Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (31 page)

The town centre means nothing. Bunting lies draped and broken from a bandstand in the centre made from scaffold poles and planks that speak of a festival or town fete taking place when the outbreak hit. She spots a body lying bobbing face down in the water with the back of the head blown apart and knows instantly without question that was from the gunshot she heard. This is where the big man shouted. He shouted at this infected before they shot him.
Next town. There are no things here for us to kill.
Why say that? Why do that? Why tell it like they were goading or taunting.

The next town. Which way is that? She stares the way the vehicle went with that urge growing to become a thing that cannot be denied. She bites her lip, trying to resist and keep to her plan. Walk and sleep. Be with Paco and nothing else but that isn’t right. Not right at all.

‘Come on,’ she tells herself they can go slowly and see what happens. Maybe find the next town, maybe see what they’re doing. It goes against every instinct she has but she does it anyway. She has to.

Thirty

They go fast. Days of fresh air and constant walking seem to have given her energy and strength she never knew she had. Stamina too that remains high despite the heat. She’s learnt to drink often and replace fluids lost from sweating. They walk side by side, sharing a bottle that gets passed back and forth to slurp and guzzle. Water is poured over faces to refresh skin but they keep on and it’s as though he feels the same pressure in him to keep going. Like they have purpose and objective again. She keeps glancing at Paco, seeing the determination in his eyes and how human he now looks.

An hour of solid tread on a main road flooded on both sides with standing water dazzling with reflection. She wishes she had sunglasses but squints and suffers the headache instead.

They go uphill on a long road rising with the land to a crest that heralds the descent down to the next town. She breathes hard, sweating heavily but going on to try and catch up to something that means nothing to her. Gunshots again. Distinct and sustained single shots then a few seconds later automatic fire drifts from the town. The staccato drum like noise drifting on thermals of hot air rising with the moisture heavy air. She speeds up, walking briskly then into a jog with the bag bouncing on her back. They’re in the town ahead of them that looks like something from the cover of a fantasy novel. A town built in a lake of standing water that glistens and gleams. A flood plain wide and far that has filled with rain water but from that place comes those gunshots so loud and clear. She runs now. Running hard for the first time in her life to be near other people, not just people but people with guns. Paco stays at her side. His long legs covering the ground with ease. She knows he can run two or three times her speed but he doesn’t. He stays at her side as watchful as ever. Always watching. Always scanning.

It takes too long. She can’t run fast enough from the rural to the urban to navigate the streets to get closer as the guns end and once again she hears diesel engines starting, driving and fading away.

Still she runs. Still she goes to feed an urge she has no understanding of. When they reach the centre they stop and gasp while seeing the results of a massacre. Hundreds of bodies lay slain across a wide plaza. Hundreds of infected shot down. In a sight of awesome power that makes the rumours true. Bullet casings litter the floor in a solid line showing where the shooters were standing. She can even see the distance between them that speak of uniform spacing and discipline held as they were faced by hundreds charging at them. She sees bite marks in necks too. The same injuries that Paco had but worse. Throats ripped out completely with gaping holes left. Arrows shafts stuck in corpses here and there. The whole sight should be sickening and it is but the weird sensation of a thrill at her own kind fighting back is the greater of the two emotions. She glares hard without realising she does. She breathes hard while trying to understand why she feels like this. What did Becky call them? The Living Army or something. Stupid name. It’s a stupid name for a bunch of stupid people that think by shooting a couple of hundred they are fighting back. She finds his hand to hold, seeking comfort in his physical size in this place of death. He takes her hand. His own heart thudding with images and emotions still surging to flit as they try and take root in a mind that is not his own. She feels his fingers tighten and gains the true sense of his awesome strength. He could crush her hand with ease.

