shadowy village. Alerted by the sound of the engines, a number of bodies had already dragged themselves out into the open and were moving towards the group with obvious intent.
Harry Stayt readied his sword.
‘We knew there were going to be a few like this, didn’t we?’ he said as he anxiously swapped the blade from hand to hand.
‘We should try and flush these out,’ suggested Fry.
‘What?’
‘All of the bodies that are still reacting like this - we should try making as much noise as we can to bring them out into the open.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Brigid. ‘What have you got in mind?’
Fry ducked into the front of the pickup truck and reached across and leant on the horn. The ugly, unexpected noise echoed across the otherwise quiet island, so loud that for a moment it seemed even to silence the relentless sound of the waves crashing against the grey-stone walls of the small harbour just a couple of hundred metres ahead of them.
‘I’ll make a start,’ Stayt muttered under his breath. He began to walk down the road to meet the gangly bodies staggering the other way, his sword gripped tightly in his hand and raised ready to strike. His stomach was churning with nerves.
‘Does anyone else get the impression he enjoys this?’
Harper mumbled. ‘Sick bastard.’
‘At least he’s trying,’ Spencer snapped. ‘We’re just stood here looking at him.’
Michael watched anxiously as the lone survivor neared the first two bodies. Like an expert swordsman (which he clearly was not) he lifted the blade above his head and swung it round in a long and surprisingly graceful arc, managing somehow to effortlessly sever the head of the nearest cadaver. The body crumbled to the ground instantly, its decapitated head thumping down onto the tarmac next to it like a rotten peach. Another flash of the blade and the second corpse was also felled, its head removed with equal speed but far less precision.
‘I’m behind you, Harry,’ Harper shouted as Stayt marched forward with increasing confidence. Harper jogged down the street after his sword-wielding colleague.
He had visions of the other survivor thinking he was a body approaching from behind and turning round and striking out at him with his blade. Ahead of them six more dark figures now were near, and six more figures were almost instantly hacked down. Harper, Michael and Spencer began to collect up the bloody remains of Stayt’s handiwork which lay scattered around the street. Moving quickly they dragged the corpses over to an area of scrub land on the other side of the road and began to pile them up.
The emaciated remains of Cormansey’s most senior police officer lurched at Stayt from behind a wooden fence, knocking him off-balance momentarily. With one gloved hand he pushed the body away, sending it stumbling backwards. It tripped over the twitching torso of another dead islander and fell to the ground. Seizing the opportunity Stayt lifted his sword and chopped down at the corpse, slicing the top of its head clean off, following through and hitting the ground. He winced as the vibration of the impact of the sword on the hard tarmac travelled the length of his tired arms. Breathless he moved onto the next body and then the next and then the next, driven on by a curious combination of adrenaline and revulsion. Fry and Brigid stood together and watched from a distance, listening as Stayt’s blade whistled and sliced through the cold October air.
‘That’s it, Harry,’ Harper shouted. Suddenly aware that the clumsy movement around him had stopped, Stayt stood still and looked up and down the street. The previously unremarkable grey scene was now awash with blood and gore and fallen corpses. That seemed to be all of them for now. He couldn’t see any other moving bodies.
‘Can’t see any more of them’ Michael shouted to him.
Stayt lowered his sword.
‘So where are all the others?’ he asked, still looking around. ‘This can’t be it, surely. We were expecting about a hundred of them at least.’
Michael walked over to where the other man stood, staring into the shadowy buildings on either side of the street as he moved slowly along.
‘Theoretically they could be all over the island.’
‘You reckon?’
Michael shook his head.
‘Probably not. I think they’re mostly still round here. I think they’re hiding from us.’
‘Really?’
‘I think they’re keeping out of the way because they heard us arrive and they’ve seen you in action with that bloody sword.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Stayt laughed. ‘Are you serious? They’re not hiding from us.’
Michael continued to stare into one of the nearby buildings.
‘Well some of them are,’ he replied, pointing into a glass-fronted shop little more than five metres away.
‘Look.’
Christ, he thought, Michael was right. Stayt could see bodies gathered inside the building. They seemed almost to be cowering and trying to keep out of sight. The door to the shop was open so they weren’t trapped. What the hell was going on?
‘So what do we do now?’
Michael shrugged his shoulders.
‘Go in and get them out I suppose. Don’t see what else there is we can do.’
The two men stood in silence and looked at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Michael was momentarily distracted by a sudden burst of light and noise which came from the scrubland behind them. Brigid had doused the pile of bodies with fuel and had set light to them. Bright orange flames pierced the grey gloom.
‘That should drag a few more of them out into the open,’ he grumbled.
‘There are only a couple of them in that building over there,’ Stayt said quietly, lifting his sword again and pointing across the road at a butcher’s shop. He could see at least two dark figures shuffling behind the racks and displays still piled high with the remains of massively decayed and rancid, maggot-ridden meat.
‘Let’s just see what happens,’ Michael whispered and he slowly began to walk towards the shop. Stayt followed close behind. As they neared the bodies they began to move. Unexpectedly they seemed to be retreating further back into the shadows.
‘Do you think they’re territorial?’ he asked. Michael shook his head.
‘What, you think that’s what’s left of the butcher and his wife?’ he answered, semiseriously.
‘No,’ Stayt scowled, ‘that’s not what I meant. I just wonder if they’re aware of their surroundings? Are they really just keeping out of our way or are they standing their ground? Are they just sheltering in there?’
‘I don’t think they’re sheltering. Christ, look at them.
They’re dead. They’re not interested in keeping warm or keeping dry. They just don’t want us to…’
He stopped talking. They had reached the doorway of the shop.
‘What’s the matter?’ Stayt asked, immediately concerned. Michael nodded deeper into the shadows.
‘Look,’ he whispered.
Stayt saw that the two bodies had stopped their clumsy retreat. Now they were standing their ground.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Like I said yesterday, on their own they might not be much of a threat to us anymore, but it looks like we’re still a threat to them…’
‘Come on, let’s just get rid of them…’
‘Hold on,’ he snapped, grabbing hold of Stayt’s arm.
‘Take it easy. We’ve got them cornered. We don’t know how they’re going to react if we just…’
‘I’ve had enough of this.’
Impatient, nervous and keen to get the job done and the village cleared, Stayt pushed past Michael, lifted his sword and forced his way into the shop. The two bodies shuffled forward slightly and then stopped.
‘Careful,’ Michael insisted.
Stayt wasn’t listening.
‘Let’s just get this over and done with.’
