‘I can’t hold it!’ Simon yelled in despair. His shoes were slipping on the floor’s greasy surface and his arms were already growing heavy. Even with Lucy’s help the two of them were gradually being forced back.

  Suddenly, someone shouted and another couple of people appeared from behind them, two other survivors called John and Mark. They were older, quieter members of the group, content to let Simon and Lucy do the organising up until now. Finding a space on the surface of the door to lay their hands, they too began to push.

  It was at that point that two things happened.

  Firstly the wooden frame, already weakened by the bomb blasts days ago, began to crack. Then John, moving his arm too close to the edge of the door, was grabbed by a flailing hand. Cold, vicelike fingers dug into the meat of his forearm and he cried out before yanking himself free and falling back. Without his weight against the door the gap was suddenly forced open wider and now two snarling heads were visible there too. Panicking, John scrambled to his feet and ran screaming in the opposite direction. ‘It’s too late!’ he yelled as another undead surge flung the door wide open.

  A mess of stumbling zombies collapsed inside while others jostled and pushed from behind, their writhing bodies jammed together within the narrow space. Mark, closest to them, was caught by hands that grabbed the edge of his jacket and wouldn’t let go. Even as he prised away their fingers others fell on him and he was engulfed in seconds, a cacophony of wolfish snarls smothering his cries.

  Simon, much quicker to react, grabbed Lucy and hauled her away from the immediate danger of the doorway while sounds of frantic movement rose up from the room behind them. The other survivors, safe in quiet huddles only minutes ago, began to scream in terror. Amid the gloom they started to dash hither and thither, single-minded in their efforts to find a way out.

  Grabbed roughly by the hand Lucy Tyler felt herself being dragged back again, past other scrambling silhouettes before being shoved against a recessed wall. ‘Stay here and don’t move!’ shouted Simon.

  He was gone for ten seconds, time enough for Lucy to realise that the loud clattering noises she was hearing was the sound of people trying to break out through the corrugated shutters at the front of the shop. Even amid the chaos she knew that their efforts were in vain; the sturdy barriers that had kept them safe for two days would surely now prevent their escape.

  ‘Lucy!’ shouted the returning Simon, seizing her hand once more. ‘Quickly! Come with me!’

  The tall man, in searching for a way out, had dismissed one option immediately: a narrow staircase leading up to a small storeroom. The stairs were already packed with panicked figures and the people at the top were banging on a locked door, begging to be let in. Muffled voices yelled back at them, refusing to open up, and Simon was sure that the little boy called William was one of them.

  Wheeling, Simon dragged Lucy back across the room again. Bodies bumped against them in the gloom; some yelling or crying, some snarling and groaning. In the poor light it was hard to tell victim from attacker but Simon dodged them all. There were small mounds of writhing bodies too, where victims had fallen and were in the process of being consumed. Lucy could feel the sticky, almost slippery mess of blood and guts underfoot and tried her damndest not to think which members of the group they belonged to.

  As they neared the rear exit again Lucy looked up to see that yet more stumbling bodies were filtering through the open doorway. She began to pull back but Simon turned and drew her close to him. ‘We have to try’ he whispered loudly. ‘It’s the only way out. Look!’

  In all the chaos it had gone largely unnoticed, but there were definitely gaps in the procession now. And those things were moving slower too; much slower than they had done before. Simon’s grip on her hand tightened as he tensed, ready to make his move.

  ‘Stay right behind me. Now!’

  Dodging a screaming man beset by three attackers, Simon swung his free fist at another swaying zombie, catching it at the bottom of its decomposed face. The thing’s jawbone broke away but remained dangling from a sliver of grey cartilage like a tennis shoe hanging by its lace. Simon gave the monster another shove and it fell to the floor as he and Lucy reached the door and burst out into blinding sunlight.

  At that moment their hearts sank.

