Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (32 page)

‘It’s okay,’ Heather says, pulling Paco back. ‘Let him go…Pete, you have to show us.’

‘I can’t I can’t I can’t…’

‘Pete, I am sorry but you’re showing us. Now. Move now… I SAID MOVE NOW.’

She forces him off the wall, pushing and dragging the poor sod across the road. He drops screaming to crab away. She grips his collar, lifting him up to scoot him on. ‘Children…there are children, Pete…’

‘Too late, it’s too late…they’ll be…’

It’s no good. She drops him to cry on the road with a look of pity and disgust crossing her face. ‘That footpath? Where after that? Pete…Pete…Just tell me and we’ll go…’ she drops to his side, speaking urgently but softly. ‘Which way? Please…up the footpath then where?’

‘I can’t….I just…so many and…Becky was…’

A footpath could branch off in any direction and lead to other footpaths. She won’t know the way and she doubts even he knew the way he ran in the state he’s in now. She looks round, seeing the bodies. At least five of them. Six, she spots one in the undergrowth. Six of them chasing this bloke. Eighteen days of foliage growing undisturbed. She only needs direction, the distance she can make up by moving quickly.

‘We’re going,’ she says quickly, rising to her feet. ‘What’s the name of the fort? Pete? The name of the fort? What’s the fort called….MAN UP,’ she bellows, grabbing a fistful of hair to wrench his head back. ‘Fort? What’s it called?’

‘Spitbank,’ he blurts.

‘Thank you,’ she lets him go and is off, heading into the shade of the footpath with the bag once more strapped to her back.

Thirty Two

Heather spent a life in denial and fear, hiding from people and commitment. A childhood taken away by a system that was meant to protect. She knows her failings, her weaknesses but she also knows she is intelligent once she focusses and fixes one subject in her mind.

She does that now. She does it with a sense of urgency that has been growing all day. First to catch up with the people in the army truck and now to find Subi, Raj and Amna. She learns to read the ground, seeing where the tread of feet have crumpled the grass and damaged the stems of plants. She spots the weave as they went through bends and got carried wide by the momentum of their running to trample the longer grass on the verges. She goes fast too. All she needed was direction and once that was gained it was just about closing the distance.

Despite his screaming panic attack she gains a grudging respect for Pete at the distance he travelled. She didn’t trust him when he said it was a few miles but the footpath is long and weaving as it borders fields and forests. They go fast with a mix of jogging and marching when she needs to slow down to get more air and drink water.

A few seconds are lost at the first junction of three footpaths meeting but she soon spots the trampled verges and chooses course with Paco forever at her side. The heat gets worse with an air seemingly heated and trapped by the dense foliage of trees and bushes. The sweat coming from them is immense. Tops are sodden. Faces drip flushed and hot.

Another junction. Several directions leading away and it takes longer to go further into each opening to find tell-tale signs of recent passage. Her mind fills with images of Subi, Raj and Amna running in fear. That fear pushes her to run and ignore the pain in her legs and chest. Pete said there were so many too. He said more than he’s seen before and they were ramped. Why are they coming here into this area? What for? It has to be something to do with the people in the army truck. That the infected people could be coordinated enough is a terrifying concept. Massing and moving together for a single objective. She knows they chase prey together but this is different.

The footpath ends abruptly. A mirage created by a dense thicket of trees across the road that made it look like it kept going but suddenly there is space around her and tarmac underfoot. She looks left and right, trying to work out which direction to take. Searching for signs but the road is wide. They could have run six abreast and not touched the verges. Which way? Left or right? She goes left, searching the ground but finding nothing. She goes right, the same again. Time being wasted. Time ticking away. Pressure growing that builds.

‘Thank God,’ she mutters when the snarling women comes running flat out towards them with half a head of hair streaming behind her. The other half is a mess of wounds and blood that drips down her body. She’s fresh. Clean clothes in muted colours and sensible shoes for walking. Heather doesn’t flinch or wait but sets off running behind Paco who charges the woman down. As he hits her so Heather veers to run past to close the distance now direction has once more been gained.

He catches her up with ease. Sprinting hard to fall in at her side. She glances, offers him a grim smile and keeps going. A signboard ahead. Large and white with a welcoming message emblazoned across it,
Welcome to Hydehill, please drive carefully.
The main road through is wide and straight. Shops and stores on both sides with parking spaces out the front.  Post office, a church and a junction to a side road that runs behind the shops. Puddles everywhere, steaming in the heat. Bodies everywhere, steaming in the heat. Bullet casings everywhere, shining in the sun.

She runs in trying to make sense of it. A fight took place. The people in the army truck were here but Pete came from here too. She comes to a stop, her hands pushing her slick hair back down her head that comes away dripping wet.

