Dead Ahead (9 page)

The further they got from the complex, the more Cassie was dwelling on what had just happened. She started to blame herself for the deaths of Brian and Dominic and who knows who else inside the bunker, she started to think of Mr MacMillan and her father, and wonder if she would ever see him again. She could hear weeping through the radio in her helmet. It was only when Ethan put his hand on her shoulder that she realised it was coming from herself.

______________________

Brandon felt as if he had been walking for days. He had lost count of how many fields they had crossed, how many farms they had had to avoid, all the roads they had scurried over, how many fences they had climbed, and when his dad showed him the map and how far they still had to go, he nearly gave up. But he knew he couldn’t; he had to stay strong for his father, he could see the changes in him already. One minute he would be full of life and energy, the next, he would look as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“We will rest again when we get beyond these couple of fields and on top of this hill here.” His dad pointed to an area on the map of a lighter shade of green, “I have a feeling we’re going to need one, it’s going to get a bit hillier and probably a lot harder going, but at least there won’t be as much of a chance of running into any infected.”

They started to pack up their things to set off from the large blue shed that they were taking refuge behind just off of the roadside; his dad still carried his machete and his Naginata, he also still wore the motorbike jacket but had discarded the trousers for ease of movement, he had said ‘there’s no point in being protected from their bites if you can’t outrun them,’ and Brandon could see his point, if an infected pinned you down, the husks wouldn’t be long in catching up, they never are, and then you would just be stuck under a pile of them until you died of dehydration, and if they weren’t going to use a car, speed of movement was the key.

Brandon pulled the Bowie knife out of the log that he had been sitting on and slid it into the sheath attached to his belt on his right hip, he then picked up his axe and put it trough a belt loop on his left, he looked up at the hills that dominated the skyline before them and sighed. He slung his pack on and started to march on behind his father.

“So, Frank, How did you end up all the way out in that wee village?” His dad had been gently prying into Franks past throughout the journey, he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was though.

“Well, after the disaster at the castle, we had to grab some wheels, just to get away like. We drove around for a while, but the...... Infected? Is that what you call them? Yeah! The infected always found us, so we ditched the van and hid in the old town hall for a bit.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Others?”

“Yeah! You said ‘
We
ditched the van.’”

“Oh! Nah, the others didn’t make it.”

“Infected get them?”

“Don’t they always?”

“They haven’t got you! They haven’t got us!”

“They haven’t got us.... yet....”

They continued to chat as Brandon hung back, caught up in his own meandering thoughts. As they climbed over the next fence they noticed that the field was full of very tall plants, their leaves reaching just over the top of his dads head.

“Round or through?” Frank asked, though Brandon had a feeling he wasn’t asking him or his father, “Through it is!”

“Through?” they both asked in unison

“Yup!” Frank didn’t even look at them as he strode into the thick forest of plants, and disappeared.

“I don’t want to go in there Dad!”

“Me either, but he has the map.”

“We can get another map!”

“We could, but it wouldn’t be nearly as accurate as the one he has, we need that map, son, it has everything on it.” Brandon could tell that his dad didn’t want to go in there either, but reluctantly he said, “C’mon, let’s just get it over with. Stay close behind me, and hold this,” he handed Brandon the Nanigata. “It won’t be much use in there, but if we get in trouble just drop it and run. Ok?”

“Ok, Dad.” Brandon said shakily, and they went in after Frank

The plants were thick and coarse to the touch; they couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them because of the wide flat leaves sprouting from the stalks, and the mild breeze blew and rustled the plants almost constantly so they couldn’t hear if there was anything moving beyond their line of vision.

Brandon skulked behind his father with the blade of the Nanigata in front of him, his knuckles turning white on the shaft. His dad had taken to using his machete to clear their path, though at the same time trying not to make too much noise. Frank was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly his father froze and crouched down; as did Brandon, though slightly less so as to see over the top of him. Nothing moved in front of them but the crops, gently swaying in the wind.

“I don’t see anything.” said Brandon.

“Sssshhhhh! There’s something ahead....”

Slowly the wretched hand made its way through the leaves and over Brandon’s shoulder towards his throat; before he knew it the thing had him in its grip, pulling him backwards and out of balance. He dropped the Naginata as he fell back, nails digging into his neck, dragging him to the floor. The revolting smell filled his nostrils as he turned to see its head over his shoulder, he let out a bloodcurdling scream as he felt it gnawing into his neck, the cold wetness of his own blood soaking into his clothing. He fumbled fruitlessly at his hip for the bowie knife, knowing it was already too late for him, desperately wanting to destroy the creature that had stolen his life.

