The Last Plague (19 page)

     “We will,” said Frank. “We’ll think of something.”

     There was a shriek from the other side of the trees. Another voice yipped and bayed in response. 

     “Was that one of them?” Caitlin said.

     “It’s okay,” said Frank. “Don’t panic.”

     “You have to help me get out of here. Don’t leave me here!”

     “We won’t leave you, I promise.”

     More shrieks and screams. Closer. Florence looked at Frank, breathing fast, her eyes wide.

     “I don’t want to die here,” said Caitlin. “I don’t want to die.”

     “You won’t die,” said Frank. He looked at Florence. “We’ll carry her.”

     They pulled Caitlin to her feet. She screamed as her ankle took her weight.

     The infected were coming through the trees.

     “Come on!” said Frank. He put Caitlin’s left arm around his shoulders and held her up. Florence held on to the woman, helped her along. They moved slowly. Not fast enough.

     Caitlin was crying. She screamed in Frank’s ear and he almost dropped her.

     “I don’t want to die!” she wailed.

     Frank looked back. Wished he hadn’t.

     Too late.

     The infected poured out of the trees. Five of them. Ragged men and women. Two of them had been transformed into
things
with claws instead of hands and wide mouths snapping at the air. One of them was lop-sided with glistening bulbous growths the colour of mould.

     They were screaming and howling. They lusted after blood and meat.

     “Keep moving!” Frank said. The fairway opened up before them. Nowhere to hide. An open range where they would be run down and gutted. A killing ground.

     Caitlin slipped from Frank’s grip and fell down. She cried and screamed. Frank glanced back at the infected then picked her back up. He dragged her with all his strength.

     “They’re coming,” said Florence.

     The infected screamed.

     Florence was crying.

     Caitlin was dead weight.

     Frank would not let the infected hurt Florence. He had promised to protect her. He knew what he had to do, and he hated himself for it.

     He let Caitlin go.

     She fell down.

     “Don’t leave me!” she said, scrambling after him, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t leave me!”

     “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Frank said.

     “You can’t leave me! You can’t fucking leave me!”

     “I have to. I’m so sorry.”

     “You fucking bastard! You fucking cunt! You’re murdering me!”

     Frank grabbed Florence and pulled her along. They ran. The infected were closing in.

     Florence screamed.

     Frank looked back to see the infected falling upon Caitlin. They swarmed her. One of the men ripped her leg away at the knee and buried his mouth in the gristle of her calf muscle. They dismembered her upon the grass while she was alive and lapped at her precious fluids and snaffled the exquisite morsels of her abdomen.

     The infected didn’t come after Frank and Florence. They would be sated for a while. 

     Caitlin was still screaming when the infected tore out her heart.

     Her screams would stay with Frank for a long time.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Broadbridge Heath was desolate and silent.

     They reached the centre of the village. The doors of the village hall were open and a rotting stench drifted from within. They didn’t look inside. There were crashed cars. No bodies. There was a bus ahead of them, abandoned across the road.

     Frank could still hear Caitlin’s screams inside his head. They would fade eventually, but not for a long while, and he was okay with that. He had to keep Florence safe. Her safety was his responsibility.

     Florence hadn’t spoken to him since they’d escaped the golf course.

     “I’m not a bad man, Florence. I had to leave Caitlin behind. I didn’t have a choice.”

     Florence’s face was shaded with dull blotches. “Would you do the same to me?”

     “Do what?”

     “Leave me behind for the monsters.”

     Frank crouched before her and held her softly by her shoulders. She didn’t flinch away from him.

     “I would never leave you behind, understand?” His voice was louder than he intended, and he saw it in her face. He lowered his tone, tried to smile. “I left Caitlin behind so you and I could live. So we could survive. I did it to protect you, Florence. Caitlin was a stranger; you’re my friend, Florence, right?”

     “I think so.”

     “Friends do anything for each other. I wouldn’t leave a friend behind.”

     Doubt in her expression. “Is it my fault that she died? Because you wanted to save me?”

     “No, of course not. Don’t ever think that. Caitlin would have died anyway. She had lost too much blood.”

