The Last Plague (28 page)

     “Are you okay?” Frank said.

     “Yeah. I
think
.”

     “You shouldn’t have done that. You pissed it off.”

     Ralph offered a broken grin.

     Florence crawled towards them.

     “You okay?” Frank asked her.

     She nodded, dazed but unhurt.

     “Where’re Magnus and Joel?” asked Ralph.

     “Over here.” Magnus was crouching over Joel, who was rubbing his head and moaning. Magnus’s forehead was cut, weeping a lazy trickle of blood. He wiped it away before it reached his eyes.

     “Are you okay?” said Frank. “Is Joel okay?”

     “Yeah, I’m fine,” said Magnus.

     “Same here,” said Joel.

     “Where’s that little bastard creature?” said Ralph.

     “Hopefully it’s dead,” said Magnus.

     The large beast was still outside; Frank could hear its insect legs skittering upon the ground. There were screams from the direction of the track. He looked back towards the track. Their carriage had been thrown over twenty yards. The beast had upturned the rest of the train and was picking through the remains. One of its tendrils plucked a crying man from a torn carriage and sucked him into its gaping mouth. Hundreds of people were running in every direction, most of them taken down by the infected. Others were fighting back, protecting their families. A group of men and women had formed a circle around some children. They were quickly overwhelmed by the infected and then the children were screaming. Groups of refugees were fleeing down the track, away from the train. He saw a young boy pinned to the ground by an infected woman; her arms were glistening pincers that impaled him through the chest. Then she bent down and began to strip the meat from his face with her ragged hole of a mouth.

     Shadows gathered outside the upturned carriage. Footfalls and mewling sounds and strangled wails. Infected people appeared at the shattered windows, reaching inside and dragging outside anybody at the edges of the carriage. One man was pulled outside by a sinewy, hollowed-eyed woman. She went to work with her teeth and hands. The man screamed until she removed his throat with her snapping mouth.

     Other refugees climbed out of the train and ran.

     “Stay away from the windows,” Ralph said.

     “It won’t matter,” said Magnus. “They’ll get us.” 

     “We’re surrounded,” Joel muttered. “We’re trapped.”

     Frank kept Florence close to him.

     Ralph was searching around him. “Where’s the flare gun?”

     “It’s gone,” said Frank.

     “We’re fucked,” Magnus said.

     “Shut up,” said Ralph. “Pull yourself together.”

     Frank looked through the jagged window frame. He pointed towards the trees the infected had poured from earlier.

     “Our only chance is to get to those trees.”

     “What?” said Magnus. “The trees the infected came from?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Fucking hell.”

     “I’m scared,” said Florence.

     “I know,” said Frank. “We’ll be okay. You have to be brave.”

     “If we’re going to leave,” said Ralph. “Then we should probably go now, before more infected arrive.”

     Frank looked at Ralph and the others. “Ready?”

     “No worries,” said Ralph.

     Frank turned to the girl. “Are you ready?”

     “Yes.”

     “Be brave.”

     “Okay.”

     They prepared themselves to leave the carriage. Magnus inhaled deeply then exhaled through his mouth. Ralph stared outside. Joel breathed through his nose. Frank held Florence’s hand.

     Then Magnus was screaming.

     Frank turned. The newborn was on Magnus’s back, one of its sharp limbs spearing his shoulder. The creature shrieked; its body was twisted and bleeding and most of its legs were broken. Its mouth opened, jaws connected by glistening strands of fluid, and it pulled its head back, ready to bite the back of Magnus’s neck.

     Magnus fell onto his stomach, the creature part of him.

     Ralph rushed over and kicked at the newborn. The leg embedded within Magnus snapped. Magnus screamed. The newborn fell away, screeching. Ralph dragged Magnus away from the broken creature as it began crawling towards him on twisted legs.

     It was a ruined, leaking thing, and it almost seemed pathetic.

     The newborn shrieked.

     Ralph stamped on the creature’s back until it collapsed, pale liquid bleeding from its wounds. He pushed away its mangled form with his foot. 

