Dead Frost - 02 (4 page)

Susie didn't like
to see the old man in such discomfort, but it was to be expected. A
ninety-seven year old man, stricken with flu, could only put on an
act of defiance for a while; Max Martigan was reaching the end of his
bravery display.

Susie knew that the
man would be dead soon. Age wasn't the problem; it was the pneumonia
that would surely take a pop at him, or the toll on his brittle
heart. It saddened her deeply to even ponder how long he had left,
but he didn't seem to mind.

And
he
knew;
he knew better than anyone else.

Perhaps it was the
fact that the planet had gone to Hell in a handbasket that removed
the fear of death. At least he wouldn't be returning as one of the
infected, not if he died in the compound.

Susie knew which
way she would rather go, and it didn't involve being torn limb from
limb by a horde of flesh-eating zombies.

'I don't suppose
there are any pills left for an old man like me?' Max grunted, though
he already knew the answer.

Susie shook her
head. 'They didn't bring any back with them,' she said. 'I'll check
with the captain, but I don't think there are any left in storage.'

She rolled back
onto her haunches and gripped his cold, rheumy hand between her own.

'You're going to be
just fine,' she said, offering him the most reassuring smile she
could muster.

'Kinda doubt it,'
he grinned, his teeth a little stained from years of dental neglect
and caffeine addiction; it was better than the alcoholism that he had
succumbed to in his earlier years.

She left to find
out if there were any pills to ease the old man's pain and suffering.

By the time she
returned, Max Martigan had died, peacefully, or at least more
peacefully than at the hands of the horde.

FIVE

She moved through
the night, ignoring the groans floating along on the wind. She
hadn't seen any creatures yet, which only served to put her on edge
even further.

She could hear
them, though, which meant that they were local, probably sniffing
around the town for the remnants of flesh that were still edible. As
the wind carried their moans across to her, a shiver ran the course
of her spine. No matter how many days she spent hiding from them,
surviving them, killing them, she still feared each and every one of
them for what they really were.

Crouching behind
an industrial-sized bin to catch her breath, she could see the store
hadn't been completely decimated, at least not yet. When the madness
began the looters had stripped clean the electronics suppliers. For
reasons unknown, armed gangs had been carrying televisions and games
consoles down the street, as if the whole thing would blow over
within a few days, and by then they would be sitting in front of a 42
inch plasma screen with the newest system hooked up to it.

Fucking morons!

But their
stupidity was a good thing; supplies were still quite easy to come
by, provided you didn't mind venturing out from safety to gather
them. The water-supplies were dwindling, though. One thing that the
looters soon realised was that the water-supply carried the
infection. Bottled water was the only way, but it must have been too
late by then. Half of the town had become infected. Quite how the
supply had gotten tainted remained a mystery to her, but she imagined
somewhere, in the sewers – or at the purification factory, she
had no idea how it worked – there was a creature, bleeding out
into the water, its disease being sent direct to homes across the
town. It was like the viral version of spam email; nobody wanted it,
but that didn't stop it from turning up in your inbox.

Just as she was
about to move for the store, a creature rambled into view. It was
still wearing the uniform it had no doubt been attacked in –
and why wouldn't it? It wasn't as if they had the gumption to change
clothing whenever it got bloody or covered in visceral matter. If
that were the case, the laundrette would have one helluva queue.

This particular
member of the undead had been a paramedic; his green and yellow
hi-vis clothing now besmirched and torn. He was moving pretty
quickly, considering the fact he was missing an entire foot. Instead
of slowing it down, it dragged the stump along at staggering speed.

She had never
seen one move so rapidly.

It could become
a problem.

She reached
across to her back and pulled out the machete which had been strapped
there. Freshly-sharpened that very same day – she had been
bored out of her mind and reading yet another book about sparkly
fucking vampires just wasn't going to cut it – it was primed to
go, and she had the ideal candidate to test it out on.

As the dead
paramedic shuffled forward at what must have been the zombie
equivalent of breakneck-speed, she waited, controlled her breathing,
listened to the pained vocalisations of other creatures in the area.

They were
distant, and probably no real threat to her, although she hadn't
heard the creature she was now looking at. It paid to be very
careful in the moments to follow.

With its back to
her, facing the store and standing in the way of her and the vital
supplies which she needed to survive, she knew she had the best
opportunity she was going to get.

She sprang forth
from behind the bin, covering the space between herself and the
creature in remarkably good time. It must have heard her, though –
or maybe sensed something was about to happen, if that were at all
possible – because it started to turn.

She swung the
machete, whipping it through the air more accurately than she could
ever have hoped for given the fact that she was terrified. Her
momentum – and the adrenaline pumping through her – kept
her aim true.

There was a
choking noise as she landed a few feet away from the thing, and she
turned in time to watch the aftermath of what she had just done.

The creature
stood, motionless, confused? It stared towards her, its eyes glowing
eerily in the darkness. Black ooze seeped from between its lips,
which had been torn open on once side to reveal a complete set of
teeth and half a jawbone. It gurgled, staggered a few inches this
way and that, and then its head slipped aside, sliding down the
severed neck and landing with a meaty thump on the road next to its
still-standing body.

