Purification (26 page)

Despite still wholeheartedly believing in what they were setting out to do, Michael could not help but feel a little uncomfortable, vulnerable and nervous as the village came into view. He stared at the motley collection of unkempt buildings and realised that this was, remarkably, the first time he’d ever gone out actively looking for bodies to destroy in such numbers and it wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

Until now his time had been spent hiding from them or defending himself against them. Although he knew the corpses would probably offer very little in the way of serious resistance, the trepidation he felt was still substantial. And he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Some of the other faces around him appeared equally unsettled and unsure.

Michael travelled in the jeep at the front of the convoy with Brigid and Harper. He was hot. The entire group had dressed themselves in boots and gloves and either boiler suits or strong waterproofs taken from the empty homes of long-dead fishermen yesterday morning. The advanced decay of the bodies had now reached such a stage that their destruction, removal and disposal was inevitably going to become a bloody, greasy and gruesome affair. The rotting shells would be ripe with disease. No-one relished the thought of close physical contact with them.

‘Stop here,’ he said when they were just short of the turning onto the road which ran through the heart of Danvers Lye. ‘I think we’re better off leaving the vehicles here. We don’t want to go too far in there and find we’ve got ourselves cut off.’

Brigid stopped the jeep and turned off the engine. The other car pulled up behind her and the truck stopped alongside it. Quietly and nervously the survivors climbed out of their vehicles and regrouped in the middle of the road.

‘So what now? Do we just go marching in there?’

Harper asked. Michael shook his head.

‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe we should take it slow and try and clear the buildings one at a time?’

‘Sounds

sensible…’

‘Look,’ Gayle Spencer whispered. She pointed further along the street in front of them, deeper into the shadowy village. Alerted by the sound of the engines, a number of bodies had already dragged themselves out into the open and were moving towards the group with obvious intent.

Harry Stayt readied his sword.

‘We knew there were going to be a few like this, didn’t we?’ he said as he anxiously swapped the blade from hand to hand.

‘We should try and flush these out,’ suggested Fry.

‘What?’

‘All of the bodies that are still reacting like this - we should try making as much noise as we can to bring them out into the open.’

‘Makes sense,’ agreed Brigid. ‘What have you got in mind?’

Fry ducked into the front of the pickup truck and reached across and leant on the horn. The ugly, unexpected noise echoed across the otherwise quiet island, so loud that for a moment it seemed even to silence the relentless sound of the waves crashing against the grey-stone walls of the small harbour just a couple of hundred metres ahead of them.

‘I’ll make a start,’ Stayt muttered under his breath. He began to walk down the road to meet the gangly bodies staggering the other way, his sword gripped tightly in his hand and raised ready to strike. His stomach was churning with nerves.

‘Does anyone else get the impression he enjoys this?’

Harper mumbled. ‘Sick bastard.’

‘At least he’s trying,’ Spencer snapped. ‘We’re just stood here looking at him.’

Michael watched anxiously as the lone survivor neared the first two bodies. Like an expert swordsman (which he clearly was not) he lifted the blade above his head and swung it round in a long and surprisingly graceful arc, managing somehow to effortlessly sever the head of the nearest cadaver. The body crumbled to the ground instantly, its decapitated head thumping down onto the tarmac next to it like a rotten peach. Another flash of the blade and the second corpse was also felled, its head removed with equal speed but far less precision.

‘I’m behind you, Harry,’ Harper shouted as Stayt marched forward with increasing confidence. Harper jogged down the street after his sword-wielding colleague.

He had visions of the other survivor thinking he was a body approaching from behind and turning round and striking out at him with his blade. Ahead of them six more dark figures now were near, and six more figures were almost instantly hacked down. Harper, Michael and Spencer began to collect up the bloody remains of Stayt’s handiwork which lay scattered around the street. Moving quickly they dragged the corpses over to an area of scrub land on the other side of the road and began to pile them up.