  Slowly trudging toward them and blocking the exit to the yard was another mass of swaying figures. At a rough count Simon guessed that there were around twenty to thirty...

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry’ he said, his voice quaking.

  Lucy gasped and looked back over her shoulder. Some of the zombies that they had barrelled past in the doorway were already climbing to their feet, including the one with the broken jaw. Gulping, she stared ahead again and moved alongside Simon like a sprinter at a start line.

  ‘Hundred metre dash?’ she suggested breathlessly, catching him by surprise. ‘Come on. I’ll race you.’

  Simon gave a twitching smile. In the couple of days that he had known Lucy he had come to like her. It was just a shame that their friendship wouldn’t last much longer...

  ‘You’re on’ he whispered, shifting his feet. ‘Go!’

  At that moment Lucy ducked her head and charged. Simon was beside her stride for stride as they hit the wall of zombies, knocking over the ones in front like bowling pins. The second line stumbled back too and at least three of them also fell. With jaws gnashing close to her face Lucy continued to drive forward, batting away cold hands that clawed at her clothes and hair. Simon was shouting encouragement from close behind but then he suddenly stopped and his voice became a gargled scream. It was too late for him.

  Now more angry than scared, Lucy shoved and punched and kicked her way through the crowd of figures, incredibly breaking through the final line and all of a sudden finding herself in the clear.

  True, there were zombies at least twelve feet away moving at her from every direction, but now she had room to manoeuvre. Directly ahead was a main road flanked by other buildings - potential places to hide - but with speed on her side her first thought was to get as far away as possible. Swerving past the nearest creature like a quarterback, she sidestepped another lunge and hurtled along the road. Most of the zombies behind her had already turned back, attracted by Simon’s dying cries and the smell of fresh blood as well as the screams of those still trapped inside the building. Quickly outdistancing the dead stragglers that did follow, Lucy closed her eyes for a split-second and mouthed a prayer for her former companions.

  It was a full three minutes later when Lucy Tyler finally stumbled to a halt. She had run the entire length of the main road, cut across an estate and arrived at a motorway flyover. Gasping for breath, she leaned against the waist-high barrier and stared out at the haunting line of abandoned vehicles stretching away into the distance. From the top of the bridge she could also see random figures wandering over the scarred patchwork of fields, too far away to be a concern just yet.

  And then it happened.

  A drop of blood splashed onto the metal rim of the barrier.

  Lucy frowned.

  So close, she had been so close.

  She had been so focused on trying to escape, so single-minded that she hadn’t even felt the bite. She felt it now though, and she could also feel the slow but steady pulse of warm blood dribbling from the crescent-shaped wound in her neck.

  A veil of darkness descended as her eyes flickered at the very edge of consciousness. Suddenly very weak, her legs quivered and folded beneath her and she dropped to the ground. Her head lolled, falling drunkenly against the barrier.

  So close...

  Two days later and three miles from where her life had slipped away, the dead thing once called Lucy Tyler turned her misshapen head skyward. A loud whirring sound had drawn her (and others) from the shadows, and even though the sound was already fading it still set them on an unwavering course. From dingy alleyways or open fields or demolished buildings they came to make their pilgrimage over the broken land.

  Hours passed, during which ‘Lucy’ first led the procession and then moved a considerable distance ahead of it. Her gait, though jerky and uneven, was faster than that of her dead brethren and as a result she had left them trailing miles behind. Spurred on by a burning hunger, she lurched between a jumble of abandoned cars and entered the village of Riverhead. There in the middle of a wide road she paused and turned to stare to the left. A sound was growing louder; a large speeding shape growing nearer...

  - Thudddddd! -

  ‘Look out!’ yelled Katie Reilly as the front of the campervan ploughed into the stiff body, snapping it in two and throwing blood, pus and bile across the windscreen.

  From his standing place behind the front seats Ben threw a hand over his face. ‘Christ, Harry. Couldn’t you have gone around it?’

