Dead Pulse (9 page)

“One peril overcome...” shrugged Jack as he dodged a falling can.

“Yeah, but another faces us... at least eight hours of darkness.” Sam pulled up the collar of his long coat as they walked into the field.

It was a dazzling and beautiful dawn. A small white kitten lay in the grass watching a butterfly. It arched its back, then, sprung forwards, the butterfly moved and settled on another flower. Again, the kitten watched and when the time was right pounced again. The butterfly escaped and the kitten chased, and so the game continued. Soon the insect flew into the sky and disappeared from view. The kitten sat with its tail flicking gently against the blades of grass. Purring it began to clean itself, first one of the front paws, then its soft shoulder...it gave out an ear-splitting, blood-curdling shriek. Its neck was tugged and bitten into, the bones crunching with the impact and the meowing ceased. A human-like creature wearing a suit began to eat the kitten like a barbecued spare rib. The white fur turned red and after a few minutes, what was left was discarded.

“Sick,” Jack said disgusted, “we should shoot it.”

“That would be a waste of bullets, it’s too far away,” assured Sam. They stood up from where they sat on the edge of a small rock face.

They had spent a sleepless night in a water tower, it was safer up high and off the ground, where in turns they could keep watch and get some rest.

Before them now was farmland as far as the eye could see. They stopped, sat down and supped the last of their water in silence.

“Where do we go? You know, this could all be over,” Jack said to break the silence.

Sam smiled and shook his head, “Over?”

Jack became agitated, “No I mean it!” he barked. “Our last mission, we tested three rockets, we fired at a crowd of the dead. The rockets contained this innovative experimental pulse. At first we thought it didn’t work but then the dead began to react, some began to choke, some just stopped, keeling over where they stood. One of the rockets was amped up and their skin begun to fall away, burn and disintegrate, leaving chunks of flesh, bones and matter. Some of their eyes popped, it stank.”

“Test number seventy-seven
...” blurted Sam.

Jack eye
s lit up. “You’ve heard of it, how?”

“Carry on with the story then I’ll tell you.”

Mystified Jack continued, “We arrived at the base, those things had infested it, and there was no one to tell. I am not a scientist by the way,” whispered Jack clenching his fist.

Sam stood, “The main thing is it works, if what you say is true. We need to go to the base. Then I’ve got a friend to find.”

“Sam, its overrun, and even if we did get in; we wouldn’t know what data we were looking for, there are archives there with hundreds of computers and documents, someone also has to build the rockets.” Jack explained scratching his head.

Sam glared at Jack, through his frustration he knew he was right. They started to walk off as Sam quickly told Jack about Jayne. Thoughts rattled in Sam’s brain as they continued to walk, pieces came together like a jigsaw.
Jayne, beautiful Jayne, she was a scientist and the key to all this.

“I have to get to back to Jayne,” Sam stated determinedly.

Jack pleaded with Sam, “Listen what if it’s all a coincidence? She may not be answer to everything.”

Sam ignored him, “We’ll cut across the city; it’s the quickest way back.”

“What? It’s hopeless. Are you...” he quickly stopped his rant, “crazy?” he whispered. Mumbling under his breath he decided that there was no point in arguing, Sam had saved his life and without him he wouldn‘t last long.

As birds flew overhead, they changed direction and headed north-west towards the city. The industrial areas and suburbs were quite, long since vacated by all human life form. They walked on, deeper into Ravenswood. “Not long now Jack and I’ll be back in my hometown of Farmore. Back to the school; back to Jayne.”

Sam touched his scar, it reminded him of the day he narrowly missed the woman in the road, the days before he had met Jayne. He had purpose once again. Sam smiled; the bizarre situation got his blood pumping.
It is not every day you get to save humanity,
he mused.

Oblivious to the horrors that still lurked in the cellar, just feet away Jayne sat in the aftermath of her killings for over eight hours. In a cold sweat, she sat covered in blood, hugging her knees to her chest, shivering in shock. The bodies of the children lay all around her in a bloodbath. She had killed,
murdered
them all. With bloodshot eyes, she tentatively stood before staggered back to room twelve. Jayne sat down, sinking to the floor in a heap; he legs unable to hold her up for too long. Closing her eyes in an attempt to shut the horror of the last day from her mind, visions of children’s faces haunted her and she knew she could not stay at the school much longer.

Even night there after she awoke in the night to hear pattering footsteps of children. Jayne knew it was her mind playing tricks but the tricks were growing more intense. Rats or cats had ripped the rubbish bags open and she gazed at Sam’s scattered newspapers once again and wondered if he was still alive. She wished she had gone with him, she wished he had stayed; she wished he were with her now.

The city was silent, no traffic, and no people. The two men walked up the wide main street of the city. They had walked for miles, were hot and exhausted and despite several attempts, neither of them could hotwire a car nor find one that had been abandoned with its keys.

Closer to the city centre the thick smells of raw sewage, gunfire and death were pungent in the air. Hearing a loud crash, Sam and Jack hit the floor for cover as a burning hotel’s inner floors collapsed.

The sun was shining down glinting off the tall buildings, causing them both to squint into the light. It was void of the dead, just the scattered decomposing corpses of burnt soldiers. Just then, two corpses staggered into the middle of the road. Stopping they faced Sam and Jack. The both parties started to walk towards each other, like a showdown in an old western movie. Jack and Sam drew their guns, fingers poised on the triggers. Two shots rang out in the silence, which were quickly followed by two thuds; it was all over in a blink of an eye.

