I Dream of Zombies (Book 2): Haven (34 page)

Wednesday, 11

As
he munched on a marmite and rubbery cheese sandwich, Tommy caught sight of Leah entering the cafeteria. Subtly, he watched her walk towards the counter and talk to the woman behind it.

“Who’s she?” asked Billy, nodding his head towards her.

“Her name is Leah,” Tommy whispered, “and I met her outside on Sunday. She’s the one who told me about Marla. Seems nice enough.”

“She looks it.”

Tommy chuckled. “Stop staring.” Finishing his sandwich, he took a swig of his cup of tea.

“I’m just a guy,” Billy said with a grin.

“That’s what worries me!”

Leah approached them
carrying a chocolate muffin and a mug of coffee. “Hi,” she said warmly.

“How’s it going?” Tommy asked
her as she sat down.

“Not bad
. I’m still getting a feel for the place. Doug will be along in a second. He’s just paying.”

Tommy turned and checked out
the man at the till: average height and build, short brown hair and a goatee, and aged in his forties. He was dressed in blue jeans, heavy boots and a green-and-white checked shirt. The service girl was laughing, so Tommy surmised he also had a good sense of humour. Turning back, he asked, “So, you’re settling in okay?”

She nodded
. “Yeah, it’s great to not wake up with zombies outside the window, but I imagine cabin fever is gonna kick in at some point,” she replied and then bit into her chocolate muffin. “Life must get a bit repetitive in here, but wow, this muffin tastes good!”

“Talking of
good, this is Billy,” said Tommy with a grin. “Sound guy. We met out on the road literally. Well, on a train track to be precise. He helped us out.”

“You helped me out after,”
Billy replied, before turning to Leah. “Guess we helped each other out and then ended up here. I used to be a train driver. What’s your story?”

She finished the muffin in no time at all and sighed. “It’s a long story. I drifted. I was on my own, unfortunately, but then I met Doug and I’ve managed to stay safe since.”

“I’m not that much of a hero.”

The three of them
turned to see Doug standing with a can of Coke in one hand and a bowl of chips in the other. “Mind if I take a seat?”

Tommy grinned. “Go for it.”

“Take a chip if you want one,” Doug invited, placing the bowl on the table.

Billy dipped his hand in straight away, muttering, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Leah lent towards Tommy and whispered into his ear, “Does he know?”

He nodded and she smiled. “Good, that’s one.”

“There will be more,” said Tommy, “but I’m not sure when to tell them.”

“We can’t
really talk here, despite the noise of other people,” warned Doug, “so where’s safest?”

“Outside, I guess
. If you joined the guard there would be more opportunities and you’d have access to weapons. They check you out though.”

“I was in the army in North Carolina, so they’ll find
out my record is good.”

“You’re American?” asked Tommy, although th
e question was only rhetorical as he’d already clocked the Southern accent.

“B
orn and bred,” Doug responded. “Grew up near the beach, which is great stuff for a kid – all that fishing and swimming. Ah, I miss that.”

“I imag
ine. Never been to the States ever.”

“Shame. You’d like it, I reckon. I dropped out of college after one semester and joined up. All I wanted to do was be in the army. Did one hitch, got out, got married, went back to school and became an accountant. Guess I got serious. But then I changed my mind and became a
math teacher.”

“Did you miss the army
after you left?” asked Tommy.

“Some,” said Doug, “
but I preferred the relative safety of accountancy. Slower, but okay. I spent four years in the infantry, two in the Republic of Korea, and I did two seventy-five day tours on the DMZ in Korea. I reckon it will be like riding a bike, joining the guard here.”

“He’s actually a writer
too,” Leah cut in. “Always with his pen and notebook. He’s been writing since he was twelve!”

“Really?” asked Billy.

Doug chuckled. “I only got serious about it lately. Maybe it’s all this doom and gloom out there – I need something to escape into.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Tommy.

“What type of stuff do you write?” asked Billy.

“I’m working on a romance,” answered Doug with a laugh. Billy raised an eyebrow and the man laughed again. “I know, I don’t look the type, but I get to thinking about my wife and kids, and I end up writing romance!”

“They okay?” asked Billy automatically and then hoped he hadn’t put his foot in it. When Doug nodded, he let out a breath of relief.

