Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (36 page)

‘Good girl,’ Heather whispers, hoarse and dry as the bottle is handed to her. She drinks deep. Guzzling to get fluids in. ‘Paco…share mine…’ he takes the bottle. His hand reaching out with a grim smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. She edges closer to him, bumping him with her shoulder that makes Amna giggle. He smiles again and drinks deep from the bottle. ‘You’re a man again,’ she rasps, trying to nod at him. ‘Man again…’

The water is drunk. The bag becomes lighter and that refreshment buys them time from a weak surge of energy and the break in monotony caused by sheer pain and relentless heat. Still they rise, following a meandering lane that clings to the side of a sweeping hill. Hedges bursting with life. Trees overhead giving a few seconds of blessed shade as they pass under. Birds sing. Insects buzz but they become ignorant of all else save for the anguish they face.

Her heart sinks when she catches glimpses of the town she saw and the realisation of the tiny distances they are making from it. It’s like being on a giant hamster wheel. Walking and walking but not getting anywhere. The unchanging scenery doesn’t help the effect either. Just hedges and trees. The grey surface of the lane underfoot. They become trapped in a time warped bubble that saps morale that weakens the little energy they have left.

‘Shit I can’t…’ Becky gasps. Heather turns, hating even that small movement. Amna’s hot breath on her neck. Sweat pouring down her face and arms.

‘Keep going,’ Heather says, swallowing to get moisture into her throat.

‘I’m…I’m forty three!’ Becky exclaims as though that explains everything. The look of surprise and abject puzzlement on her face makes Heather snort involuntarily. ‘Look at me….do I look like I work-out?’

Heather snorts again. Smiling at the way the woman says it despite the agony seeping into her bones. She drops back to hold a hand out to the woman. ‘Come on…’ she nods, smiling and panting all at the same time. Becky takes the hand. Her eyes glassy but with humour twinkling in that gaze. Heather pulls her on. Grunting with the effort. She drives her feet to grip the road and leans forward to brace the weight of Amna. ‘Come on…’ she grunts harder, barring teeth to pull Becky. ‘Paco…’ she reaches her hand out, waggling her fingers. Paco drops back, his hand finding hers to grip and hold and pull on.

‘Subi…Tommy…everyone…come on…grab hands and pull…come on…pull…’

On Paco they form. Subi takes his other hand and reaches back to pull Tommy who holds Raj’s hand. More children grip on, forming a chain of hands holding to drive each other on with a big man in the lead who doesn’t falter but shares his strength. A closeness forms. Names of each other unknown, strangers from strange lives but they grip and hang from each other, pulling and planting feet to keep going and keep rising.

It’s no good. Becky stumbles to be caught by Heather who feels her own feet becoming heavier. They have to stop but they’re too close. Hesitate and you die. Stop and they get you. You have to keep going. Her eyes blink heavier and heavier. She doesn’t need to see now but hold onto Paco to let him lead.

His hand leaves hers. A sensation of lift given as Amna is taken from her back. She looks up to gawp as Paco lifts the girl to plant on his shoulders. Heather looks down, seeing Subi’s hand in hers. Paco drops back and reaches to take the small boy from Becky. He moves on to gain the front, shifting the boy into the crook of his right elbow then reaching to find Heather’s and Subi’s hands that he grips to pull on.

She weeps then. She weeps for the meaning of it. Tears spill from eyes without words coming. She weeps silent for the thing he just did. Becky comes in close with tears on her cheeks. Subi’s face wet.

‘Fuck!’

Heather snorts through her tears at the little voice riding high on Paco’s shoulders.

‘Fuck!’

She snorts again, stifling the laugh that comes with a sob.

‘Choclit fuck!’

Becky giggles. The sadness of it, the pain, the heat, the sheer unrelenting nature of the thing they do.

‘Choclit cheese balls fuck!’

Becky lets go. Tears of sadness mixed with tears of laughter. Her stomach cramps but the giggles come to grip and stay. Heather glances at her, seeing the expression on the older woman’s face that sets her off too. She starts chuckling. Giggling and snorting with noises that make Becky laugh harder.

