Undead Rain (Book 2): Storm (3 page)

Of course she wouldn’t. Lucy knew how dangerous it was on foot, how difficult to survive without the sea between us and the nasties. She would never leave me alone here.
 

At the moment, her reason didn’t matter. Knowing why she left the marina wasn’t going to help me get a boat and sail out to find her. I needed to focus on the here and now while I still had a here and now to focus on.
 

The noises of men and vehicles were louder. Voices drifted on the breeze along with the clanking of heavy machinery. It was still far enough away that I didn’t have to worry but what if one of those men decided to take a walk along the beach and found the body lying on the sand? What if that made them wary, compelled them to search the area?

My hiding place suddenly seemed exposed. I was trapped inside this tiny hole in the rocks.
 

I tried to calm myself down but I couldn’t resist the urge to look outside and check the beach. If I saw people coming this way, I could run.

Crawling outside, I pressed myself against the rocks and squinted against the fog. The sun had burned most of it away and I could see all the way to the marina. What I saw there made my heart sink.

The place was crawling with soldiers and military vehicles. They had a big rumbling excavator belching smoke and gouging trenches in the sand with its steel bucket. Land Rovers and armoured personnel carriers were parked on the beach and around the marina. Soldiers scurried along the jetties carrying sandbags and large pieces of metal. There was even a tank sitting there, its gun barrel pointing across the beach at me like an accusing finger.

I was sure they hadn’t seen me yet but I couldn’t stay here with the army crawling over the area. There was no way I could get a boat from the marina now.
 

What the hell was I going to do?

Keeping close to the rocks, I headed in the opposite direction along the cliffs. A quick glance over my shoulder now and then told me they hadn’t seen me. They were too busy doing their job, whatever that was.

The beach ahead of me terminated at a large cliff that jutted into the sea. A set of sun-bleached stone steps flanked by grey metal handrails led up to the cliff top. I didn’t want to go up there. The streets of the city were deadly.

But I couldn’t stay here and wait to be discovered by the soldiers who had invaded the beach. Besides, the tide was coming in and I was already wet and cold.
 

I walked over the steps but hesitated. The fog had disappeared. Any advantage it might have given me was gone. It was a sunny morning, which meant the zombies would be roaming the streets. I hadn’t wanted this.
 
Why hadn’t I listened to Lucy and stayed aboard
The Big Easy
?

Wondering how many more dumb decisions I was going to make and if any of them were going to cost me my life, I put my boot on the first step and wrapped my fingers around the cold metal handrail.
 

As slow as a man walking to the gas chamber, I went up to the city.

five

By the time I got to the top of the steps, the sky had cleared and the sun was beating down, making steam rise from my wet clothes. I cast a nervous glance around. An overgrown grassy area in front of me led to a coastal road that wound around the cliff tops. Across the road, a row of three-storey houses, some of which had been made into inns, looked empty.
 

I crawled into the grass, my head turning left and right as I tried to take in all of my surroundings. The noises from the soldiers at the marina were faint now. I could hear far away shambling sounds, which I was sure must be zombies coming out of hiding but I couldn’t tell how many there were or their location.
 

I felt exposed out here in the grass, vulnerable. Across the road, a number of cars were parked outside the houses. If I could get a vehicle, I would feel safer. I could leave the city, drive somewhere remote and decide what to do next. I couldn’t make any decisions while I was in danger of being killed by a herd of nasties or thrown into a Survivors Camp by the army. I couldn’t think of anything except my immediate self-preservation.

I ran across the road, keeping low, and rested between two parked cars. Logic told me that if the cars were parked here outside their owners’ homes, the car keys were somewhere in the houses.
 

Along with the owners. Alive or dead. Either way, they were a danger to me.

The house closest to me had a wooden porch painted in flaking eggshell blue paint. The sun and salty air had taken their toll on the house’s exterior, eating at the wooden window frames and fading the paint until it looked like a sun-bleached skull covered in flaking pieces of bone.

I broke cover and went up the steps to the porch. It creaked beneath my boots. The front door was made of wood painted in the same pale blue and had two panels of frosted glass running down each side. I put my hand on the rusted metal handle and tried the door.

Locked.

Using the tip of the baseball bat, I broke the pane of glass nearest the handle and reached inside, hoping the key was in the lock. If not, I would have to try another house.
 

My searching fingers found a bunch of keys hanging from the lock. I felt for the key that was in the door, found it and turned it. The lock clicked and the door opened.

I stepped inside, glad to be off the street. But the stench that hit me made me wonder if I was safer outside.
 

The smell of rancid meat hung in the air.
 

Trying not to puke, I readied the bat and made a quick assessment of the place. The hallway and stairs were covered in thick grass-green carpet. The wallpaper was pale lime. Someone sure liked green.

Was that someone still here?

To my left, an open doorway revealed a living room. There was a TV and leather furniture in there but no movement. Ahead of me, a doorway led to the kitchen. I could see a small white microwave sitting on the counter but the rest of the room was out of sight. I could hear the high-pitched buzzing of a swarm of flies in there.
 

I crept forward slowly, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps.

I peered around the edge of the doorway. There was nothing in there except an oven, dishwasher and a sink full of dirty dishes. The flies were big and loud, buzzing around the sink and colliding with a window that showed a messy yard out back. The rotting smell was worse in here, making me heave.

I went over to the sink, swatting at flies as they swarmed around me. Sitting among the dirty dishes, the carcass of a chicken crawled with maggots. They writhed over the flesh. I backed away.

The smell of rotting meat wasn’t a zombie at all; it really was rotting meat. It looked like somebody had left here in a hurry. The back door was still slightly ajar. So the occupants had left the keys in the front door and fled out the back.