     “But would you leave me behind if I was really badly injured?”

     “I would have stayed with you, Florence. I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

     “Okay.”

     “I promised to get you to Bordon. And I’ll do that.”

     “Okay.”

     He let her go, stepped back. Looked down at her.

     He heard a car approaching from behind them. He turned. 

     Florence heard it, too. “Who’s that? Do you think they’ll give us a lift?”

     “Let’s hope so.”

     A white transit van appeared at the top of the road, heading towards them. Frank guided Florence to the side of the road. The van picked up speed. Frank made sure the axe was visible by his side. He kept Florence behind him. The van slowed and braked to a clumsy stop next to them. The engine idled. The two men in the van looked at Frank, then at Florence, then back to Frank. No one said anything. The driver wound down the side window.

     “Hello,” said the driver, a chubby balding man with glasses and a goatee beard.

     “Hello,” said Frank. He nodded at the men.

     “Hey there,” said the other man. He was wiry and scraggly, wearing gardening gloves and a beanie hat. He was rodent-like. Small eyes like marbles.

     “Where you heading?” the chubby man asked.

     “We’re looking for the nearest rescue centre,” said Frank.

     “That’s cool. My name’s Bertram. This is Mackie.” He cocked a thumb at the wiry man.

     Mackie waved. “Hey.”

     The men stared at Frank as waiting for him to introduce himself. He said nothing.

     Bertram grinned. “Where you coming from?”

     “Horsham,” Frank said.

     “Bloody hell. You got out of there just in time. I watched it burn.”

     Frank nodded. “So did we.”

     Bertram looked at Florence. “Hey there, little lady, you look a bit pale. Are you okay? Are you sick?”

     “She’s fine,” said Frank. “Just a bit shaken up with all that’s happened.”

     “You her father?”

     “What’s it to you?”

     Bertram’s grin faded. “Just making conversation, my friend.”

     Mackie waved at Florence. His beady eyes gleamed.

     “We could give you both a lift,” said Bertram. “Wherever you’re going…”

     “We’ve got sweets,” Mackie said.

     “No, thanks,” said Frank. “We’re fine.”

     “You sure?” said Bertram. “It’s dangerous out here, especially looking after a little girl. Come on, we’ll give you a lift. Hop in the back. It’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”

     “Yeah,” said Mackie. “We insist. Come on, man. Look after your little girl.”

     “What do you think, little lady?” said Bertram. “Do you want a ride in the van? You’ll be safe. I promise. We’ll have some fun.”

     “Don’t talk to her,” said Frank.

     “No need to be rude, my friend,” Bertram said. His mouth turned up at the corners like a knife-cut in pale meat.

     “Dickhead,” said Mackie, shaking his head at Frank.

     Bertram looked at Frank. “It’s too dangerous on the road, my friend. You really want to put your little girl in danger?”

     “It’s no concern of yours.”

     “We’re just trying to help.” Bertram looked at Florence. “Would you like some help, little lady?”

     “I said don’t talk to her,” Frank said. He took hold of Florence’s hand and they walked away.

     Bertram and Mackie were laughing behind them.

     “Why are they laughing?” asked Florence.

     “Ignore them,” said Frank. “Now, those men are strangers.”

     “My mum always told me not to talk to strangers.”

     “That’s good advice. Exactly.”

     “Hey, come back!” Bertram said.

     “Keep walking,” said Frank.

     The van pulled up alongside them.

     They kept walking. Frank didn’t look at the van.

     The van kept pace with them.

     “There’s no need to be belligerent, my friend,” said Bertram. “We have to stick together in times like these.”

     “Dark times,” said Mackie. “Dangerous times. People are dying.”

     “Come on,” Bertram said. “We’re trying to help you both.”

     Frank halted, turned to them, keeping himself between Florence and the men. “Listen, fellas…I’m very grateful for the offer, but we’re fine.”

     “You think that axe will protect you?” said Mackie.

     “It’s a shame you won’t accept our kind offer,” said Bertram. “Do you think if I beeped the horn any infected people in this village would head this way?”

