And ‘Jane Morgan’, former good-time girl, unrecognisably putrescent yet still partially dressed in her favourite ‘pulling’ outfit, led them.

  ~ 7 ~

  Ben Reilly craned his head around the hedge and stared along the country lane, his face glowing with sweat. A long-handled axe dangled in his fist as he took in the view. The narrow road ahead was empty, devoid of anything living or dead.

  ‘It’s clear’ he whispered, looking back over his shoulder at the huge man behind him, and Harry Skinner scowled before stepping out to see for himself. A shoal of dry, partially burnt leaves and bits of paper were drifting like blossom in the morning breeze, but for at least three hundred feet that’s all there was to see. Beyond that, the rest of the view was lost over the brow of a hill.

  ‘No cars’ grumbled Harry, reminding Ben why they were there in the first place. ‘Must be some over there, nearer to the village.’

  Ben nodded, glancing at the bloodstained machete in the giant’s hand and the shotgun over his shoulder. They were heading further away from the bungalow than he wanted but at least they were prepared. He just hoped that his theory was correct.

  The thought had come to him in a flash, spurred by images of helicopters in flight and an MP3 player that worked. Maybe, just maybe, there were cars that worked now too. Of course, they had already found vehicles, five of them actually, but none yet to prove his theory. One was burnt out, two were locked, and another two were open but had no keys. With all the chaos that had occurred there simply had to be abandoned cars with keys in them. There had to.

  Inevitably the two men had encountered zombies as well; a couple of snarling monsters that were dispatched quickly and silently with axe and machete. Though he hated to admit it, Ben found that particular task easier than before. He couldn’t be sure whether it was because they were now so decomposed that they barely looked human, or whether he had convinced himself that he was putting them out of their misery. Maybe he was just disconnected now, numb to everything...

  ‘Ready?’ growled Harry, moving past him, keeping tight to the hedgerow as he headed toward the brow of the hill. Ben took a deep breath, gripped the axe handle tighter and followed.

  Back in the garden of the bungalow Tony Skinner took the first draw of his last roll-up cigarette and climbed on top of the water butt. The view over the back fence was the same as when he had left it; a pile of grotesquely deformed bodies kicking up the stench from hell. He took another deep drag on the roll-up and savoured the sweet taste, perversely enjoying it more for the added ingredient of ‘dead smell’.

  Casting his eyes further afield, the scrawny man looked across the scrubland to the tree line. Thick woodland obscured any further view but for as far as he could tell there was nothing else anywhere. Maybe those things were rotting away, dying out for good?

  Drawing his vision back, something on the inside edge of the fence a few feet away suddenly caught his eye. A colourful garden spider was moving to the centre of its shimmering web between the fence and a tall sunflower. Tony watched as it seized a trapped fly and bit the helpless insect before using its legs to expertly wrap it within a cocoon of silk. The cocoon was one of over a dozen little parcels dotted around the edges of the web.

  Suddenly, something became apparent to Tony Skinner. The dead attracted flies - that then laid eggs -which became maggots before morphing into flies again - but spiders were the real winners in this apocalypse. Transfixed by the mini drama being played out before him, it was a full minute before the scrawny man eased himself down from the water butt and took another draw of tobacco. The heady aroma filtered back down his nostrils as he plucked the remainder of the roll-up from his mouth and held it there between thumb and forefinger.

  Approaching the web he cruelly jabbed the glowing end of the cigarette into the spider’s body, making it drop to the ground. Then he watched as the tiny creature tried to limp away before he brought his boot down, crushing it underfoot. Lifting his heel to stare at a messy smudge of twisted legs, it was at that moment that the farmer’s son felt a strange sensation.

  The sensation of being watched.

  He spun around sharply, just in time to catch sight of Sarah disappearing through the back door of the bungalow, the fleeting image of her flowing dark hair bringing a smile to his grimy face. Coughing loudly, he hawked a ball of green phlegm onto the ground and grabbed his shotgun from beside the fence. As if following a flock of invisible ducks he pointed the weapon skyward and swung the barrels from left to right. Then he made a shooting sound with his mouth and brought the barrels down and around, pointing them toward the kitchen window. Making the sound again he locked eyes with Chris, who was staring wide-eyed at him through the glass.

