Dead Ahead (25 page)

“We’re
not
infected! It’s
ok
, we
won’t
hurt you!” Caleb repeated.

“They’re
dead
, they’re all dead, everybody’s dead! But not
me
, I
won’t
become one of them!” he didn’t seem to be hearing a word Caleb was saying.

“
We’re
not dead! You’re
safe
now!

“
Safe
? No not safe! Everybody’s
dead
!” the man was beginning to panic! Caleb thought to take a step forward, maybe try to take the shotgun off of him, but as his foot began to move forward the man’s eyes gleamed in the dim light as they made contact with Caleb’s; he saw madness in them, “
I
won’t become
one of them
!” the man burst out as he spun the shotgun, Caleb raised the pistol to fire, but it was too late! The man had placed the shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, with a deafening ‘boom’ the man’s brains erupted out of the back of his head, splattering against the curved angular ceiling and falling back down with a sickly wet dripping noise. Caleb couldn’t have saved him no matter what he had done, the man was always going to die in this loft, it was just a matter of time; Caleb doubted the boy would see it that way though.

He prized the shotgun from the man’s withered, filthy hands and searched his pockets for shells, he found nothing, the man had spent his last round taking himself out of the game; it was probably the best thing for him, Caleb couldn’t afford to take on another crazy anyway! He put the shotgun back down beside the man and made his way to the door.

“You’re right!” he said to the boy, “A
real
people person!”

They tramped their way back down the stairs, ignoring the corpses as they passed them by, and made their way back to the revolting purple dining room, picking up the Naginata from the front door on the way.

It didn’t take long to get a fire started, the antique furniture in the dining room burned well; they started with the chairs, smashing them violently against each other and the floor, the thin legs made for good kindling and the room began to heat up nicely; Caleb noticed that Brandon was taking as much pleasure from destroying the furniture as he did, he found it amazing that even in a world where violence was an abundant resource, stress could still be relieved in the destruction of an inanimate object. Eventually they had a good stack of wood to see them through the night and a very empty room; they had left the two sofas for beds, as uncomfortable as they were, and a large dresser which they dragged across the door. They changed out of their wet clothes and into dry, if not clean, ones; they hung the wet clothes on a makeshift frame around the fire and nestled in for the night; thankfully their sleeping bags had escaped from getting soaked during their desperate paddle to the island.

The fire spat and crackled, it still smelled faintly of fat from when they had cooked the tinned ham for their dinner, the warm orange glow threw dark shadows around the room as Caleb tried desperately to keep his eyes open; the boy had zonked out pretty much as soon as it had got dark outside. The clock read ten o’clock, Caleb had to tilt his head to read it as it slowly burned in the fire; the chime had scared the shit out of him when it had gone off! Who needs time anyway? All it is is a countdown to your death!

Caleb blinked. The clock had gone, leaving nothing but springs ashes
‘The flame that just flickers, burns out and passes away! Some time to get poetic Caleb my boy!’
he thought. He picked up another bundle of wood and threw it on the fire; he gave the ashes a good stir and waited till flames danced among the timbers before warming his hands, shuffling his way back to his sofa and climbing back into his sleeping bag.

Caleb blinked. The fire was still burning, but it was burning low; no point in getting up now. It sounded like the wind was picking up; they could do with some rain. Lightning flashed outside of the window, he waited for the thunder and a few seconds later he heard the boom; the storm couldn’t be too far away.

Caleb blinked. A dark figure stood before him in front of the blazing fire, too big to be the boy it dripped a constant stream of water on to the purple rug. Caleb quickly reached for the rifle but it wasn’t there, he heard the mechanics of the rifle cocking in the dark figures hands; he leaned in, the light of the fire highlighting his grotesque features, he looked like an Infected, but didn’t move like one. Caleb didn’t know what to do; all weapons were out of reach and the rifle was trained on him. Caleb couldn’t do a thing!

Sinisterly the figure said, “Alright,
Mate
? Sleep well?” Frank’s voice came from the creature that stood before him.

Chapter

18

To Be Frank

He couldn’t believe his eyes. The rancid old hag was bearing down on him, snapping its jaws, fetid phlegm dribbled on to his olive shirt peeking out of his camouflage jacket. He could smell its vile breath on his skin as it pressed down on him, forcing him against the worktop. And he just stood there watching.

Frank could hear himself screaming at him, willing him to do something, but he just stood there doing nothing. Another load fell on top of him and the head of a withered old coot appeared over the shoulder of the rancid hag; Frank bore the weight as long as he could but eventually gave under the pressure, allowing the hag to inch closer to his face. Frank fell to the floor and turned his head in time to see Caleb pick up his rifle,
His
rifle, and walk out the door; Frank cursed him as he left. His legs gave way and the hag and the coot fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of his chest, but still they didn’t manage to sink their teeth in. Frank begged the Angels to help, begged them to intervene, but they did nothing; they just whispered quietly in his ear
‘you will live on’
It gave him strength.

