Dead Frost - 02 (6 page)

She edged
forward, stepping away from the fence, away from safety.

Bed, bed, bed...

Two of the
creatures seemed to respond to each other. Not with words, or
anything close to them, but the way in which they grunted and
motioned made her wonder about the level of communication that they
could achieve. If any.

It was all
academic now, though, as she was going to have to interrupt their
conversation, split it down the middle with a very sharp blade.

She ran, the bag
of supplies clattering against her shins as she raced forward. When
she was close enough to engage, she tossed the bag aside and lunged
for the first creature.

It didn't know
what had hit it, and never would. Its head shot through the air,
blackened tendrils fluttering from the stump. Where it landed, she
had no clue, and she wasn't about to go looking for it afterwards
just in case he had been wearing nice earrings.

As if the others
knew what was happening – which only enforced her belief that
they knew more of what was going on than she first believed –
the second and third creature exchanged glances. One – who was
wearing a police uniform and wore a moustache that might have gone
out of fashion in the seventies – grunted at the other, and
then they were both lurching for her, grasping at the air in front of
them as if it would propel them forward, faster.

She staggered
backwards a few feet, keeping a close eye on the female, who had just
bobbed up ten feet away and had noticed the fresh meat on offer.

She could see
the house across the field, inviting, impossible to reach, or so it
seemed in that moment.

She lifted the
machete. She hadn't noticed until now just how heavy it was.
Perhaps the previous kills had taken it out of her. Making another
mental note – this time to get a lighter weapon as soon as
possible – she hopped forward to where the second and third
creatures stood.

Biggest mistake
of her life.

Sensing that she
was outnumbered, both of them floundered for her simultaneously. She
realised how stupid she had been almost immediately, and managed to
reposition herself just in time to avoid the worst possible death.

The cop-creature
grabbed her wrist, clawing at her coat, trying to break through and
infect her with its disease. She dropped the machete down, level
with the creature's groin, and lunged. There was a meaty squelch,
and she pushed herself to the right in an attempt to evade the second
creature, which was snapping for her shoulder with discoloured teeth.
Inky froth erupted from both of the creature's mouths, in unison
almost. Keeping the second creature at bay for long enough –
just! - she pushed upwards on the machete-handle. There was a
crunch, followed by another hellish splat as the blade sliced through
the thing up to its throat.

The female thing
was getting closer all the time.

She yelped as
the second creature once again snapped at her with ooze-dripping
teeth. She could smell its breath – or just the fact that it
was dead and had been for quite some time. If she had had time to
gag, she would have.

She managed to
position herself just right to finish off the cop-zombie. She
pushed, jumped almost a foot off the ground, and the machete came out
through the top of the creature's head. It remained standing –
in one piece – for roughly a second before its left side and
right side went in separate directions, hitting the grass and
erupting into a geyser of black goo. She didn't have time to
celebrate the kill, though, as the second creature latched onto her
throat, its hands unbearably tight around her neck.

Don't let it
scratch you, don't let it scratch you...

She swung the
machete this way and that before she managed to find a target. It
met resistance, but only momentarily, as the blade sliced through the
thing's leg and out the other side.

The creature,
suddenly off-balance, slipped away, its grip loosening, and she knew
she had to be quick.

She finished it
before it had a chance to hit the ground. The good-old decapitation
worked every time, and the thing's head disappeared off into the
distance, a trail of blood staining the grass behind it.

She gasped for
air, but there didn't appear to be any, and what there was tasted of
death and putrefied matter.

No time to
panic; no time for anything...

The female was
now barely ten feet away, and it was clear now why she had been
finding it difficult to remain on her feet.

She only had
one; the other had been taken, torn off, perhaps, by the creatures
that had infected her. The stump was surrounded by fish-net
stockings, torn and dangling and bloody as hell...

She could
practically hear her bed calling to her, now, and she had managed to
take out the main threat, although it was not wise to discriminate
when it came to the flesh-eating undead. Male, or female, it made no
difference. They were equally as strong, and had only one purpose in
death. To devour the living.

The one-legged
woman dragged herself forward. Her eyes were so deeply sunk in their
sockets that they were invisible. If it wasn't for the moonlight
hitting the solid blackness within those eyes, the woman would have
looked completely blind.

With the machete
raised high, and her breath suitably recovered – well, at least
enough for one more battle – she charged, hoping that the
creature would go down easy.

It did.

It took two
swipes of the blade; the first merely scalped the creature, which
could have ended very badly but luckily didn't. The second whoosh of
the machete severed the head at the nose, which was more than enough
to finish the creature off. As the top of its head landed at its
feet, a volcano of darkness shot skywards, glistening in the
moonlight, before making its way back down. The body crumpled,
twitched for a few seconds, and then stopped.

She checked
around, making sure that there were no more of them. The coast
looked clear, which was good because she felt apt to collapse if she
didn't make it to the house in time.

As she
stealthily headed for the house across the field, she tried to
remember what life had been like before the virus destroyed mankind.