“Yep, they’re not with me, but the last thing I heard, she and my sons were safe. That’s the second-best option. We’ve been married for over twenty-five years and I think I’d sense if something was wrong. I’m sure she’s fine and
I don’t dare doubt it. She’s back home in North Carolina. Sure as hell wish I hadn’t come here for a damn convention, but I’m glad my family haven’t had to go through what we have.”

“The
administrator told us it hadn’t spread beyond here and parts of Europe,” said Tommy. “So they are in the best place, I reckon, and your military is bigger than ours.”

“Yeah, I just keep hoping.”

“That’s all you can do. I have a son and we were split up for a while, but he’s here now. His name is Ash.”

“You’re married?”
asked Doug, squirting ketchup on to his chips.

“Divorced.”

“Ah.”

“Oh yes,” said Tommy with a sigh. “But the good thing about this freaky mess is that we actually get on now, with there being bigger things around
to complain about.”

“I hear you there,” Doug whispered, “but we need to get this plan on the road. The date we
leave is Sunday the twenty-second. It can’t be changed and a meeting place has been picked. It’s noisy enough in here right now that we can talk low, but presume they have cameras and bugging devices in this building. We really need to be careful.”

“Reckon outside and bathrooms are safe,” said Tommy.

Billy shrugged. “So why aren’t we talking there?”

“He’s got a point,” said Leah. “Let’s vote on whose bathroom.”

Friday, 13

Ellen’s dream

Once in her
pyjamas and slippers, Ellen followed Rita out of the changing area and into the sleep study room. Walking towards the bed, her imagination swept back to the conversation with Tommy and her hopes of seeing Marla again soon. Feeling her pulse speed up, she tried to focus on the bed and empty her thoughts, almost fearing they could be read. As if, she told herself.

Pushing back the white cotton sheets,
Ellen sat down on the mattress before raising her bare feet and sliding them inside. Try to act normally, she told herself, resting her head back against the soft pillow while Rita smoothed the sheets down neatly below her shoulders. Ellen folded her arms on the outside and waited. He was late today.

While
Rita placed the sensors on her arms and face as usual, Ellen gazed up at the white-painted ceiling, wishing she were somewhere else. She did not want to be here today or to help in any way at all. If only they would all leave her alone in peace. Eyeing the nurse, she wondered what she knew; whether she spied on her in some way.

A creak drew Ellen’s attention to the door, which opened. Quickly, she glanced away, knowing it was he,
Doctor Grice. She recognised his footsteps, along with those of Owen. Perhaps the young man was trustable, but she doubted it. They were all in on this together. She was the experiment and she wanted out.

“How are you feeling this evening, Ellen?” asked the doctor.

“Fine,” she said, forcing a smile, even though it made her feel nauseous; the same instinctive reaction she had to the dead. She found herself unable to look at the man.

“I wanted to speak to you about sleeping here permanently
for a week or so, but only if you wish it, of course. It is entirely up to you, but I thought we might be able to finish our study sooner and free you from it. What do you think, Ellen?”

“
Perhaps,” she replied, disinterested. For a moment she felt outside of herself, her body no longer her own, as if she was not really there, but detached somehow, watching her own reactions.
If only.
But she did not know how to say no without arousing suspicion. “I’ll have a think about it,” she offered, closing her eyes to the world.

***

He rises from the bed, his face moving ever closer; the layers of skin lifting off into the air, tearing back in slow, slow motion to reveal the pumping blood, veins and muscles beneath. Angst and horror ravage her mind, but she wills herself on, to act, to do something before his jagged teeth seek to snap the tendons in her neck, for she senses… no, she knows it will happen.

Something shifts
then in the air. She feels it. So subtle, so easy to miss; it is nothing and yet it is everything. It is what gives her the power.

Peeling the soles of her feet off the ground, she takes
one step backwards, followed by another. His eyes are still fixed on her. The white orbs seem to flicker in their dark sockets, seeing nothing, yet seeing all, seeing her. She steps again. In the distancing, she feels a slip in the atmosphere; a movement. There is… she knows not, but it is there. Hidden, listening; she feels it.

