Hyenas (10 page)

“Well,” he said, his voice a little high and uneven.
He coughed to steady his nerves.

“Do you want to wash that blood off your face before
you carry on?” said Phil.

Jay wasn't sure whether Phil was being sarcastic or
patronising, or which of the two was worse. But the thought of the blood on his
face and how it had got there, of Hello Kitty, seemed to fill him with
something like resolve. He wondered at first if it was the fact that he had
killed, been blooded, that was making him feel as if he didn't have to take
being talked down to, that he had proved himself. But then he realised it was
precisely the opposite: he didn't want to have to kill again and whilst he was
in Liverpool with its hyenas and militia he would very likely have no choice in
the matter if he wanted to survive.

“I'll wash it off in a minute,” he said. “When I’ve
said what I need to say.” He paused as he tried to recall Dempsey’s words. “If you
think you can stay in your foxhole and wait for the cold to kill off all the
hyenas or jokers or zombies or whatever you want to call them, you can think
again because it isn’t going to happen. The cold will only kill off the weak
ones, leaving you with the really strong, vicious fuckers once spring comes.
And think of the disease that’s going to arrive along with the warm weather,
all those dead bodies starting to rot; the rats’ll having a fucking field day.
It’s going to be like something out of the middle ages. We have to get out of
the city. Find somewhere less populated, somewhere open. Somewhere we can fish
and grow food. There really isn’t any alternative. Well, not one that isn’t
suicide of one form or another.”

“Where did you have in mind?” said Ellen.

“I was thinking we could go south, where it’s warmer.
Through the Menai Strait to Bardsey Island, then on to Ramsey Island, then
Lundy and then the Scilly Isles. Take it in little steps until we’ve got the
hang of it. We could even keep going: Spain, Portugal, through the Strait of
Gibraltar and into the Med. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought that far
ahead.”

Nobody spoke for a few seconds but it felt like longer
to Jay. He was almost certain he was about to be assailed by waves of laughter
and accusations of very obviously having appropriated someone else’s ideas and
rhetoric.

“Well, I'm with you,” said Ellen. “I've always said,
the first chance I get, I'm gone. Can't have my baby here. And in a couple of
months I won’t be able to fucking move, so it’s now or never.”

“I'm with you,” said Brian, to Jay or Ellen, it wasn’t
clear.

“And me.” Joe.

“Alright,” said Dave with a reluctance that Jay
thought was largely for show. “Count me in. I can't leave you in the hands of
this bunch of inepts, can I, Ellen?”

“True,” said Ellen, and Jay really couldn't tell if
she was joking or not.

Simon rolled his eyes, “You've got to be having a
laugh,” he said. “Just because he says it'll be worse after the thaw doesn't
mean it will be. What makes him such a fucking expert. I say we sit tight.
Right, Phil?”

Phil had been looking up at the ceiling throughout
Jay's speech and since. He let loose a long sigh.

“No, Simon,” he said, turning his attention to Jay.
“He's right. I mean, the cold hasn't killed them off yet, has it? And survival
of the fittest? Well, there’s no arguing with that, is there? I might not
believe every word this lad says but there's no arguing with basic Darwinism.”

“Well, I'm not staying here on my own, am I?” muttered
Simon. “But don't blame me if we all get drowned.”

“After we've drowned, Simon,” said Dave, “we promise
to keep our opinions to ourselves.” He stood up. “Right. Me, Simon and Kavi
will take a trip to Tesco, stock up on dried foodstuffs and bottled water. Phil
and Joe, you're doing Boots, Castle Street. Baby stuff. Formula, nappies,
bottles, clothes. Fill a couple of bin bags. Plus medicines, anything you can
grab, especially pain killers and antibiotics. Ellen, Jay and Brian can do the
library, get that book. Don't mean to patronise you on the basis of you being
pregnant, Ellen, but the library's the soft option and, well, you know, you
are
pregnant, aren’t you? Jay, you have to go to the library. You're the only one
who knows what the boat looks like.”

“Fine by me,” said Ellen. “I'm not looking to prove
anything.”

“Why am I going to the library?” said Brian.

“You'll be keeping an eye on our newest member, making
sure he doesn't pull a fast one. Besides, you can't shoot for shit and you
fight like a fucking girl. Just watch out for paper cuts, eh?”

“Cheeky bastard,” said Brian. “I can handle myself.”

