‘There’s food and drink, dad. Loads of it. Even booze’ answered Tony, drawing attention to a large pile of provisions that had been gathered in one corner. Mere feet away the body of Maureen Herbert, her head and torso covered with Reg’s bloodstained jacket, barely seemed to register with him.

  ‘We can go through that stuff later’ said Ben, snatching the sheet from him. ‘Let’s sort this out first.’

  Ben Reilly held his breath. The rancid stench of Maureen’s body was even worse than before, as if it were decaying at an accelerated rate, yet Tony Skinner hardly seemed bothered by it at all. In fact, the farmer’s son was far more revolted by the bucket of human waste in the far corner. Grumbling like a petulant child he mumbled something indeterminable and placed the candle down so that he could help drag the clean sheet over the corpse.

  ‘Don’t get any o’ that blood on you’ said Harry, as Ben and Tony gently rolled the body over, completely enveloping it in the sheet. Ben did not reply. He guessed that all of them at one stage or another had already come into contact with infected blood.

  The two men each took an end of the limp bundle and hoisted it up while Harry lit another candle to illuminate the stairwell ahead of them. ‘Careful’ warned Ben as Tony backed his way up the steps, the wooden structure creaking under their combined weight.

  When they reached the exit to the basement the others were waiting. At the front was Reg, holding a smaller bundle that Ben quickly realised were the remains of his sister-in-law. The old man looked exhausted as he kissed the tips of his fingers and leaned over to place his hand on the covered body of his wife.

  ‘Outside’ he said softly. ‘It’s clear.’

  The group filed outside and made their way to a small area of lawn near the back fence, the other side of which were piled the zombies that Harry had previously removed from the yard. It was eerily quiet, devoid of any sounds of distant traffic or birdsong or any other traces of normality. The scent of smoke and other more pungent smells were on the morning air but for now at least there was no sign of the dead.

  ‘Keep your eyes and ears open’ Harry muttered to Chris. ‘If you see anything, let me know.’ The teenager nodded and pulled on Pepper’s lead, drawing her to heel. Then, standing on top of a large upturned bucket, he kept watch over the garden fence as the others set to work.

  Firstly, Ben and Tony laid Maureen’s body down while Harry started digging into the earth with a garden fork that he had found beside the fence. Then Katie and Ben stooped and began moving the loose earth with their bare hands while Reg lowered to his knees to help as much as he could. Tony stood nearby with his hands on his hips and a few feet away, very much alone, Sarah gazed skyward while tears streamed down her face like rain on a window pane.

  After a few minutes Harry whispered: ‘That’s deep enough’ and Ben and Tony gently lifted the body into the recessed earth. Weak with grief, Reg leaned in and laid the remains of his sister-in-law alongside the larger bundle. Then, one handful after another, they filled the grave with loose soil until it was completely covered. Finally, they took five of the larger stones from the rockery and placed them in a line on top of the soil.

  After they had finished, Ben helped Reg to his feet and whispered to him: ‘Did you want to say anything?’

  Reg closed his eyes and started to shake his head. Then he thought for a moment, nodded, and slowly crouched down again. His aged knees clicked as he touched the surface of one of the stones with his bandaged hand.

  ‘Love you, pet’ he sighed. ‘See you soon...’

  ~ 5 ~

  Fortysomething Darren Martin lost his life days ago amid the initial bombings. Speeding along a country lane his car was rocked by an explosion and forced off the road, tumbling over the edge of a slope and down into a leafy thicket. Conscious for all of two minutes, the portly warehouse manager was trapped half-in, half-out of the vehicle, his crushed arm wedged beneath the upturned roof while blood squirted from a ruptured femoral artery in his thigh.

  The oblivion of unconsciousness was followed twenty-three minutes later by death. Hidden by thick foliage Darren Martin’s ordeal had gone entirely unnoticed, and understandably so. What was one person’s tragedy amid the carnage of a nation?

  Time passed, during which grey/white ash drifted like snowflakes down into the thicket along with distant sirens and the screams of the maimed and the heartbroken. And then, beneath a darkening sky, red rain began to fall. Slowly, as if waking from a deep slumber, the twisted body began to move.