He pushed with everything he had and lifted the monsters off of his chest, he held them there with his left elbow while his right hand groped at his belt, it slipped from his fingers, and slipped again; and then there it was, hooked round his middle finger. He pulled the grenade from his belt slowly, so as not to pull the pin - least not yet – and raised it up his side and out in front of him.

“You hungry bitch?” he screamed at the hag, “Then eat this!” he crammed the incendiary grenade into the hag’s mouth and pulled the pin, showing her his middle finger and punching the grenade deep into its scull.

finding a small plastic tray beside him, Frank shielded his face from the blast as much as he could, but it wasn’t enough, he only managed to save his eyes from the blood and flame that engulfed the kitchen. As he came to, his ears were ringing from the shock of the blast; he could still feel a weight on top of him and he panicked, he peeled back his eyelids to see a half corpse laid on top of him, the lower half thankfully. The grenade had blown the head, shoulders and arms from the body, smearing them across the kitchen. The other one was left split in two at the chest, just a pair of legs with a spine sticking up and a snapping head with an arm still attached to it; angels
only
know what happened to the other arm.

Frank was left wandering how he had survived; he had planned to take himself with the hag and the coot, but somehow he had lived. The Angels, the Angels had saved him! He truly
was
the chosen one!

He put a hand to his face and felt the rough sticky texture of his burnt flesh, excruciating pain slowly grew from the point where he touched across his face and over his chest, then down the arm that he had used to protect himself from the blast; Frank moaned along with the top half of the coot, both of them lay on the kitchen floor writhing in their own personal hell’s.

It took a long time before He could pick himself up off of the black and white vinyl floor; a long time to think, a long time in agony, a long time to brood over the betrayal that had befallen him and a long time to plot vengeance against his betrayers.

Frank had been just outside the door when he had heard Caleb talking to his son, telling him where to meet up if they got separated. Then it had sounded like no more than a father worrying about his son and planning for the future; now it was clear to see it for the conspiracy that it was! There would be hell to pay.

Frank peeled himself from the floor and stepped over the lower half of the coot, feeling every movement through his taught, burned skin. He made his way round the kitchen selecting large knives and supplies; those treacherous bastards would have his pack too, all his ammo, all his food and water purification tablets, everything he had collected to start his new world order.

It was his! It was all his, their lives were his, and he would take them, make them beg for their lives and then take it from them! It was going to be a glorious sacrifice to the Angels.

Frank adorned his body with the knives and wrapped his supplies in a couple of old towels and tied them closed securely, he snapped a wooden handle from a mop which broke off leaving a splendid spike at the end, he had initially intended to use it as a walking stick as he was feeling weary and sore, but it would make a fine weapon for his journey. Frank slung the towel bags over his unburned shoulder and left the house; he had studied the map enough to know in which direction Lake Windermere lay, and so set off with determination in his stride.

With every step his skin ached, he wanted to take a car to relieve his tired bones but his plan required stealth, he didn’t want any of the zombies getting to the traitors first, and he didn’t want to give them the pleasure of such a swift death. He cut through fields and small copses of trees, travelling as the crow flies, eager for his prize; it had all been a ruse, Frank had seen the way that Caleb had coveted his rifle, always had his eyes drawn to it, always wanting but never asking, not until today! Frank felt sick at his own stupidity, giving him the pistol only to have it turned back on him; he deserved the burns that covered his face, they would be a constant reminder never to trust again.

Frank stewed at his folly. The general of his army...? What madness it was, he shouldn’t need a general! He could rule upon high, with nothing but minions below, every one of them knowing their place beneath him, controlled by fear! It was the only way!

He didn’t stop; his step nor his own personal rant to the Angels. On occasion he would find himself shouting to the sky, demanding that the Angels give him more powers, power to continue and power to smite those who found the audacity to stand against him; he was blessed with both, the Angels whispered in his ears sweet encouragement and promises, and so he found the strength to push himself through the burning pain and woeful exhaustion; his corrupted body was a blessing, it gave him strength.

The world passed him by, he let nothing stand in his path; he encountered many Husks, those slow shambling creatures, as he strode on by; he paid them no heed, they were not his enemy now, the Angels had a thirst for living blood, and so did Frank!

The waves licked his boots as he stood at the water’s edge, the light was fading but Frank could still make out the large building through the trees on the island opposite him; they were in there, Frank could smell it!

His hands shook with anticipation, he felt like diving face first into the lake to feel the cold water on his blistered and burned skin, but he resisted the urge; he had much more pressing matters to attend to. He scoured the banks of the lake, looking for a boat that he could steal; was it really theft? No! It all belonged to him now, it was his by right. He sneaked silently along past great hoards of Husks amassed in the streets, he could see a forest of yacht masts gently swaying in the dusk, all tied up along several pontoons, he threw his towel sacks over a fence and hopped over after them, in a manner much livelier than he felt he was capable of, he rolled across the hard wooden slats grazing his shoulder, sending fire burning through his flesh; it only spurred him on.