The machete blade sunk deep into the scull of the husk that had hold of him, almost splitting its head in two; Brandon scurried away from it as it collapsed lazily to the ground. His father barely had time to remove the blade before another husk appeared through the leaves, shambling towards him. With a wide arcing slash he removed its head and turned to see another, and another, they were surrounded.

Brandon leapt to his feet, he had to protect his father, it was too late to save himself; but he
had
to protect his father. He grabbed the Nanigata and started swinging it wildly through the stalks of the plants; catching some of the husks as he went, not giving them fatal blows, but removing arms and legs or spilling their guts to the floor. It did give his father room to move though; creating a killing ground for him, letting him see his targets, slowing some of them down and allowing him space to move.

Brandon could hardly see through his tear soaked eyes as he collapsed to the ground. He put his hand to the throbbing pain in his neck and felt his fingers slip through the sticky blood pouring from his body.

Suddenly he was hauled up off the ground and was running through the thick brush dragging the Nanigata behind him; his father had him by the back of his collar. He tried to tell his dad to leave him there, to forget about him, it was too late, just leave him there to die.

They burst through the dense field of crops and into bright sunlight. Brandon collapsed to the ground again in a sobbing mess; his dad scooped up the Nanigata and guarded the edge of the field just in case there were more following them.

After a few minutes of patrolling the edge of the field; his dad crouched down beside him and gently placed his hand on Brandon’s back; by then he had made up his mind, he stared up at his father through the tears in his eyes....

....and asked him to kill him.

Chapter

8

Cries of the Dead

“We all die? What do you mean we all die?” Major Michaels barked into Jonathan’s face, “Are you trying to threaten me, Fosters?”

“It’s not a threat Michaels, it’s a warning....”

“Holy shit!!!” a scream came from the door.

Jon turned to see a wave of burning corpses marching into the room. Their grotesque features charring and bubbling under the intense heat as they grabbed Conway, who did is best to fend them off with nothing but a fire extinguisher, he screamed again, only this time it was in excruciating pain as the flames engulfed him and his flesh was torn from his body.

Gunfire began to ring out through the room; the flaming corpses began to drop, but still more poured into the room. Quickly it became obvious that there were more creatures than there were bullets and they began their hasty retreat to the exit on the other side of the conference room.

Jon pushed Mac out through the door in front of him and was quickly followed by Michaels. As they headed down the dimly lit concrete corridor they heard another scream from the conference room through the continuous gunfire and some other soldiers shouting about their inability to close the door; they were being herded up into the farmhouse above them, just as in the plan, only Jon and Mac hadn’t intended to be part of the herd during the plans conception.

They rushed up the twisting, steel staircase and into the hall of the farmhouse above, but were soon slammed into the wall adjacent by the great bulk of Staff Sergeant Knox. Michaels was close to follow.

“Knox! Have those men taken into the kitchen, seal up this stair well and find us a way out of here!” Michaels’ eyes were daggers as he stormed off through the house.

“Jones, into the kitchen with these two!” Knox bellowed as he pushed Jon and Mac towards a soldier who quickly raised his rifle and gestured towards the back of the house with it.

“The rest of you lot, seal this stair well, throw anything you can down it to stop them things getting to us.” Knox carried on his bellowing as they were ushered through to the kitchen.

“Sit down you t....” Jones’ face dropped aghast as he looked out of the kitchen window at the cacophony outside. Thousands upon thousands of heads could be seen milling around outside, a constant moaning groan could be heard over the now all too apparent external alert, along with the distant sound of continuous gunfire. Jon tried to keep hold of the faith that Cassie was still safe with the other soldiers, and the ring of gunfire; getting ever distant, helped settle his nerves.

“Sit down....” Jones said again but a lot quieter this time as he backed out of the room. As he left Jon and Mac tentatively took a seat at the kitchen table; the sound of the soldiers blocking the stairwell could be heard faintly along with Knox barking more orders.

“Jones, what the hell are you doing here?”

“They won’t be going anywhere Sir; you need to come see this!”

Knox came bursting into the room; making Jon cringe at the excessive noise.