  Harry Skinner’s giant foot stamped down on the brake and the van skidded to a halt with its engine still grumbling. Foul smelling gunge continued to drip down the windscreen as the big man clicked on the wipers. A detached eyeball rolled across the glass and dropped onto the ground, making Katie gag. Harry paid it no attention but just leaned back in his seat as the slime slowly cleared.

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Chris, looking out of the back window. The youngster (although still haunted by the events in Shoreham) seemed to have found his voice again. Even Sarah, previously frozen with shock, was more cognizant now.

  ‘Uh, Dunton Green, I think’ answered Ben. ‘Maybe Riverhead. They’re next to each other. I could never tell which was which...’

  His attention turned back to Harry, who was now staring out of his window at a parade of damaged shop buildings on the left hand side. A moment later the big man turned the keys in the ignition and the engine fell silent.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Katie.

  ‘We could do with some things’ grumbled Harry. ‘We left everything behind, remember? We need food and drink. We don’t know what’s up ahead, neither. We might not get another chance.’

  Ben thought for a moment. ‘Seems sensible. I can’t see any more of them around at the moment. Who’s going then, you and me?’

  Before Harry could answer Chris moved over to windows on the right hand side of the campervan.

  His mouth fell open as he looked outside.

  ‘What the hell is that...?’

  ~ 11 ~

  Ben turned the handle and slowly slid open the campervan door to get a better look. A thin line of damaged trees and collapsed hedges were blocking the view so he stepped down onto the road and strained his eyes to try and see beyond them.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Katie, peering out from the open door behind him.

  Ben took another step toward the trees. ‘Don’t know. Looks like piles of clothes or something, all spread out...’

  Harry clicked open the driver’s door. ‘Don’t waste your time. Whatever it is it won’t be good. Let’s get what we can from these places and get out of here.’

  Ben stopped in his tracks and turned around. Grunting in agreement, he glanced up and down the road to confirm no undead presence and then returned to the van. ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked, looking toward the shops as Harry stepped out onto the road with his machete in hand and the shotgun over his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll make sure it’s safe first. If there’s anything worth ‘aving I’ll signal you from the doorway.’

  Ben nodded, instinctively touching the head of the long-handled axe on his belt. As the big man trudged away he popped his head back through the open rear door of the campervan. The others were sitting together on the edge of the padded seat, leaning forward expectantly.

  ‘Each of you pick a different direction and keep your eyes peeled’ said Ben. ‘If you see anything – anything at all – whistle or something...’

  Katie, Chris and Sarah all nodded as one.

  ‘Don’t forget to get this weekend’s lottery’ Katie added nervously, and Ben smiled at her before moving around to the other side of the vehicle. He looked toward the parade of shops, noting a Chinese takeaway at one end and an Indian restaurant at the other with what looked like a flooring shop and a stationer’s among the others. But the prime target was a small supermarket which Harry had just entered.

  Pushing through the open but damaged entrance, Harry Skinner winced as his boots crunched loudly on the broken glass underfoot. He froze for a few seconds, listening for a reaction, but there was none. Moving further inside, he took in the broken shelves and fallen racking as well as a huge crack that had almost split the far wall in two. The ceiling had collapsed in one corner and masonry was covering the floor beneath a large hole. This building was anything but stable.

  Harry quickly turned his attention to the remaining provisions. As expected, others had been here already and almost all of the shelves had been cleared. It had happened in a hurry too; split bags of flour and pasta littered the floor along with plastic cartons of vegetable oil and assorted packets of recipe sauces. All the milk, bread and butter had gone and whatever was left in the frozen cabinet had spoiled days ago.

  Harry frowned. This wasn’t good.

  After a quick search along the debris-strewn aisles he was only able to find two boxes of cereal and a packet of liquorice. He certainly wouldn’t need anyone’s help carrying those...

  Trudging back outside, the big man headed toward the van with the items in hand. His body language told Ben everything he needed to know.