The emaciated remains of Cormansey’s most senior police officer lurched at Stayt from behind a wooden fence, knocking him off-balance momentarily. With one gloved hand he pushed the body away, sending it stumbling backwards. It tripped over the twitching torso of another dead islander and fell to the ground. Seizing the opportunity Stayt lifted his sword and chopped down at the corpse, slicing the top of its head clean off, following through and hitting the ground. He winced as the vibration of the impact of the sword on the hard tarmac travelled the length of his tired arms. Breathless he moved onto the next body and then the next and then the next, driven on by a curious combination of adrenaline and revulsion. Fry and Brigid stood together and watched from a distance, listening as Stayt’s blade whistled and sliced through the cold October air.

‘That’s it, Harry,’ Harper shouted. Suddenly aware that the clumsy movement around him had stopped, Stayt stood still and looked up and down the street. The previously unremarkable grey scene was now awash with blood and gore and fallen corpses. That seemed to be all of them for now. He couldn’t see any other moving bodies.

‘Can’t see any more of them’ Michael shouted to him.

Stayt lowered his sword.

‘So where are all the others?’ he asked, still looking around. ‘This can’t be it, surely. We were expecting about a hundred of them at least.’

Michael walked over to where the other man stood, staring into the shadowy buildings on either side of the street as he moved slowly along.

‘Theoretically they could be all over the island.’

‘You

reckon?’

Michael shook his head.

‘Probably not. I think they’re mostly still round here. I think they’re hiding from us.’

‘Really?’

‘I think they’re keeping out of the way because they heard us arrive and they’ve seen you in action with that bloody sword.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Stayt laughed. ‘Are you serious? They’re not hiding from us.’

Michael continued to stare into one of the nearby buildings.

‘Well some of them are,’ he replied, pointing into a glass-fronted shop little more than five metres away.

‘Look.’

Christ, he thought, Michael was right. Stayt could see bodies gathered inside the building. They seemed almost to be cowering and trying to keep out of sight. The door to the shop was open so they weren’t trapped. What the hell was going on?

‘So what do we do now?’

Michael shrugged his shoulders.

‘Go in and get them out I suppose. Don’t see what else there is we can do.’

The two men stood in silence and looked at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Michael was momentarily distracted by a sudden burst of light and noise which came from the scrubland behind them. Brigid had doused the pile of bodies with fuel and had set light to them. Bright orange flames pierced the grey gloom.

‘That should drag a few more of them out into the open,’

he grumbled.

‘There are only a couple of them in that building over there,’ Stayt said quietly, lifting his sword again and pointing across the road at a butcher’s shop. He could see at least two dark figures shuffling behind the racks and displays still piled high with the remains of massively decayed and rancid, maggot-ridden meat.

‘Let’s just see what happens,’ Michael whispered and he slowly began to walk towards the shop. Stayt followed close behind. As they neared the bodies they began to move. Unexpectedly they seemed to be retreating further back into the shadows.

‘Do you think they’re territorial?’ he asked. Michael shook his head.

‘What, you think that’s what’s left of the butcher and his wife?’ he answered, semiseriously.

‘No,’ Stayt scowled, ‘that’s not what I meant. I just wonder if they’re aware of their surroundings? Are they really just keeping out of our way or are they standing their ground? Are they just sheltering in there?’

‘I don’t think they’re sheltering. Christ, look at them.

They’re dead. They’re not interested in keeping warm or keeping dry. They just don’t want us to…’

He stopped talking. They had reached the doorway of the shop.

‘What’s the matter?’ Stayt asked, immediately concerned. Michael nodded deeper into the shadows.

‘Look,’

he

whispered.

Stayt saw that the two bodies had stopped their clumsy retreat. Now they were standing their ground.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘Like I said yesterday, on their own they might not be much of a threat to us anymore, but it looks like we’re still a threat to them…’

‘Come on, let’s just get rid of them…’

‘Hold on,’ he snapped, grabbing hold of Stayt’s arm.

‘Take it easy. We’ve got them cornered. We don’t know how they’re going to react if we just…’

‘I’ve had enough of this.’