There was an outbreak of undisguised mirth.

“We leave here in thirty,” Dave continued, “and meet
up at the boat one hour later. That should be more than enough time to get our
respective shit together.” He turned to Jay. “So, where's this boat of yours,
then?”

“We'll meet by the Liver Building,” said Jay. “I'll
take you from there.”

“Fuck sake,” said Simon. “He still doesn't trust us.”

“He's got his head screwed on, that's all,” said Dave.
“I wouldn't fucking tell us, either. I mean, look at us, a right bunch of shady
bastards. Alright, Jay, Liver Building it is.” He clapped his hands. “Get your
tea down your necks folks. Pee if you have to. We need to dress for the
weather, arm up and fuck off. Thirty minutes. Let's go!”

Jay drained the remainder of his tea and took his cup to
the kitchen. He didn't even realise Brian had followed him until he turned
around to leave the kitchen.

“To be honest, I was a bit relieved to get library
duty,” he said.

“Me too,” said Jay but something very much like dread
felt like a cold dead weight in his gut and he had no idea why.

Chapter 14

Jay just nodded when Dave handed him the pistol. He
didn't want to admit to anyone that he didn't like the feel of it in his hand,
the weight and mass of the thing. It was only a small gun, identical to the one
Brian had tried to shoot him with about an hour ago, and perhaps that was why
it didn't feel right: it was too small to feel so heavy, so dense.

Dave handed them out, one each, from a wooden crate as
they stood around a boardroom table, coats on, packs on and otherwise ready to
go.

“You've got five bullets each. That's all we had left.
I've divvied them up evenly, except for Ellen, you've got six.”

“Sexist little get,” said Ellen, as she shoved
Childbirth Without Fear
and
Ina
May’s Guide to Natural Childbirth
into her backpack.

Dave smiled and carried on. “Don't pull the trigger
unless you know it's going to count. Five bullets will be gone in no time.
Don't go for the head, go for the chest. It's easier to hit and it'll stop
whatever you’re shooting at in its tracks. Probably.”

“Where did they come from?” said Jay.

“The guns?” said Dave. “Pepper. I grabbed a load
before I got the fuck out of there.”

“You were in the militia?”

“Yeah. Anyway, shut the fuck up. The past is just
that—past — and of no fucking use to anyone.” He tucked his gun in the
waistband of his pants and zipped up his coat. “Simon, Kavi, let's go. I'll see
the rest of you in one hour. Best of luck. And if anyone doesn't make it, don't
worry about it. They were probably too stupid to live.”

Dave, Simon and Kavi left. Everyone else busied
themselves donning gloves, hats and scarves. Jay tried to mimic Dave and put
his gun down the waistband of his pants but found it was more difficult than it
looked. Instead, he put it in his coat pocket, wondering if Dave's stint in
Walton prison had been for armed robbery; he certainly seemed at ease with
firearms.

Ellen and Brian seemed content to keep their guns in
their hands.

Phil and Joe were next to leave.

“No matter how tempting it may be,” Joe said to Ellen
as he passed through the door, “try not to shoot Brian.”

Ellen laughed and Brian rolled his eyes and flicked
two fingers at him.

“Why don’t we all just stick together?” asked Jay,
once Phil and Joe had left. “You know, safety in numbers?”

“You’d think,” said Ellen. “But it doesn’t work out
that way.”

“Yeah,” said Brian, trying and failing to spin his
revolver like a gunslinger. “Big numbers attract attention, from zombies and
the militia both, but mostly the zombies. Don’t know why, but it’s like they
can sense larger groups. They just home in, like flies to shit.”

“Come on,” said Ellen. “Let's get this over with.”

By the time they dipped under the half open roller
shutter and out into the alley, there was no sign of the others.

“Best route?” said Jay.

“Hanover Street,” said Ellen, pointing up the alley.

“What?” said Brian.”That'll take us past the bottom of
Bold Street. You know, Bold Street? Waterstones? More zombies than you can
shake a bloody stick at?”

“It's quicker than going back down School Lane and
round. We haven't got time to piss about. Christ, we don't even know how long
it's going to take us to get into the library. As for finding the book? Well,
none of us has got much experience of the Dewey fucking Decimal System, have
we? One hour, Brian. I want to be on that boat in one hour. We just need to
keep low, use the cars and buses for cover.”

Ellen set off before Brian could formulate a counter
argument. Jay followed.

