Savage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel (26 page)

L
etting the strangers take his boat had
been a grave mistake.  At first, being at the pier was a wonderful
experience.  Hugo had leant besides the railing and watched as his
daughters played chase with an excitable Houdini.  It was just the way
things were meant to be, and for a while it felt like the right decision, but
during that time the dead had continued lining up at the gate.  Now there
were dozens and dozens of them, moaning and rattling at the bars.
I can
already see the gate weakening.  Every hour its hinges loosen more. 

The people still at the pier – Bob, Samantha,
and Jim – were worried also; he could see it in their faces.  When
night had arrived, the dead seemed to become even more menacing.  They
became a shifting, moaning shadow – a single entity rather than a
collection of individual bodies.

“We can’t wait for the others,” said Samantha. 
“We’re going to have to gather whatever supplies we can and climb down the side
of the pier to the beach.”

“The dead are on the beach, too,” said old man
Bob.  “A dozen of them appeared a couple hours ago.”

“We can deal with them,” Samantha said.  “But we
have no hope against the hundreds in the village.  We have to go soon.”

Hugo glanced at his daughters, playing at the side of
the pier.  Both of them fussed at Houdini and acted as though all was
fine, but he knew better – he was their father.  The girls were
frightened, but it was they who insisted coming aboard the pier.  They
would not voice their discontent now. 
My girls are proud and brave.

“We’re screwed,” Jimmy fretted.  “We’re like hamsters
up a butthole.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Samantha.  “We just have to
be careful.”

“We go down to the beach in pitch blackness, the dead
will be on us before we take two steps,” moaned Bob.

“The moon is full.  We have enough light to see
by.”

Hugo looked down at the beach and saw the shadows
moving beneath him.  Just ten feet below his feet was a death pit, full of
clawing hands and biting teeth.  The only thing protecting them all from
death was a single iron gate. 

“The tide is in, the beach is too narrow to make it
through the dead,” Jimmy complained.  “We’ll be like a turd in a u-bend.”

Samantha groaned.  She was becoming
frustrated.  “Another couple hours and the tide will go out again. 
We need to gather our things and be ready to go then.  We can’t stay
here.  You can all see that.”

The gate seemed to creak then as a reminder.  The
dead weighed down on it like a tide of sand.  Hugo listened to their moans
and screeches and wondered how much longer until the gate toppled completely.

“Wait!” Jimmy said.  He tilted his head. 
“What’s that noise?”

Everyone was quiet.

The moaning and screeching continued.

Hugo frowned. 
Do the dead make screeching
sounds?  I thought they just moaned.

Samantha’s hand went to her mouth.  “Oh
God!  I hear screeching.  There’s an infected person in the village.”

The screeching got louder.  It was coming in
their direction.  Hugo had heard tales of the infected, had even seen a
few on his panicked retreat out of France, but he’d been at sea so long that
they’d faded into imaginary monsters.  “What are the infected?” he asked,
almost not wanting to know.

Old man Bob looked positively sick.  He shook his
head as he spoke and didn’t blink at all.  “A person gets infected when
they get bitten by a dead man or another infected.  They get sick –
real sick – before slipping into a sort of coma.  Once they get back
up, though, they’re like wild animals – unstoppable killing machines. 
We call them
sprinters
.  They come at you like something straight
out of Hell.  We haven’t seen any for almost a year now.  They all
died off and turned into zombies – the infection kills them after a
while, you see.  We can handle the dead, Hugo, but the sprinters are a whole
different type of badger.”

Hugo looked at his daughters.  He hoped they were
not listening.  “What do we do now?  About the…
badger
?”

“We arm up,” said Samantha, already marching
away.  “And we pray.”

Hugo huffed.  The last thing he would do was
pray, but arming up he could do.  Too long had he floated around in the
sea, relying on the protection of others to keep his daughters
safe.
  Now it was time to prove he could look after
them on his own.  If something bad was coming, then it was going to have
to get though him. 
And over my dead body.

