The Purple Haze (18 page)

Dave could smell the gas coming through his sleeve now, and the smell was choking him. There was another thud, and the door buckled and gave in. The creatures came towards him, their horrid and disfigured hands reaching forward, and their faces, dead to any sign of emotion, lurched forwards with exposed teeth. Dave raised the shotgun and aimed it at them. As soon as the one leading the group touched him, he pulled the trigger.

* * *

The other survivors had made it a few hundred meters by now and were clear of the creatures. They hadn't had to fire a single shot and were able to dodge them all as they reached out for them. It was the sound of a massive explosion that stopped them in their tracks. They looked back and saw the community centre ablaze, the roof mostly blown off and several burning creatures lay squirming among the flames around the building. The group stood for a minute or two and watched the building burn. Martin looked at the group. They all looked tired from the attack and sorrowful at losing Dave and Colin in the process. Martin looked back at the building and silently said his respects to his fallen team mates. He turned back to the rest of the group.

“
Come on,” he said, “leave them to burn.” The group continued on their way.

Chapter 12

The four remaining survivors had been on the road for nearly an hour. The sounds of the horde that attacked them at the community centre were long behind them and the road so far had been a mixed bag of sneaking round small groups of creatures and despatching of the odd one by hand, up close and personal. The four of them were tired. They had slept the night before but it wasn't good sleep, and on a reduced amount of food and water intake, the most basic of human operations felt like a chore. Moving one foot in front of the other to walk or lifting a water bottle to drink felt like a workout. If running was the means of escape in any given situation, they would only be able to handle a quick jog at best.

The area around them had become less densely urbanised. The long road had a few housing estates running off it, all quiet streets that would be the kind of place someone would want to raise a family. The areas seemed nice, even under the ominous vale of the purple haze and with some creatures lingering around the houses. Luckily, none of these creatures saw them. They continued forward and found themselves at the brow of a hill. Farmers’ fields were either side of the road and a stream ran under the road and wound its way through the fields. A country lane ran off the main road they were on, surrounded by dense foliage, and ahead they could see a lonely building next to the road.

Martin pointed at the building. “We'll see if we can stop there for a rest.”

The group acknowledged with muted grunts and nods, and then they pressed onward. As they came to the building they saw that it was a small roadside café. There were obvious signs of creatures having been here, but none could be seen now. Whatever it was that had held them there was no longer of any interest and they had moved on to God knows where. Despite the carnage, the area seemed very quiet. The group looked around and moved towards the building. Gaz reached the window which had been shattered outwards and blood covered the window ledges on the outside. After what he witnessed at the community centre, he knew these were the signs of creatures dragging themselves over the jagged shards of glass and tearing up their midsections.

Gaz peered through the window and looked around. There were no signs of life anywhere. Nothing moved, and a foul odour crept out through the window. He screwed his face at the smell and he turned to signal the other survivors to come closer. They moved around to the door of the café and Mike put his hand on the door handle. Martin and Gaz held their weapons ready. Mike opened the door slowly, and they were greeted by nothing. The view inside mirrored the view Gaz got whilst looking through the window. The stale muskiness of rotting food and dried blood felt as though it was searing their nasal passages. They went inside and looked around. Tables and chairs had been overturned and there were blood trails everywhere. If this was the first time any of them had seen this kind of sight, they would have been horrified, but the past few days had left them desensitised to any kind of carnage. The group walked slowly through the mess, and Yvonne noticed a door marked ‘staff only’. She cautiously approached and looked through a porthole window and was looking into kitchen. “Shall we check the kitchen for food?” she asked.

“
Yeah,” replied Mike.

The group moved over to the kitchen. Martin put his face to the porthole and looked around the best he could. He couldn't see anything. He pushed the door and hit something with it. Not thinking much of it at first, he tried to push it again, but then the door was pushed back in his face, hitting him square in the nose. He staggered back holding his face and the rest of the group jolted back in surprise. The group watched as the door slowly opened outwards, and a creature wearing a chefs’ uniform came stumbling out, its lips curled back and bearing its teeth like a dog warning off a threat. It moved forward slowly and clumsily, its milky eyes locked on the group as a whole. Once it was clear of the door, it stopped and looked at them, swaying gently from side to side. Suddenly, and with a surprising surge of speed and strength, it came lunging at them, arms stretched out ready to grab whoever it got first. The group were quick to react and stepped back quickly, but Martin was still slightly dazed by the impact of the door between his eyes. Before he could react, it had grabbed his boiler suit by the open front and fell against him. Pinned beneath it Martin was helpless. The open mouth came closer to his face, with the smell of rotten meat bellowing out of it like a kettle, but then suddenly the head jolted sideways. Martin looked up to see that Gaz was holding a broken chair leg like a baseball bat. He swung again and knocked the creature sideways onto the floor. He struck it again, and again, and again, each impact making a skin crawling sound, like a squelching shoe mixed with the cracking of knuckles. When he stopped the skull had split open and diseased remains of brain fell from the open cranium, and a thick, dark red pool began forming in a circle around it.

Martin steadily got to his feet and shook off the pain in his face, then quickly checked himself for bites. Seeing he was uninjured he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He looked at Gaz who was standing over his kill, looking at it closely. “Did you see its head come apart?” he said. “How awesome was that?!”

“
Thanks, man,” said Martin. “Bastard almost had me.”

“
Don't worry about it,” Gaz replied. He walked over to Martin and patted him on the arm, “I've got your back.” He continued to the kitchen door again and opened it. The door swung freely this time and Mike and Gaz entered the kitchen. They looked around and saw the remains of another member of staff on the floor. This one wasn't a creature, but had definitely been killed by the chef that just attacked them. Blood pooled around the remains, which couldn't be recognised as male or female due to the extent of the savage nature in which it had been attacked. They could tell it was a member of staff only by the shredded clothing strewn about it.