Hundreds of bodies. So many. Pete said there had been many but he didn’t mention guns or people firing. She gulps and blinks, shaking her head to clear her mind. Think, Heather.

The infected woman that charged at them was from Becky’s group. Her head was cut open. She’d been slashed with a knife or something with a blade, like the meat cleaver Becky had but all of these bodies have been shot. She looks closer, flicking from body to body that stretch back to the buildings at the sides of the road. More in the junction in a long trail. The piles of bullets show the rough circle in the road where the shooters stood and a few more placed in the junction.

‘I think I’ve got it,’ she tells Paco, drawing his attention to look at her. ‘They heard the gunshots and came this way…so the…the people in the army truck were here first and shot these and Becky’s lot came after. Yeah, yeah think about it. They heard the gunshots, came towards the noise but got here too late and ran into more of the things…’

There’s too much blood on the floor to see trails or pick routes out. The whole scene is carnage and filled with the stench of metallic blood, shit and innards hanging out of stomachs torn open by bullets.

‘Pete ran that way,’ she points off back the way they came in. ‘He was chased by six…that woman came later so…so maybe she got turned then cut down by Becky or someone and decided to go after Pete. This way then,’ she points off in the other direction going further through the town. ‘You ready?’

She doesn’t wait for the answer but sets off at a brisk walk that builds to a jog. She gets through the bodies and keeps going a hundred metres before spotting a mangled torn hunk of meat lying slumped at the side of the road. She goes closer, realising it’s a body but so torn apart it’s barely recognisable as once human. Teeth marks all over it. Deep bites from a big jaw that held long teeth. Spots of blood lie in a patch a few feet away, bandages and an empty crumpled packet of cigarettes. She sniffs the air, detecting the tang of tobacco. Strange sights that mean nothing to her. Strange smells that indicate they were here and not too long ago either.

She goes faster. Running past shops and side roads. Another body further up. She can see the red glistening blood still wet and warm. Cut marks on the neck, messy and deep. The body is fresher than the ones that were shot further back. Blood spatters everywhere. Footprints too that ran through pools of blood to lead a trail that she follows as fast as her already tired legs will carry her.

A bloodied patch lies not far up the road. Someone was taken down and turned. She can see it in her mind. More bloody footprints too and this world has suddenly become very small indeed. The army truck is going through towns slaying anything that moves without heed to what they leave behind. Becky’s group heard it and ran in to seek help only to meet more. This whole area must be crawling with them. Why didn’t the army people stop and see if there were any survivors here?

Another body. This one bitten too deep in the neck that opened an artery. The pool of blood is huge. Litres of crimson liquid lying wet and slick on the road. She spots the sensible shoes, the muted colours and the rucksack still on the back of the corpse. A teenage boy. Fat and unable to run fast enough to get away. Too many video games, too many pizzas and junk food. The world is culling itself. The fast and the strong survive. Subi isn’t fat. Neither is Raj or Amna. They had good parents who fed them good food. They’ll be able to keep running. They had days of junk food in the supermarket though. Days of bad diet and no exercise. They’ll tire easily and she knows Amna can’t run for long, same with Rajesh. They’re both too small with little legs. That image chokes a sob in her throat. The thought of Amna and Raj struggling to run and being left behind. She knows Subi would drop back to stay with them. God no. Please no. I’m begging you. Not them. She goes faster. Turning the grief into anger to drive energy into her limbs and muscles. Paco should go ahead. He’s fast and strong. He doesn’t get tired. He could catch them up. She glances at him knowing the concept is one too complex to explain.

‘Go,’ she tries anyway, motioning with her hand for him to run. ‘Find Subi…Subi….find Subi…’

He isn’t a dog and just speaking those few words knock her breathing out of whack. He stays at her side in what must be a gentle jog for him.

Car. Get a car. Foolish woman. Why didn’t she think of it before? She casts about, searching for anything that she can grab quickly but every car is locked up with no indication of which house the owner lived in. She runs faster, gritting her teeth to reach the bigger houses with driveways. The first one has a Volvo outside. Modern and big. She veers off sharply, aiming for the front door of the house but finds it locked. She starts kicking it, slamming first the toe of her shoes then stepping back to get her whole foot into it. The door is UPVC and flexes in the frame, bouncing and banging but holding firm. Then it’s gone. Ripped from the frame by the full weight of a big man running at it and one who doesn’t hold back for fear of hurting himself. She doesn’t hesitate but follows him into the hallway to be greeted by a rotten stench of decaying meat that she’s come to know only too well.