     Magnus was crying, his face creased and sweating. “Get it out of me!”

     Ralph picked up a jacket and, covering his right hand with it, used it as a protective sheath as he grabbed the snapped leg hanging from Magnus’s shoulder.

     “Ready, mate?”

     Magnus nodded. “Do it.”

     Ralph pulled. Magnus screamed. The limb grinded against bone and scraped flesh then slipped free from his body, dripping his blood, and other fluids not his own. Ralph threw it and the jacket away.

     Magnus’s eyes fluttered and his mouth moved in a silent groan.

     Ralph and Joel held him steady as he passed out.

     Frank peered out from the carriage; panic and confusion greeted him. Screams filled the air. Cries for mercy. Utter chaos. He felt sick. The infected were feeding on the people they’d dragged outside. They were oblivious to everything else so total was their hunger. They stripped and flayed bodies. Ripped limbs from their sockets. Removed tongues from mouths and clutched them like trophies. A squirming woman, trying desperately to escape from their clutches, was torn into five different parts.

     An infected man loped past with a dripping scalp clutched in his hand.

     “Let’s go,” Frank said.

     They crouched as they stepped outside and formed a tight huddle. Ralph and Joel grimaced as they hefted Magnus’s dead weight. Frank scanned the immediate area. Packs of infected feasted on the downed refugees. Frank moved and the others behind him followed. His heart wanted to burst from his chest. He held Florence’s hand, gripped it tight as he carried her. She was breathing into his ear, quick and scared. They moved amongst the slaughter and the panic, dodging other refugees and stepping over dead bodies.

     The beast screamed behind them.

     Frank stared across the field to the trees. He would get Florence to safety. They would make it to the trees. He would not fail.

     He would not let them fail.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Some of the surviving refugees regrouped in the woods and walked westwards. They moved in a ragged, stumbling mass. Frank guessed there were approximately thirty people here. He wondered how many others had escaped. Not many, probably.

     The light was fading. The beast was screaming far behind them. The survivors staggered deeper into the woods. Frank glanced over his shoulder, checking the infected weren’t pursuing them. None of them had any weapons. If the infected emerged from the darkness and attacked, there would be no stopping them.

     Many of the refugees were sobbing, heads bowed. How many had lost family back there? Wives and husbands? Children? He looked at Florence and thought he could never have left her behind.

     Magnus was hanging limply from Ralph and Joel’s arms. His shoulder had stopped bleeding.

     “He’s starting to get heavy,” said Joel.

     Ralph grimaced. “We need to find somewhere to stay the night.”

     “Agreed,” said Frank. He looked at the other refugees. “But we might have competition for any shelter we find.”

     “We should go our own way,” said Ralph. “The infected will be attracted to any large crowds. Better off on our own.”

     “What about safety in numbers?” asked Joel.

     “Like herd animals?” Ralph shot him a mocking glare.

     “Sort of.”

     “Herd animals get hunted.”

     “Ralph’s got a point,” said Frank. “Magnus needs to rest for the night. He won’t be going much further.”

     They broke away from the group. None of the other refugees said anything or tried to convince them to stay.

     An hour later they found an old barn in one of the fields outside the woods. They were alone, for now. Magnus had come to. He was groggy and quiet; face drained of colour. No sign of serious injury. They would have to watch for concussion.

     The barn was a large construction. Timber battered by the elements. Old wood, stained dark. An arched roof. Big double-doors, closed but unlocked.

     “There might be something nasty inside,” said Joel.

     Frank took Magnus’s cigarette lighter. He opened the doors. The creak of rusted hinges. He stopped and waited. The others hung back behind him.

     He flicked on the lighter and stuck his head inside the barn. Darkness stared back at him then retreated a little, begrudgingly, when he stepped inside with the flickering flame.

     A hard dirt floor. Strands of dried straw around his feet. A smell of desiccation and mice droppings. A ladder led to another floor above him.