“Fucking great,” said Brian. “Nice to see British
democracy is still a joke, post-apocalypse.” He threw his arms in the air, spun
around a couple of times as if seeking agreement from an imaginary audience,
then trotted after them.

They emerged onto Hanover Street and moved in close to
the wall of abandoned vehicles. Single file and stooped, they advanced with
some difficulty through the knee-high snow that had drifted up against the cars
and buses. As they reached the junction of Bold Street and Church Street, where
Hanover Street became Ranelagh Street, Ellen raised a hand, indicating they
should stop. She pointed to a gap between the people carrier they were crouched
against and the next vehicle in the dead procession, a battered Cavalier that
looked as if it had been ready for the scrap yard long before the Jolt. The gap
was about seven or eight feet across, and Jay could hear the snarling laughter
of the hyenas in Waterstones.

“We go back,” said Brian. “School Lane. Late's better
than dead. They're not going to go without us.”

“And what if Pepper finds the boat? Torches it?” said
Ellen.

“The chances of that,” Brian began.

But Ellen was already peering round the edge of the
people carrier. A second later she was up and running across the gap, then
dipping down behind the Cavalier.

Jay shuffled forward and took a peek at Bold Street.
There were six hyenas outside Waterstones, less than fifty feet away, fighting
over the books and mangled half-books that were strewn across the snow. He
could make out the indistinct shapes of more hyenas through the shop window.

He made a break for the Cavalier. He was halfway
across the gap when one of the hyenas turned toward him as it tracked the
trajectory of a flying paperback. Jay froze. The book hit the ground with a
puff of snow. The hyena darted toward the book, scuttling across the snow like
a dog closing in on a tossed stick. A couple of feet before it reached the
book, it stopped. It reared back up on to two feet, revealing the shredded,
filth-caked remnants of a police uniform. It grinned. Grinned at Jay.

“Bollocks,” he managed to whisper.

The hyena barked a laugh and tensed for the chase.

Jay managed to summon the word 'run' from his
panic-fogged mind but his mouth and throat were too dry to put it out into the
world.

And then Constable Hyena was slammed down into the
snow with such force he all but vanished in a cloud of white. Alice Band let
out a triumphant snarl and grabbed the book. She began tearing pages from it
immediately, stuffing them into her mouth, at the same time returning to the
rest of the hyenas, her back now to Jay.

Jay turned to Brian, who was looking at him with something
very much like stark terror, certain they'd been spotted and Ellen's decision
was going to end in death for all of them.

Jay signalled for Brian to follow him.

“Quick,” he said when Brian appeared unable to move.
“Now or never, Brian. Come on, lad.”

When Brian still remained frozen in place, Jay lunged
at him grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his feet.

“Now!” he growled.

Brian stumbled after him and they both fell to the
ground beside Ellen.

“What happened?” she said.

“One of them saw me,” said Jay. He risked a glance
round the edge of the Cavalier's rust scarred boot. Constable Hyena was lying
motionless in the settling snow and Alice Band was beating another prone hyena
about the head with such brutality blood was flying from her fists. “It's okay
now, though.”

Ellen set off up Ranelagh Street, staying in a
half-crouch behind the trail of vehicles until she was out of the hyenas' line
of sight.

They were next to a shattered shop window, spectacles
and sunglasses scattered across the snow, with the entrance to the Clayton
Square shopping centre approaching on their left when, from somewhere to their
right, the sound of hyenas — snarling and cackling — came at them with the
suddenness of a radio surging to life following a power cut.

Despite the fact that the sound was almost certainly
coming from ahead of them, Jay looked back the way they had come, convinced he
was about to see Alice Band and her pack bearing down on them, spitting out
pulped paper. But all he saw was Brian's terrified face.

Ellen rose up a little and looked over the bonnet of
the Ford Fusion they were hiding behind. She dropped back again a second later
and Jay saw fear on her face for the first time. She jabbed a thumb over her
shoulder, indicating that Jay should take a look. After a few seconds'
hesitation, Jay did so.

Across the road, filling the downward-sloping entrance
to Central Station, were about twenty hyenas, more than Jay had ever seen in
one place before. They appeared to be unable to decide what to do next. Some
were turning on the spot and sniffing at the air, as if trying to catch a scent
of prey.

“Fuckshit,” he blurted.

“What?” Brian demanded. “Christ, will one of you say
something.”