  Eyelids flickered.

  Fingers twitched.

  A drooling mouth opened and a guttural groan ventured forth.

  Darren Martin was reborn, yet still he was stuck fast. Still his arm was pinned by two tons of dented metal and shattered glass, but now the ‘he’ had become an ‘it’.

  Like a snarling rat in a trap the creature struggled to free itself, pulling repeatedly on its stuck limb. A growing hunger burned within its rapidly rotting core, intensifying with every passing moment.

  Minutes became hours.

  Morning became afternoon and then evening.

  Day became night and then day again.

  By the third morning the writhing body was in a state of advanced decomposition, complete with festering grey-green skin and lifeless eyes of haunting smoky-white. The former ‘salt and pepper’ hair had become sparse and lank and a previously neat goatee was now indistinguishable in a face obscenely bloated with infected pus.

  At 5.32am on day five, a final yank, no stronger or weaker than any made before it, finally wrenched a damaged proximal humerus from a broken shoulder socket. The thing’s fingers and hand were still held fast but not so the fleshy covering of rotting skin. It ripped and slipped away like a sleeve of wet rubber, leaving the trapped skeletal limb behind as a gruesome memento.

  Now it was free.

  Dripping rancid blood from its mutilated arm, the thing trudged away from the upturned car. Perhaps some distant memory coaxed it back up the bank and through the village, or perhaps it was just the raw, primal desire to feed. Whichever, one foot dragged after another as it made its way through a country lane scattered with debris. Small shards of bone, clumps of hair and the occasional tooth went unnoticed underfoot as the thing passed collapsed buildings and scorched cars. Up the winding lanes it lurched, drawn by a strange scent on the early morning breeze while away in the distance other swaying figures followed their own agendas and destinations.

  Finally, the groaning thing once known as Darren Martin crossed a piece of scrubland and drew close to the source of the unknown scent. Eleven putrefied bodies lay there in front of a tall fence, flies buzzing around them, yet the creature paid neither the corpses nor the insects any attention. Instead it approached and scratched at the wooden slats, sensing something else on the other side, sniffing the air while baring its rotten teeth into a snarl.

  -Thunk!-

  For the briefest of moments the thing remained upright, an axe blade embedded through the top of its skull. Then the weapon was yanked free and the de-animated body dropped alongside the others, a three-inch gap in its cranium leaking foul brain fluid onto the already bloodstained grass.

  ‘I got ‘im’ whispered Tony Skinner, leaning over from the other side of the fence, his gaunt frame wobbling slightly atop a heavy water butt.

  ‘Any more?’ asked Harry, standing in the garden behind him, machete in hand.

  ‘Nah, dad. That’s it…’

  As the younger man spoke a roll-up cigarette bobbed in the corner of his mouth and exotic wisps of smoke drifted back over the rest of the garden. Removing the spliff he spat over the fence and hopped down from the water butt, unaware that his ball of phlegm had landed squarely on the forehead of one of the unmoving corpses on the other side.

  Leaning against the back door of the bungalow fifteen feet away Ben Reilly shook his head and retreated inside. His wife was at the kitchen sink, energetically washing a bandage under the tap. Ben greeted her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘He’s just got another one’ said Ben. ‘You know something, I think he actually enjoys it now...’

  Katie rubbed at the bandage more vigorously, becoming frustrated that it wasn’t rinsing clean. ‘What is that smell?’ she asked, sniffing the air. ‘Jesus, is that him?’

  ‘Yeah’ sighed Ben. ‘He’s on the weed again. I’ll have to have a word with Harry about it; maybe he can talk some sense into him. We need everyone with clear heads...’

  ‘Fuck!’ shouted Katie, slapping the soggy bandage into the sink and angrily turning the tap off.

  ‘Hey, what is it?’ asked Ben, striding toward her.

  Katie gripped the edge of the basin, her knuckles white with frustration. ‘I just can’t get these clean, no matter what I do. Soap, bleach, nothing’s working...’

  Ben laid his hands on her shoulders, feeling a rigid tenseness in them. Something was getting to her and he was pretty sure that it wasn’t just the bandages. He leaned his head against the back of hers and breathed in the scent of her hair, which was clean but earthy. She turned and slipped her arms around his waist, slowly looking up into his eyes as his mouth half-opened.