Remembering why I had entered the house, I wondered if they had taken their car with them. A quick search of the kitchen told me there were no car keys here. I went back to the hallway and closed the kitchen door to lessen the stink of the chicken.

In the living room, I found a key fob on the coffee table. I wondered if the people who lived here were still alive or if they were dead somewhere.

Either way, I was taking their car. A large bay window showed the street outside. Still deserted. I pointed the key fob at the row of cars and pressed the unlock button. The lights on a black Astra flashed.

If the car had fuel, I was out of here.
 

I checked the street again from the front door. All clear.

The Astra locked itself with a click by the time I reached it so I pressed the fob again and slid into the driver’s seat. The car was fairly new and the inside was empty of clutter, unlike my own car, which was full of rock CDs in and out of their cases.
 

I started the engine and watched the lights on the fuel gauge climb to the three quarters full mark.
 

Breathing a sigh of relief, I put the car into first gear and pulled onto the road.
 

I drove along the coastal road, glancing out of the window at the sea below for any sign of
The Big Easy,
but she was nowhere to be seen. I could think about that later. Right now, I had to find a safe place away from the city.
 

Being in the car gave me more confidence. As long as I could avoid military checkpoints, I should be able to drive to a remote area and hide while I decided on my next move to get back to Lucy and our boat.

Despite the fact that the army had taken over the marina, the coastal road was free of any military presence.

I put my foot down a little and carefully picked up speed. I couldn’t wait to see the back of the city but I had to make sure I didn’t drive into a hidden checkpoint and get caught by soldiers.

Despite the shitty start to the day, my luck seemed to be changing and I drove out of the city without any problems. As I hit the road that wound between the green, misty mountains and the city was no longer in the rear-view mirror, I realised I had been breathing shallowly, almost holding my breath in anticipation of trouble.

I felt calmer now. Breathing more deeply, I cracked open the window to let some fresh air into the car.
 

I could not relax completely. There could be a military checkpoint anywhere on the road. I watched the road ahead carefully and kept the Astra at a steady 30 miles per hour.
 

The road wound inland and the sea disappeared from view, making me feel even more cut off from Lucy and
The Big Easy
. Trees and mountains blurred past the windows as I drove farther away from the coast. I felt like I was abandoning Lucy but I had to find shelter, a hiding place. Besides, if she was on the boat, she was probably safe whereas I was in a shitload of danger.
 

I felt like a fish that had been washed up onshore and would suffocate unless it found its way back to the water. I had never been a fan of the sea before but now it was the only place I felt safe from the hell that had thrust itself upon the world.

I looked for side roads as I drove, the urge to get off the main road rising in my gut like boiling acid. If I stayed on this road for much longer, I would run into the army. They would put me in a Survivors Camp. Or they would kill me. Either way, I’d be dead. Better a quick bullet in the head than to get locked up like a sardine in a can, waiting for the zombies to arrive.

After half an hour of slow, tense driving, the mountains were replaced by woods. I saw a large wooden gate on the right and a dirt road that led beyond it into the trees. I pulled over, left the engine running, and got out to take a closer look.

The gate was held shut by a metal bolt but there were no locks. The road beyond disappeared into the trees. Maybe there was a house up there, a farm, or a herd of zombies. I had no idea. At least I would be off the main road. I slid the bolt back and swung the gate open.

After driving through, I closed it behind me and replaced the bolt. Getting back in the Astra quickly, I drove along the bumpy, narrow road, constantly checking the rear-view mirror and windows for trouble. The trees crowded close to the sides of the road and I half-expected a horde of the undead to come staggering out in front of me or crash through the trees and thrust their blue-skinned hands through the windows, clawing me with deadly nails.

Neither of those things happened. After a few minutes, the road took me out of the trees and through overgrown farmland inhabited by cows. A wooden sign nailed to a fencepost said “Mason’s Farm”.
 

The house was ahead, a two-storey stone building that looked deserted. There was a weather-worn wooden barn behind the house but no other buildings that I could see. No neighbours. The fields were bordered by trees and a wire fence on one side and mountains on the other. Remote. Isolated.

Perfect. If it was empty.

I stopped by the side of the house and sat in the car with the engine running. I lowered my window all the way and listened. Over the idling engine, all I could hear was birds in the trees and the breeze rustling through the grass. The air smelled of grass and manure and that was just fine.

I hit the button again and as the window whirred up, I picked up my baseball bat from the passenger seat.

I turned the engine off, got out, locked the car and pocketed the key. Standing there for a moment in the brightening morning sun, I listened again to my surroundings.

Nothing to indicate the presence of people or nasties. Seemed like it was just me, the cows, and the birds. Of course there could be a gang of killers waiting inside. They could be hiding behind the front door after seeing my approach along the dirt road.
 

Or it could be that when I opened the door, a wall of stench would hit me, followed by shambling undead.

Either way, I was opening the door. I didn’t have too many options right now and I didn’t want to go back to the main road.

I walked up to the brown wooden front door and knocked, gripping the bat tightly in my other hand. If there were people inside—living, friendly people—there was no harm in showing them I wasn’t a bandit come to kill them. And I wasn’t giving myself away by knocking; the house overlooked the dirt road and the Astra wasn’t quiet.

No answer.

I listened, willing my senses to reach beyond the door into the house beyond but either the place was empty or my listening skills hadn’t taken on superhuman powers.

Silence.

The door handle was made of brass, polished and worn from plenty of use over the years. I pulled it down.

The latch opened with a click and the door swung inwards.

I took a step back. I hadn’t expected the place to be unlocked.

A gloomy hallway led into the house. There were pictures on the wall that looked like framed family photographs. The air smelled musty, as if the house had been closed up for a while, but there was no sickening taint of rotting flesh.