Bay of the Dead

'How we gonna get past that lot?' he said.

Before Gwen could respond, there was the tinkling crash of glass, followed instantly by a scream — though of fear rather than agony.

Instantly she was up on her toes. 'There must be people in that cafe. We've got to help them.'

'How?' asked Rhys.

Gwen peeked around the corner again. Perhaps the sheer number of zombies milling around the cafe entrance should have alerted her to the fact that there were people inside, but she hadn't been able to see beyond the crush of shuffling bodies. Even the lights of the largely glass-fronted cafe were off, which she realised either meant they had been damaged whilst the undead had been seeking a way into the building, or they had been deliberately extinguished by the cafe's occupants in the hope of fooling the creatures into thinking the place was empty. 'Maybe we can get in round the back.'

Rhys looked doubtful. 'If we can get in, what's to stop the people in there getting out?'

She looked at him, unable to answer, but knowing that she couldn't just walk away from this, that she had to help in whichever way she could. In the end she simply shrugged. 'I don't know, Rhys. But let's have a look, shall we? I mean, anything we can do. .'

He nodded resignedly, and she realised that he felt the same way. 'Come on then.'

On an impulse she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him hard on the lips.

'What's that then?' he asked. 'Last kiss before going into battle?'

She shuddered. 'Don't say 'last'. Don't even think it.' She took another quick look around the corner, assessing the lie of the land.

'I'll go first,' she said. 'I'll turn sharp left and head for that red Citroen. Soon as I get there, you follow me. I'll cover you in case you get spotted, but keep alert, Rhys. Don't let them catch you by surprise.'

He nodded, and she kissed him briefly again. 'I love you,' she said.

'Love you too,' he said. 'Good luck.'

Gwen took another glance at the zombies, all of which still seemed to be focused on the cafe, then slipped around the corner like a shadow and ran in a half-crouch to the Citroen she had pointed out to Rhys. As soon as she had dropped out of sight behind the vehicle, Rhys followed her. Behind him there was another crash of glass, another scream. Then he heard a man shout, 'Get back!' Next second he was dropping down on to his haunches beside Gwen.

'They're getting in,' she said. 'We'll have to hurry.' She pointed to her left. 'Bus shelter next, OK? Same procedure as before.'

Again, Rhys gave a brief nod, and Gwen was off, silent and fleet-footed. In this way, moving swiftly but carefully from one bit of cover to the next, they circled around the thirty or so zombies clustered around the front of the cafe, and round to the alley at the back of the row of shops.

The alley was narrow, little more than a badly lit aisle, barely wide enough for a single car. It was flanked on both sides by the back entrances to parallel rows of retail units. Here were the emergency exits, the tradesmen's entrances, the discarded boxes and the industrial steel bins stinking of rubbish. It was an area of dark shadows and potential hiding places.

'We'll be like sitting ducks in here,' Rhys hissed, sneaking into the alley behind Gwen.

'The sooner we get this done the better, then,' Gwen replied.

Their shadows shrank and lengthened as they moved from one caged orange light to the next. Rhys gripped his golf club in both hands, head turning from left to right, heart constantly lurching as his overactive imagination showed him zombies everywhere — watching from windows, standing in alcoves, emerging from dark places where the light couldn't reach. In front of him, Gwen was swinging her gun from side to side, pointing it into every potential hiding place. They could still hear the commotion from the street — the wordless moans of the undead, the dull thumps and bangs as they tried to gain access to the cafe, the occasional shouts of the people inside. The sounds were faint at first, but became gradually louder as Gwen and Rhys crept further along the alley. This at least helped them to identify which building they were aiming for. From the back they all looked the same.

When they were a couple of metres from the arch in the high brick wall which led into the cafe's backyard, Gwen halted and raised a hand.

'What is it?' hissed Rhys.

'I thought I saw something move.'

'What sort of something?'

'I don't know. A shadow.' She smiled nervously. 'Course, I may have imagined it.'

Pumpkin-orange light bathed the wall, but this only made the darkness beyond the arch all the more impenetrable. Indeed, the blackness was so dense that it seemed almost solid. Gwen and Rhys stood motionless on the far side of the alley for a good thirty seconds, both of them holding their breath, their eyes trained on the narrow black entrance. They half-expected something to emerge from it, but nothing did. At last Gwen gestured with her gun and whispered, 'I'm going in.'

She crossed the alley, flattened her back against the wall and edged towards the arch, leading with her gun. Rhys watched, licking his dry lips to moisten them. Gwen was almost at the gap when a white hand snaked over the wall above her and grabbed a fistful of her thick black hair.

She yelled in pain, involuntarily rising onto her toes as the hand tightened into a fist and yanked upwards. Rhys ran across the alley, raised the club and brought it smashing down on the bony wrist. To his surprise there was a howl of pain from the other side of the wall and the hand loosened its grip, allowing Gwen to tear herself free. Without thinking, Rhys ran through the gap in the wall, and into the darkness of the cafe's backyard, drawing back the golf club for another blow.

The instant he moved out of the light, he knew he'd made a mistake. He blinked wildly, his head jerking as he looked around, but he might as well have been wearing a blindfold. He didn't need to hear Gwen hissing his name in fear and exasperation to know how stupid he'd been. He decided to focus on the patch of blackness where he guessed the owner of the hand must be, and eventually his vision cleared enough for him to be able to make out the long white face of a man cowering in the corner of the yard.

The man was keening like an animal, cradling his injured wrist. In the darkness he resembled a giant spindly insect, all bony knees and elbows. Rhys could smell rotting food from the bins, and now that he was in the yard he realised that someone was banging frantically on what sounded like a metal door over to his left. He sensed movement behind him, and whirled round, heart racing. But it was only Gwen, running across to the place where the thumping was coming from.

'Rhys,' she shouted, 'help me move these bins.'

Rhys peered across the yard at her shadowy figure, and saw what she was doing. She was struggling to move one of two stainless-steel bins, both of which were taller than she was, from in front of a metal fire door. He ran across to help, but as soon as he put his weight behind the bin and started to push, the spindly man struggled to his feet. 'No!' he cried. 'You mustn't!'

Gwen glanced over at the man. 'There's people trapped in there,' she said. 'Can't you hear them? We've got to get them out.'

Upright now, the man stumbled towards them, stretching out his uninjured hand. With his long black coat and thin white face, he looked like a phantom, Rhys thought; like Jacob Marley or something.

'If you let them out, they'll get us,' the spindly man wailed. 'Those dead things. They'll find out we're here.'

Teeth clenched, still struggling with the bin, Gwen muttered, 'If we don't get these people out, those dead things will get them.'

The man was shaking his head in frustration. Long stringy hair flapped around his face like rat's tails. 'But don't you see?' he whined in frustration. 'That's what's meant to happen. If the dead things get them, they won't get us. That's my plan.'

Rhys scowled, suddenly realising what the man was saying. 'You mean you put these bins here? To stop these people getting out?'

The man tilted his head to one side. Rhys wasn't sure in the gloom, but he thought the man was baring his teeth in a wheedling smile.