They moved around the kitchen and found what they were looking for, food in cans, such as beans, hot dogs and fruit pieces. Gaz opened the bag he was carrying and began filling it with as many cans as he could comfortably carry. Mike found more bottled water and did the same. They left the kitchen with their haul and found Yvonne and Martin sat at a table they had up-righted and pulled chairs around. Mike and Gaz left their bags near to the exit and went and joined them. Before they sat down they looked around again, also looking out the windows to be sure there were no more creatures lurking around.

“
OK, what are we doing?” asked Gaz.

“
What's the best way to get out of England?” asked Martin.

“
Depends on where you want to go,” said Mike. “Wales and Scotland by car but you'd need a boat to get to Ireland or the Isle of Mann.”

“
I think boats are the best bet,” said Marin, “those things are slow and dumb but they're still mobile. Anywhere a car can get, they can get too.”

“
We can get a boat at the docks,” said Yvonne. “Preston docks have boats on them. If we can take one of those boats we can get off the mainland and try and get somewhere.”

“
Do you know how to sail?” asked Gaz.

“
No,” replied Yvonne.

“
Then forget it, we'll just drift into a rock, crash and drown,” said Gaz.

“
No we won't,” said Martin, “not in a motor boat. If we can hot-wire one of them and take it slowly out the harbour, we can easily steer it to where we need to go.”

“
And where is that?” said Gaz.

“
Isle of Mann is the closest habitable island,” said Mike.

“
What makes you think that the Isle of Mann is going to be a haven?” said Gaz. “We don't know how far this madness has spread. It may not be just the mainland of Britain.”

“
I understand what you’re saying, Gaz,” said Martin, “but we can't stay here. If we are attacked by another horde there are too few of us to defend ourselves. We don't have the ammo or the strength.”

“
It's worth the risk,” said Yvonne, “at least the Isle of Mann isn't as populated.”

“
But it's still populated!” said Gaz.

“
Well what do you want us to then, Gaz?!” Martin shouted at him, “sit around here and wait to be torn apart or starve to death? Stop being such an idiot and realise that we either die here for definite, or risk a boat over there to hope for a chance of surviving.”

Gaz didn't answer at first, but then he spoke. “Look, I know you're right, I'm sorry. I just don't know how much more of this I can cope with.”

“
I'm not looking for apologies, but you are going to have to realise this is it now,” said Martin. “Nothing will be normal here ever again. All we are is prey, and they are the hunters.”

Gaz breathed a huge sigh and nodded his head. “OK, let's go to the Isle of Mann.”

“
It's about seven miles to the docks from here,” said Mike. “That's a hell of a walk.”

Martin looked at his watch. “It's nearly midday, so we'll eat here and then set off. We'll start looking for shelter for the night if we need it along the way.”

“
Sounds good,” said Mike.

The group sat around the table and ate some food. For the thirty minutes they sat there, things seemed good. Apart from the odd noise that caused them to sit bolt upright, they sat talking of old times and told uplifting stories. Yvonne talked about her parents, Mike told of how he looked after the kids outside the primary school and Gaz made them laugh with stories about the drunken acts of mischief he and his university friends got up to. After they had eaten they all felt better about things. They stood up and checked all their weapons for ammo and made sure they were ready for the walk ahead.

They left by the front door and looked around. The road was clear of anything moving. “Which way is best, Mike?” asked Martin.

“
Right,” Mike replied, and the survivors turned to walk down the road.

It was at this point that Gaz noticed something. “Shit,” he said out loud.

Martin looked round, alert. “What is it?” he asked.

“
Look,” Gaz said, pointing at the car park across the road.

There, Martin spotted it, a familiar looking white van that he himself was in the back of with five other men just a few days ago. “Bloody hell,” he said, and set off walking quickly towards it. The rest of the group followed.

“
What is it?” asked Mike.

“
It's our van,” said Gaz.

The group moved quicker, Martin almost breaking into a jog as he got closer. He reached the van and without even thinking about it first, he opened the driver side door, and then jumped back at what he saw. The rest of the group looked, and Gaz and Martin instantly recognised Pete, now a creature, sat there still strapped to the seat by his seatbelt. His face was covered with the hallmarks of the disease, boils and blisters weeping with puss and blood. He saw the survivors and reached out for them, but fell forward due to the seatbelt, and was left suspended upside down half in and half out of the van. “Son of a bitch, you got what you deserved,” Gaz said to him.

“
Yeah,” said Martin, “you could say that.” Martin looked for a second then noticed the key in the ignition. The key was in the off position. “I've got an idea,” he said, and took Yvonne's pistol off her, aimed, and shot Pete straight through his forehead. The exit wound caused bits of brain and skull to decorate the bottom of the van, and the now lifeless corpse just hung there, as still as a mannequin.

“
What are you doing?” said Yvonne, sounding alarmed. “Those things will have heard that!”

“
Won't matter,” Martin replied handing her gun back to her. “Gaz, Mike, give me a hand.”

The three men moved forward. Martin held his breath and reached over the putrid corpse of his ex-driver and released the seat belt. He grabbed hold of a clean piece of cloth on Pete's boiler suit.

“
Help me get him out,” Martin said, and Mike and Gaz did as he did, grabbing the cleanest parts of the boiler suit they could find. They pulled the body from the van and left it slumped on the ground. Martin climbed into the driver’s seat. “Please work,” he said under his breath. He turned the key and van engine turned over, but nothing happened. Martin felt gutted and looked at the rest of the survivors.