Disintegration

the first cadaver slowly hauled itself around and began to move down the corridor toward him, followed by an incalculable number of similarly decayed creatures. Had these things ever been human? In the disappearing light the lead creature looked like little more than a skeleton covered with the most meager layer of dripping flesh. It was naked save for a few scraps of cloth which hung around its neck and waist; every awkward, lethargic step it took forward seemed to cause it more damage. And yet it stared at him with cold, black eyes and moved toward him with unquestionable intent.

Room 18—empty.

Room 19—empty.

Webb looked up again and saw that the dead were coming along the corridor from both directions now. That meant that both staircases were blocked solid with bodies now. That meant there was no way out.

Room 20—empty.

Room 21—empty.

A sudden increase in the speed of the dead to his right distracted him. He turned and saw that the cadaver leading the pack had fallen. It immediately tried to get up again but was trampled and crushed by the feet of the many others following close behind.

Room 24. Found it.

With huge relief as he pulled the door open he saw a pile of boxes stacked at the far end of the room. He’d found Jas’s secret store and, incredibly, he was the only one there. He waited out in the corridor for a few more seconds before shutting himself inside, knowing that it might be weeks before he emerged from this small and cramped hotel bedroom again. With the nearest bodies just a few meters away on either side, he took a deep breath and went in, immediately slamming, locking, and dead-bolting the door behind him. They were outside within seconds, hammering and scratching, baying for his blood. His heart racing, he dragged a heavy wardrobe in front of the door and pushed it over to wedge it shut. He knew that would be enough to stop the dead, or anyone else, from getting in.

Webb leaned back against the wall and began to weep with relief. Thank God no one else can see me, he thought as he wiped his face dry. He started to sob, but then put his hand over his mouth to stop the noise.

Can’t let them hear me. Have to be completely silent. If I sit here and wait in silence, they’ll start to disappear. Can’t let them hear me.

Webb finally stood up straight and looked around the L-shaped hotel room. Where was the rest of the food? He walked farther in and saw that the initial pile of three boxes he’d seen was, in fact, the only pile. But Jas had stashed loads of stuff up here, hadn’t he? So where was it? He’d seen him carrying several loads and when he’d crept inside between trips there had been much more than this …

He opened the top box—trying to be quiet, cringing at the noise of rustling cardboard—and looked inside. Food, drink, some clothing … he wished the dead out in the corridor would shut up so he could concentrate. All he could hear was their relentless banging on the door and the muffled sounds of fighting as even more of them filled the first floor and tried to force their way closer to him. There was maybe two weeks’ worth of food here, perhaps a little more. What the hell was going on?

Confused and disoriented, Webb stepped back and tried to make sense of what he’d found. Was this the wrong room? Should he have looked in room 25? There was a piece of paper stuck to the front of the top box. He picked it up and carried it over to the window, struggling to make it out in the early evening gloom. A simple message was written in Jas’s scrawled handwriting:

Webb, the stuff in the boxes is your share. I put the rest somewhere else.

He sank to the floor under the window and covered his head with his hands. The damn banging outside was getting louder …

*   *   *

“Can’t get anything else down there,” Gordon announced breathlessly. Jas peered down the stairwell, which had been almost completely filled with furniture.

“Good,” he said, satisfied that they were about as safe as they were going to be for now. “We’ll keep checking, just to be sure they can’t get through.”

“Nothing’s going to get through that lot,” Lorna added. “It’s the same at the other end. Don’t know how we’re ever going to get down.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Gordon replied. “I’m in no hurry to leave.”

Jas turned around and walked back down the corridor. Harte and Hollis were coming the other way. They met in the middle and disappeared into the same room. Inside, Ginnie and Caron were busy shifting boxes of supplies, trying to work out exactly what they had and where they were going to put it all. Harte tugged Jas’s sleeve and pulled him back.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Harte answered quickly, his voice quiet. “Good idea, you clever bastard.”

Jas shrugged. “No problem. I could see this coming, that was why I wanted to get away. Did it for myself, really.”

Harte looked at him, unsure if he was telling the truth.

“Thanks, anyway,” he mumbled.

Jas nodded and walked farther into the room, edging around the bed and stepping over boxes and bags of food and other supplies. He stood at the window and surveyed the devastation. He’d never seen so many bodies packed so tightly into a single space. Maybe the helicopter will come back tomorrow, he thought. Maybe I’ll try and find a way to get up onto the roof so they can see me. Then again, maybe I just won’t bother … the harder I try, the more chance there is that everything will get screwed up again.

He turned back around and looked at the other people he now found himself trapped with: Harte, Hollis, Lorna, Caron, Gordon, Ginnie, Howard, and his dog.

I can’t afford to let anyone make any more mistakes. We’ve got nowhere left to run now.

Epilogue

ONE MONTH, THREE WEEKS, SIX DAYS AND EIGHTEEN HOURS LATER

Sean walked back toward the hotel, his feet crunching through the late December frost. He felt uneasy. He had that same sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he used to get when he went back to work after a holiday. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like this. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he’d felt anything.

Why was he here? He kept asking himself the question over and over. It wasn’t because he liked the people he’d left behind. Some of them were decent enough, but most he would never even have given the time of day to had he met them before all of this had happened. So was he doing it out of some misplaced sense of duty? Maybe he was. Truth was he just wanted some company. It had been more than seven weeks since he’d last spoken to anyone else and, much as he tried to deny it, he was lonely. No one should be alone at Christmas, he thought.

The streets were relatively clear now and he was able to move without fear of attack. Being able to risk using a car again had brought him some welcome freedom. The bodies no longer posed a threat now that they had deteriorated to such an extent. Hard to think that the grotesque shadows of people which now littered the ground had ever caused such panic and fear. He looked at them today with pity, but also still with some contempt.

For the most part the dead were unable to move now. Very few could support their own weight and the majority had decayed to such a degree that they could do little more than lie helpless on the ground and watch him, moving only their heads and their dull, clouded eyes. Sean forced himself not to look back at them. Even after all this time it hurt to think that just about everyone he’d ever known and cared about was like this now.

Once on the run Sean had headed for a canal-side apartment belonging to his former boss which overlooked the center of Bromwell. After disposing of his dead ex-employer and her husband, he’d found himself with a relatively safe and secure vantage point eight floors above the devastation; from there he’d sat and watched the