‘You okay?’ She asks, looking from his hand up to his face. He looks down. His eyes blazing with intelligence that has yet to make the full connection. She looks round, at the bullets, at the arrows, at the throats bitten away then back at him. His red eyes stay on hers. ‘We’ll find them,’ she says without knowing she was going to say it but she means it. She means it more than anything in her life before. ‘We will,’ she reaches up to kiss his cheek, her finger tips brushing softly down his face. His own hands reach her face, cupping to hold in a motion that makes her freeze in surprise. Like he wants to speak, like he’s trying to find something but that confusion comes back, pain too. ‘Hey, we’ll be okay…I promise…come on, we’ll keep going.’ She pecks his lips. An act done from instinct but to show she means what she says. They’ve been sharing a bottle all morning and sharing lives for days. It’s safe. She knows it is but the feeling that comes is still really very nice. She smiles at him, surprised at herself. He smiles back. His whole bearing lighting up at the fleeting touch. ‘Feeling fit?’ She asks with a laugh.

On they go. Following the main road out of town at a pace that would bring grimaces to the faces of most soldiers.

Thirty One

The bag irritates her. The way it bounces and rubs her shoulders. She finds the chest and waist straps that are buckled and cinched tight. She drinks water on the move. Passing the bottle to Paco who drinks on the move.

Southern England has become a jungle with a humidity off the chart that makes every pore of her body leak water. The sheer volume of rain that came down now steams to go back up. It’s stifling. She gasps for air. Her face drips. Her hair plastered to her scalp but they push on to keep going.

She woke this morning with a plan to do sod all. She woke to a faith that neither she nor Paco had any connection to anything else in the world. What everyone else was doing had no relevance to her. They were going to walk leisurely. Sleep and wake to a new view each morning. That was the plan and it was a good plan and had no reason to change, but changed it has and all because she heard a voice shouting a name and an army truck driving past.

The inner voice that tells her to hide and run away screams to be heard but gets pushed further back to be ignored for the first time in her life. Paco is connected to them. She can see it in him. She can feel it in herself. A pressure that grows and refuses to let her stop and rest. This is too slow. She wants to take a car and drive but is too fearful of missing something. She wouldn’t be able to hear inside a car. She’d miss the small details and something tells her that’s important.

Uphill again. A long slogging bastard incline that makes her grit her teeth and push on past hedgerows bursting with life. Her airways widen to draw more air. Her sense of smell comes stronger. The town was fetid and stank of dirty water and decay but the countryside is clean with fragrance of earth, flowers and grass. It’s intoxicating and heady. More water is taken in. More fluids are sweated out. Muscles start to thrum but her pace quickens with an energy flowing that seems to bring new strength. Paco doesn’t falter but stays at her side. His eyes no longer just fixed on her but staring round, ahead and then to her. His eyes show emotion but the confusion within his gaze brings a sadness that makes her go faster still.

The top of the hill is gained with a small sense of victory and a wry glance back to the see the long lane stretching down and away. Movement in her peripheral vision. She stops to stare, seeing figures in the distance on the top of another hill across the valley running in the same direction. Thick lines of people moving with uniformity and pace that speaks of infected. They’re too far away to see details but she knows what they are and they’re going in the same direction in response to the urge she is feeling. They’re being pulled but to what? Why? So many of them too. Hundreds. She eyes the trailing line trying to guess the numbers but gives up with shake of her head.

‘Water,’ she says, handing him the bottle. He turns from the view to take the bottle that gets pressed to his lips in a way a man would do. She watches him then back across the valley to the long lines. None of this is her business. Run. Hide. Go the other direction. ‘Had enough?’ She asks when he hands the bottle back. He doesn’t reply but his lips twitch to form to speak but no sound comes. She holds perfectly still, fearful of causing any distraction. His eyes focus on hers, narrowing with emotion that plays across his features then it’s gone. Fading as quickly as it came to be replaced by hurt and vulnerability. She smiles at him, her eyes forever glued to his. Her hand on his arm, touching gently that soothes the troubled expression. For the first time since she met him he breaks the eye contact first to turn and stare across the valley to the hill on the far side. She blinks, stepping back with the realisation that there are bigger things happening than her right now. She is not the centre of the universe. This world is not revolving around her. Shame creeps up her cheeks. Shame that she kept him to herself to fix her own paltry issues.

‘Come on,’ she sets off to speed down the hill in parallel to an army of infected running the same direction.

They disappear from sight within a few minutes. The hedgerows obscuring the view until she can no longer see them anywhere. They veered off another direction but she can’t tell where or why. She keeps on the lane that feeds to a main road that runs straight. She keeps her eyes open and her head up, watching the sides and the rear but seeing nothing other than puddles, lakes, exposed roads and surfaces with fields, houses and the objects of life left as they were.