  ‘Uh... how is he?’ he asked tentatively.

  Katie’s body slouched with weariness. ‘Not good. I actually thought we were getting somewhere but he’s worse this morning, a lot worse. It’s really taken hold of him.’

  ‘Shit... I thought he was fighting it...’

  ‘He was’ she sighed. ‘But it’s like the tablets aren’t having any effect at all anymore. The infection’s just too severe...’

  ‘Bloody hell...’

  ‘I’m really worried, Ben. It’s like he’s given up as well. I tried to talk to him just now but he wouldn’t even look at me.’

  ‘Jesus. Poor Reg. Where is he now?’

  ‘He went back to bed.’

  Ben cast an eye over his wife’s head and looked out through the kitchen window. The Skinners were still in mumbled conversation by the fence at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘Don’t say anything to them about how bad it is. Let me speak to Reg first. We don’t need anyone doing anything rash.’

  Katie nodded but her blue eyes did not leave his. ‘We can’t hide it for much longer, Ben...’

  ‘I know’ he said with a sigh, pulling her close. As they embraced her entire body shuddered with emotion. ‘You tried, baby’ he whispered, kissing the top of her head. ‘No one could have done any more.’

  Trembling, Katie sank her head into his chest and slipped her hands blindly into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘What’s this’ she mumbled with a sniff, finding something there and drawing a small trinket free.

  ‘Oh! I forgot all about that!’

  Katie wiped her eyes and stared at the object in her palm, her face immediately lighting up. ‘Oh my God! It’s my bracelet! I thought I’d lost it for good! Where-‘

  ‘It was back on the road, at the top of that verge. Sorry, I’ve had it for days. I was saving it for when things got...well, for when things got back to normal. Pretty stupid, eh?’

  Katie shook her head and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. ‘Not stupid at all.’

  ‘The clasp’s broken, though’ said Ben, dolefully. ‘I had this mad idea of getting it fixed and giving it to you as a surprise...’

  A weak smile flickered over her quivering lips. ‘You mean that my husband – the well known cynic Ben Reilly – is actually being romantic and optimistic?’

  Hugging her again Ben gave a wry smile of his own. ‘Yeah, I know. But we will get it fixed, I promise. One day we’ll get it fixed.’

  Katie took a deep breath and at that moment something over Ben’s shoulder caught her eye. Framed in the doorway to the hall was Chris with Pepper beside him, the dog using a rear paw to scratch energetically behind her ear. The two were inseparable now, especially since Sarah had grown so distant.

  ‘Hey, Chris’ chirped Katie, wiping the last of the moisture from her eyes with one hand while slipping the bracelet into the back pocket of her jeans with the other.

  ‘Uh, sorry’ stammered the youngster. ‘It’s just - I’ve made some coffee if you want some?’

  ‘Yeah, sure’ answered Ben, just as Harry and Tony Skinner appeared by the back door.

  ‘Looks like we timed that well, dad’ muttered Tony, turning to flick the last bit of his spliff outside.

  ‘Wipe those boots first’ said Katie, stopping both men in their tracks. ‘We need it to stay as clean as possible in here.’

  The scrawny man gave her a look of disgust and waved his arm in the direction of the hallway. ‘You ‘ave that old sod in ‘ere but you’re worried about my boots? What-‘

  Suddenly, Harry slapped his son’s shoulder, almost knocking him over. ‘Just do as she says, boy.’

  Still scowling, Tony exaggerated the action of cleaning his boots on the doormat. ‘Alright, your majesty?’ he grumbled, swearing under his breath.

  Ben clenched his teeth and waited for his anger to subside. His opinion of Tony Skinner hadn’t changed a bit in the last few days. There was still something about this chain-smoking scarecrow that put him on edge. Maybe it was the way he leered at Sarah or the way that he delighted in smashing rotten skulls, or maybe it was just his surly manner. One thing was for certain; it was another distraction that they could do without. Harry on the other hand, although equally as unsophisticated as his son, seemed to be much more even-tempered and reasonable. As long as the Skinners were part of their group he was definitely the one to deal with.

