“One of them bit me, for fuck’s sake,” Webb interrupted energetically as if it was breaking news. Truth was, it was all he’d been talking about since it had happened.
“Look, are you sure you’re not getting this out of proportion?” Jas wondered. “Hollis said that—”
“I’m sick of hearing about what Hollis says,” Webb snapped. “He’s full of shit. You know what he’s like, he doesn’t want to do anything until he’s got no choice. If we sit and wait for him to make a decision we’ll have corpses knocking on the front door before he’s even agreed there’s a problem.”
“So are they really changing?” Ellie asked.
“Go down and have a look,” Webb said.
“We know they are,” Stokes interrupted, “and the longer we leave it, the worse it’s going to get. We need to get in there now and sort them out before they’re capable of fighting back. We should get down there tomorrow and get rid of as many of them as we can.”
12
“I didn’t think you wanted to play,” Harte said to Hollis as he followed him out of the lobby and walked across the car park. Hollis covered his mouth and stifled a yawn. He’d given up wearing a watch several weeks ago but he guessed it was sometime around six in the morning, maybe even as late as seven. It was a cold, wet, and miserable day. Long overdue rain was finally filling the buckets, pots, and pans they’d left outside to gather water.
“I don’t. I’ll be keeping an eye on you silly bastards from the window,” he said quietly as he filled a jug from the rainwater which had puddled at the bottom of a plastic paddling pool. “For the record I don’t know if this is going to work, but I guess it’s probably worth a try.”
Harte nodded, surprised that Hollis seemed so positive. He watched him wander back to the flats, then pulled on a spare motorcycle helmet and ambled across the car park to where Jas stood checking the bike. Jas looked up as Harte approached.
“You ready?” he asked. He sounded subdued.
“Suppose,” Harte mumbled, adjusting the straps of a small rucksack which he hoisted onto his back. “Let’s just get it done.”
It had seemed like a sensible plan last night, but now, standing here in the cold, low light of morning in full view of the endless devastation once again, they were both beginning to wonder what they’d agreed to. They were going out to try and create a distraction to reduce some of the pressure at the front of the crowd, but Jas suddenly felt less like a decoy and more like bait. Forcing himself to move, he turned his back on the huge expanse of rotting flesh which stretched out below him then climbed on the bike and started the engine. The spitting roar of the powerful machine disturbed the uneasy silence. Harte picked up a can of fuel and got on behind him, holding onto the back of the bike with his free hand as they drove away.
Stokes and Webb watched the bike disappear from the dubious comfort of the now rain-soaked sofa where they’d sat and talked last night.
“We should make a start,” Webb suggested. “Get down there and get ready.”
Stokes shook his head and opened a can of lager.
“Plenty of time, son,” he said. “Plenty of time.”
* * *
Jas weaved around the back of the building, cutting between the rubble and ruin and swerving around mountainous piles of rubbish which had been discarded by the survivors during their incarceration here. He drove the bike through a narrow alleyway, then powered across an empty rectangular yard lined with lock-ups and garages on either side. Through a gap in a chain-link fence, up a steep grass verge and they had reached the road without coming across a single body. There were always fewer of them on this side. Gravity, the overall geography of the land, and the mazelike layout of the dilapidated housing estate meant that the dead were naturally channeled down toward the foot of the hill rather than being allowed to gather in numbers up here behind the flats.
The plan this morning was simple. Get far enough away from their base to be safe, yet stay close enough to create a distraction that would attract the attention of some of the huge crowds gathered around the bottom of the hill. They figured their work would be easier if the corpses were looking in the opposite direction when they mounted their attack.
Navigating through the dead world was becoming more and more of a problem for Jas, particularly at such high speeds. He didn’t want to drive any slower, despite the relative lack of corpses on this particular stretch of road. Traveling at this rate he knew that he’d be able to get past any of the bodies foolish enough to get in his way. If he reduced his speed at all the dead would have a chance, albeit just a slight one, of knocking him off- balance.
Harte maintained his one-handed grip on the bike with all the strength he could muster as the powerful machine dipped from side to side. Jas steered skilfully around the occasional wandering cadaver and other random obstructions, trying hard to fathom his way through the bizarre and chaotic landscape. He’d been here many times before, but the myriad streets all looked broadly the same, and as the world decayed so everything seemed to be becoming less defined. He powered down a long, sweeping, tree-lined road and finally spotted a landmark which helped him focus and make sense of his surroundings again. They drove parallel with a long gray-stone wall which ran the length of one edge of a massive reservoir, then passed the shadowy shell of a once-thriving college. Even now, weeks after they had died, the imprisoned corpses of students pressed their decayed faces against the windows when they heard the bike approaching, looking for release from their dormitory and lecture-room tombs.
Now Jas knew exactly where he was and where he wanted to be. They’d driven in a large loop which took them right around the back of the immense crowd at the bottom of the hill. Two sharp left-hand turns in quick succession and they were almost there. Harte looked up and could see the flats above them in the distance—a dark, imposing structure silhouetted against the ominous gray-white sky. Although their distance from home was unsettling, he was reassured by the fact that, from here, the building looked like an impenetrable gothic castle or fortress. He was distracted from his thoughts when Jas suddenly turned left again, nearly wrenching his shoulder out of its socket as the bike dipped to the side. They stopped and he flicked up the visor of his helmet.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, glancing anxiously around. There were more bodies here, and he was already aware of several creeping, twisted figures which were emerging from the shadows on either side of the road.
“Need to work out how we’re going to get out of here,” Jas replied, his voice muffled and quiet.
“Don’t you think we should have thought about that before we came out?”
Harte stared at a grotesque creature which limped closer to them. A huge chunk of flesh was missing from the right of its torso, as if something had taken a bite out of its side. It wore a pair of soiled pajama bottoms and slippers, and its awkward, lethargic movement caused more of its putrefied guts to spill out of the hole in its chest.
“Are you listening to me?” Jas said angrily. Harte shook his head, cursing himself for being so distracted by the monstrosity he’d been watching and the trail of guts it had left on the road.
“What?” he mumbled.
“We’ll go around the back,” Jas yelled, driving a little farther forward, then stopping midway down what had once been an ordinary suburban street lined on either side with unremarkable, semidetached houses. He looked up to make sure he could still see the flats—no point creating a distraction that can’t be seen from up there, he thought—then gestured toward the nearest house. More bodies were hauling themselves toward them now. A group of three seemed to be moving together. “Open that gate!” he ordered, pointing to the narrow passageway which ran down the side of the house.
Harte immediately jumped off the bike and ran down the driveway, pausing only to barge a lanky and particularly unsteady body out of the way, sending it tripping over onto the tarmac. He tried to force the wooden gate open but it wouldn’t move.
“It’s locked,” he shouted to Jas, who had driven down the drive after him.
“Of course it’s locked, you idiot!” he shouted back. “Just climb over and get the bloody thing open!”
Inquisitive bodies were beginning to swarm down the driveway now, almost completely blocking the way out. Still holding on to the fuel can, Harte hauled himself up over the top of the tall gate and crashed down into the