‘Cheesey balls shit…’

Subi starts laughing. Her little sister stringing words together that she has no understanding of but taking pleasure from the sounds made.

More time is bought and paid for with the expenditure in energy required to laugh being offset against the boost to moral. They will do this. They will keep going. Pain is just pain.

The ground finally levels out as the reach the top of the newly formed largest mountain in the world. Still the hedges remain high and thick, offering no view of the surrounding area. They see no farm tracks, no houses, no cottages. Just a never ending lane that goes on forever and always.

The afternoon passes. Thirst builds but the water is all gone. Mouths get dry. Faces burn from the sunshine glaring down. The passage of time is marked by feet treading. Amna slumps to fall asleep with her head resting on the top of Paco’s skull. The boy in his arms dozes. Everyone else falls silent to keep energy for walking. Seconds, minutes and hours become meaningless. There is just here. Just this lane.

None of them notice the descent at first. So absorbed in their own trance-like state of walking.

‘Downhill,’ Subi gives voice first. Her keen eyes still alert and watchful.

Heather notices it and reaches out to touch Becky. ‘Downhill…’

Becky nods but stays quiet. Another change in gear. Gravity aiding them this time. Pulling them into the earth. Less effort is needed. Muscles ease the taxation. It’s still more gruelling than anything any of them has ever done but that tiniest relief keeps them going.

The lane twists and turns constantly, hard left and right to weave a route down the hillside. High hedges keep the view hidden. It offers refuge and sanctuary. The lane will end. They will be somewhere different and new. Somewhere they can hide, find water, rest and wait until tomorrow to make for the fort.

As her mind fills with the plan so her ears strain to sift through the organic sounds around them and detect something different. It takes time for that message to be sent to her tired brain to be processed and given meaning and context before being admitted to her mind to be made aware of.

She lifts her head. Frowning at the noise. Like rain. She looks up seeing a clear sky that’s already showing signs of darkening. ‘What’s that?’ She asks.

Becky looks up from her own deep thoughts to blink and stare for a few seconds until her own brain filters the sound. ‘Dunno, rain?’ She too looks up then frowns at the clear sky. ‘Waterfall maybe?’

Heather shrugs. It’s like drumming. Like lots of things hitting the ground all at once. Like stones rolling down a hill. She turns to look back at the lane as though expecting an avalanche but it’s all clear. The children look round, heads lifting to try and gain focus and direction. She feels Paco hand tightening on hers and looks round again. ‘Everyone stay quiet,’ she whispers but keeps them moving.

The noise goes with them. Unseen but now clear and distinct. She knows that sound but she can’t put a name to it or make a connection. Paco tenses, stiffening to stand more upright. His face finds hers, telegraphing concern. ‘Give me Amna…Becky, take the boy…everyone stay very quiet.’

She lifts a sleeping Amna onto her own back. The girl wakes to grumble and hold on then dozes back down to slumber. They huddle together, seeking comfort in their tiny numbers with Paco a clear head above all of them.

Heather studies the hedges on both sides. Searching for a break to see through to gain some idea of where they are while all the time the noise carries on. A sharp bend to the right and old damage from a car carrying straight on through the hedge shows with gaps through the thorny bushes. Heather and Becky go close to peer through like nosey neighbours.

The second they see it the connection is made. Feet. Running feet. Infected pouring down the hillside running in uniformity. Hundreds of them. Men, women and children. Both sides of the lane are bordered by fields thick with infected charging down. Her blood runs cold. Her heart whumps and booms. Legs go rubbery and weak. She crosses the lane with Becky to gently ease the brambles and bushes aside to catch glimpses of figures running. The women stare at each other. Processing the horror of what they just saw.

‘Back up?’ Becky mouths.

Heather shakes her head. To go back up means going in the direction they’re coming from. They might be on the lane behind them. They have to go down and quickly too. They have to move fast and find somewhere to hide. Instinct pure and real. Hesitate and they get you.

