The Dying & The Dead 1: Post Apocalyptic Survival (26 page)

The
strangers ran across the plain, but when they met Ed and Bethelyn they didn’t
stop. They didn’t swing their weapons at his neck, didn’t try to cleave him in
two. Instead there was the strong smell of sweat and something animal, like the
floor of a zoo cage, and then they ran beyond Ed and toward the village.

Ed
turned. He saw the infected walking out of the outskirts of the village.
Leading them was Izzy Foxroll, the school headmistress, science teacher, lunch
lady and cleaner all in one, and behind her were the all of the children and
adults of Golgoth.

The
Savage stopped walking when he was five feet in front of Ed and Bethelyn.
Behind them the strangers battled the infected, but the sounds of the fight
were muted as they travelled over the plains so that the screams and groans
came from a TV with the volume turned down.

The
Savage had long dark hair that would have been the envy of most women, and the
silky locks blew over his face with each gust of wind. He wore a black mask
that covered his nose and mouth, but there was a metal zipper on the
mouthpiece. His fur coat was patchy in most places and a lot of the hairs had
stuck together to form clumps. At the edges, where the lining spread across his
thighs, the coat was torn and ragged. His pockets bulged, though Ed couldn’t
see what was in them. On his back, The Savage had a brown leather pouch that Ed
saw was a quiver for arrows that he must have altered. He held a spear in his
hand.

The
Savage stopped and lifted his spear. Ed felt cold sweat on his forehead and
braced for the blow. The Savage drove the top of the spear into the ground like
a cricket wicket.

“Nowhere
to run,” he said. “And that’s good, because I’m knackered. Do you know what
your existence means?”

His
voice sounded unusually rough, as though he were making a big effort for it to
appear that way. Maybe it was because he was talking through a mask, but
something about it didn’t seem right. From the ways his eyes widened, Ed could
tell that The Savage was smiling.

“You
don’t know the half of it,” he carried on. “Do you know what you are worth?
What people will pay for you? For your flesh, that is. On the mainland you’ll
buy me a room full of boys and enough beer to drown a whale.”

“You’re
sick,” said Bethelyn.

The
Savage shook his head from died to side dramatically as if trying to shake
fleas from his scalp.

“No no
no no. No. I was sick, once. But not anymore.”

Bethelyn
gave Ed a sideways look. “Seems like we’re out of options.”

He
looked over to the cliff. He couldn’t see the immediate drop from here, but
beyond it he saw the grey sea with a frothy white crust where the waves had
crashed. It was beginning to send itself into a frenzy again as the tide picked
up. If they were going to escape over the sea, they would need to do it soon.

“All
except one,” said Ed.

“Hope
you’re a strong swimmer,” said Bethelyn.

The
Savage began to laugh. It started in an exaggerated way, and he put his hand on
his chest and tipped back as if it was so funny he might fall over. Ed could
see that his eyes didn’t follow the laugh at first. As he carried on the laugh
grew softer, almost like a schoolboy’s, and finally his eyes joined in.

“Suppose
you don’t die of hypothermia and you manage to reach the dump across the
channel. You have no idea what is happening there. You haven’t left this cosy
patch of soil since the infected stopped scratching their arses. You might find
me distasteful, but there are things on the mainland that make me a saint. Do
you know of the Capita?”

Ed
shook his head. He looked at Bethelyn and she seemed equally confused.

“This
is too perfect,” said The Savage. “You’re like Rip Van Winkles waking from
years of sleep. How the world has changed since you napped under your rock. The
mainland would be too much for you, little Winkles, and you would suffer. Come.
Come to me, and I’ll show you the mercy here that you won’t find across the
waters.”

Ed
took a step back. He looked again at the cliff edge and the drop seemed
inviting, though this time for different reasons. He thought about James, and
wondered if he was waiting for him down there at the bottom of the sea. Was
there a place you went when you drowned? Somewhere under the suffocating waves
where your body sunk to and found peace?

“How
far to the mainland?” said Ed.

“Too
far,” answered Bethelyn.

“I’m
not ready to give up.”

The
Savage gripped the end of his spear and tore it from the ground, spraying
little flecks of mud over their feet. The metal tip was covered in brown soil.

“You
won’t have to give up,” said The Savage., “I can take the choice away from
you.”

