Meadowside (11 page)

“Run!” the man with the axe shouted.

Kylie blinked, unable to take her eyes off the crazies fighting over the remains of the man with the rake. One held up a severed arm triumphantly, dripping blood from a ragged tear where it had been ripped from its socket. Another crazy tried to take it from him and they lashed out at each other with claw-like fingers.

“Tom!” Kylie yelled. She backed away as the crazies got closer. “Tom! Where are you?”

The man with the axe glanced over his shoulder at Kylie. “Fucking run!” he shouted.

His momentary break in concentration cost him his life. A crazy lurched forward and grabbed the axe handle just as he was about to swing it. He struggled against the crazy’s grip but was held tight as others advanced and took hold of him. He kicked out at their legs, tried to twist himself free, but there were too many.

“Run!” he shouted again as they pulled him to the ground.

Kylie backed away, tears streaming down her face as she watched the crazies’ feeding frenzy. Her legs felt like jelly, unable to support her. She reached out for the balcony to steady herself as she continued backpedalling, then turned and ran when the crazies turned their attention to her. She could hear them lumbering after her, dozens of heavy footsteps clumping over the wooden flooring, but didn’t dare look to see how close they were. They hissed and snarled after her, as if they were commanding her to stop.

She tripped and fell, landing heavily on her hands and knees as the golf club clattered away from her. She scrabbled after it and grabbed it in one hand, then stumbled to her feet and swung it at one of the crazies that was only a few feet away from her. The blade on the end of the golf club sliced into an outstretched arm, but didn’t slow the crazy’s approach. He snarled and reached out for her, blood pumping from the wound. Kylie slashed the blade down into his face, cutting through his top lip and into his mouth. He gurgled, blood gushing from his mouth as Kylie ripped the blade free and turned to run.

Before she could take a step, the man grabbed the back of Kylie’s tracksuit top and held her in place at arm’s length. Kylie twisted in his grip and lashed out with the golf club, felt the jarring impact in her wrist as it struck home and punctured the man’s lung. She tugged it back, felt the blade tearing through his flesh as she struggled to free herself. The man clung on triumphantly, defiantly, blood pouring down his side, his breath coming in a gurgling rasp.

Kylie cried out when she saw how close the other crazies were, and renewed her frenzied attempt to escape the man’s clutches. She stamped down on his foot and hit him in the side of the head with the golf club. It was only when the other crazies arrived and attacked him that he let go of Kylie. She stumbled and fell forward, released unexpectedly from the force she had been struggling against. She rolled over and looked up. Snarling crazies lunged forward with their hands outstretched, their bloodshot eyes wide and staring, their mouths hanging open. Kylie could smell the fresh kills on their breath as they descended on her. She curled herself into a ball and sobbed into her hands while she waited for them to tear her apart.

13

Kylie felt rough hands digging into her back, tugging at her clothing. The crazies snarled and hissed, lashed out at each other as they fought over her. Sharp fingernails raked over her arms, burning them in searing pain. Kylie screamed and clutched her face tighter, tucked her knees under her elbows. A crazy balled its fists around her hair and pulled back savagely, dragging Kylie across the wooden flooring a few inches, her body rigid and unresponsive, until the hair tore from her scalp. Kylie closed her eyes and screwed her face up in pain, her screams louder.

Somewhere in the distance she heard a scooter being revved, like the one Dave Sugden had stolen once and taken everyone for a ride around the council estate on before he set fire to it in the middle of the playground. But that couldn’t be right. They didn’t allow motorcycles in the Meadowside Shopping Centre, and all the doors were locked so nobody could have brought one in. It had to be her imagination, her mind playing tricks on her. And yet she could still hear the scooter, drowning out the snarls of the crazies as it came closer, the roar of its engine becoming louder and louder, until it was almost on top of her.

Something wet and warm splashed over Kylie’s face and arms. Something small and light hit the back of her head with a soft thud, then fell away. Something heavy slumped on top of her and crushed the breath from her lungs. Kylie squirmed beneath it while the scooter circled her, its two-stroke engine howling in protest, drowning out the snarls of the crazies. Then with a final rev, the scooter’s engine idled to a steady put-put-put. The dead weight was dragged from her. A hand grasped her wrist. Kylie whimpered and struggled as her hand was pulled away from her face. A crazy stood over her, grinning down. Drenched in dripping blood, he held a chainsaw by his side in one hand.

