  Katie Reilly pushed herself away from the wall, her head spinning. Don’t faint, she told herself, not now. She staggered across the basement and reached down to the selection of weapons, peering through blurred vision to find the handle of a claw-hammer. Picking it up, she turned back towards the struggling trio in the centre of the floor while back behind the shadowed stairwell Chris and Sarah continued to try and restrain the dog.

  ‘Quickly!’ Ben shouted again, using both arms now to pin the squirming wrist to the cold floor. ‘I’m sorry, honey. You have to do it!’ Then he glanced up the stairwell to the basement door. If anything was in the rooms above then surely their cover was blown.

  ‘God, no!’ Katie whined, tears streaming down her face. ‘I can’t...’ she whimpered, her face crumpling. ‘Please don’t make me...’

  ‘It’s okay, pet’ said Reg, speaking surprisingly softly while struggling to hold the other arm down. ‘I know it’s not her anymore. You can do it...’

  Katie closed her eyes for a moment, chilled by the thought of what she had to do. She steeled herself and a second later opened them again while feeling the weight of the claw-hammer in her hands. Still slightly faint, she moved around to the front of the trio. The upside-down face of the thing that used to be Maureen Herbert snarled and hissed at her.

  ‘You can do it’ Reg repeated softly, this time through clenched teeth.

  Katie took a deep breath and slowly knelt down, raising the hammer high above her head. The two men looked away but continued to press their full weight down on the arms of the struggling corpse, restraining it as securely as possible. Katie closed her eyes again, begging for forgiveness from a god that she had never believed in.

  And then she brought the hammer down.

  The first blow cracked open the cranium, smashing through the frontal bone with a liquid crunch. The thing shook its head and snarled louder, seemingly oblivious to the horrendous wound as Katie wrenched the weapon free. With an anguished cry and exaggerated back lift she brought the hammer down again, this time with as much force as she could muster.

  On the second blow the skull came completely apart, shattering under impact as the face of the hammer mashed into soft brain tissue. The thing’s legs kicked and shook for a split-second and then the entire body fell still. Katie slumped back, dropping the weapon as if it were a red-hot poker, and a moment later the two men released their grip on the de-animated arms.

  Ben looked up from the floor and locked eyes with the other man. ‘Christ, Reg, I’m-‘

  ‘It’s done’ snapped the old man, quickly unbuttoning his jacket and using it to cover up the top half of the corpse. Then he pointed a finger toward Katie. ‘Take care of her. She needs you...’

  Ben swallowed nervously and looked at his wife. She had curled into a foetal position, tears streaming down her cheeks. He crawled drunkenly across the floor toward her, desperately trying to pull the right words from a hazy, bewildered mind.

  But there were no words for times such as this.

  Even as he brushed her shoulder she flinched, recoiling at the touch. Once again he opened his mouth to speak but stopped before a sound had formed. Instead he reached for her again, taking her into his arms, feeling her at first resist and then melt in his embrace. She gasped and suddenly gripped him with an intensity fuelled by heartache and horror. Holding on tightly she looked over his shoulder, searching for an old man’s face within the flickering candlelight.

  ‘Reg..?’ she croaked.

  The pensioner had moved back against the nearest wall, sitting with his spine against the brickwork. His legs were stretched out in front of him.

  ‘It’s okay, pet’ he said gently. ‘It’s okay.’

  The old man’s face wore a kindly expression that managed to break her heart all over again. He was calm, almost peaceful as he stared back at her with a faint smile.

  And then she saw it.

  Blood was seeping from a wound on the back of his left hand, slowly dripping through his fingers onto the basement floor.

  ~ 3 ~

  ‘She got me when we were trying to hold her down’ said Reg, staring at the wound with incredulity. ‘She bit me...’

  ‘Let me see to it’ choked Katie, slipping free from her husband’s embrace and scrambling on all fours across the floor. At the same time Chris and Sarah emerged from behind the stairwell with Pepper at their side. The Labrador was calm once more, although the teenagers had taken the extra precaution of tying a piece of torn cloth around her muzzle to try and keep her quiet. Ben acknowledged them as he picked up the bloody hammer and clambered gingerly to his feet. Gulping, he glared from the foot of the stairs up to the basement door and moved closer to the first step.

  ‘Leave me be’ Reg muttered, waving Katie away. ‘You can’t stop it. No one can. You saw what it did to her...’

  Katie leaned closer until she was staring straight into the pensioner’s eyes. ‘You’re a stubborn old fool, Reg. You want us to let you die, is that it - without doing anything? Well, tough shit. I’m not going to let that happen.’

  The old man gently touched her shoulder and smiled sadly. ‘But pet, there’s nothing you can do. Don’t you see?’

