Dead Eyes: A Tale From The Zombie Plague (12 page)

Quickly, I put the car into gear and began driving. It wasn’t until the hospital had long disappeared in my wing mirrors that I finally stopped to take a breath.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

The image of Susan’s sacrifice burned brightly in my mind as I drove back towards Camp Churchill. I could still see her standing there, defiantly taunting the Daisies as they charged toward her.

“She knew what was required.”

The jeep swerved violently as I briefly lost control.

Grandfather was back.

“Leave me alone,” I said, steering the jeep back onto the road.

“She knew she was weak. She knew her time was up,” said Grandfather.

“Sacrificing herself wasn’t weak,” I said.

Grandfather laughed, a dry rasping cackle that I remembered from his final days. When he had become so old and diseased that the moisture he used to conjure up the bile and spittle of a bitter old man had finally dried up. Leaving him just the shell. The empty shell that he had wilfully turned into since the day he lost his friend in battle. The laugh of a defeated old man still clinging onto the smallest of victories. The brainwashing of his only grandson.

“What would you have done if she had stayed with you? Waited for death? If the Daisies had charged you both, would you have stood your ground? Or would you have run away as fast as you could? To save yourself?”

I tried to ignore him, my eyes focused on the unfamiliar road ahead of me. “You would have run,” said Grandfather, “Saved yourself. Just like I taught you.”

“You taught me nothing except hate and self loathing. I am not you. The only thing I share with you is a surname.”

The same rasping laugh, a hot stale breath in my ear. “You have my blood inside you, pumping through your veins,” he said, “Even if you are lost.”

I braked hard. The jeep stopped sharply, sending me up and forward in my seat, my belt keeping me from smashing headfirst into the windscreen. I looked around me at the long winding road, the trees and countryside on either side. I had no idea where I was. Grandfather was right.

Shit.

I turned the jeep round and began heading back the way I came. My best option was to find a signpost somewhere, something I could use to get my bearings. If I continued forward, I was risking getting further and further lost in the countryside. No matter how much I didn’t want to go back there, the hospital was the only landmark I was familiar with.

The plan would have worked if I remembered the route back. Instead I was just getting more lost, taking left and right turns, struggling to remember the way back to the hospital.

In the end I stopped the jeep, screaming in frustration.

It took me a few minutes to calm myself. To forget about the problem and think about finding a solution.

“Mmmmmoooooorrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

The sound startled me, breaking me out of my raging fit. I looked out the driver window and saw a Moaner walking across a field towards me. It was covered in mud and moss that seemed to be growing out of him. Life out of death. Its dead eyes focused on me as it stumbled towards me. I was safe inside the jeep; the armaments built around it would keep the zombie at bay.

The Moaner didn’t know that. It climbed clumsily over the fence, falling to the ground as it landed on the other side. It would have been pathetic if it weren’t an undead killing machine on unsteady legs. Was this really what I had been so afraid of? This shambling mess?

I watched the zombie slowly stand up, dead limbs struggling to lift the weight of sodden earth covering its body. When it was back on its feet, I suddenly noticed the landscape behind him. Skyscrapers. Tall towers gleaming in the distance.

The city.

It was Highmouth, I was sure of it.

Finally I had some idea what to do next, a direction.

The Moaner stepped up to the jeep, catching on the metal barrier surrounding me. “Sorry,” I said, looking into its dead red eyes, “We’ll do lunch some other time.”

I pushed the jeep into gear and headed off.

The city was to the west. All I had to do was keep heading in that direction. If the road stopped it wouldn’t matter. I was in a jeep. I could travel as the crow flies if necessary.

As I wound my way through the country roads, I began thinking about what I would tell the Camp Churchill crew when I arrived. I had no proof of Morgan’s plan, nor his betrayal. If they shot me on sight, I could have no arguments with their decision. This jeep was a lifeline. A way for them to escape the infected zone, help others out and away from danger. And I had stolen it. Morgan was gone now. It was all on me.

The country road became smoother, wider. I was nearing a motorway. Memories of the last briefly filled me with dread. I had to stop dwelling on the past. Focus on the future. Escape.

I turned the jeep onto the slip road and the motorway. Abandoned cars littered the path ahead, discarded suitcases spilling contents onto the roadway. I drove carefully round them, not wanting to impale myself on a dead vehicle with the jeep’s zombie defences.

Slowing down, I saw one suitcase directly ahead of me; flap open like a broken jaw, vomiting its contents onto the ground. Children’s clothes spattered with blood. I drove carefully around.

The city grew larger on the horizon. My progress was slow yet steady. The cars that I feared would eventually block my passage never materialized. Instead I was allowed a path through the traffic frozen in time. It felt strangely planned, as if I was being guided towards the city. Straight to the most infested area.

I slowed down as I reached the outskirts of the city. The motorway would lead me directly into the centre. I could see my destination ahead of me. The Olympus Tower. Rising up above the other buildings, up amongst the gods themselves. The expedition from Camp Churchill was not due until tomorrow. I would have to find a place to hide whilst I waited for them to arrive. Twenty-four hours to come up with a reason for them to forgive me. Could I blame it on cowardice or stupidity? It wasn’t greed, I wasn’t thinking of myself or survival of the…

I was thinking of Libby. Doctor Morgan had misled me. He found my weakness and exploited it mercilessly. I could only hope that the others would see it the same way.

The jeep began to sputter and cough. The fuel light blinked on and off frantically on the dashboard. I hadn’t noticed it before. How long had it been trying to grab my attention, to warn me that I was running on empty?

Ahead of me I could see a petrol station, just off the motorway exit ramp. It was worth a try.