He
stepped forward in a movement quicker than Ed would have expected given his
heavy furs. He gripped Ed by the collar, heaved him away from Bethelyn and
threw him to the ground. Ed felt pain explode in his shoulder.

The
Savage walked around Ed so that he stood above him. Ed grabbed the man’s boot
and felt that it  was wet. He tried to pull on it in an effort to make him lose
balance, but it was like pulling on tree roots. Bethelyn raised her knife and
ran at The Savage, but her punched her in the face so hard that she fell to the
floor. The impact of the back of her head on the ground made Ed feel sick.

The Savage
raised his spear and started to drive it slowly toward Ed’s throat. With every
inch close the spear came, Ed felt his skin itch and his body grow cold. He
grabbed hold of it and tried to push it back, but The Savage was too strong for
him. Finally Ed felt the metal press against his throat, and the tip threatened
to cut into his Adam’s apple. With the slightest application of weight, The
Savage could puncture a hole in Ed’s neck.

Ed
stared into The Savage’s eyes. He wanted to talk but the spear was so close to
his vocal chords that he didn’t dare. The Savage seemed to be looking deeply at
Ed’s face with the thoughtful expression of a man contemplating how to deliver
bad news.

The
Savage started to apply more pressure. When Ed felt the metal tip start to
drill his skin, he knew that his neck would puncture as sure as a balloon
against a pin. All the while, The Savage’s eyes never left his. It was as
though he wouldn’t kill a man without giving him the honour of meeting his
stare.

Suddenly,
The Savage’s expression broke. The creases on his forehead softened, and Ed
felt relief as the pressure on his neck lightened. The Savage drew away the
spear and stepped back, and now his eyes were alive.

“I
don’t believe it,” he said.

His
voice was airy now, the deep growl dropped as though it had been an act. The
Savage dropped his spear to the floor, got to his knees and straddled himself
over Ed’s chest so that their faces were inches apart. Ed could smell the stink
of the man; the musk of sweat and the sour, leathery smell of the fur. The
Savage grabbed Ed’s cheeks with cold hands and twisted and turned his face like
a dog show judge inspecting a puppy.

“This
can’t be right,” said The Savage.

Bethelyn
stirred. She scrambled to her feet and picked up the discarded spear, though The
Savage didn’t seem to mind. Bethelyn stood over him and then stopped when it
became clear that The Savage wasn’t even paying attention to her.

“What
the hell are you doing?” said Bethelyn.

The
Savage gave a laugh. The tone was excitable, a schoolboy playing prank.

“I
felt like I’m on camera,” he said.

“What
are you talking about, you creep?” said Bethlem.

The
Savage turned to Ed and stared at his face again.

“I
can’t believe this,” he said, and turned Ed’s right cheek toward him. “You’re
the spit of him. You’re so alike it’s uncanny.”

Ed
waited for the killing blow to fall, but instead The Savage stood up, grabbed
his spear from Bethelyn’s hands and leant on it. He put his hand to his
forehead.

“He
spoke about you sometimes,” he said, “But James didn’t tell me his brother was
such a runt.”

26

Heather

The end of the tracks

The
crowd of infected at the front of the cabin gave Heather and the DC’s enough
cover to slip around the side of the building. Ahead of them, across a vast
forecourt that had lines painted on it in the fashion of a school playground,
was a warehouse. Its width ran beyond the fenced area of the compound. At some
point it had probably been the home of some Capitalist enterprise but now, Heather
had no idea what was hidden inside. The only thing she knew was that she needed
to get away from Charles, and going through the warehouse seemed to be the only
way. The exit behind her was blocked by the soldiers and their guns, and all
along the sides of the compound were steel gates and hungry infected.

Mary
and the others lagged behind her as she approached the warehouse, but Heather
wouldn’t stop. Kim and Eric were on the train, wherever that was, and unless
she got to it before it set off, it was likely she’d never find it. That was
the only reason she’d even consider stepping inside a suspicious looking
warehouse.

The
double doors had rusted hinges and flaky paint, and a thick bolt ran through
the middle and barred them shut. Heather grabbed the bolt and pulled, but the
metal wouldn’t budge. Behind her, over the courtyard, she heard the cracks of
rifles and the shouts of the soldiers.

Mary
caught up to her now. The woman rolled her sleeves up to show bony arms, but as
she grabbed the bolt and helped heave it away, the years seemed to drop off
her.

“Put
your back into it,” she said.