“What is it?”

Jones just pointed out of the window. Knox walked slowly up to the window; just as a large explosion was heard in the distance he gingerly closed the blinds and left the room, leaving Jones there with them with a look of panic on his face. The horrific scene was out of sight but most definitely not out of mind, mostly due to the still constant moaning to be heard beyond the all too thin window pane.

It wasn’t long before Michaels returned, it was clear to see that his blood was boiling.

“You did this! Didn’t you, Fosters?” He asked in a fluster, desperately trying to keep his calm and not aggravate the outside masses.

“Yes! I am partly to blame, but I can’t take all the credit.”

“Why? Why would you do it? We had it all, Fosters! We were safe! We had the world at our fingertips!”

“Some things are too much for any
one
man to control, Michaels. One man should never have that much power, especially if that man is you!”

“And so you thought you could take it all away from me? And sit back and watch? Well you haven’t taken it all away, not by a long shot!” with that he drew his pistol and pointed it at Jon. “What of your daughter, Fosters, where might she be?”

“You can’t seriously be expecting me to tell you where she and the others have gone, can you, what kind of man do you think I am? And besides, if you fire that gun in here, those things will be upon us in a matter of seconds.”

“Well of course, we wouldn’t want that would we?” Michaels pulled a small cylindrical object from his pocket and started to screw it slowly on to the end of his pistol. “Jones, be a good lad and hold that towel around Mr MacMillan’s mouth would you?”

Jon saw the panic on Mac’s face as the towel was thrown round his head and clamped in place. A dastardly smile grew on Michaels’ face.

“Now, let’s see just what kind of man you
really
are, shall we?” He lowered the pistol towards Mac and fired a suppressed shot into his leg.

“Hhhmmmmmmmpphh!” Mac let out a muffled scream.

“Stop, you don’t need to do this!” Jon shouted.

“Where is your daughter, Fosters?” Michaels shot a round into Macs shoulder.

“Hmmmmuuuuupphh”

“Please stop! Please!”

“Hmmmm, I don’t think you are taking me seriously, Fosters! He aimed the pistol at Macs other leg and slowly started to squeeze the trigger.

“She left!” Jon burst out, “She left with Sergeant Rigby and the others!”

“Oh I know that, Fosters. I saw them leaving from an upstairs window, quite a spectacular exit it was too. What I need to know is where they went!” Mac’s kneecap exploded into several pieces as the third round hit.

“Ggghhhaaaaaaaaaaccchhh” Mac wailed out as best as he could.

Just then, Knox burst into the room.

“Sir, we got an issue!”

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Staff Sergeant?”

“The stair well, Sir, it’s on fire!”

“What do you mean it’s on fire? It’s made of concrete and steel! How can it be on fire?”

“It’s the furniture we threw down it sir.... and those flamin’ zombies....”

“You idiot, Knox! I give you one task....”

“We have access to two land rovers in the garage, Sir, but we need to move now!”

“Very well,” Michaels sighed; he raised the pistol level with Macs head and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the upper right hand side of his forehead, unfortunately the bullet went right through the other side and into Jones’ stomach.

“Gaaaaaaaaaaaggghhhh!” Jones screamed out in agony before Knox could clamp a hand round his mouth.

For a few moments all was silent in the room apart from Jones’ feet scrabbling on the stone tile floor. Jon was sat in complete shock; staring at his best friend who was slumped in his chair, blood was dripping from the hole in his bowed head and on to his lap. Michaels stood, half turned, looking towards the window.

Shadows started moving behind the thin canvas blinds; hands pressed upon the window, full figures could be seen moving behind the frosted glass in the back door. The moaning from outside soon became a wailing, hands started to slam upon the window and door. With an almighty crash a head burst through the glass in the door revealing a shredded and mangled face as a creature attempted to clamber in.

Michaels turned his pistol towards the member of the undead and fired his remaining bullets at it, with only one of the rounds actually making contact with it in the neck. Knox dropped Jones and pulled out his pistol, firing a single bullet directly into its head.

“We need to leave
now
, Sir!”

“Yes! Yes we do! Leave these two for.... them!” Michaels said pointing at Mac and Jones, “Bring Fosters, I have a feeling we may need him.”