Late morning and they find it. A twee village where every available roof has been thatched. Houses, tea gardens, the bus shelter, alcoves, porches and even a shed. With cheeks flushed bright red they walk down the main road seeing bodies ahead that lie dead from being shot down. Bullet casings lie glinting. Doors smashed in show entry gained to shops but no sign or noise of anyone or anything. The bodies are fewer in number than she expected too and all old or weak looking. They saw hundreds on the other hill but there’s less than twenty here. She bends over to rest her hands on her knees, breathing hard and deep with sweat dripping from the strands of hair hanging down.

They were here. In this town. She stands straight to draw a deep lungful of air and catches the scent of cigarettes hanging in the air. She sniffs again, turning and walking to find trace of the smell. It gets stronger nearer a tea gardens set to one side of the road. A once lush garden of flowers and borders with chairs and tables laid out for patrons to enjoy cream teas.

She follows her nose to a veranda adjacent to the building. Several tables pushed together. Empty cans of drink litter the table. Cigarettes butts crushed on the floor. Snack bar wrappers and signs of recent life. That thrill comes on again. The sensation at knowing there are people doing something. They came here, killed the things then stopped for a break. She imagines them sitting round talking and planning. The big man with the bald head and the others she saw in the front of the vehicles. She counts a dozen chairs. Twelve of them. Her eyes absorb tiny details as though trying to learn and understand. The inner voice screams loud at that second. Her own base instinct asserting itself to get the hell out and go the other way. None of this is her business. If twelve idiots want to fight back then let them. She can’t fight. She can’t do anything other than find good hiding places. Paco can though. Paco can fight. No. People are bad. Paco can fight. The things can’t hurt him. Paco is connected to them.

She turns away to carry the argument in her mind then spots the water bucket on the ground in the shadow of the building. A water bowl for a dog. It’s obvious. They have to go on. How far behind them are they? This could be hours old. Which way? To where? For what? Run away and hide. They need a car.

They get back into the main road and start walking up past the bodies. The businesses are here but there will be houses nearby with cars parked outside. Find a car. Catch them up. See what happens. A plan without a plan that sends a wave of fresh nervous fear that has to be pushed back.

A whimper sounds out. A rushed panicked noise coming from somewhere on the left. She spins round, searching for the source as the sound of running feet reaches her ears. Fast footsteps gaining closer. Paco tenses, his fists clenching as he steps ahead at the same second as a figure bursts from the leafy entrance to a footpath to run helter skelter into the road. Arms and legs flailing everywhere. Wild and uncoordinated. The man glances over his shoulder, panic on his face. Paco reaches the entrance as the first infected comes barrelling out to be smashed down by the momentum Paco carried forward. Others come. More that charge out to be swatted and battered aside in an explosion of violence so unexpected in the stillness of the village. Paco rages. Grabbing a woman off her feet so her can snap her neck and use her already dead body to batter two more down.

‘HERE,’ Heather calls to the man tripping and staggering at the awful sight behind him. He tries to watch the attack, see Heather and look ahead at the same time with a myriad of movements that send him sprawling out. The second he hits the floor he tries crawling. Whimpering and crying with a keening noise. She starts running towards him, snatching a view of Paco landing a hard fist into a face that seems to explode in a shower of blood from a busted nose.

‘Wait,’ she grunts, grabbing his shoulder to heave him up. He screams out, blind to her but only seeing infected and believing they’re grabbing him. She grips harder, forcing him up onto his feet. ‘Move,’ she propels him towards a garden wall, looking round to see Paco stamping down on a neck that snaps like a dry twig. He lashes out at another, grabbing a fistful of hair to wrench the beast of its feet and back to be grabbed, hefted, snapped and dropped with a grunt of exertion. ‘Wait here,’ Heather pushes into him, using her body to hold him still while watching Paco finish the last one off by smashing his head into a metal railing so hard she sees teeth flying across the road. ‘Hang on,’ she says, pushing into the man. ‘Almost done…Paco, that one’s moving…’ the big guy turns to see her pointing and sets off towards the crawler, bringing a hard foot down onto an elbow that breaks and crushes underfoot. His next step lifts high to drop down to stamp and it’s done. Finished. She checks each body, flicking her eyes from one to the next as Paco moves from kill to kill. ‘Okay, it’s over. You okay? Come on, stand up. Stand up…take a breath…slowly, breathe slowly.’