She moves out to usher the children together. Forming them up with a finger pressing into her lips and a hard glare enforcing the message to stay silent. Fresh energy comes into them, born from fear and adrenalin. They start moving again at a new frantic pace where speed counts but no sound can be made. Heather winces at the sound of their feet on the road, even at the noise of their breathing. She stays close to Paco too. Her hand holding his but to make sure he doesn’t run off to fight several hundred on his own.

The drumming keeps coming. Infected pouring down to whatever is there. Pressure builds. Fear grows. She grips the machete and doesn’t feel the weight of Amna now, only to rush on.

As the lane alters course to weave the route down so the noises come perilously close only to fade as they detour round and away. Nerves get frayed. Tension mounts and creeps into eyes that stare wide with tight grimaces. The urge to turn back is almost overwhelming but she knows the folly of such a decision and has to force herself to keep moving in the same direction as so many infected.

‘They’re not here for us,’ she whispers at her group. That one thought keeps her pressing on. The army truck and van is drawing them. She’s stumbling from town to town following their route and getting continually sucked back into something that is no concern of hers. Only it is her concern. There are people down there fighting back with guns. People who are doing something terrifying against numbers that boggle the mind.

‘You see that?’ Becky whispers. Heather nods, cursing inwardly at the sight of the hedge thinning out on both sides. They’ll be exposed but again there is no choice but to keep going. She gets closer to Paco, holding his hand while pulling him down. ‘Bend over…’ she whispers into his ear. He sinks down to run in a crouch with a movement that catches her attention. She asked him to bend not to crouch. He’s taken the concept of the problem and worked a logical conclusion. He looks at her with a fleeting glance that conveys a myriad of subtle nuances. His brows drop to frown, his eyes narrow. His mouth forms a tight line. His eyes go from her to the children to Becky to Subi and back to her. His mouth twitches to speak, to form words but none come. The struggle is there in his eyes but there’s no time to stop and give comfort to keep trying.

‘Everyone down, stay low…not a sound…’ they run ducking in one solid mass. Heather watches the hedge on the right, the way the bushes are less dense with foliage showing gaps through to the other side. Flitting glimpses of figures running in the fields but none too close. The other side is the same. Patches of leaves and brambles interspersed with gaps that leave them exposed to be seen. They’re running a gauntlet heading into the same place the infected are going but with no choice.

A change in tempo, pitch and volume from behind. Feet on tarmac. That steady drumming but more solid and coming towards them. She grimaces, tensing with a glance to the heavens in anger at the Gods that mock them.

‘Faster,’ she whispers, speeding up to push and guide the children. They start breathing harder again which in turn becomes louder. Ragged snatches of air. Feet scuffing the ground. Every sound they make is a curse but to go faster means to be noisier. She can hear them coming down the lane. They’re trapped on three sides and being forced to keep moving ahead. She shares a glance with Becky who now looks pale instead of flushed. Her skin looking waxen and sick. The thirst is incredible. The fatigue is staggering. The sheer effort coupled with pure terror forms a nightmare. Memories of the days in the church flood her mind. The long quiet days of doing nothing but staring at the dust particles glinting in the rays of the sun. The musty dry smell of the place. The pews, the font and alter. The candles she lit at night. It seems so long ago now. She thinks to the night she met Paco then the next morning when she was throwing things at him from the window. Those days were special. Just her and him. She remembers the farm and washing him for the first time. Now she’s here with the lives of other people in her hands. Doubt kicks in, stripping her confidence away in a heartbeat. She was wrong to take the lane. She was wrong to take Subi, Raj and Amna from the supermarket. She was wrong to make them keep running. She should have stayed in the last village by the green. Her intelligence counters the self-doubt while her eyes scan the hedges, the view ahead, the children, Becky and Paco.

Time takes on another dimension. Going both faster than it should but slower than ever. Everything is so fast. The frantic running no longer crouched or bent over but upright with arms pumping to aid momentum. They cannot sustain this pace. The children cry out in pain to be hushed and pushed on. Muscles sear with lactic acid. Chests become tight. Hearts fit to burst from pumping so hard but the drumming feet behind comes closer.