Blood on the floor. Blood on the walls. Entry gained to the house by an infected who turned those inside while the self-locking door closed behind, sealing them in. Five of them. Two adult males, one adult female, two children. All snarling. All decaying. All ramped to feast and bite with an urge to get out and join the hive mind going after the people in the army truck. Now that urge changes. There is a potential host and the one that turned but is longer hive mind. A single act saves Heather’s live. Five people rushing from the lounge into the hallway and trying to fit through one doorway at the same time, getting wedged by their own mass. That hesitation buys her the time to step back and for Paco to step in and while he goes to work she searches for the keys. While bones get snapped she opens drawers that get thrown onto the floor. While more blood is spilled on the floor she runs into the kitchen to search the sides and the breakfast bar. Five on one in a confined space. The woman gets past him into the hallway to charge down towards the kitchen with a snarl that makes Heather spin and grab a knife from the metallic strip on the wall. She holds the point out, screaming as the woman impales herself with a force that drives Heather back into the side units. She braces and leans back while sawing with the knife that cuts the stomach open. Things start falling out. Long wet gloopy innards that hang with blood spurting thick and foul. A second later and she’s gone. Ripped from her feet to be lifted and smashed down into the breakfast bar that disintegrates with Paco dropping to tear her apart for daring to touch Heather.

No time to lose. Adrenalin is coursing. Focus is maintained. Find the keys. She carries on opening drawers with hands that smear blood over surfaces and cupboard fronts. Finally she sees it. A row of hooks hanging from a metallic strip on the front of the fridge. Keys hanging from the hooks and the big Volvo fob so distinctive. As she reaches so she sees her own hands covered in blood. She gets to the sink, turns the tap and starts scrubbing with a scouring pad used to wash dishes almost three weeks ago. Dollops of washing up liquid get used. Anti-bacterial washing up liquid. Everything is anti-bacterial these days. An obsession with germs made worse by advertisers telling everyone they will die if they don’t sanitise everything. Hands scrubbed and rubbed pink she grabs the keys and weaves to vault over the bodies to get outside. She presses the button, hearing the satisfying clunk of central locking. Door open. Bag off and thrown in the back. She goes for the driver door then stops to guide Paco round to the front passenger seat. He understands and goes with her. His logic and reasoning skills improving with every hour.

In the driver’s seat she stares at the keys realising there are no keys but a single plastic fob. How do you start it? She’s heard of these. Keyless ignitions. She searches the dashboard and finds a hole the same shape as the fob. It goes in. Lights come on the display but the engine doesn’t start. She searches frantic and rushed, flicking her eyes everywhere with a panic building at the time being wasted. A simple round button marked
start stop.
She jabs her finger and both hears and feels the engine come to life. No clutch. Automatic. She tries selecting D for drive but the shift won’t move. She presses the button on the side and curses foully. Her foot hits the brake, the gear stick moves but goes too far. She forces calmness into her movements to get it into D and pushes the accelerator down. The engine bites but the car doesn’t move.

‘WHAT NOW,’ she screams in frustration at a world that got too complicated and too bloody stupid at the same time. A plastic lever on the dashboard that she yanks to release the handbrake, or what used to be the handbrake when they still had handbrakes before they started making stupid things to annoy everyone. Stop it. Focus. Keep the focus. Now the car moves. She twists the steering wheel too hard, slamming the front wing into the post on the garden wall that scrapes down the side with a metallic screeching. Into the road and she bites her lip while building speed while telling herself not to go fast while remembering it’s been a while since she last drive while all the time being terrified from the image of Raj and Amna falling back and Subi choosing to stay with them.

That does it. Sod the speed. The engine roars to change up through the gears as the big car eats the tarmac under wheels that grip from a design perfected over decades. Four wheel drive, solid chassis and it gives a feeling of strength, like the people in the army truck. This is her army truck and Paco is her army.

Paco tenses in his seat. His arms bulging with fists curling to hard balls. ‘Yeah I see him,’ Heather says with a vicious sneer. She lines up and lets the vehicle do the rest. A man running with hands clawed. A man running with the fury of the infected giving chase. A man running who is hit from behind by the solid front end of a car that snaps his thigh bones as he pivots down to smash into the road. A thump of wheels and it’s done. One dead without blinking or missing a beat. She checks the rear view mirror, seeing the mangled corpse lying still and dead. ‘Perfect,’ she mutters, shifting in her seat. She reaches back to open the flap of the bag. ‘Drink,’ she hands him the bottle. He drinks. ‘Another one,’ she nods ahead, altering course to hit the woman square in the back of her legs. This one rides up across the bonnet and up to fly over the top to land hard in the road behind. ‘Two,’ Heather says, showing Paco two fingers. He hands the bottle back. She drinks then holds the bottle away to twitch the steering to hit the next one that is sent spinning across road into the side of van. ‘Three,’ she says quietly and drinks the water.