  ‘Bang’ Tony muttered, smirking at the shocked teenager. ‘You’re dead.’

  Reg Herbert’s eyes flickered open and he winced. Even that simple action was painful, as if grit was scraping between eyeball and eyelid. He tried to swallow but his throat was so dry and sore it felt like his gullet was lined with broken glass. In fact, it seemed like every part of him hurt in one way or another. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back against his pillows and tried to raise his head. It was then, sitting up slightly, that he noticed a blurry human shape seated by the side of the bed.

  ‘Maur..?’ he gasped.

  ‘Uh, no’ replied a soft voice. ‘It’s Katie. We were talking and you, uh, sort of nodded off...’

  Reg exhaled and sank back into the pillows as his memory slowly returned. ‘Oh, did I? Sorry, pet...’

  Somewhat tentatively, Katie Reilly rose from her chair with a damp flannel in her hand. She leaned over and placed it on his forehead, at first making him flinch. He mumbled a thank you and she left it in place before asking if he wanted some water. The old man nodded slightly and a moment later she was holding a glass at a gentle angle for him to sip. After a few seconds he started to cough and she took the glass away, allowing him to settle down again.

  ‘Thanks lass...’ he rasped, his voice sounding every bit like that of a ninety-a-day smoker.

  Despondent, Katie flopped back into her chair. She put a hand to her mouth and bit into her forefinger, trying anything to stifle the inevitable tears. ‘Hang on, Reg’ she whimpered, a telltale quiver in her voice. ‘I don’t know if you heard me before but Ben thinks that the cars might be working again. He’s gone with Harry to try and find one. Then we can get you some proper help. You just need to hang on, Reg. Everything’s gonna be okay...’

  Katie Reilly continued to speak but the pensioner didn’t hear the rest. He had already drifted away again, a cold darkness closing in on all sides.

  ‘There’ whispered Harry, pointing down the lane to a junction where between thirty and forty cars were blocking the other two roads out of the village.

  ‘Jesus’ gasped Ben, taking in the view. The empty vehicles were jammed bumper to bumper; some had their windows smashed and some had flat tyres, but almost all showed evidence of violent collision. Glass and metal littered the ground along with slick trails of leaked engine oil, scraps of clothing, pieces of decayed flesh and sharp fragments of gnawed bone. Although the place was silent now Ben couldn’t help but imagine the horrific massacre that had taken place.

  Just at that moment Harry tapped his shoulder, making him jump. The big man was pointing over to the right of the mass of vehicles. A lone, ragged figure wandered there, staggering back and forth among the cars like a mouse trapped in a maze where every exit was blocked. Even at a distance the two men could make out an exposed yellowy-white cheekbone where a chunk of flesh had been ripped free.

  ‘Can you see any more?’ whispered Ben, scanning the area. Harry looked from left to right, double checking every shadow while straining his ears for any sound. Exhaling, he shook his head and pointed to the outer edge of the cluster of vehicles. Again Ben followed his direction and this time nodded in agreement as his eyes fell on the object of interest: a light blue campervan. ‘Okay’ Ben muttered nervously, ‘let’s give it a try…’

  Without further delay the two men moved quickly and quietly down the sloping lane, keeping as close to the left and as low to the ground as possible. In no time at all they reached the bottom of the incline.

  The campervan was battered, its paintwork scuffed and scratched and its doors slightly ajar (although its windows, somewhat incredibly, were intact). Most of the other vehicles nearby would be impossible to move, but this one - if it had keys and started – could be reversed out. Then they could then head on back up the hill to the bungalow, collect everyone and find another way out of the village. It was a good plan, but of course it all depended on the van starting in the first place.

  Twenty feet away the trapped zombie caught sight of the two men and bared its slime-coated teeth into a snarl. A sprinkle of maggots wriggled and dropped from the exposed hole in its cheek as it growled and tried to move closer before finding its way blocked by a solid car body. Standing by the back of the van, Ben raised his axe in readiness.