     “Is it okay?” Joel asked from outside.

     “I think so.” Frank climbed the ladder, keeping hold of the lighter between two fingers and hoping any sudden breeze drifting through the worn walls wouldn’t snuff it out. He didn’t want to be alone in the dark.

     The next floor was empty and silent.

     Frank looked down the ladder, where the others had gathered on the ground floor. “It’s not a Premier Inn, but it’ll do.”

* * *

Night fell as the sound of distant gunfire drifted around the countryside, a reminder of the war being fought. They rested on the first floor of the barn, huddled together to keep warm, hoping there would be no visitors tonight.

     They slept.

     Magnus awoke during the night. He was cold. There were sounds coming from outside.

     Ralph was sitting in the corner, watching him. Magnus said nothing and crept slowly to the window. The glass was cloudy with smudged dirt and encrusted with mould.

     The night was cleaved by moonlight.

     The infected were outside. His body went rigid. The wound in his shoulder throbbed with its own heartbeat. Heat rose from his skin despite the cold.

     Waves of men and women were passing through the field. The infected hissed and gibbered and mewled. Nightmare sounds.

     His shoulder felt like it was burning. He clenched his teeth and bit down on his tongue, drawing blood. He tasted himself. He closed his eyes and saw flashes of memory: sunny days and sandy beaches; smiling children; a pair of dogs running around a garden as a football was kicked between a father and son; a bride and groom on their wedding day; a girl losing her virginity to her overzealous boyfriend; a school Nativity play; a woman giving birth in a delivery room.

     These were not his memories.

     There were voices inside his head. A mad cacophony of screaming, wailing and begging. Tortured voices. A deep, deep coldness at the heart of them. He caught fragments of names, places, and other memories. He heard babies crying. Felt the tears of proud parents and grieving widows. The sadness of lost pets and shattered dreams.

     The infected remembered who they were.

     But beyond that was a hunger, a need, a craving. The feel of flesh beneath his fingers. The smell of steam rising from warm bodies in the cold air.

     Magnus opened his eyes. He was crying. He stood by the window and watched them until the last ones had drifted past and the field was empty. He wondered where they were going and if they had known he was watching them. He would be joining them soon, if his theory was correct. The others knew it as well; that’s why Ralph was keeping watch over him.

     The plague was in his blood.

     He went back to where he’d been sleeping.

     Ralph was still watching him.

CHAPTER SIXTY

They found a car as they entered the village of Milborne Port the next day; a Honda Civic of no use to the dead man lying next to it with his throat torn out.

     Ralph removed the parcel shelf from the car and made Magnus sit in the boot, away from everyone else. Quarantine, Ralph called it, and said that if the plague was airborne it would lessen the chance of Magnus infecting the others. Magnus didn’t argue. No one argued. He sat in the boot without complaint.

     Frank volunteered to drive. They left the village. They passed through Sherborne; apart from scavenging birds, it was deserted. The dual carriageway to Yeovil was littered with crashed cars. Frank guided the Civic slowly around them, watching the road. An infected woman with a snapping mouth for a face bolted out from one pile-up and launched herself at their car. Her right arm was a flowering mass of urchin-like spikes. Frank steered away from her, resisting the temptation to run her down.

     They reached Yeovil not long after.

     A car was burning. Two bodies next to it, limbs splayed, faces torn to red ruin, insides scooped out, half-eaten and left to dry on the tarmac. There was blood smeared on the walls of houses. Bodies in gardens, lying in the grass and on flowerbeds. A dead woman on a set of swings. Lone infected looked out from the windows, screaming silently. A man was sitting in a car, staring at his lap. He was covered in blood and he was grinning. As Frank drove past, the man looked up quickly and laughed. His eyes were gone.

     Some of the roads were blocked, so they had to reverse and find other roads leading to housing estates and side-streets. Kebab shops and Chinese takeaways. Blocks of flats loomed above the streets. There were people still alive in the town. Some of them watched from their windows, waving for help, uninfected and clean and doomed.