Michael decided that whatever they did they weren’t going to achieve anything by waiting. He slammed the van into gear and moved away down the long rough track which led to the road.
‘I’m sure I used to come round here on holiday with my mum and dad when I was younger,’ he sighed five minutes and three quarters of a mile further on.
‘So do you know your way around?’ Emma asked hopefully.
He shook his head and pulled out onto the smooth tarmac.
‘No. What I do remember though is that there were loads of little towns and villages round here, all linked up by roads like this. If we keep driving in any one direction we’re sure to find something somewhere.’
He began to push his foot down on the accelerator pedal, forcing the van along the twisting track.
‘Hope we can remember the way back after this,’ Emma mumbled.
‘Course we will,’ he replied confidently. ‘I’ll just keep going in one direction. We won’t turn left or right unless we have to, we’ll just go straight. We’ll get to a village, get what we need, and then just turn around and come back home.’
Home. Strange word to use thought Carl because this definitely didn’t feel like home to him. Home was a hundred or so miles away. Home was his modest three bedroom semi-detached house on a council estate in Northwich. Home was where he’d left Sarah and Gemma. Home was definitely not some empty fucking farmhouse in the middle of the fucking countryside.
Carl closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold glass. He tried to concentrate on the sound of the van’s engine. For a few seconds the noise stopped him thinking about anything else.
Michael was right.
Within fifteen minutes of reaching the road they’d stumbled upon the small village of Pennmyre. As they approached they saw that it was not so much a village, more a short row of modest shops with a few car parking spaces and a pelican crossing. The silent hamlet was so small that the sign which said ‘Welcome to Pennmyre – Please Drive Carefully’ was just over a hundred meters from the one which read ‘Thank You for Visiting Pennmyre – Have a Safe Journey’. But the compact size of the village was comforting. They could see it all from the main road. There weren’t any dark corners or hidden alleys to explore.
Michael stopped the van halfway down the main street and climbed out, leaving the engine running in case they needed to get away at speed. On first impressions the sight that greeted them was disappointingly familiar. It was just what they had expected to find – a few bodies scattered on the pavement, a couple of cars crashed into buildings, pedestrians and each other, and the odd walking body, tripping and stumbling around aimlessly.
‘Look at their faces,’ Carl said as he stepped out into the cold morning air. It was the first time he’d said more than two words since they’d left the farmhouse. He stood on the broken white line in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips, just staring at the pitiful creatures that staggered by. ‘Christ,’ he hissed, ‘they look fucking awful…’
‘Which ones?’ Emma wondered as she walked around the front of the van to stand close to him. ‘The ones on the ground or the ones that are moving?’
He thought for a second and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Both,’ he eventually replied. ‘Doesn’t seem to be much difference between them anymore, does there?’
Emma shook her head slowly and looked down at a body in the gutter by her feet. The poor thing’s lifeless face bore an expression of frozen, suffocated pain and fear. Its skin was tight and drawn and she noticed a peculiarly greenish tinge to its cold flesh. The first signs, she decided, of decomposition. Strange that the other bodies – those still moving around – had the same unnatural tinge to their skin too.
There was a sudden dull thump behind Carl and he span around anxiously to see that one of the awkward stumbling figures had walked into the side of the van. Painfully slowly it lurched around and then, quite by chance, began to walk towards the startled survivor. For a few long seconds Carl didn’t react. He just stood there and stared into its cold emotionless eyes, feeling an icy chill run the entire length of his body.
‘Bloody hell,’ he hissed. ‘Look at its eyes. Just look at its fucking eyes…’
Emma recoiled at the sight of the pathetic figure. It was a man who, she guessed, must have been about fifty years old when he’d died (although the unnatural tightness and hue of his skin made it difficult to be certain). The body staggered forward with stilted, uncoordinated and listless movements.
Carl was transfixed – his attention captured by a deadly combination of morbid curiosity and uneasy fear. As the cadaver approached he could see that both of the man’s pupils had dilated to such an extent that the dull iris of each eye seemed almost to have disappeared. The eyes moved continually, never settling on any one object, and yet it seemed that whatever information was being sent from the dead eyes to the dead brain was not registering at all. The body moved ever closer to Carl, looking straight past him. It didn’t even know he was there.
‘Fucking hell,’ Michael cursed. ‘Watch out will you?’
‘It’s all right,’ Carl sighed. ‘Bloody thing can’t even see me.’
With that he lifted up his arms and put a hand on each one of the man’s shoulders. The body stopped moving instantly. Rather than resist or react in any way it simply slumped forward. Carl could feel the weight of the body (which was unexpectedly light and emaciated) being entirely supported by his hands.
‘They’re empty, aren’t they?’ Emma said under her breath. She took a few tentative steps closer to the corpse and stared into its face. Now that she was closer she could see a fine, milky-white film covering both eyes. There were open sores on its skin (particularly around the mouth and nose) and its greasy hair was lank and knotted. She looked down at the rest of the body – down towards the willowy torso wrapped in loose, dirty clothing – and stared hard. She was looking at the rib cage for signs of respiration. She couldn’t see any movement.
Michael had been watching her as intently and with as much fascination as she’d watched the body.
‘What do you mean, empty?’ he asked.
‘Just what I said,’ she mumbled, still staring at the dead man. ‘There’s nothing to them. They move but they don’t know why. It’s almost as if they’ve died but no-one’s told them to stop moving and lie still.’