  ‘Anything good?’ asked Ben, even though he’d already guessed the answer.

  ‘No, that’s it. Not safe in there neither. Ceiling could come down any minute...’

  Shoulders slouching, Ben followed him back to the open side of the van where the others were waiting inside.

  ‘Let’s just go then’ pleaded Sarah. It was the first time that she had spoken for a while and her voice was weak and croaky.

  ‘Hang on’ replied Ben. ‘What about the other places? Not the printing shop or the carpet place, but maybe the Indian?’

  Harry shrugged his shoulders and grunted, moving along the side of the van and scanning the line of damaged buildings. Suddenly, something caught his eye in one of the upper windows and he paused for a second before stepping back toward the others. Leaning in through the open door of the van he scratched his beard nonchalantly and lowered his eyes. The others fell completely silent, sensing some kind of announcement.

  ‘Don’t look’ Harry said softly while barely moving his lips. ‘But we’re being watched.’

  Ben gulped. ‘Where?’

  ‘The room above the carpet shop. Just saw the curtains move. Someone’s up there.’

  Chris’ eyes widened. ‘One of them?’

  ‘Not sure. Don’t think so. They don’t sneak around and hide, do they?’

  ‘Okay’ said Ben, deliberately looking down at the ground. ‘What do you want to do?’

  Sarah shifted in her seat, agitated again. ‘Please, can’t we just go?’

  ‘Soon’ grunted Harry with a scowl. ‘After we’ve checked it out. We’ll ‘ave to be sneaky, though. Here’s what we’ll do...’

  Trying to move as naturally as possible, Harry and Ben made their way to the buckled entrance of the building on the far right of the parade: the Indian restaurant. From the open doorway Ben had already ascertained that there was no danger inside but there was also nothing of any use to them. Tables had been overturned and a large aquarium (a known feature for regular patrons) was covered with a floating layer of dead fish. Turning to Harry, the younger man shook his head. ‘So, it looks like only humans come back then’ he whispered.

  The giant put a finger to his bearded lips and pointed left, knowing that their positioning below the awnings meant that they were out of sight from anyone in the rooms above. Using this to their advantage, both men shimmied along unseen until they were directly outside the carpet shop.

  Of all the shops along the parade this was the only one in which the front door remained intact, although the two men could see through the cracked glass that the inside was anything but untouched. As with the supermarket, some of the ceiling above the ground floor had caved in along with most of the far wall. A mangled staircase was visible among the floor debris, ripped away and twisted apart as if by the giant claws of some mythical behemoth. A large hole in the ceiling indicated where it had once been suspended.

  Ben looked at his giant colleague and then back up at the hole. With no other exit and no obvious way to climb up, whoever was in the room above must have been there since the initial bombings.

  Harry reached for the outer door handle and turned it. The door opened halfway but chunks of fallen masonry prevented it moving any further. A sprinkle of grey dust filtered down from the ceiling. It was a warning – as if any were needed - of just how fragile the building was.

  Ben leaned closer. ‘You sure you want to risk it?’

  The response came as a wolfish glare and Harry pressed his shoulder into the door, forcing it back another inch until there was just enough room for his massive frame to squeeze through. ‘Come on’ he grumbled.

  Ben turned to take a last look up and down the street. Both directions were still clear apart from the now familiar husks of discarded vehicles. He glanced back toward the campervan where Katie was giving a thumbs up from one of the central windows, another indication that there was no obvious threat. Drawing the axe from his belt he turned back again and followed Harry inside the shop.

  Once inside, the two men moved as quietly as they could among the floor debris. As expected both saw little in the way of useful items but then that wasn’t their reason for them being here: Harry Skinner needed to know that he wasn’t imagining things...

  Just as they reached the far wall another sprinkle of dust floated down from above and the giant slowly craned his neck to look up, staring through the gaping hole where the staircase had been.

 

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