  ‘Ben?’ Chris said again, shaking the former commercial artist from his thoughts. ‘Coffee?’

  Ben nodded before taking his wife’s hand and then they followed Chris and Pepper through the hallway into the living room. The welcome aroma of fresh coffee hit their nostrils and Ben closed his eyes for a second. It was a scent of humdrum normality, taking him back to a world before the nightmare had begun.

  ‘It’s over there’ said Chris, gesturing toward a small camping stove in the corner of the room. ‘Pick any cup, there’s plenty.’

  Ben sauntered over to the stove, which was switched off but upon which rested a large jug of hot black coffee. Beside it were a cluster of mugs.

  ‘What a find that was’ said Ben, pointing to the stove.

  ‘Yeah’ said the youngster, crouching to stroke the top of Pepper’s head. ‘Shame there’s not much gas left in it.’

  ‘Better than nothing, mate’ replied Ben. Half-filling two mugs, he handed one to Katie.

  ‘What, no Danish pastry?’ she teased.

  Ben managed a chuckle but then looked quizzically at Chris. ‘Hey, where’s Sarah?’

  ‘Uh, toilet’ mumbled the teenage boy, his face flushing with embarrassment. ‘Ladies’ days, I think.’

  ‘Oh’ said Katie. ‘I hadn’t even thought about that...’

  ‘Thought about what?’ asked Tony Skinner, appearing at the living room door ahead of his father, both men with their shotguns over their shoulders.

  ‘Nothing’ mumbled Katie. Unwilling to invite a sexist comment, she added: ‘Coffee’s there if you want some.’

  The gaunt, grubby-looking man wiped his nose with his sleeve and leaned his shotgun against the wall. Then he breezed past Katie and helped himself to coffee, filling a second mug for his father. Katie grimaced as he walked back past her again, at the whiff of stale body odour mixed with the oily sweetness of marijuana; and this after he had bathed only yesterday! Thank God the coffee aroma covered most of his smell...!

  ‘Where’s the old man?’ Tony suddenly asked, following his question with a loud slurp.

  Ben’s heart skipped a beat. ‘He’s having a lie down. He’s a bit tired.’

  Tony looked sharply at Ben but Katie noticed and hurried to change the subject. ‘What’s it like out there today?’ she asked Harry, trying not to make the question sound too forced.

  ‘Seems like there’s less of ‘em around’ growled Harry, resting his back against the wall and taking his first mouthful of the bitter drink. ‘That, or maybe they’re just more spread out...’

  ‘Doesn’t make sense’ queried Ben. ‘I mean, we think this has hit the whole country, don’t we? Where do sixty-odd million people go to? They can’t all be dead and they can’t all have turned, can they?’

  ‘Maybe most people are hiding out like us’ said Katie.

  ‘Maybe the dead ones are rotting away’ added Chris.

  Ben sipped his coffee and paused, allowing each theory to sink in. ‘You know something, you might both be right. Those things do seem to decompose really quickly. Maybe that is it...’

  ‘What do you think?’ Chris asked Harry, hoping for an optimistic response from the big man. ‘Do you think they’re dying out?’

  Harry shrugged his shoulders while beside him Tony Skinner cackled sarcastically and glared at the teenage boy. ‘Why don’t you go for a long walk and find out?’ he said with a yellow-toothed sneer.

  A sudden thought flashed into Ben’s mind and he looked at Katie. ‘Maybe we could try and get to Matt’s now..?’

  Katie’s brow furrowed. ‘What about Reg? We can’t leave him and he can’t walk that far, at least not until he’s better...’

  Once again Tony Skinner chuckled cruelly, a deliberate attempt to get everyone’s attention. ‘He ain’t getting better and you know it, same as we all do.’

  At that moment the bathroom door opened across the hallway and Sarah Janson appeared. She entered the living room with her eyes lowered to the floor and walked silently past the others on her way to the corner. She was dressed in baggy grey jogging bottoms and a blue hoodie, clothes acquired from what had been found in one of the bedrooms. The joggers were a little short and the hoodie was at least two sizes too big, making her appear more skeletal than slim. It didn’t help that she was very pale too, as if she had been repeatedly sick.

 

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