     “I reckon they would,” Mackie said. “Bet they’re pretty hungry.”

      “We’re not asking for any trouble,” said Frank. “Please leave us alone. I’m asking nicely, lads.”

     Both Bertram and Mackie grinned.

     Frank didn’t like the way they eyed Florence. He stared at them. He could not appear to be weak.

     “Come on, get in the van,” said Bertram. “We’ll have a road trip.”

     “Yeah, good idea!” Mackie said.

     “I’ll say it for the last time,” Frank muttered. “No.”

     Bertram shook his head. “Well, I’m sorry if that’s how you feel, my friend.”

     Mackie sniggered. “Yeah, we’re really sorry.”

     The back of the van opened and a man in a black balaclava and a black jacket leaped out. Frank only noticed the baseball bat in the man’s hands as it was swinging towards him, and he managed to raise his arms just as the bat connected with the side of his neck, nullifying the force of the swing. The man’s assault was clumsy and mistimed, but effective. Frank went down and hit the back of his head on the pavement. He dropped his axe and the rucksack.

     The man in black swore and spat at Frank.  The bat fell upon Frank’s ribs, stomach and legs. Frank shielded his face and tried to kick at the man.

     “Florence!” he shouted.

     Florence screamed. Bertram had hold of her. Mackie was giggling. Florence was thrown in the back of the van.

     Frank called out to her.

     A glancing blow from the bat on his forehead, and everything blurred. He groaned. He called out to Florence. She was yelling for him, begging him to help her.

     The man with the bat stood over him and laughed, snatching Frank’s bag from the ground.

     “Come on!” said Bertram. “Leave him. The infected will hear all the noise. Let’s go!”

     The man kicked him in the stomach and returned to the van.

     Frank watched them drive away. He was sprawled on the pavement. The sound of the van’s engine receded. His eyelids were heavy. He looked at the sky. The world around him swam in fluid; shapes were distorted, dancing like squalls. The darkness behind his eyes was dotted with pinholes of light. He felt tired. The pavement was cold underneath him.

     He had let down Florence. He had failed her. His daughter was dead. Emily…Florence…Emily…Florence. Both of them were gone, now. His fault both times. His fault he had lost them.

     Somewhere, maybe far away or maybe nearby, the infected were screaming. The sounds of monsters gathering for a hunt.

     Frank passed out.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Faces formed around him, shifting out of the darkness like pale stains seeping through cloth. Loved ones and old friends. Catherine smiled at him, but there was something wrong with her face. Something wrong with her mouth and how it opened to tempt him with its slick tongue. Her breath was the stench of spoiled meat and digestive juices; bile and rot and all things torn from quivering bodies.

     He saw Ralph, Magnus and Joel. They were charred skeletal corpses with white eyes and ivory grins. Their bones clicked as they shuffled their limbs to welcome him.

     He saw Caitlin, the woman he’d abandoned to the infected. She was now a monster, all glistening spikes of black bone and a snapping mouth opened just for him.

     He saw David Pulver stuffing bits of his children into his mouth.

     He saw Corporal Guppy and his lads. They were all dead, piled atop of one another, flies droning around them and rats squirming between their decomposing bodies, chewing and gnawing on their soft meat.

     Then he saw Emily, his dead daughter. But she was alive, here. She slowly assumed the shape of Florence. They were the same, both of his girls. They came to him as shivering, naked forms and they embraced him, burying their little mouths into his tender stomach. They loved him. And he loved them back.

     He loved his girls.

* * *

A white room. Catherine was sitting next to him. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. Plastic chairs creaking with every movement; metal legs that scraped the floor. The smell of strong disinfectant and rubber gloves.

     Catherine was crying as Frank held her. He was crying, too.

     A heart monitor was beeping.

     Emily was a withered body under white sheets, riddled with tubes and tumours. Her hair had fallen out. Ten years old. She was as pale as the room she would die in. Dark shadows under her eyes. She had faded into a paper-thin form of skin and bone. A rag doll with a little girl’s face. The drugs kept her in oblivion. It was better this way. She would slip away and she wouldn’t even know.