She pushed
herself up, knowing that she had finished the fucker off adequately.
The body fell, just crumpled like a sack of potatoes, and without
further thought she made her way towards the store, wiping blackened
thorax from the blade of the machete on her leg as she went.

The store window
was smashed through, and shattered glass peppered the pavement,
crunching beneath her feet as she entered through the double-doors.
Surprisingly, the doors remained intact, which just went to show the
mentality of looters; if in doubt, clamber through the window.

She was
surprised to find that supermarket Muzak was still playing, albeit
quietly. Nevertheless, it made the entire scenario that little bit
creepier.

The lights were
off in the main shopping area, but the occasional luminescent flicker
from a room at the back provided enough light for her to work by.

She travelled
light; these days, it was the only way. If you find yourself bogged
down with items of indulgence and all of a sudden a horde descends on
you, the likelihood of surviving is greatly reduced. Thus, she had
no means of carrying her intended items. A plastic bag was
sufficient, although a bit of a giveaway on a particularly windy day.
The creatures would hear its rustle and soon be on to you.

She preferred to
use cloth – which is why she was grateful for the much-maligned
bag-for-life. Found at the cash-register in all good stores, and
perfect for stealth and heavy objects, it was the first thing she
grabbed as she made her way through to the main shopping aisles.

She ignored the
fridges, and the food contained within them. It was dead food, no
good for anything. She'd learned this the hard way, after a night of
utter madness and a cheese-and-onion pasty.

Tins...they were
the only safe food. She grabbed three tins of beans, one spaghetti,
several chilli, and an Irish stew. She didn't want to carry too much
tonight; it was bad enough that she was out after dark, but sleep had
evaded her yet again and boredom had forced her out into the night.

She located the
water and grabbed three bottles, one with a strawberry-flavoured kick
simply for something different. She would have to remember not to
wash her hair with that one.

With the water
and meals secured for the next few days, she had time to scan the
hardware section. She was almost out of twine, and knives were
always useful. She bagged them and managed to find a thicker coat in
her size.

Fuck, it was
getting cold.

Wearing the new
coat, and carrying pretty much everything she needed to get by the
next few days in reasonable comfort, she headed for the entrance,
machete drawn just in case the situation outside had changed any.

Suddenly, there
was a clatter from behind. She whirled on the spot, expecting to
find the worst. She was relieved to be faced with nothing, at least
nothing in her general area.

But the noise
came from somewhere.

The room at the
end of aisle seven; from where the flickering light emanated.

She sighed, but
knew that she had to take a look. What if there were survivors?
What if they were hiding out back after mistaking her for a creature?
She had to know.

Company would
not go unnoticed, good or bad.

She edged closer
to the door, almost hypnotised by the intermittent flickering coming
from the room ahead. The shadows cast by the shelves and the items
sitting on them played tricks on her mind, and a few times she found
herself clenching tighter on the machete handle, ready to fight
with...well, cereal apparently.

There came
another clatter, and this one turned her legs to jelly. She had to
pull herself together, and quick.

She edged
towards the light, which buzzed every time it flickered. She was
like a moth, drawn to the luminescent glow.

She reached the
doors and took a deep, silent breath. Raising the machete to optimum
height, she slowly pushed herself into the room, which was a
stock-cupboard-cum-storage-depot. She didn't have to look too
closely to locate the source of the noise.

A rat –
no, several rats – had managed to chew their way through most
of the stock. They didn't even realise they were being watched as
they tucked into a torn can of potato-chips. The can rolled from
side-to-side as three miniature mouths attempted to get at the chips.
One rat appeared at the tubular entrance of the can, crumbs around
its mouth. Obviously, the best way to get at the food was to climb
in and work your way outwards. The other rats seemed jealous and
confused, and scampered away in all directions, in search of other
tasty morsels.

She turned,
smiling to herself. How had she managed to get so worked up?

And then, she
was them. That, that was how she had managed to terrify herself, and
that was the reason why the rats were hanging around. They just had
to wait for their food to die, die properly.

Two girls,
Asian, small, were chained to the far side of the storage-room. They
began to growl as she made her way towards them.

Twelve, maybe
thirteen, but the decay made them look a lot older, and a helluva lot
scarier.

She couldn't
believe the way some peoples' minds worked. The parents – who
she presumed were the proprietors of the store – must have had
the bright idea to constrain their daughters, gone off in search of a
cure and ended up being either eaten alive or infected.

Which left the
girls chained to the shelving-rack like misbehaved dogs.

She had to do
something; she couldn't just leave them there, like that. Sure, they
were infected, but that didn't make it right to desert them. They
would go on living – in the undead sense of the word, of course
– until either more of the creatures stumbled upon them and
finished them off (did they even do that?) or until the rats decided
that there was nothing left food-wise and made a go for them. The
only reason the rats were keeping their distance at the moment was:
They knew just how hungry the little Asian girls were; perhaps
hungrier, even, than they were.