“Are you bit?” the crazy asked. Kylie cowered away, struggling against his grip. “Are you fucking bit?” the crazy shouted. He released Kylie’s wrist and raised the chainsaw. Its spinning blades flicked blood into Kylie’s face as it moved closer.

“No!” Kylie shouted, covering her face with her hands. “No I haven’t!”

The crazy lowered the chainsaw and grunted. He held out a hand to her. “I’m Smiffy,” he said. “What’s your name, kid?”

Kylie flinched and shuffled herself away from the man. She realised she was lying in a huge pool of blood, and sat up quickly. The scattered remains of dismembered and decapitated crazies lay all around her. She looked up at the man standing before her, who was still holding out a hand to help her up. Piercing white eyes stood out from his blood-drenched face. Small patches of yellow could be seen on his dark red shirt. He seemed to be wearing shorts, but from all the blood and gore that covered them it was difficult to make out where the shorts ended and his legs began. She clasped the man’s hand and allowed him to pull her upright.

“What’s your name, kid?” the man – Smiffy – said again.

Kylie felt her knees buckle. Smiffy grabbed her around the waist and held her upright.

“Tom,” Kylie said quietly, staring at a severed arm by her feet.

“You what?” Smiffy asked.

Kylie stared into Smiffy’s eyes. “Where’s Tom?”

“Who’s Tom?”

“He’s my … my boyfriend.”

Smiffy frowned, then shook his head. “Sorry kid, there was just you when I got here. The zombies must have got him.”

“Zombies?” Kylie had heard several people refer to them as zombies now. Was that really what they were? Had they killed Tom? Eaten him? Kylie didn’t want to accept that. He must have got away, killed them with his axe. But why hadn’t he returned for her when she was in trouble? Tom wouldn’t have just left her to die like that.

“Yeah, zombies. Fucking mental or what? But that’s what they are, all right. Shoot them in the fucking head, yeah? Like in the movies, except we ain’t got no fucking guns like them Yank bastards in the movies.” Smiffy raised his chainsaw and smiled at it. “So we need to use shit like this, yeah? Fucking smart or what? You just shove it in their faces and it rips them to fucking bits. You were lucky I needed some extra fuel for it, otherwise I wouldn’t have been up here getting some when I heard you shouting. What I wouldn’t have give to have one of these at the match when we were fighting the fucking CBeebies, it’s fucking loads better than Stonker’s Stanley. That’d teach them fucking Chelterton bastards for trolling our fucking Facebook page, all right. I’d be a fucking legend.”

Kylie could hear the man’s words, but little of what he said made any sense. She knew what CBeebies and Facebook were, but she had never seen either of them. She was too old for watching CBeebies, and Facebook needed either a computer or a phone, neither of which she had ever owned and probably never would. And what did they have to do with what was happening anyway? She thought about the zombie movies she’d seen recently. One of them had Paddy, the vet from Emmerdale, in it. The zombies in that had been similar to the crazies attacking Meadowside, except they barked like dogs and moved a lot faster. Could that really be what they were? Zombies?

“Wait,” Kylie said, suddenly thinking of Britney, “why did you ask if I’d been bitten?”

“If you get bit by a zombie, you turn into a zombie. Every fucker knows that.”

“But my friend didn’t. She just went yellow, then passed out for an hour or so. When she came round she was okay again.”

Smiffy shrugged. “Yeah well, it probably takes a while for them to change. But she will, sooner or later, then she’ll start chewing down on whoever’s nearest to her at the time. Then they’ll turn into zombies too. That’s how it works. Don’t you know nothing?”

Kylie thought about all those people locked up with Britney in the play area. About the other people in there with similar injuries. She hoped what Smiffy was telling her wasn’t true, otherwise they would all be dead by now.

“Well,” Smiffy said, turning away, “much as I’d like to stand here chatting all day, there’s something I need to do. You’d best get yourself somewhere safe before the zombies get you. And if your mate’s been bit, stay the fuck away from her.”