  ‘Leave it’ grumbled Harry, looking through the campervan’s smudged windows and then swinging open the driver’s door. ‘It can’t get to us.’

  Ben gulped and nodded but couldn’t take his eyes off the thing. A living human could haul itself over the cars and get to them in thirty seconds - but not this rotting monster. It didn’t think the same anymore if indeed it thought at all. Ben wondered how long it would remain there, bumping blindly back and forth before advanced decomposition played its part and made movement impossible...

  ‘Anything?’ he whispered impatiently, leaning back to look over his shoulder. Harry’s tree-trunk legs were hanging out of the door as the big man stretched face down across the driver’s seat, presumably to rifle through the glove compartment. When he didn’t answer Ben began to move backwards along the side of the van, his eyes still locked on the groaning zombie. A sense of panic began to rise within him at the lack of a response. ‘Answer me Harry? Harry?’

  ‘Keep your fingers crossed’ came the eventual reply. ‘We might be in luck.’ Ben arrived at the open door just as the farmer squeezed himself into the seat and put a key in the ignition. ‘If you believe in God,’ he said with a grunt, ‘now might be a good time t’pray.’

  Gritting his teeth, he turned the key.

  Chris McReedy watched from the kitchen window as Tony Skinner glared at him. The act, already intimidating, was made even more so when the scrawny man leaned on his shotgun and drew a finger across his throat in a sinister manner. Then he gave a wide grin and turned away, kicking a small stone across the yard in the process.

  Bloody hell, thought Chris. What is his problem? Why does he keep doing this? What does he want from me?

  The two young men were alone and unobserved, but then of course Tony Skinner knew that. Katie was tending to Reg and Sarah had wandered off to the bathroom again, so only Chris was privy to this latest bout of strange behaviour. And there had been many other episodes too; other gestures and gibes when no one else was around. Clearly Tony hated the teenage boy and enjoyed taunting him, but why?

  Chris took a deep breath and wondered what to do. Of all the things he expected to face in this fucked-up world he hadn’t figured on having to deal with a bully. He could ignore it, but then there was a chance that it could escalate. Of course, that could still happen if he faced up to Tony anyway, but maybe he could nip it in the bud, find some common ground, clear the air...

  Nodding to himself, Chris made his decision.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked, stepping outside into the morning sunshine with Pepper (as ever) by his side. His tone was deliberately light, pleasant even, in no way confrontational; but it was not received well. Tony Skinner scowled at the teenager with an expression so venomous it was as if Chris had insulted his mother in the worst way.

  ‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’

  Chris gulped. He thought briefly about going back inside but decided to stick to his guns. Lips quivering, somehow he found his voice again.

  ‘Listen’ he said. ‘I know you don’t like me, but don’t you think we’ve got more important things to worry about? Can’t we just try and get on?’ Stepping closer, the youngster extended his hand in a gesture of friendship.

  Tony glared at the outstretched hand and gritted his teeth. This kid was too grown up, too well spoken, too fucking smart for his age, and every word that he spoke reminded the farmer’s son of his own inferiority. Now more than ever he wanted to smash the kid’s face in.

  ‘You what?’ he seethed.

  ‘Look’ Chris continued, slowly withdrawing his hand. ‘All I’m saying is, if you’ve got a problem with me let’s sort it out now. Then we can move on...’

  Tony took a step closer. His finger feathered the trigger of the shotgun while his bulging eyes blazed with anger and his nostrils flared. A fire was rising within him, one that would not be stifled.

  Suddenly, Chris felt incredibly vulnerable. He was close enough to smell Tony Skinner’s stale body odour, close enough to see his crazy, dilated pupils and close enough to feel his expectant breath.

  Now he wished that he had stayed inside.

  In a sudden explosion of rage Tony slammed the butt of the shotgun into his ribs, doubling him over in agony. Gasping for air, the teenager fell to the ground amid a barrage of foul-mouthed insults. Then, somewhere within the haze, he heard something else.

  Pepper was barking.

  ‘Shut up, you fucking mutt!’ screamed Tony.