There was a nice small yacht tied at the very end of the pontoon; Frank had never sailed a boat before, but how hard could it really be? The wind had started to pick up, blowing in the direction of the island, but it brought with it dark menacing clouds which quickly cut out the last of the light from the waxing moon. Frank fumbled with the ropes trying to raise the main sail, many of them didn’t seem to do anything but finally the top of the sail shot up; only a little though, he had to unclip some elasticised straps before the whole sail would go to the top of the mast, the wind caught it instantly and the boat strained on the ropes to be free. He took a cleaver from his pocket and chopped through the ropes, allowing the boat to sail gently free from the pontoon. Sailing was easy.

It was pitch black and raining in blister cooling sheets of rain by the time he got fully underway, the boat didn’t move nearly as fast as he hoped it would, he kept losing the wind in the sail and the long bottom pole that the sail was attached to kept swinging around and nearly hitting him on the head. The darkness was a great hindrance too, he couldn’t see a thing in front of him for a good part of the journey, until he found a high powered LED lamp in the hold down below; he locked the steering stick into position and climbed to the front of the boat to get a better look and see if he could spot the island. As soon as he flicked the great beam of light out ahead of him his heart sank, there was a great copse of trees straight ahead of him, and the light also struck what was unmistakably a wing of the grand house that stood on the island. It was far too late to slow the boat now, he braced for impact. The boat gave a great ‘boom’ as it crashed into the rocks and Frank was thrown from the front of the boat into the water, the experience wasn’t nearly as pleasurable as he thought it would be before.

He dragged himself out of the water coughing and spluttering and lay between the tree trunks for a moment, letting thick blobs of rain drip from the leaves onto his face; the rain was deeply refreshing after so long out in the blazing sunshine, he would happily have lain there all night if he had not caught the scent of smoke in the air. Frank sat bolt upright, his chest complained at the movement but he ignored it, he flipped around on to all fours and stared crawling through the darkness; but it wasn’t darkness, not all of it! He could see light up ahead, a very dim orange flickering light; Frank kept crawling forwards, but soon rose to his feet, the excitement was too much for him. He ran as fast as he could, and damn the noise; he nearly ran right into the wall before realising how close to the window he was. He could hear the fire crackle and pop behind the glass as he rested his hands against it; they were in there! He had found them!

Frank gently placed the blade of the cleaver under the old sash window and levered it up slowly, to his astonishment, it slid up with only a slight hissing sound; he had had to use a hammer to open the ones in his mother’s house. Frank climbed in and peeked through the curtains.

There he was! Lying on a sofa without a care in the world, his betrayer, his nemesis! Frank crept as deftly as he could round the room, cleaver in hand, to behind where Caleb lay sleeping. He looked down upon him, slumbering in the warmth of his sleeping bag, the temptation to slit his throat right there and then was almost unbearable, he reached down with the blade and hovered it at his face; maybe a close shave?

The rifle and the pistol lay on the floor next to him. Amateurs! A true soldier sleeps with his weapons! Frank withdrew the cleaver and rounded the sofa, he picked up his weapons and moved Caleb’s and the boy’s blades away from them
‘they may come in useful later on’
he thought to himself.

Frank had the power again; it was good to feel the grip of the rifle in his hands, it was destined for him, part of him. He stoked the fire and felt its warmth through his soaking clothes as they dripped on the floor. Caleb stirred in his sleep, Frank wanted to wake him, but he also wanted to see the terror in his eyes when he awoke to see him standing there, he wanted him to feel helpless, just like Frank had while the hag tried to maul his face off, he wanted him to pay!

After what seemed the longest time Caleb opened his eyes. The time had come! Caleb moved for where the rifle had sat on the floor, Frank cocked it to let him know that it was hopeless. There it was! The terror! His eyes bled with it, and it was beautiful!

“Alright
Mate
? Sleep well?” Frank said, his voice trembling, Caleb said nothing; he just stared at him with those big dark eyes, the flames from the fire dancing in them, “What’s the matter
buddy
, cat got your tongue?” Frank said in a coochy coo voice that quickly slipped away, “You don’t look too pleased to
see
us, Caleb! Well, we’re not quite the looker we used to be; are we?” he ran his fingers across the scars on his face, “Not bad though, considering a grenade went off in our face, but you should see the
other
guy! Or should we say Gal? Your Mum’s face painted her kitchen a
lovely
shade of red by the way; it’s a shame she’ll never get to see it!” the Angels had started singing, they were getting impatient, they wanted to see the blood; but Frank wanted Caleb to squirm first, “I bet you’re wondering how we managed to find you here, well that’s going to be our little secret. You really
can
be very predictable, you know? We knew you would come here, and we knew you wanted the weapons, Caleb; I was a fool to trust you! Never again! You will be the last! After you and your demon seed are gone,
we
will stand upon a pinnacle of light,
we
will be the aspirations of the future of mankind!

“You see, Caleb, we thought you could be part of the
new world
, and we had to give you the chance to
prove
yourself to us.... you
failed
! And
I.... I
have ascended! I am not like you, Caleb; not a
treacherous fool
, bound to live in the gutters to scavenge what can be from the table of gods;
I
have been accepted by them now,
I
, Caleb,
I
am an
Angel
!”