She couldn't
remember.

It was as if
life had always been this way, and would continue to be be so until
the end of time.

At least she
would sleep tonight.

EIGHT

Shane pulled the
Snatch forward and drove it around the back of the barracks where
they were less likely to be stopped by the night-time sentries.
There were only two sentries, such was the dismal headcount of
Infantrymen, but they were likely to question why a group of
survivors were taking the only decent vehicle they had off the
grounds, especially in the middle of the night. Technically, it was
almost six, but it was still dark, apart from the ever-increasing
layer of snow on the ground.

He drove carefully,
making sure that the brakes didn't lock up and send them aquaplaning
across the drill-square.

'Who taught
you
how to drive?' Marla said from the back. 'Miss Daisy?'

Shane glanced
across his shoulder to find that she was right up against the cage; a
beautiful, perfect face despite the terrors she had witnessed.

'You forget,' Shane
said, taking the Jeep over a set of double speed-bumps. 'I've only
recently got out of prison. To be fair, I wasn't the greatest driver
in the world before I went
in
.'

Terry laughed,
noting the playful tone in Shane's voice. Jared, on the other hand,
grabbed onto a leather strap hanging from the roof in the back. He
looked more nervous than he ever had before. He had opted for the
back, with Marla, not because it was safer – it
was
,
marginally – but because he didn't really want to get involved
should they encounter trouble along the way. If he had taken the
passenger-seat up front, and a horde of fucking undead decided to
amble into the middle of the road, who do you think would have to get
out and help take care of them? He knew very well who, so without
seeming like the weakest member of the group, he had nominated Terry
to ride up front and cited the elder man's wisdom and experience as
the reason why.

It had worked, and
he hadn't come off sounding like a complete pussy.

They drifted past
the military accommodation, house that looked dreary and nondescript.
Any of the survivors could have taken up residence in one of these
buildings, but they had opted to remain as a group in the main body
of the barracks. Cabin-fever would be bad enough without the added
loneliness of separating from the other survivors. There was, of
course, the chance of becoming alienated, too; disengaging from the
others would maybe cause disaffection, which was not what anyone
wanted since they had no idea how long they would be cooped up there.

The snow was
falling heavy, coating everything in sight. There must have been a
brisk wind, too, since the snow rotated and span in tight circles,
like mini-tornadoes.

Up ahead Shane
could see the gate; Terry had to squint to make it out, as his
eyesight was not as good as it had once been.

'Are there any of
them out there?' Marla asked, edging closer to the grate that
separated the up-front riders from her and Jared. 'Can you even
see?'

Shane could see the
gate, but beyond that there was nothing, at least nothing visible
through the thickening snow.

'I don't think so,'
Terry said. In truth, there could have been a fucking horde the size
of Kentucky on the other side of the gate; he just couldn't see them.
Glasses, should they become available at any point over the next few
days, were a definite.

Shane allowed the
Jeep to roll the final twenty feet towards the gate, just in case
there were lurkers within earshot. The snow crunched beneath the
tyres, though, which he was almost certain they would have heard.

He stopped the
Snatch and applied the handbrake.

Somebody had to get
out and open the gate, and he knew that Jared would be the last to
volunteer. It was pointless asking.

He pulled the
handle on his door and stepped out into the freezing night.

Or was it morning
yet? It was unclear, since the darkness hadn't altered much or begun
to make way for dawn.

'Be careful,' Shane
heard Marla say from the back of the Jeep. He almost replied with
something sarcastic, but chose not to. It was hardly the time for a
smart mouth, and he was too busy using his tongue to prevent his
teeth from chattering together.

The gate itself
was, as expected for a military facility, pretty sturdy. Shane knew
that it was chained, several times, to stop the hordes from breaking
through. There had been an electrical lock on the gate when they
arrived at the barracks, but not anymore. The generators were
starting to struggle, and they had voted against the pointless
extravagance of an electric lock on the main entrance in favour of
three huge fucking chains and padlocks. It made sense, technically,
since the lurkers were just as stuck on the outside either way.
Three lengths of chain did the same job as a few wires and a helluva
lot of power.

Shane grabbed the
bolt-cutters from the footwell and headed towards the gate. He could
feel eyes upon him, and knew that if he was to turn round at that
moment in time there would be three people staring back, intensely,
from the Jeep. It made him a little uncomfortable, but he also felt
a lot safer than if they hadn't been there.

There was a clunk
from behind. Shane turned to find Terry Lewis stepping out of the
Jeep. He was carrying a bag; Shane had almost forgotten the new
padlocks.

'Might as well come
and help,' Terry whispered, jogging slowly towards Shane. 'Fuck me
it's cold.'

Shane smiled. 'I
think my nuts are actually frozen together.'

'Well,' Terry
grinned, still whispering. 'If they get any worse, at least we've
got the bolt-cutters.'

They both made
faces that suggested pain, although Shane actually felt a pang in his
nether-regions, as if they had been listening in on the conversation
and decided to make their thoughts known.