The screeching continued endlessly, getting closer and
closer.  Hugo thanked Samantha for a carbon steel shovel and gave it a few
practise swings.  It cut through the air nicely.  The garden tool was
light but strong, sufficient to smash in a skull or two.

“What is going on,
papa
?” Sophie asked. 
“I hear someone out there screaming.”

Hugo gave her a quick hug.  Daphne came over and
got one too.  “It is not a person,” he told them.  “It is a monster
and your
papa
is going to take care of it.  The world that has been
left to you is a dangerous place, my darlings, but if I have any hope of seeing
you grow up I must stop hiding it from you.  We must fight and protect one
another.  The times ahead will be hard and sometimes you will want to cry,
but we will face it together and we will be okay.”

“I’m afraid,” said Daphne, hugging her older
sister.  “But I will be brave.  I won’t let you down, dad.”

Hugo smiled at the English word
.
  Letting
go of
papa
was a sign that his daughter was finally leaving her old life
behind.

“I won’t let you down either,” said Sophie.  “I
will do whatever I have to do to look after you and Daphne.”

Hugo patted her on the head.  “We are glad to
have you watching over us, Sophie.  Now, both of you go get something to
protect yourselves with and find someplace to hide.”

His two girls
did
as they
were told, obedient, as he’d raised them to be.  A twinge of pride took a
hold of Hugo and for a moment the anxious butterflies in his belly flapped
away.  They soon flew back, though, because the screeching was coming from
right up at the gate.

Hugo hurried after the others to the front of the
pier.  The twisted gate that met him there was almost enough to make him
turn the other way.  Hundreds of dead men and women filled the village and
all of them were trying to get inside the pier.  At the front of the mob,
ramming his entire body against the metal bars was an infected person –
a
sprinter
.

The young man had a thick black beard and shaggy hair
– the look of a long-term survivor.  Under the moonlight, his
bulging eyes seemed to glow red and his gnashing teeth gleaned silver. 
The bulbous winter jacket he wore made him look twice as big as his skinny body
likely was underneath.  For some reason he smelt of rotten fish.  It
was so overpowering that even the stench of death could not overcome it.

Samantha charged forward and jabbed through the
railings of the gate with what looked like a steel litter spike.  She
missed the infected man’s head but ended up burying the tip in his
shoulder.  She yanked it back and stabbed again.  This time, the
infected man seized the litter spike and tore it out of her hands.  The sudden
yank made Samantha stumble forward against the gate.  Immediately the dead
men and women set upon her, clawing at her through the bars.  She fought
hard and desperately, trying to drag herself away from the gate, but a dead
postman had a hold of her bracelets.  She was hooked like a duck at the
fair.  An old lady took a big hungry bite out of her wrist.

Samantha screamed and managed to yank her arm back
through the bars, but it was too late.  She fell to deck, clutching her
wrist and sobbing.  Blood poured down her arm and glistened. 

The sprinter threw
himself
against
the gate harder, impassioned by the blood.

Bob and Jimmy went and dragged Samantha to her
feet.  They shook her by her shoulders and tried to get her to focus, but
she would not.  Great, wracking sobs seized her and would not let
go.  Eventually, between breaths she managed to say, “I’m screwed. 
I’m…I’m fucking screwed.”

“You can die like a sobbing wench,” said old man
Bob.  “Or you can snap out of it,
duc
, and help those of us who
still have a chance.”

Samantha fought to control herself, but eventually
nodded.  Her sobbing petered out and stopped.  “Okay…I…I’m
okay.  I’m okay.”

The hinges of the gate whined and creaked.  Then
the entire thing moved by almost a metre.  The bars slanted towards them.

“The gate is falling,” said Jimmy.  “We have to
get out of here right now.  Hugo, get your girls.  We’re heading for
the beach.”

