Dead Cells - 01 (19 page)

Shane allowed a fist to drop onto Billy Toombs's thigh. 'You're gonna be fine, bro,' he said. 'Just like I promised.'

Billy shook his head. 'If you say so,' he grimaced, fighting another pang of agony. 'Just make sure that you're ready for those fucking creatures. They're
sly
bitches.'

Shane nodded. He knew exactly what Billy was saying, but with the doctor there couldn't.

Make sure you're ready if I turn.

Shane left the doctor to finish cleaning Billy's wound, and secretly hoped for a miracle.

*

The car was parked next to the kerb, as it always was. The engine was running, and so the car trembled, almost in anticipation, as it steadily ticked over. Shane looked across to the liquor store, and was half-tempted to ditch the whole idea and drive away.

The radio was blaring out some sort of melodious rock, but Shane couldn't place the song. It wasn't actually a song at all, but a mixture of several. Combined, the noise was unfathomable, and it was all Shane could do not to scream out loud.

Sweat dripped down his face; it puddled in his lap, and for a moment he thought he had pissed himself. He stared down, only for a moment, and realised that it wasn't just sweat any more.

It was blood.

Watery blood, diluted with the ever-increasing sweat, dripped from his head. His pores seemed to be producing it quicker than he could wipe it off, which he did frantically with the bottom of his shirt. It was useless, though. The shirt was drenched, and the car seemed to be filling up with crimson water quicker than it was physically possible. His feet splashed around as he fumbled to remove the seatbelt.

Had he been wearing one a moment ago?

He wasn't sure.

The radio began to splutter; the combined rock songs were now playing as if underwater, which they weren't. Not yet, anyway.

Shane tried to open the door, but the locks slammed down on him just as he did so.

He tried to curse, but nothing came out. Not even a whimper.

With the door locked, and the car filling up with bloody water, Shane panicked and began to smash at the window with his elbow.

The window had been open...it was always open.

But not now. He hit the window so many times that he lost count, but still it didn't shatter. He knew that it should have, that he was strong enough to break a simple car window with his elbow, and yet it just wouldn't.

Then, he saw them; a small army of the creatures walking towards the car. Some of them emerged from the liquor store, the very place that he had been about to rob to save his marriage and house. They struggled towards him, groaning, teeth bared, bloodsoaked.

As they surrounded the car, Shane realised that the water was now up to his neck. He could smell it – coppery and stale – as it lashed around with his struggles.

The things began to slam open palms down onto the car. They rocked it, and before Shane had time to think the car was pushing from side to side enough to change the directions of the waves within, which lapped up and filled his nostrils and mouth. He spat, trying to get rid of the putrid water, but more and more of it swept into his throat, and he began to choke.

As the darkness began to take him, he saw faces; the faces of his wife and daughter, the face of Billy Toombs, and the face of someone who looked remarkably like himself.

They were rocking the car. Holly and Megan were looking in through the flooded vehicle, grinning, black ooze dribbling from the corners of their mouths as Shane thrashed around to no avail.

When the darkness finally came, Shane closed his eyes and tried to erase the visions that he had just seen, but could not.

Shane...

*

'Shane, are you okay?' Billy asked, leaning close enough for Shane to smell the foul odour that only came through several days of poor hygiene.

Shane pushed himself up onto his elbows and glanced around the room. Over in one corner, the guards were talking amongst themselves and smoking cigarettes. Marla was sitting on the floor, pushed against the wall, with her knees drawn up. She was awake, but looked tired.

'You were having a nightmare,' Billy said. 'A bad one, by the looks of it.'

'No shit,' Shane mumbled. 'Whatever happened to puppy-dogs and ice-cream.'

Billy helped Shane to his feet. There wasn't a chance in hell of Shane returning to sleep, not now, not after
that
.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Billy asked.

'Never,' replied Shane.

They walked the length of the room to where the guards were sat. They broke their conversation off – something about Death, unsurprisingly – as Billy and Shane approached. Michaelson pulled another cigarette from a box and lit it.

'Any chance I can have one of those?' Shane asked.

The guard stared up at Shane silently for a second; Shane didn't know if he was considering parting with a cigarette, or whether he was gobsmacked that Shane had the audacity to ask for one.

Jenson didn't take his gaze off Michaelson, not wanting to miss the guard's decision. When Michaelson reached in and retrieved another cigarette from the box and handed it to Shane, Jenson shook his head in disbelief.

'You'll be gagging for that one when you run out,' Jenson smiled. 'I bet you.'

'Probably,' Michaelson said as he handed Shane a solitary match. 'Won't matter much, though, will it? Not if we're gonna end up hunted down by those fucking things.'

Shane struck the match and lit the cigarette, savouring the smoke as it reached his lungs. It had been a while since he last smoked, but it was like riding a bike; you always climbed back onto the saddle with confidence, and before you knew it you were riding without using the handlebars.

'Bad for you,' Billy said.

'If we get out of here,' Shane smiled, 'I promise I'll get some patches.'

'Cheaper to smoke,' Michaelson said, drawing deeply on his cigarette. 'I can't afford to quit.'

There was something disturbing, yet true, about what the guard said. As Shane sucked in more smoke, he knew that he would start smoking again should they get out alive. Holly wouldn't mind,
would
she? And Megan, well she was old enough to know that Daddy was a much nicer man when he was smoking. Cigarettes, he would explain, took the edge off certain situations. In a way, they were lifesavers; perhaps not his own, but other peoples'.