If Heather
didn’t feel she was going out of her mind with worry, she could have laughed.
It felt like time was ticking away, that the seconds were grains of sand
falling through the glass and burying her. If she didn’t hurry she would miss
her chance. She’d spent so long scared of the Capita, and it had never gotten
her anywhere. It was time to find the kids and then stand up to Charles and the
other bastards.

The
bolt screeched. Feeling buoyed, Heather pulled harder on the metal until she
felt her muscles burn. Sprinkles of orange rust fell to the ground as the bolt
squealed against its metal support, and Mary made the sounds of a panting dog
as she strained with effort. Another DC, a man with glasses held together by
tape, joined them at the door and added to the effort.

As a
hole exploded into the wood of the door four feet above them, the bolt slid
free. Heather saw that the soldiers had moved around the cabin now. They hadn’t
dealt with all of the infected, but it seemed that Charles had ordered them to
pursue the escaping DC’s.

They
stepped inside the warehouse. A cold draught hit her face with a whoosh as
though they had disturbed an ancient tomb. The windows were all blacked out by
paint and it took a while for the daylight to creep over the darkened walls and
floors. When it covered enough for Heather to see the warehouse around her, she
almost fell to the ground.

Everything
that had once been in the warehouse had been stripped away. At some point it
had no doubt housed all manner of machinery and tools. It was all gone. In its
place the Capita had installed steel pens and cages, enough to cover most of
the warehouse floor and leaving just a few narrow walkways that twisted further
into the building. Some infected were in the pens, and they gradually turned to
see the newcomers. They shook the bars of their cages and cried out, their
bodies thin but eyes wild. The infected weren’t the worst of it.

In
other cages were people who obviously weren’t infected. They were immune men,
women and children. Some lay on the floor in the foetal position. Others paced
the small span of their pens in circles, with their eyes staring at the floor. Heather
looked at one cage and felt the need to vomit the contents of her stomach. She
bent over, but nothing would come.

Mary
rubbed a hand on her back.

Heather
spat on the floor. She looked up at the old woman and wiped her lips.

“What
the hell is going on here?”

In a
cage across from them, four wooden stakes stood on the ground. Two men, a
scared-looking woman and a whimpering child were tied to them. One of the men
had pin pricks all over his body as though he had been injected by a thousand
needles. The woman had a stump on her shoulder where her arm should have been,
with the end of it cauterised. The child had a tube on her arm, from which
blood drained out of her and ran into a see-through container a few metres
away.

Mary
carried on rubbing Heather’s back and started to speak.

“Bet
you thought the world couldn’t get any worse, didn’t you? I thought so too,
honey.  I remember being sat in the dark eating rotten food, too scared to open
the curtains and let in a crack of light because I thought a monster might see
me. I sat there listening to my neighbours scream when they broke through their
barricades. There were times when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. But it
isn’t dark out there, Heather, despite what you think. Out there is the light.
This, though, this is the worst of it. Welcome to hell.”

Heather
looked at the family tied to the stakes. She felt sorry for the man with his
body full of needle holes and the woman who had lost an arm, but she couldn’t
keep her stare away from the child who was being drained of blood. Was this the
fate that waited Eric and Kim? Where was the train taking them? It hurt to
think about, but she had to wonder if they were being taken somewhere worse.

She
straightened up. Despite the burning in her stomach, she couldn’t stop. The
soldiers would be her soon, and she wouldn’t let herself be caught in a place
like this, and she wouldn’t consign Kim and Eric to this kind of hell. She felt
a hatred for the Capita scorch every inch of her skin.

“Let’s
keep moving,” she said.

As
they threaded through a narrow walkway between the cages, the darkness became
thicker until the daylight struggled to find its way through. Heather, Mary and
two other DC’s walked carefully, always staying an arm’s length away from the
cages. The sounds reminded her of a walk through a zoo with the bestial cries
and screams that scarcely seemed they could have left the mouth of something
human. She heard a whimpering sound and tried to look at the floor. When it
grew louder she looked to her right and saw a woman flopping around on the
floor with her arms and legs gone.

She
decided she wouldn’t look at the ground as she walked. It made her want to
empty her stomach, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening. Someone had to
witness the horror of it all. To turn her head would have been wrong. She was
too late to save them, but she wouldn’t pretend they didn’t exist.

Across
the warehouse behind them, the doors opened and boots stomped on the stone
floor. A soldier shouted orders and then the boots began to disperse.