  Halfway up the stairs Ben Reilly took a deep breath and paused, straining to listen for any sounds coming from behind the basement door. His left elbow was aching, almost numb from when it had struck the floor, but he put the tingling pain to one side and continued to grip the hammer tightly in his other hand. Chris and Sarah watched from below while holding their weapons - a large spanner and heavy mallet - at the ready. They were completely focused on Ben until Sarah’s attention was diverted by the muttered conversation going on behind her.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ she hissed, spinning around sharply with a venomous scowl on her face.

  ‘Sarah!’ Chris whispered harshly, grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her to him as if she were a naughty child. ‘Fucking hell, Sarah. His wife just died...’

  The girl yanked herself free and glared at her former boyfriend. ‘Get...off me you fuck-‘

  ‘Sarah-‘

  The girl’s nostrils flared for a brief moment and her face flushed red with equal amounts of rage and fear. Her lips quivered, ready to unleash another barrage of expletives while her fists, one of them holding the mallet, were clenched bone-white. Still glowering, she turned her head and her eyes fell on Reg.

  The old man was leaning against the wall, his head lolling to one side. Katie was attending to his wound but stopped what she was doing to look up at the teenage girl. Something passed between them and Sarah’s scowl suddenly disappeared. She was forced to look away, the silent exchange filling her with shame.

  Reaching the top of the creaking staircase, Ben hesitated again. The jammed pitchfork and heavy toolbox were still in place in front of the door but shining either side of the toolbox was a golden sliver of light. It was coming from under the door and illuminating the top portion of the stairs, and Ben realised then and there that it must be the rising sun beaming through the kitchen window.

  He glanced at his watch. It was 6.07am - Thursday morning - almost three whole days since the bombs had first started to fall. Exhaling slowly, he craned his neck and once more strained to listen while the others looked on from below.

  And then he heard it.

  There was a light scratching noise coming from the other side of the door. Barely noticeable at first, it was enough to make the pulse in his jaw begin to thud; even more so when the handle began to turn.

  Any second now, he thought, any second now.

  Raising the hammer above his head, Ben had already guessed how this would play out. Those things would rip the door open and knock the pitchfork free and come snarling at him with their clawing hands and chomping jaws. Hopefully the narrow opening and heavy toolbox would slow them, maybe even trip them, and this would give him his chance. He would have to be ruthless though; smash as many of their skulls as possible while trying not to think of them as ever having been living, breathing human beings.

  It was at this point, with Ben primed to do bloody violence, that something unexpected happened.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Ben’s heart jolted and he looked down the stairs to see that the others were all staring right back up at him. The sound hadn’t been the slap of cold, bloated, rotting hands. It had been a hard set of knuckles - and it was followed by a deep, gravelly voice.

  ‘Who’s in there?’

  Stunned, Ben stepped away from the door.

  ‘Thank God!’ yelled Sarah from the foot of the stairs, the heavy mallet slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor with a clunk. ‘Quickly, open it!’

  ‘Wait...’ warned Ben, trying desperately to think.

  ‘What the fuck are you waiting for?’ the girl squealed, pulling away from the others and hurtling up the steps. Ben barrelled back down the stairwell to block her but she ducked sharply under his arm and bundled past, accidentally knocking the hammer out of his hand in the process. Off balance he whirled around, grabbing the handrail just in time to stop himself from falling.

  ‘Please help us!’ cried Sarah, reaching the top of stairs and wrenching the pitchfork free. It fell to one side with a clatter as Ben caught up to her again and grabbed her before she could push the door open.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Sarah!’ he shouted, dragging her back. ‘Hold on a minute!’

  ‘But it’s people like us!’ she screamed, her legs kicking wildly. ‘People like us!’

  All of a sudden someone - or something - pulled on the door from the other side, yanking it open. Golden light flooded into the basement, temporarily blinding those within. Shielding their eyes, the group stared at the silhouettes of two men framed in the doorway. One was slight, thin and bow-legged. The other was huge in comparison, a barrel-chested giant of a man.

  Both were holding rifles of some kind.

  Before he could react Sarah dug her nails into Ben’s arm and broke free of his grasp. She threw herself toward the open doorway, falling down hysterically in front of the heavy toolbox.

  ‘What the bloody ‘ell’s all this?’ said the larger of the silhouettes. It was the same gravelly voice that they had heard through the door, deep and menacing with a strong countrified accent.

  Sarah clambered frantically to her feet. ‘Oh, thank God!’ she bawled. ‘Please help us!’

  ‘Now you hold it right there!’ shouted the gruff voice, pointing the rifle at her and stopping the girl in her tracks. ‘Who are you lot? What are you doing down there?’

  Ben’s aching eyes were straining as he tried to make out the two men’s shadowed features against the bright light. ‘Hiding...’ he answered, a dry croakiness finding its way into his voice.

  The scrawny silhouette gave a sarcastic chuckle and waved a hand in front of his nose. ‘Fuckin’ ‘ell. You ain’t just been hiding though, eh? Fucking stinks...’

  The second man’s voice was younger than the first; even more rural-sounding but whinier, cockier. Ben took an instant dislike to it.