They walked into a bistro, the door to which hung precariously from one hinge; the regulars were long gone or long dead. Sam sat down at one of the
Formica tables while Jack pretended to order over the counter. Sam gave a chuckle as Jack strode over to a large commercial coffee machine that once would have made hundreds of cups per day. Nudging the stainless steel machine, it began to gurgle; hot curdled milk began to spray from one of the nozzles, before the machine made a loud whirring noise. Sam laughed some more as Jack reached into the under counter fridge and threw a bottle of beer to him. Turning he pulled out his gun and silenced the coffee machine with an echoing gunshot.

They sat facing each other talking about their past lives whilst they sipped on lukewarm beers. For a moment, they were two relaxed, regular people sitting, having a chat. What was going on in the world seemed a million miles away as they talked about cars, cable television, women and a shared
their love of Elvis.

T
he conversation then turned to things that more morbid, living corpses that maybe trapped in their graves, squirming around in coffins, trying to get out. They theorised how the beings would evolve and what that would mean for them. They speculated about everything and the unnecessary, and then they talked about Jayne. It was evident time was running out for them and they needed to move fast. The sudden noise of spurting water from the shot coffee machine abruptly stopped their chat. Relieved, they laughed as the machine gave a final sigh, it last breath as it went quiet once again.

“That reminds me; while we’re here I need a toilet stop.
A change from a bush, I’ll be back,” Jack announced smiling.

There was hope in Jack
’s eyes now; he shared the same brave vision of the adventure to come as Sam. Get Jayne and kill these things. Still sitting at the table Sam noticed look of hope in Jack’s face, something he could remember in the darker times to come. Sam flipped the top off another beer.

Jack made his way to the toilet noticing the dry bloodstains on the walls. Flushing the toilet the rushing noise of the water filling the tank filled the room; he began to tuck himself in. He did not hear the moan, he did not hear the dragged footsteps, he did not hear the door creak, and he did not see the lop-sided, drooling dead whore staring at him.

Jack felt a cold chill run down his spine as he sensed something was wrong. He didn’t have time to turn round as he was pushed off balance, stumbling forward his head hit the toilet bowl, his skull fracturing on impact. He lay on the white tiled floor, paralysed in pain lying in a pool of his own blood. Immobilised with shock and pain, whilst his eyes were wide open, the woman bit into Jacks soft neck, tearing at his white skin. Blood pumped into his mouth and in the silence of his own mind, he bawled out for Sam. Jack’s warm blood poured from his throat and his body began to twitch in the woman’s arms.

Sam walked in to the toilet just in time to see the zombie biting at Jacks lips. For a brief moment he paused as it looked like she was giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, saving not ending his life.

Turning towards him she looked up like a naughty child, and Sam could have sworn she gave a smile as he fired all the bullets in his gun at the woman as he shrieked, “No!”

Collapsing to his knees, Sam pounded his fist on the wet floor in despair. He dragged himself to his feet and picked up Jack, slung him over his shoulder making his way out into the street.

The road was now full of the dead. Slowly but surely they began to surround him as a static of electricity mounted. Death was coming for him, breathing and panting, with its many faces of evil. Twisted, grey faces with yellowish skin, some matted with dried blood, some were dusty, soiled and damp. All kinds of people, still clothed in different garments, all in a varied condition and as in life, their individuality was still reflected in death.

For the first time
Sam looked to the sky for help.
Now would be a good time for some divine intervention
he thought. The odds were far too great and he was excessively tired. He was out of out of time and out of luck. Jayne seemed a world away.
This must be the end
he thought. His hairs stood on end, and his ears and nose were overwhelmed by the moans and the stench of the dead that filled the air. Jack’s body gave out a small electric charge and Sam lay it down and turned to the horrid faces of the dead people who were still intent on their approach.

Abruptly, Jack sat up and his blood-clotted mouth opened. With a blast from Sam’s reloaded gun Jack was laid to rest once again, this time for good. Sam put his gun to his head; his finger rested on the trigger. He took a deep breath,
it isn’t meant to end like this,
he reflected.

The sound of a raucous engine disrupted his thoughts. A canary yellow, sand covered and fire-damaged sports car smashed its way through the sea of the dead; knocking over the bodies, the heads rolling off a few with the impact, body parts splattered against the windscreen and blood flew everywhere! The door of the
Lamborghini Murcielago flipped up and without giving it a moment’s thought he dived in.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Sam adjusted himself in the passenger seat, relieved for the rescue he looked to the driver
. There was a camera’s flash that momentarily blinded and startled him. Puzzled; so many questions, the why’s, what and how as he looked at the shaven headed woman from the compound. Grinning pushed the throttle to the floor.

The car sped off recklessly through and over the crowd.

“Who are you?” Sam asked.

Annoyingly she snapped another
picture and with one hand, she placed the camera in the door panel, “I’m a photographer, duh and self made hard bitch.” She said handing him a crumpled business card.

Sam
looked at the worn card, “So, former
Elite
photographer, Karen Stockwell, where are we going?”

“Where would you like to go?” She said raising one eyebrow.

“Home, Farmore,” Sam said breathlessly.

“There is nothing there.” she replied downbeat.

He turned his head to look at her. “There is something there, trust me.”

“You know, you remind me of someone. I
’m sure it’ll come to me.” Sam gave an acknowledging nod as she shifted up a gear. “

“
So you were a photographer before all this, not military trained and you ran that camp. What happened to adventure land?”

“It went all Michael Crichton on me,” she said smiling, looking at the road ahead, “
After you left one of the dead we kept penned up got out. The men screamed sabotage, blamed each other. My inherited band of merry men started to fight amongst themselves and then the riots started. The electric fence failed. It was a train wreck. I feel for the children.” Sam mustered a nod. “Catching up with you was just a bit of luck. For you, that is. I heard my brother is alive, so I’m going to find him.” She said smugly glancing in the rear view mirror seeing the dead now as just spots in the distance.