Impatient, nervous and keen to get the job done and the village cleared, Stayt pushed past Michael, lifted his sword and forced his way into the shop. The two bodies shuffled forward slightly and then stopped.

‘Careful,’ Michael insisted.

Stayt wasn’t listening.

‘Let’s just get this over and done with.’

As he marched towards the back of the shop, the nearest of the two bodies launched itself at him. Taken by surprise and unable to react in time, he impaled the creature on his outstretched sword. Oblivious, the creature grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled itself forward, dragging itself further onto the antique weapon and forcing the blade out through the small of its back. Stunned by the speed and the savage intent of the sudden movement of the corpse, Stayt did not fully appreciate what was happening until his right hand and forearm had disappeared deep into the grotesque cadaver’s decaying chest cavity. He began to gag and choke. The feel of cold, putrefying flesh was vile and the smell was overpowering.

‘Get this fucking thing off me,’ he wailed as he pushed the body away with his left hand and struggled to free the right. The creature was beginning to flail its arms around his face, trying to grab hold of him again. The other dark figure pushed its way past the first and rushed towards Michael. As Stayt squirmed free from his attacker and kicked the empty shell back across the room and into the window, Michael began to repeatedly punch the face of the body now attacking him. Each hard contact made the corpse’s head rock back on weak shoulders before instantly rebounding and drooping forward again. Again and again he hit out, and each time the condition of the head deteriorated further. The features gradually became unrecognisable and indistinct as cold, congealed blood, dripping flesh and brittle bone were ground together. Splits in the weak and rotten skin exposed the cheek and jaw bones and Michael hoped that the continuous beating would eventually smash and mangle what remained of the despicable thing’s brain as it rattled round its head. Stayt, having now pushed the first body to the ground and stamped on its head, crushing its skull, grabbed the second figure by the scruff of the neck and pulled it away from Michael.

‘I’ll sort it,’ he said as he lifted the sword and sliced diagonally up across the face of the corpse, from below its left cheek over to just above its right ear.

As quickly as it had begun the sudden frantic activity in the shop ended. Breathing heavily through a combination of their nerves and the unexpected physical exertion, the two men stood side by side and looked down at the gruesome pile of remains at their feet.

‘Answers a few questions for us, doesn’t it?’ Michael gasped, panting.

‘Does

it?’

‘Think so,’ he replied. ‘For one thing, it proves they’re not just going to give up and roll over. Those two went for us with as much force as ever. Difference was they had more about them. They had more control than usual. They were keeping out of our way then we took away their options and backed them into a corner. It was attack us or be attacked.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Only explanation I can think of.’

‘So are we going to have to go through this every time we face them now?’

‘Probably.’

‘We should tell the others.’

Stayt turned and ran out of the shop, leaving Michael behind continuing to stare into the bloody mess on the floor. He leant down, grabbed as many body parts as he could carry, and then dragged them out onto the street.

31

By mid-afternoon a heavy mist had again descended across Cormansey, limiting visibility. Working their way building by building through the dark shadows of Danvers Lye, the nine survivors had made good progress with their impromptu cull. The group had naturally divided themselves into three threes. Two of the trios had concentrated on emptying buildings whilst the third, with Brigid taking charge, followed behind and cleared the bodies, picking them up from where they had been dumped unceremoniously in the street and driving them back in the truck to the roaring fire still burning at the entrance to the village.

Michael, Stayt and Peter Guest had reached one of the larger and more modern buildings three-quarters of the way along the otherwise relatively quaint and traditional street.

An unusual but practical combination of village stores, post office, gift shop, hardware store and supermarket, the shop had almost certainly been one of the focal points of the island’s small community before it had been devastated and torn apart. And just before nine o’clock on the first morning of the disaster some eight weeks ago the shop had clearly been a busy place. Michael stood and leant against the cold glass and peered into the gloomy building. He could see numerous corpses on the ground. He could see several others moving nearby.