  ‘Please...’ sobbed Sarah, nervously shuffling forward again. ‘Please help us...’

  The larger man slowly lowered his weapon and nodded to his colleague. Then both silhouettes parted as the teenage girl stepped over the toolbox and passed through the doorway into the light.

  ‘Well, hello’ teased the scrawny man, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. ‘Maybe we’ll help you...’

  Unnerved, Ben looked back down the stairwell at the others. ‘Don’t move for a minute’ he said, ‘I’ll just make sure everything’s okay.’ Without waiting for a reply he stepped over the toolbox and stumbled through the doorway, feeling incredibly vulnerable against the blinding light. Eyes streaming, he felt himself being pushed over to the left and then felt a solid wall at his back. ‘Is it safe?’ he asked nervously, desperately willing his blurry vision to clear. Sarah’s gentle sobbing in the background did nothing whatsoever to ease the tension.

  ‘Nowhere’s safe’ answered the gruff voice. ‘Bloody ‘ell, how long y’been down there?’

  Leaning forward, Ben used the grubby cuff of his shirt sleeve to wipe his eyes. ‘A few days. Pretty much since it started...’

  ‘Want some water?’

  Ben gulped and nodded, and through a haze noticed an open plastic bottle being offered to him. He reached out and took it, cautiously tilting his head to swallow a mouthful of lukewarm water, unable at that moment to recall a more soothing drink. Then he poured a little water into his palm and splashed his eyes to wipe away the last of the blurriness. Finally he looked back up to see the two strangers clearly for the first time.

  Standing before him, looking almost otherworldly in the golden glow of the sunrise, was a huge bearded man in a canvas all-weather overcoat. His shoulder-length brown hair and beard were tinged with grey and his size and wolfish glare made him instantly intimidating even without the shotgun slung over his shoulder. To Ben he looked every bit like the hard-drinking drummer from a seventies rock band.

  ‘I’m Harry Skinner’ he mumbled, taking the bottle back. ‘This is m’boy Tony. We’ve got - we had – a farm nearby, ‘fore we got overrun...’

  Ben gave a nod to the other man, a wiry, scarecrow-haired twentysomething dressed in similar ‘gamekeeper’ garb, but the gesture went unnoticed. Tony Skinner was showing much more interest in Sarah, looking the girl up and down as she leaned against the doorframe while drinking from a bottle that he had given her. Already disturbed by his first impression of the younger man, Ben’s concern was not eased by the sight of the shotgun in Tony’s hands. Clearing his throat, he deliberately looked away from the weapon and extended his hand to the larger man instead.

  ‘Ben Reilly’ he croaked, as Harry Skinner took his hand and shook it firmly. The farmer’s huge, calloused mitt was as rough as granite.

  ‘So’ growled the big man, nodding sideways toward the basement entrance. ‘How many more o’ you down there?’

  Ben paused for a second, glancing over at Sarah who had swallowed a mouthful of water too quickly and had started to cough. Tony Skinner snatched the bottle back but was grinning at the teenager in a way that made Ben even more uncomfortable. Somewhat sinisterly, the scrawny man ran his tongue over his broken yellow teeth as Ben focused back on Harry Skinner.

  ‘Uh, there was another four of us’ he muttered, ‘but...’

  ‘But what..?’

  Ben exhaled slowly and clenched his jaw. ‘But one of us died...’

  The words were spoken softly enough, but Ben knew that down in the basement Reg would have heard every syllable. Tony Skinner suddenly took his eyes off Sarah and glared at his father. Harry bristled and slipped the strap of the shotgun off of his shoulder so that he could hold the weapon in both hands. It was an action that did not go unnoticed by Ben.

  ‘So they died?’ grumbled the big man, his brow furrowing. ‘But did they....really die...?’

  Ben scowled. ‘They died twice, if that’s what you mean.’

  Harry took a sideways step toward the doorway and stared down into the basement, making out human shapes and flickering candles beyond the shaft of light. ‘So you know to get ‘em in the head? Far as we can tell that’s the only thing that stops ‘em. Five of our lot got killed before we figured that out...’

  At that moment a young voice called out from below. ‘Sarah, are you okay?’

  It was Chris.

  Sarah wiped her mouth and gave Tony a fleeting look before peering nervously round the doorway into the gloom. ‘Y-yes. It’s alright...’

  ‘Ben?’ Katie’s voice called out, double-checking. ‘Is everything okay?’ Unbeknown to those above she had stopped Chris from taking his first step on the stairwell.

  Ben looked cautiously at both barrels of Harry Skinner’s shotgun. The big man noticed him staring and relaxed his grip on the weapon, lowering it slightly.

  ‘Yeah’ replied Ben. ‘It’s okay. Come on up...’

  Harry Skinner put the strap of the shotgun back over his shoulder and stepped away from the basement door as footsteps grew louder on the stairwell. ‘Come up,’ he warned, ‘but keep your voices down when you get ‘ere. You’ve made too much noise already.’

 

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