been hard not to remember this place as it had been when he’d last visited. He’d been here on a team building event with the design company he’d worked for on the Friday night before everyone had died. The place had been full of noise, light, and people back then. Hard to believe that everyone he’d been there with was now dead …
“Looks like the place was empty,” Webb shouted to him from the other side of the bowling lanes. “Can only find this one.”
Sean moved forward to get a better view. Webb was dragging the body of a female cleaner behind him by its hair. Poor cow didn’t look like she’d been any older than twenty when she’d died. The corpse’s light blue pinafore, gray T-shirt, and jeans were stained with dribbles of blood, pus, and Christ alone knew what else. Its arms and legs thrashed about furiously as Webb bumped it down three low steps toward him. A clump of scalp came away from its skull, leaving him holding just a handful of greasy hair and skin. The body tried to get up but he was having none of it.
“Sorry, darling,” Webb said as he put his arms around its emaciated waist, “your cleaning days are over.” With that he swung the corpse around, clouting its head hard against a concrete pillar, shattering its skull and showering the ground with what was left of its brain. Disinterested, he dropped it like it was an empty beer can and walked away, looking for food and other distractions.
For a moment Sean stood and stared into the dead girl’s face which, at this angle and in this light, appeared surprisingly untroubled by all that had happened to her. Poor bitch, he thought to himself sadly. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He glanced back over his shoulder at the carcass which had attacked him just minutes earlier, then looked down at the girl at his feet again. He nudged her chin with his boot, hard enough to make her head roll and reveal the other side of her face, a bloody mass of fetid, blistered skin and dribbles of decay.
* * *
The hours which followed were unexpectedly surreal. Sean continued to feel a bizarre mix of emotions— nervous, desperate, and scared one minute, elated and free the next. After collecting food and drink by smashing open vending machines—and disturbing a nest of squealing, fat, overfed rats in the process—Webb had suggested they try bowling. It didn’t last long. The electronic scoreboards remained black and unlit and when the pins and the balls disappeared over the precipice at the end of the lanes, they never returned. But, for just a few snatched moments at a time, Sean was able to close his eyes and recall how everything used to feel and sound: the reassuringly familiar rumble of the heavy balls rolling down the alley filling the vast room, followed by the clatter and bang of the pins being knocked down.
They gave up on bowling when all the balls had disappeared, neither man relishing the prospect of disappearing down into the labyrinthine bowels of the alley to retrieve them. Instead they cleared a space in the carpeted area where rows of blank-faced arcade machines stood and then, between the two of them, dragged a pool table nearer to the tall windows at the front of the building. As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, and under the vacant but watchful gaze of several hundred dead faces pressed hard against the glass, they played for as long as they were able, finally accepting that it was time to return to the hotel when the light had all but completely gone.
“We could stay here, you know,” Sean had suggested as they prepared to leave. “We don’t have to go back.”
“Nah,” Webb had quickly replied. “I want my bed and my beer. We can come back tomorrow.”
“We can go anywhere we bloody well want to tomorrow,” Sean said as he climbed onto the motorbike, already planning his next escape. He wasn’t looking forward to facing the bunch of miserable fuckers who would be waiting for them at the hotel. In many ways they worried him more than the crowds of grotesque cadavers swarming across the countryside. It didn’t matter, he decided. If they gave him any trouble he’d just turn around and leave.
What was left of the world was his for the taking.
44
Sean drove back across the field, the bike’s headlamp slicing through the darkness and illuminating the crisscrossing corpses which staggered out in front of him. Half way across he switched off the light, then turned off the engine just short of reaching the hedge. Largely invisible, they coasted toward the gate in the corner. He was off-course slightly, reaching the other side of the field a little low.
“Go and get the gate open,” he hissed at Webb, who was still clinging on tightly behind him.
“What?”
“Get the fucking gate open!”
Webb reluctantly jumped off the bike. Using the hedgerow as cover he ran blindly forward along the farthest edge of the field, anxiously shoving corpses out of the way. He was panting with effort by the time he reached the gate. His hands numb with cold, he undid the latch and pulled the metal barrier open, aware that a mass of shadows was already closing in on him.
“Done,” he shouted, hoping his voice was loud enough for Sean to hear. The starting of the bike’s engine and the immediate flood of light across the field was confirmation. The bike roared toward him and burst through the open gate onto the road, collecting a single corpse along the way and sending it flying through the air like a rag doll. Webb shut the gate as soon as Sean was through. He struggled with the awkward latch again, fighting to concentrate on the lock and ignore the countless dark figures which were swarming ever closer. Two of them clattered against the gate, the force of their uncoordinated impact jolting him back and showering him with droplets of decay. Behind him Sean was already off the bike. He grabbed the cadaver in the road and snapped its neck, surprising himself with his brutality, then climbed into the car which had previously blocked the full width of the gate. He released the handbrake, then jumped out and, with Webb’s help, pushed it forward a few feet so that the barrier was secure again.
“You all right?” he asked, looking into Webb’s face, partially illuminated by a sudden glimpse of early moonlight. Webb nodded.
“Fine,” he said, glancing back at the twenty or so corpses which were now smashing themselves relentlessly against the metal gate. He wished they’d stop. The noise was making him nervous. He climbed back on the bike and held on tightly as they powered down to the fork in the road, then sharply turned back on themselves and roared up toward the hotel. The building loomed large up ahead, silhouetted against the darkening sky. Sean could already see movement.
“Shit!” he cursed as the light from the bike illuminated the outline of a crowd of figures moving toward them across the car park. Three—no four—bodies were heading their way. How the hell did they get through? Had they left the gate open earlier? Had they somehow got in through … wait … they were moving too quickly, and their movements were controlled. It was Hollis and the others. He drove up to the front of the building and got off the bike, relieved.
“It’s all right,” he said to Webb, calmer now. “It’s okay. It’s just Jas and—”
Jas silenced him with a savage right hook which sent him spinning around and crashing down. Stunned, he didn’t know where he was or what had happened. Jas then moved toward Webb, who cowered pathetically, covering his face with his hands.
“Don’t hit me,” he pleaded as Jas grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. “Please, I—”
“Leave it,” Hollis warned, forcing himself between the two men. “Not out here.”
“Fuckers took my bike,” Jas seethed.
“Not out here,” Hollis repeated.
“Never mind your damn bike,” Harte said anxiously, “just get them inside before they do any more damage.”
“What you talking about?” Webb stammered, trying to hide the fear in his voice and failing miserably. “We blocked the gate. We didn’t let any of them through.”