In this
split, endless second her body flees and suddenly she is one with it, sliding, racing down the corridor into blackness. It waits like a sleeping animal, this darkness, scooping her up inside it, willing her to follow its curve as it eels away.

In front of
her sweeps the scent of death: rotting meat; decay. She swallows, resisting the urge to be sick. Glancing over her shoulder, he is there, not so far behind her as to not be a threat anymore. Threat: the word sticks in her mind. Its importance she cannot define, but it seems to float, filling the void. Ahead the pitch black reigns. The more she tries to focus on it, the more it appears to open like a physical door; the way of mist inviting her to escape.

She plunges into the
dark, recognising its touch, having been here so many times before. Knowing what lies ahead, she races into it, bereft of fear. It represents salvation and feeling this, her terror evaporates. Her eyes scan the scene for a weapon; anything with which to fight the creature.

Spying an ornate case lying on the ground, she kneels down to pick it up. Its heavy weight surprises her and she almost drops it. The design on the outer case so intricate, the material so old, draws her. The katana, for she knows its name without knowing, curves. Gripping the ornamental handle, around which a design like ivy and delicate flowers turns, she pulls
back the guard slightly to expose the blade beneath. It glints like pure gold.
But I don’t know how to use it.
Time is of the essence and she places it carefully back on the ground.

Behind her
, it wails, the noise building, layer upon layer, seeking to destroy the silence, smothering the air with this deluge of vengeance for her denial of him. He will come; she can feel it.

Yet there is
one other and he waits here in the obscurity, quiet as a mouse, as enduring as time itself. He is here, close. She knows. And she runs.

Laughter spills out of the walls, hurtling like a child without a care in the world. It stops her in her tracks and she spins on the spot, searching for the origin of it.
“Where are you? Who are you? What are you?” The darkness fails to answer and she sighs.

Behind her, she hears
the thing approaching, forcing her terror to awake once more. All around her the very walls begin to tremble and a tremor surges through, altering this stage. She hurtles down the corridor as it snakes into a tunnel of inky black, her feet sinking into spongy, warm earth. She sinks into it, relishing its warmth; the only source of it in this icy world.

Pausing for a second, she
spies his shape looming; its jerky movements; relentless, forever. Seeping out of the cracks in the walls the laughter seeks her out, pressing against her eardrums, plummeting through the silence, enveloping everything. But then she remembers how it only used to be a slight echo in the distance. When did it become so loud? When did she recall that it used to be so small a sound?

The laughter
floods in waves; almost deafening, it rises; the tumult filling her ears. Raising her hands, she shuts out the noise, but then she hears him. “This is a warning. You must heed my warning.”

He is here.

Everywhere, she searches with her eyes for the source of the laughter. It is hiding, concealing itself. “Why do you hide?” she asks the walls, impenetrable and deaf to her question. It lies beyond them. The laughter is there. Remembering the dead thing behind her, she turns, not fearing it anymore, knowing in that second that it is only a dream, a nightmare; this thing she conjured up to plague herself. Almost laughing, she focuses. He is still there, stumbling blindly, addicted to her scent.

Beneath this
incongruous laughter, she wills her mind to think. She can no longer recall the time when this frightened her, this man in the distance; this thing that used to be human. Dead! She wishes him deader than dead, not this rejuvenated form that will never cease its pursuit. But fear? No, she no longer trembles before it.

Spying a metal pole
propped against the wall, she heaves it off the ground and makes haste. The thing cannot outrun her, she now understands, but if the tunnel ends she will be forced to fight it. This time it will neither rip the muscle from her back nor grind its teeth into her neck for she will stop it.

Bouncing, echoing, diving, roaring, the laughter leads the way,
but she wishes for quiet. This must end. She must find its lair, the secret place where it hides. The tunnel turns and she swerves with it. The earth beneath her feet transforms into water, warm and comforting. For a second she thinks of the safety of the womb, but then she grips the pole and tries to hurry forward, turning once more with the constant eeling motion of the tunnel.

Footsteps behind, to the side, ahead, to the other side…

“This is a warning. This will be the last warning before the end.”

Where is he, this man who speaks?
Bewildered, she stops and turns, only to be confronted by nothing. A shadow in the distance reveals the dead man walking, but he is far back. Ahead hovers the dark and she rises to the challenge, dragging her legs into it.