“Did
you know about all of this?” said Heather.

Mary
walked with her hands at her side, her stare never leaving a narrow space
directly in front of her.

“I was
never brought here. Thought I would be plenty of times, but they never picked
me. Or I got good at not being picked. But I heard the stories. Some say
they’re trying to find a cure. Not me.”

“What
do you think?”

“I
think they’re trying to do something even more terrible.”

The
infected started to groan in their cages as though something was stirring them
up. The pounding of the boots sounded louder. Heather had to remind herself to
push on, that to stop now meant getting caught. Then a voice boomed above
everything else.

“I
know you’re here, Heather,” said the voice.

She knew
its owner all too well. She knew it belonged to a man who would never stop
hunting her. A man who cared about nothing except his precious Capita. He
probably didn’t have a family or anyone to love. The thing he valued most in
the world was causing pain to others.

“You
have a choice,” shouted Charles. “Stop running and I’ll let you and your
daughter go. All I need is the boy anyway. But I need to speak to you, Heather.
I can get you in the Dome. You’ll never have to worry about anything again. But
you must stop.”

She
didn’t believe him, of course. If she stopped, she would end up on the other
side of a cage with tubes sticking out of her and cauterised stumps where her
arms used to be. She wouldn’t allow that. And she wasn’t going to let him scare
her anymore.

“I
know what you want,” she said. “You think I’ll just give up?”

“I
won’t argue with you. Especially not by shouting across a warehouse. Come where
I can see you. For the mighty to live, a few have to die.”

“I’ve
made my choice, Charles. Fuck you.”

“I
hope it works out for you,” he said.

He
spoke again, this time not across the warehouse but to the men close to him.

“Kill
them all.”

She
heard their boots bolt down the narrow pathway between cages, and she could
tell by the acoustics that they were catching up to her. She turned her head
and saw Mary lagging behind. One of the DC’s from the cabin kept pace with Heather,
but the other was gone. To her right and left were more cages, and infected
stuck their arms through the bars and reached out toward her.

She
grabbed the latch of one other cages and pulled it open. When the door swung
wide the infected walked toward it and out onto the corridor. Heather grabbed
Mary and made her walk faster.

“If
I’m going to do this I can’t have you trailing behind,” she said.

She
went from cage to cage and opened them all to release the infected, creating a
wall of the monsters behind her. The only cages she didn’t open were the ones
housing DC’s. She wanted to let them out, but most of them didn’t even look as
if they could even walk. To open their cage doors would be to invite the
infected in to feed on them. Her heart began to tear in two as she left them
locked away, but she couldn’t stop.

Behind
her, at the beginning of the walkway, she saw Charles heading toward her.
Infected drifted toward him and his men, but he swiped them away with the swing
of his pickaxe. With every arc of his arm the axe smashed against the skulls of
nearby infected and sent them crashing to the floor. Blood, teeth and bone
sprayed out, but Charles walked through relentlessly, eyes fixed on Heather,
the beak of his mask poking through the darkness. One of his own men, a soldier
with a gun aimed at an infected walking toward him, stepped into Charles’s way.
The bounty hunter swung his axe and broke the man’s skull, and then stepped
over his body.

Heather’s
heart began to pound. Her legs turned to jelly, and it wouldn’t be long until
she just collapsed to the floor in a flood of panic. She forced herself to keep
moving. She and Mary cleared the last of the cages and finally reached the end
of the warehouse, where another set of double doors waited.

These
weren’t bolted, and it was easier to heave them open. As daylight streamed in
from outside, she stopped across the threshold and lost her breath. Outside the
warehouse, sitting in the daylight, was the train. In front of it, a welcome
party with bared teeth and angry faces, were a dozen infected.

Heather’s
eyes snapped between the train and the infected, and her brain flitted from
fighting the monsters to running for the train. It was a three-carriage steam
locomotive. It was green, and ‘The Valiant’ was painted in silver along one
carriage. Years ago, armies of trainspotters would probably have killed to get
a sight of it as it made leisure trips over the train line with steam chuffing
from its exhaust. Now it sat idle with DC’s on board, ready to leave for
whatever hell the Capita decided to take them to.

As the
infected walked toward her she snapped out of her thoughts. She knew she
couldn’t kill them all, but she wouldn’t let them stop her reaching the train.
It felt like Kim and Eric were so close now.