Hugo got going immediately, but before he even made it
halfway down the deck, Samantha yelled out a warning.  He span around.
 The infected man had leapt the slanting gate and made it over onto the
deck.  The animal was inside the cage and sprinting toward Hugo. 
Merde
!

Hugo raised his shovel and prepared to meet his
attacker, but was horrified when the sprinter stopped halfway and turned
sideways.  Sophie and Daphne huddled in the nearby doorway of an ice cream
shop.  The infected man had seen them.

“Hey, Mr Beard, over here.”  Hugo waved his arms
and rushed towards the infected man, shouting and whistling, trying to draw
attention away from his daughters.  But it was no good.  His
daughters cowered and cried in the doorway and the infected man was transfixed
on them. 
Please God, no.  Do not let him eat my daughters.

Houdini appeared out of nowhere.  The little dog
puffed up in front of the infected man and started barking in a tone Hugo had
not heard before.  The infected man looked down at Houdini with
interest.  Hugo’s heart skipped a beat. 
Good job, Houdini. 
You are protecting your girls, just like we used to talk about.

But the sprinter was quickly losing interest in the
dog.  It was Sophie and Daphne he was interested in.  As he turned
his attention back towards Hugo’s daughters, Houdini took it to the next
level.  The tiny
papillon
clamped his jaws down
on the sprinter’s ankle and began tugging on it like a rawhide bone.  It
was enough of a distraction to keep Daphne and Sophie safe for another ten
seconds.

Hugo charged at the sprinter and swung for the cheap
seats.  The sharp edge of his shovel connected with the infected man’s
temple and sent him tumbling sideways, but, somehow, the blow did not fell the
man.  He snarled and spat, then lunged through the air at Hugo like a
hissing adder.

There was no time for Hugo to bring the spade around
again, so the sprinter barrelled into him and sent him sprawling onto his
back.  Hugo spluttered as the wind escaped him.  The spade went
rolling across the deck. 
I am done for.
  He grabbed at the
infected man’s chin, yanking his bushy black beard and trying to keep the
snapping jaws away, but it was like wrestling an alligator.  Houdini snapped
and barked, but was no longer able to cause a distraction.  The dead man
was unwaveringly focused on ripping Hugo apart. 
I can’t fight him much
longer.  He is too strong…too wild.

But then the sprinter tumbled away from Hugo. 

Hugo rolled onto his chest and thrust himself back up
onto his feet as quickly as his weary bones would let him.  Samantha had
grabbed the infected man from behind and was wrestling him to the ground. 
He bit and tore at her arms and wrists as she fought to keep him
restrained.  “Get the spade,” she screamed.  The pain was obvious in
her voice.  “Get the spade and end this.”

Hugo scurried over to where the spade had fallen and
snatched it up.  He took a run-up and swung the tool like a golf
club.  The blade struck the infected man in the centre of the face. 
Fresh blood –
infected
blood – exploded onto the deck and
made Hugo shy away.  The infected man continued to thrash and writhe in
Samantha’s arms, not yet beaten.  Hugo lifted the shovel again and let out
the scream of a caveman.  He thrust the blade down at the sick man’s neck,
opening up his throat and lifting his chin.  Blood gargled from the ragged
gash.  Hugo placed his foot on the back of the shovel and pushed with all
his might. 

The sprinter’s head sprang from his shoulders and
rolled across the decking.  Hugo threw the shovel down onto the deck and
tried not to vomit.

Samantha collapsed onto her back, panting.  She
stared up at the stars and blinked.  “Now me,” she said calmly.

Hugo frowned.  “What?”

Samantha kept her head flat against the deck, exposing
the pale flesh of her neck.  “I’m infected,” she said, “and I don’t have
long left.   You need to make sure I don’t get back up.”

Hugo shook his head.  “No.  I cannot.”

“Do it.  If you have any hope of keeping those
daughters of yours safe you will do what needs to be done.  Put the shovel
against my throat and take my fucking head off.  I’m going to be just like
that guy in a few minutes.  You need to deal with me now.”