'Any action out there?' Shane asked, stepping gingerly towards the large window overlooking the yard.

Michaelson clambered to his feet and joined Shane. 'Just the usual,' he said. 'Lots of them, bumping into shit, eating stuff from fuck knows where.'

'Any chance we could get to the fences?' Shane said.

Michaelson shook his head. 'Not with all those down there,' he said, pointing to the creatures in the yard. 'Maybe one or two, then
yes
, but there must be fifty now, and there were more earlier. I have no idea where those ones have gone, and don't particularly want to find out.' He paused, then took a final drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out against the window. 'The best thing we can do is find out the new codes and get out through the doors.'

'What are the chances?' Shane asked. 'Where are the codes?'

Michaelson pointed across to the computer that sat atop Charles Dean's desk. 'But I have no idea how to work the damned thing,' he said, shamefully. 'Never been one for computers.'

'If we need those codes,' Shane said, 'then let me try. I was pretty good once.' He
was
. He had taken a course at the local college so that he could teach Megan and help her with homework.

'Then there's always the small matter of getting down to the basement level,' Michaelson said, not convinced. 'I don't like our odds too much.'

'I prefer our odds with the codes,' Shane smiled. 'Let me see what I can do.'

Michaelson stepped away from the window and rejoined Jenson, who began to ask questions that Michaelson shrugged off impatiently. Billy remained with the guards for the time being. Shane glared towards the computer, hoping that he could locate the codes and at least give them a fighting chance of escape.

'No substitute for a good book,' Terry Lewis said, startling Shane. Terry nodded towards the computer. 'I've never used one, personally, but from what I've heard people are using them now to read
books
on. Don't see the point, myself. Can't exactly take that thing to bed with you, can you?'

Shane laughed. 'I guess not,' he said. He liked Terry. He seemed to be genuine, and not at all dangerous. He would have liked to have known him before everything had gone to hell. Circumstances had drawn them together, though, and that, in itself, would have to be enough.

'God has a plan for us all,' Terry said, as if the conversation had already been predetermined. 'Are you a man of God, Shane?'

That, Shane thought, was a question he couldn't answer, at least not
yet
. He had the bible in his pocket, which he had picked up subconsciously whilst searching the chapel for weapons. Had he known then that he would meet Terry, a man of God? Was that even
possible
.

He reached into his coveralls and retrieved the book. When Terry saw it, his eyes lit up as if it were made of solid gold. He licked his lips, purely to moisten them, but in that moment he looked like Fagin as the thieving bastard orphans emptied their pockets for him.

'Do you mind?' Terry asked, holding out a trembling hand.

Shane handed him the bible and smiled. 'Not at all,' he said. 'Don't think I'll be getting into it anytime soon.'

Terry rubbed the leather cover as if it were satin, and then held it up to his nose so that he could smell the richness of the material. 'You can keep your computers,' he said. '
This
is all I need.'

As he wandered back to the corner of the room, leafing gently through the first few pages, Shane felt an overwhelming sensation; he had not meant to pick the bible up for himself – as he had first thought – but for Terry Lewis, a man who clearly had faith and could put it to good use.

'What was all that about?' Billy asked, sidling up to Shane.

'Oh, nothing,' Shane replied. 'Just made the guy happy, that's all.'

Shane turned to the computer and sighed. He had work to do, and he needed to get started if they were to get the codes before daybreak.

He sat in the leather chair and booted up the system. Billy Toombs watched across his shoulder, and Shane noticed, for the first time, that Billy was struggling to breathe, and when he did it was terrible, as if something was dying inside of him.

*

The password, which Shane thought would have been the first obstacle, was surprisingly easy. When the screen appeared prompting an eight-figure configuration, Shane was initially stumped, daunted even. He pulled open the desk drawer and retrieved an address book – an old-fashioned thing that had been covered with what looked like wallpaper. Written upon it in calligraphy were the words: 2011. That was all.

'What are we looking for?' asked Billy, leaning too close for Shane's liking. The breath that hit him was rancid, and it was all that Shane could do not to vomit. How could he possibly inform his friend of the problem, though? What should he say?
Can you take a few steps back, please, you're starting to fucking honk?
He swallowed hard, hoping that Billy didn't notice his discomfort, and began to flip the pages of the book.

'Anything with eight letters,' Shane said. 'A name, or something unique.'

He worked through the book, which contained notes about the prison and a few choice cuts on what he would do when he retired, but it wasn't until the final page that he found what he was looking for.

SERENITY.

'What does that mean?' Billy asked. 'That sounds like a code to me.'

Shane shook his head. 'That's the name of his daughter,' he said, pointing to the framed photograph sitting on the desk. 'I think I've heard the guards talk about her before.'

Without a second's hesitation, he typed the name into the computer and pressed
Enter
. There was a whirring, and then the little blue doughnut on the screen kicked into life to signal that the computer was doing something. For a second, Shane didn't think that he was right; perhaps his daughter's name would have been too obvious, that he had instead opted for something more difficult. But then the doughnut stopped whirling and the desktop loaded up.

'Well done, Bill Gates,' Billy chuckled, and then coughed. He covered his mouth, but Shane could still smell the ghastly putrescence behind his clenched fist.

'Are you
okay
?'

'I'm fine, man,' Billy replied, fighting back another bout of coughs. 'Just think I need a drink. You
know
, calm the old nerves a little.'

'Knock yourself out,' Shane said, pointing across to the open drinks cabinet. 'I think it's a free bar tonight.'