It stops, this laughter, only for
the briefest of seconds before spilling forth again. The tunnel forks and she follows the sound to the left, the wrong way; not to the right where her senses tell her to go. Somehow she knows it is time to leave, time to wake, yet she will not allow herself. Not now.

Stubbing her toes, she
stops. Mighty stone steps rise up from the ground before her. Forcing one foot in front of the other, she ascends them evenly, willing herself to remain in this world. Just for a while. She has to know. It lives here, the laughter, and she will find it. Darkness looms and though struggling, she wills herself not to wake. Not yet. Not yet.

“This is a warning. It is for you. You must listen. Do not turn
away for the time is coming. They will rise from the dead, dooming your species to extinction. Your reality will fall unless you stop it.”

“How?” she asks the bodiless voice.

Silence is her only answer.

Then laughter
ripples around this square room.

“Where am I? Who are you?”

These sheer walls stretch up endlessly and the floor feels solid, like tile. A cold chill drifts upwards. She moves her arms and they seem to leave sparks in the air, as if the tiniest fireworks were dancing along her skin. Electricity; she can feel it. Laughter. More laughter. She spins around.

A figure in the dark. Motionless, h
e has his back to the wall, his face hidden. She peers closer. His back shakes. He is the one laughing. It is only one. But no, he moves to the side and there is another in front of him. Stepping out, they stand together, their expressions concealed, their identities not for her to see.

“Who are you?” she asks
again, pleading silently with the gloom not to take her yet. She has to know. The pole scrapes along the hard ground and she senses they have heard her.

Whispers. Whispers in this inky black penetrate. Words she has never heard before, spoken in a
language unrecognisable in a tone so curious. What is this? Chilled, she takes a step back, but they have heard; they know. As one, their heads begin to turn; a grisly clicking, flicking through the soundless stream.

“No!”

Her heart leaps in her chest. Before they set their eyes upon her, something strong spins her around to face in the other direction.

“
No! None must look upon them. They are the end. This is a warning. You must heed it. And you must not tell.”

Suddenly cold in this impenetrable
dark, she sees him for the barest fraction of a second.

***

On the bed, her body jolted to life, casting her out of its placid confinement. The spasm woke her. Coughing, she gasped for air.

“Ellen, I am
right here. Can you hear me?”

Hearing Rita’s voice and the familiar hum of a machine, Ellen opened her eyes to the real world; the one beyond her dreams. Her throat felt dry and she struggled to swallow.

“Don’t try to move, honey,” said Rita as she set about removing the bands and sensors from her body and face.

Ellen focused on the nurse’s face before
moving her eyes slowly to the white walls. Her memory whirred with a multitude of images. She had seen him, seen them all.

Rita walked swiftly away and returned within
a minute. “Water,” she stated simply.

Raising herself in the bed, Ellen leaned back against the
headboard and took the glass of water. Sipping it slowly, she nodded to the nurse and smiled a little. “How long was I asleep?” she asked.

“
Over an hour more than usual, but I’d need to check exactly how long,” Rita replied. “We kept expecting you to wake. The chart was going crazy, phenomenal really. What did you dream?”

Ellen
was about to speak when the door to the observation room opened. Doctor Grice strode out, closely followed by Owen. Ellen noticed their expressions lit up and glowing, expectant, as if they knew.

“A record so far,” remarked the doct
or. “Ellen, you did very well. Very well indeed.”

Ellen sipped her water, trying not to recoil every time Doctor
Grice spoke. She detested him, but fearing it unwise for him to suspect it, she forced herself to meet his eyes. “Rita said it was over an hour longer,” she said cheerfully.

Owen
nodded. “It was as if you were willing yourself to stay asleep. Is that what happened?”

Ellen remained quiet, thinking. What if she told them? How would they react? Would it lead to even more tests, more questions? If they knew she could
act willingly in her dreams, where would it lead? What would they ask her to do next? She had already realised they were only interested in her answers, not her wellbeing. This experiment would never end. For all she knew, they had no intention of ending her nightmares; all they had wanted to do so far was prolong them in order to discover answers… the laughing man. Well, there were two of them. She knew that now. Along with one other, who had prevented her from looking upon them, but why?