  In panic Chris scrambled to his knees while still fighting for breath. He tried to speak but found it impossible, managing only rhythmic honking sounds. Stretching out an arm, he dizzily reached for the man that was already pointing both barrels of the shotgun at the Labrador.

  ‘Yaghhhhhhhhhhhh!’

  Chris threw himself blindly at Tony’s legs, knocking him off balance. The shotgun boomed and Chris heard Pepper yelp as both men tumbled to the ground while still locked together. Tony swore as he fell back and smashed a fist into the side of the teenager’s head, but Chris continued to hold on to the other man’s legs with all his might. Only when another punch struck the other side of his face did Chris let go and Tony was able to kick himself free.

  In a heartbeat Tony Skinner was up and astride the youngster, pinning him down. Chris struggled and tried to rise but Tony’s butting skull stopped him, crunching violently into his and knocking him back. It was just one more blazing spike of pain among a myriad of others.

  ‘Get off him!’ Katie suddenly yelled, appearing out of nowhere to barge into Tony and knock him off of the teenager. Tony fell to one side and rolled over twice, looking up just as a heavy plant pot caught him square in the temple. Clutching a shaking hand to his skull he fell back onto the grass in front of the fence and lay there, moaning in agony.

  Between the two of them Katie and a panicked Sarah tried to haul Chris to his feet. The teenage boy was fighting to stay conscious, his legs wobbling like rubber. ‘Take it easy’ reassured Katie. ‘You’re okay, you’re okay...’

  From his place by the fence a dazed Tony Skinner rose slowly and painfully into a sitting position. A nasty gash had yawned open on his forehead and blood was dripping into his eyes, making his blurry vision even worse. Rolling over onto his hands and knees, he searched blindly for the shotgun.

  ‘Looking for this?’ asked a weak, strained voice.

  It was Reg Herbert, standing barefoot just a few feet away, his body swaying slightly. His swollen, bandaged arm was hanging limply by his side but in the other, with the butt clamped tightly under his shoulder, was the shotgun.

  Tony turned his head to one side and spat onto the ground. ‘You...fuck-‘

  ‘Stay there, lad’ croaked the old man, his Geordie accent more gravelly than ever. ‘There’s still one barrel left. Been a while since I’ve used one of these, and I’ll probably break my arm if I try shoot this one-handed, but I won’t have to be too accurate from here, will I?’

  Tony Skinner leaned back on his haunches and gradually raised his palms in surrender. Then he allowed his body to recline until his spine was resting tightly against the fence. Breathing heavily, he wiped the blood from his eyes and gave a sinister, broken-toothed grin.

  ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ questioned Katie, glaring at Tony but pointing at the battered body of Chris. The teenage boy had once more slumped to the ground with Sarah standing over him. ‘Jesus’ added Katie, ‘you could have killed him.’

  ‘More... to... the... point...’ gasped Tony, ‘is what dad’ll do...when ‘e gets back...and sees what you’ve done to me...’

  Katie fired a look in Reg’s direction and the old man met her glance with his own. That was certainly a major concern; if Harry took his son’s side it could end badly for them all. For a few seconds there was an awkward, strained silence, and when the next sound came it was from an unexpected source. Unable to stop herself, Sarah Janson suddenly threw her hands into the air and screamed in terror.

  The back fence was vibrating, beginning to shake.

  Tony, still dazed, turned to look over his shoulder as wood began to crack and splinter all around him. The air was suddenly filled with a colossal stench of decay as scores of clawing hands burst through, followed by a chorus of haunting groans.

  Drawn initially by the sounds of helicopters overhead the dead had continued in one direction. Their numbers had grown into a swarm of several hundred and their unwavering course, like that of a seething mass of soldier ants, had brought them here...

  ~ 8 ~

  Tony Skinner yelled and tried to rise, but a combination of marijuana and concussion had dulled his reactions. The nearest zombie, the former party girl once called Jane Morgan, lunged at him with her mouth wide open. She bit into the side of his neck, sinking her teeth in, ripping away a chunk of warm flesh and jetting blood into the air. Tony gave a gargled scream and was immediately engulfed by other bodies that attacked like snarling, starving wolves. In a matter of seconds his belly was ripped open and his screams were ended forever.

 

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