The man cries hard, snotting over his chin and mouth with tears streaming from his eyes as he hyperventilates with fear. His eyes strobe wildly, still unseeing. Gripped by panic and terror.

She drops the bag to get a fresh bottle of water that she drinks from first. ‘Paco,’ she calls his name, holding the bottle out. He walks over, his whole manner charged and hard. She gets another bottle, pushes the man into the wall gently and tells him to take a sip. He tries gulping but she pulls the bottle away. ‘Slowly…sip…’ he nods deep and fast, still gasping for breath. She guides him to sip, pulling the bottle back. He starts to settle with focus coming back into his eyes and manner. His movements not so rushed and wild. He takes another drink, deeper this time to get more down. She watches, waiting for him to compose himself. Finally he comes back to a person in control of his own mind and looks over to the corpses and up to Paco standing behind Heather. His face changes, his features morphing with fear and something else. ‘Heather…’ he says, blurting her name out as he looks at her.

‘Eh?’

‘Heather,’ he nods as though to himself. ‘It’s you…I…in the…’

‘Slow down,’ she says staring hard at a face she has never seen before. ‘Who are you?’

‘Pete…I er…in the street yeah? I…when you….fuck me he killed them all.’

‘Pete? What street?’ she asks.

He gulps more water then gasps a few times to frown and look round, ‘it was raining, remember?’

‘What? Who are you? When…oh…oh the rain. With Becky?’

‘Yeah yeah…you ran off,’ he nods again, he keeps nodding with a mind whirling to process everything.

‘But…you were going south.’

‘This is south, I mean…this was…the way we…it is south.’

‘Subi! Where are they?’

‘Oh fuck,’ he whispers. ‘It was bad…they…so many of them and…’

‘Pete, where are they?’

‘I ran. We all ran…they just had so many…never seen that many…just fucking…it was so bad…’

‘Where are they?’

‘I don’t know! I just ran. I…I didn’t even see I just legged it and…’

‘You have to calm down. Where are they? Did they hurt Subi or Rajesh or…’

‘I don’t know,’ he wails, panic building again. ‘I just ran. Everyone was running…Becky was screaming at everyone and she said to run…’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t fucking know!’

‘Think,’ she says, growling the word out. ‘How far back? How far did you run? How long were you running? Which way did you come? Can you find the way back?’

‘Please stop…I don’t know, I just…oh fuck…there were so many. Like came out of nowhere and fuck me…they’re ramped too, like off the fucking…’

‘Shut up,’ she snaps with such ferocity it makes him flinch and move back. She goes with him, forcing him into the wall. ‘How far did you run?’

‘I,’ he swallows and mouths words that don’t form sounds. ‘I…’ the tears come again, spilling out from his eyes as his lip starts trembling. His legs weaken, the blood drains from his face as he sags and looks ready to faint.

‘Pete,’ she forces a softer tone. ‘How far? Was it up that footpath or further away? Just tell me where to go.’

‘So many…so many…’ he gets stuck in a loop of twisted faces snarling with lips pulled back. ‘So many…so man…’

‘I am so sorry,’ she whispers then hits him open handed and hard with a stinging blow that snaps his head over. ‘Answer the fucking question,’ she pushes into him, dominating his space. ‘How far and which way?’

‘Few miles,’ he whimpers, sinking down with his hands coming up to shield his face.

‘Which way?’ she grips his neck, hating herself for doing it but doing it all the same. She pushes him up, bracing with her legs to pin him hard to the wall. ‘Answer me…which way?’

‘Back the…the footpath! Don’t hurt me…I just ran and…’

‘Show me,’ she pulls back, he sags on the spot, whimpering in absolute terror to sink down with his knees bent into his chest. ‘No, up,’ she grabs his arm to pull him up but he lashes out with a scream, flailing hard with a hand that knocks her back. Paco is there. His hands gripping to lift Pete from the floor to be pinned into the wall with a face showing pure aggression.