“What?” Kylie said. “No, wait. You can’t leave me here by myself.”

Smiffy shrugged as he walked away. “Like I said, I’ve got something I need to do. You can tag along if you like, I’m not fussed either way. Just don’t get under my feet, and keep quiet so you don’t attract too many fucking zombies.”

Kylie watched Smiffy walk toward the stairs. She looked around for her golf club and picked it up before hurrying after him, stepping gingerly over the mutilated corpses at her feet. Smiffy paused at the bend in the stairway and peered around the corner before continuing down, the chainsaw giving out a steady put-put-put by his side. A lone crazy hissed at him when he emerged from the stairway, blood dripping from its chin down its Argyle jumper. Smiffy smiled and gestured the crazy forward with his fingers.

“Come on then, you fucking cunt. Let’s fucking have it.”

Smiffy waited until the crazy was almost upon him before he raised the chainsaw. He pulled the trigger and thrust the blades up between the crazy’s grasping hands, burying the end in its chest. Smiffy laughed as the crazy flailed its arms, still reaching desperately to grab hold of him. He pulled out the chainsaw and lopped off both the crazy’s hands, one after the other, then crouched down and swung the chainsaw at its right leg, just below the knee. The chainsaw screeched as it hit bone, then cut through.

“Timber!” Smiffy shouted as the crazy toppled sideways and fell.

He walked up to the crazy and kicked it in the head when it tried to roll over, sending it spinning onto its back. The crazy thrashed its arms, blood flying in all directions from the ragged stumps where its hands used to be. Smiffy turned to Kylie and nodded.

“You see? You have to get them in the head to kill them. Anywhere else won’t fucking work.”

Kylie watched the crazy struggle as Smiffy raised his boot above the gaping wound in its chest. “Watch this,” Smiffy said, then stamped down. His boot disappeared into the crazy’s chest with a crunch followed by a wet squelch, like someone stepping on a giant snail. The crazy’s arms shot up like they were spring-loaded, then just as quickly fell to its side. It gave out a rasping sigh, then lay still. Smiffy looked down as he pulled his foot out of the crazy’s chest and shook the gore from his boot.

“Well that’s interesting,” Smiffy said, frowning. “Maybe the movies got that bit wrong? Oh well, it’ll make things a lot easier, yeah?” He grinned. “Come on then, kid. Let’s get this fucking party started.” He looked around at nearby shops, as if he were getting his bearings, then pointed west. “This way, I think.”

Smiffy led Kylie through the dimly lit shopping centre toward the war memorial statue. They met a few crazies along the way, and Smiffy dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. Most he killed outright with a single slash of the chainsaw to the neck, others he had a little bit more fun with. One man in an expensive-looking suit and tie had his arms and legs hacked off and then left rolling around on the ground to die of blood-loss. Another, a short fat man with a beard, was left with his intestines spilling out of a gaping wound. Smiffy laughed as the man stuffed his own intestines into his mouth, trying to eat them. With others, Smiffy simply sliced off their outstretched fingers and drove the end of the chainsaw into their mouths, then declared them safe enough to come back to later to finish the job.

Kylie watched each death or mutilation numbly, accepting it as necessary but not wanting to get involved. Smiffy seemed mentally unstable, but whether he had always been like that, or if it was a result of the situation they were in, she had no way of knowing. Sometimes he would roar “Skumfuckers!” as he rushed forward to meet a crazy lumbering toward them, other times he would just slash at them with the chainsaw as he passed them by, almost as an afterthought.

When they reached the war memorial statue, Smiffy handed the chainsaw to Kylie. She took it without thinking, surprised at how light it was. Smiffy reached up to the statue and pulled a yellow and red striped scarf from the arm of one of the bronze soldiers. He stretched out the scarf in both hands, then kissed its centre before tying it around his wrist. Kylie noticed there was another identical scarf left hanging from the statue. Smiffy pulled it down and looked around at the mangled corpses littering the ground. Something seemed to catch his eye and he strode up to one of them. Kylie followed, not wanting to be left alone. Smiffy bent down next to an eviscerated body with tatters of yellow clothing sticking to it and looped the scarf through its exposed ribcage.