“Hyenas, zombies,” said Jay. “Twenty. Maybe more.”

“Well, we can't carry on this way, can we?” said
Brian. “We have to go back.”

Jay turned to Ellen who nodded.

“Back onto Church Street,” she said. “Then through
Clayton Square.”

“Clayton Square?” said Brian. “Indoors? I fucking hate
indoors. After what happened last time. Don't fucking do this to me, Ellen.”

“What happened last time?” said Jay, remembering his
own encounter with Hello Kitty, that horrible sense of no escape, of being
penned-in by fear and death, and what he had to do to get away.

“Don't like to talk about it,” said Brian.

“Except when he does,” said Ellen. “Which is
all the fucking time
. Sometimes I have to give him a toffee to make him
stop.” And then she was up and off. She paused for only a second at the gap,
glancing toward Waterstones, then moving on. She stayed low and close to the
cars until the buildings began to curve away, then she moved closer to the shop
fronts, following their arc — a chip shop, an opticians, a betting shop, a
travel agent — round onto Church Street.

Jay and Brian struggled to keep up, pausing for longer
at the gap, despite the fact that the hyenas were all fully occupied shredding
and eating books and attacking one another. But even without the longer pause,
they’d have had trouble keeping up. Jay wondered if what separated Ellen from
Brian and himself was the fact that she didn’t just have herself to think
about; Ellen was determined to survive whereas they just didn't want to die.

Ellen was waiting for them under the glass archway of
the Church Street entrance to Clayton Square, before the shattered plate glass
doors which had once slid dutifully back and forth, consuming eager shoppers.
Jay tried to ignore the carnage that had caught his eye as he'd made his way
down the other side of the thoroughfare with Dempsey earlier. He was determined
not to register such things, particularly in close-up.

“Come on, before we're seen,” said Ellen.

Jay followed her over broken glass and then they were
in Clayton Square.

“I fucking hate indoors,” said Brian.

“You said,” Ellen reminded him.

There was an immediate hike in temperature as they
stepped out of the reach of the weak but bitter wind that Jay hadn't really
noticed whilst he was outside; sweat erupted all over his face, scalp and
across the back of his neck. There was a muffled brown quality to the light
that strained through the snow-patched glass of the arched roof. The smell hit
him next. The sour stench of the dead that had yet to start obviously rotting
but had begun a process of inward, secretive corruption. The originators of
this somehow meaty sourness were everywhere. On the steel stairs that
disappeared through a door-sized rectangular hole in the ceiling, an old man
was sprawled with arms and legs impossibly positioned, speaking of pulverised
bones. A man wearing what looked like a traffic warden's uniform was sat
slumped back against a photo booth, the blue curtain from which was clutched in
his bloody fist; a jagged piece of glass the size of tea tray jutted from his
gut. Amidst toppled buckets and crushed flowers was the body of what Jay was
reasonably certain had been a woman; the head was so comprehensively smashed it
was impossible to be certain. There were more, at least another eight, but Jay
tried his best to avoid looking at them, and when they forced themselves into
his line of sight, he tried to trick his eyes into throwing them out of focus.
But even then, his attention snagged on the most horrific details. A gristly
hole where a nose should have been; an empty eye socket; a sheet of flesh
ripped from an arm, complete with flaps of finger and painted nails; a
ragged-edged face, like a mask, slapped onto a window between disinterested
mannequins.

Jay wanted to take a deep breath to quell his surging
nausea but didn't dare; a mouthful of that abattoir sourness would have emptied
his belly in a second. He was relieved when Ellen said, “No time for window
shopping” and set off, dodging the dead as if she was negotiating stepping stones.
At the junction where twin escalators rose up between concessions that had once
sold mobile phone accessories and offered watch repairs, they turned left,
following a shop front filled with kitchen gadgets and household appliances. A
transit van had crashed through the Parker Street entrance and filled most of
the corridor, side on. The windscreen of the van was mostly frosted from the
impact and those areas that weren't frosted were coated on the inside with
something treacly and reddish. There was a limp arm dangling from the roof of
the van and Jay assumed it must be attached to a body, otherwise the weight of
the hand would have dragged it slithering down to the ground. It was missing
most of its third finger but a blood-dulled wedding ring clung to the tatty
stump. Jay tried to blur the image by throwing it out of focus and in so doing
created the impression that the hand had twitched, an optical illusion his
rattling heartbeat could have done without.