Jon was wrenched out of the chair by Knox, who continued to fire bullets at the undead as he dragged him through the doorway, past the flaming stairwell, which was starting to spread flames towards the upper reaches of the farmhouse. Jon was then dragged out a side door into the garage, where Knox picked him up and literally threw him into the back of one of the old green army land rovers before climbing in himself.

Jon landed heavily on the cold metal floor between the black booted feet of several nervous soldiers; his ribs were soon met by the following pair of boots belonging to Knox.

“Get ready boys, here they come!” Knox gave two hard thumps on the bulkhead between the back and the front, the engine roared into life and they started rolling forward.

Gunfire soon erupted from the weapons of the soldiers around Jon, and there was a great crash as they burst through the garage doors and out into the open. Jon could do nothing but lay there and cover his ears from the sound of the constant shots being fired, the screaming of the soldiers and the horrifying cries of the dead. He managed to scurry and slide his way to the bulkhead, out from under the soldiers’ feet. He tried not to listen, he curled into the foetal position and tried to hide from chaos of the world, but the world wouldn’t let him.

“Fuck! There’s too many of them!”

“On your right!”

“Reloading,”

“Cover the left,”

“Fu-u-u-ck,”

“We need someone on the roof!”

“I’m not going out there, man!”

“Get your fucking ass on the roof or I will fucking shoot you!”

“Fuck this fucking shit man!”

“Give him some cover,”

“Watch it!”

“Aaaaaaggghhhhhh!”

“Grab him!”

“Fucking hell....”

“Did he make it up?”

“Yeah but Jack’s bit,”

“Chuck him out, he’s a gonner,”

“What?”

“Either he goes or you do....”

“Sorry, Jackie Boy,”

“Wait! No-o-o-o-o....”

“We’re losing the other truck,”

“Do
you
want to wait for them...? Thought not!”

“Christ! Look at them! They’re all over them!”

“They got no chance. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Gradually the shouting, the gunfire and even the incessant moaning faded; all that was left was the noise of the engine and the zipping sound of the rough tyres on the road, the sound of the soldiers’ celebrations and lamentations for their fallen comrades, accompanied by the occasional thud from the front of the vehicle, as another body hit the bumper.

Jon quietly wept in the corner.

____________________________

“Kill me!” the boy pleaded to him, “Please kill me! I don’t want to be one of those things!”

Caleb dropped his pack to the ground and dug out his water bottle; he grabbed Brandon’s head and pulled it to the side, dousing his neck with clean water, washing away blood and grime. He almost burst into tears at what he saw; a huge black bruise was welling up on Brandon’s neck, but there were no lacerations, no teeth marks, and no bites.

“Oh thank fuck,” Caleb managed to whisper through a choked throat as he pulled his son close to him “I thought I had lost you there boy!”

Brandon pushed away, holding him at arm’s length.

“But I’m bit! The blood! I felt it bite me!”

“I guess the old dear didn’t have her teeth in that day,” Caleb chuckled.

“What do you mean?” the boy asked, confused.

“The old lady, it was an old lady that got you”

“Yeah?”

“And I guess she didn’t have her false teeth in!”

“But the blood?”

“Hers, not yours! You didn’t get bit, son, you got gummed!”

“Oh thank fuck!” Brandon pulled him back in and held on tight.

“That was a close one son, we are going to have to be more careful in future, I can’t lose you, you’re all I got!”

Caleb suddenly heard movement behind him. He spun round, grabbing the Nanigata, getting ready to strike, but he caught himself in his tracks.

“What happened to you two?” Frank posed the question with a confused look on his face. “You look like you’ve been through the wars!”

Caleb composed himself, reigning in his anger, pressing it down. He still didn’t know how Frank would react to any negativity from him or his son, after all, Frank still had the guns.

“We have a bit, Frank. Nothing we couldn’t handle!

“So I see,” Frank said with a smile. “Well that’s us past the fields and on to the wild yonder; things should get better from here!” He pointed up at the rough bracken covered hills towering above them.

“Let’s hope so. Eh, Son?”

“Yeah, let’s hope so.”

They picked themselves up along with their packs and climbed their last fence, out and into the scrublands. Frank was right, it was harder going, but, once they had climbed to the top of the first hill, they could see for miles around, and there didn’t seem to be anybody in sight. The country almost seemed peaceful from where they stood, Caleb could nearly imagine that the murderous horde wasn’t lurking in every house and home in sight; well, every house, houses weren’t homes anymore, they were only death traps.