I turned off the motorway and onto the petrol station forecourt. So far I had not spotted any zombies. Highmouth was more like a ghost town than a place crawling with undead. Perhaps the helicopter coming to this city had the right idea after all. Besides, it had been eight months since the start. Surely all the zombies would have left by now, driven by the hunger to find fresh meat to feast on.

The digital display on the pump was active and working. A good start. I exited the jeep and walked round, lifting the nozzle from its holder. I unscrewed the fuel cap and placed the nozzle inside, squeezing on the handle to start pumping.

Nothing.

I looked up at the display, to see what was wrong.

“Awaiting approval.”

No attendant was inside to give it the thumbs up. I put the nozzle back in its dock and walked to the kiosk. The glass windows were covered in scratches and cracks. Someone had tried to get inside and failed. It didn’t bode well for my chances.

I walked to the door and pulled the handle. Unlocked. Everything was happening in my favour. So far.

The kiosk stunk of rotting milk. The fridge units at the back were darkened, plastic cartons broken on the floor. The pools of white sludge had turned green, mould festering like small islands in a spoiled sea. Strangely familiar. The stench of the rot made me retch.

I walked over to the counter and round to the controls beside the till. The buttons and knobs were all alien to me. I flicked the one labelled pump seven and hoped for the best.

I was about to leave when I spotted a stack of old newspapers on the floor beside the till. The headlines were familiar.

“The Dead Walk Amongst Us.”

“Is This The End?”

“Where Have All Our Leaders Gone?”

The apocalypse played out in headlines. Questions that will remain unanswered. I had little interest in the truth. Who was really surprised that the politicians and leaders had abandoned us in our time of need? Sometimes the stereotype fits reality.

I returned to the jeep and began filling up. The pump wheezed and clunked for a moment, threatening to sputter and die, before the merciful sound of petrol flowing through into the jeep.

I stood there waiting, watching the display rack up the litres. It was then I spotted something in the distance. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. For some reason I was finding it more difficult to notice things in the distance. First the city of Highmouth behind the Moaner, and now the Daisy.

It was stood unmoving, leaning casually against a lamppost beside the road. White fur covered its body, covering its arm and spreading onto the lamppost. It was almost like it was encased in ice, the hair little icicles encasing its frozen body.

Instinctively I dropped the nozzle and jumped into the jeep, slamming the door shut, feeling instantly safer in the slightly muted enclosure inside. The jeep made me feel invincible. I had to know what I was dealing with, to find out what I would be facing as I moved deeper into the city.

I rolled the jeep as slow as I could towards the daisy. My eyes never left the Daisy’s, waiting for it to spring into its horrific version of life. It remained frozen. It must be dead, I thought. The hair only appeared when these things died.

Getting nearer, I spotted another Daisy in the distance. Encased in the same white hair. More and more Daisies dotted the street behind him, all in suspended animation. Indefinitely suspended, I hoped.

The lamppost Daisy filled my windscreen, I was as close as I would ever want to get. The Daisies in the hospital were different. They were behind a safety screen, like looking at animals in a zoo. This was the wild.

The Daisy’s dull red eyes moved, focusing on me.

The shock almost gave me a heart attack, my heart pounding violently in my chest. I was so preoccupied with the Daisy in front of me that I didn’t notice the movement in the rearview mirror until it was too late.

The first shriek was so close; there was little time to react. I turned and saw the Daisies closing in, at least a few dozen, sprinting down the road towards me. As they ran, they shook free the white hairs from their body, leaving a trail of dust behind them.

Panicked, I instantly put my foot down, the jeep lurching forward violently. The Daisy nearby suddenly woke, leaping at me from its position on the lamppost. It bounced off the metal guards, hitting the ground with a bone crunching snap. The impact did little to put it off; it was back on its feet in seconds, joining the ravenous horde of chasing undead.

The jeep struggled under my control. I was driving too fast, desperate to escape. It wouldn’t go fast enough, my foot flat on the accelerator.

Abandoned cars blocked the road ahead. I tried to dodge; the jeep jumped the kerb, crashing into a metal bollard between the road and the pavement. I heard a loud crunch followed by a long hiss that signalled something important had broken. I had no choice but to continue on.

I saw the Olympus Tower looming ahead of me and put my foot down. The engine whined and pleaded with me to stop, begging me not to drive it to destruction. The Daisies would not let me stop.

The jeep began losing speed, barely keeping ahead of the undead mob. I searched frantically for an escape route, some way off the road, some place I could barricade myself inside. There was no place. Highmouth was unfamiliar, might as well have been Mars.

The closest Daisy leapt at the jeep, skewering itself on the sharp metal defences. It screamed in pain and frustration, reaching out towards me, clawing at the air.

Other Daisies joined its suicidal assault, becoming caught on the deadly blades that kept me safe. I could feel the weight of their bodies slowing the jeep.

Another Daisy assaulted the jeep. It landed on one of the blades besides the driver’s door. Shrieking horribly, it began pulling itself towards the door, impaling itself further on the blade. Horrible bony hands reached out and scratched at the glass, trying to force their way inside. The window between us became clouded, obscured by the scratches left by the dead hands clawing at me.

I couldn’t take it any more. I swerved to the right and smashed the Daisy against a parked car, its body torn apart by the impact. What was left continued its assault.

More and more Daisies launched themselves at me, forcing me to weave from side to side to try and shake them off. The jeep was slowing with every second that passed, black smoke billowing from beneath the buckled bonnet.

My head started to swim with panic and fear. The black holes in my vision reappeared, swallowing up everything except the Daisies. I could not unsee them.

The jeep squealed again, one last high-pitched whine before the engine went bang. The steering wheel suddenly lost all grip and I was swerving off the road, towards the nearest building.