Zombiekill (19 page)

There was a barrier suddenly in front of her face, and Charlie pushed against it. A rusted metal grill blocked her way, but it moved when she pulled the bottom of it with her right hand. She could pull it up a few inches before the upper nails held it in place. It was enough to get through, although it meant getting right down into the dirty water that surrounded her knees and ran slowly past her.

Pushing herself flat against the bottom of the drain, Charlie forced the grill upward and began to crawl through on her back. It was pure agony. The flesh was still raw and bloody where the dog had ripped her back open right between her shoulder blades, and it felt like her skin was on fire. She could feel the fecal matter seeping into her every pore, binding with her blood, and invading her body with its evil filth. The rusted grate was abrasive against her fingers and cut into her hand as she held it up. Finally, she was through it, and she let go, exhausted. Her face was slick with sweat, and her clothes were heavy with the mix of water and urine. The drain was smaller now and smelt no better than it did before. The darkness was ever present, and she kept telling herself that there would be an end to this. The tunnel couldn’t go on forever. Standing up was impossible, and so she got onto her hands and knees and kept going, hoping to find the end soon. The drain appeared endless. There was no light to head for, not a sound other than her own breathing, and as she crawled slowly forward, every agonizing moment brought more excruciating pain to her cuts and wounds. Her right hand was taking all the weight of her body whilst her left arm hung loosely at her side. When she put her hand in a foul lump of excrement, her arm slipped causing her to lose her momentum, and she fell forward once more into the sludge and stinking water that lay six inches deep. Her head smacked against the side of the tunnel, and then her mouth filled with the dirty water. Frantically, Charlie pushed herself up and coughed, retching immediately as some of the warm sludge slid down her throat. Burning bile forced its way up, and Charlie vomited up in the darkness. As she held her trembling body above the waterline, she retched again and again until there was nothing left inside her. Charlie felt overcome by it all. Desperation flooded her, and the exhaustion hit her. They were all dead, and she was halfway there herself. Her left arm was useless, and her legs and back were bitten, probably infected now with God knows what kind of diseases. Butcher had won. By escaping into the kennel and then the drain, Charlie had only succeeded in prolonging her life. What was the point in dying like this, in abject squalor and engulfed in rotten meat and shit?

‘
Get away from here. Get Rilla.
’

“I can’t. I can’t do it,” cried Charlie. She sat there sobbing and clutching her left arm. Exactly how long was she supposed to crawl along through this filth? God, how she wished her father were there. He had been right. He had warned her they weren’t prepared to go out. He had warned her against going to Attwood’s. Her falling tears were for her own plight and pain but also for her father. She missed him. She missed him so much that her heart wanted to burst, and she wanted to crawl back up into the kennel and hold him to her. She missed him because he was her everything. When her mother died they had to rely on each other. It wasn’t easy, but nothing was these days. As she recalled her father, she remembered the good things about him; the way he used to laugh and play with her and how happy they were. The fact that they had argued most of the last days and weeks together only made her feel more terrible. There was still love between them, so why had they made it so hard to get along? Why had he made it so hard for her? It had felt at times like he was pushing her away, as if he wanted her to go, as if she really was the greatest disappointment to him. Yet, as she sat in the dark tunnel with blood seeping from her wounds and her clothes soaked in feces, caught between a pack of wild dogs and the zombie-infested streets, something told her that Kyler had meant to say more. He was a fisherman, a man’s man, and emotions didn’t come out too often. So when he told her something, he meant it to be taken seriously.

Something worm-like crawled over her hand and slithered down onto her thigh. It moved slowly like a worm or a centipede, and she was grateful that it was pitch black in the drain. It tickled her leg as it crawled down and over the knee. Charlie wondered what else was down in the darkness with her. Did bats live in drains or was that caves? The chance of a zombie finding its way in was slim. She was probably surrounded by bugs and cockroaches and all manner of things that scuttled instead of walked and scurried instead of ran.

Charlie didn’t really care. She was still sobbing for her lost father to care about trivial things like what insect was clambering over her shoulder. Animals had never been her thing. Her father had taught her to fish once, but she had never really taken to it. Out on the lake in a small boat with her father hadn’t been much fun to a teenage girl. She had spent most of her time wishing she was at home with her mother. She would give anything now to have him back and taking her out fishing again. He had taught her how to behave responsibly when out on the water, insisting that she wear a life jacket. She, of course, had argued with him that it made her look unattractive. He had often made her do things that at the time made her feel bad. They argued all too often, especially lately, and yet now when she looked back could see that he was just trying to do the right thing and look after her; more than that, he was trying to get her to look after herself. It was the same when he cut her hair. She hated the way he had roughly chopped it off and made her look like a tomboy, yet was it that bad? It was certainly more practical and coincidentally helped her to live when he had referred to her as his ‘son’ in front of Butcher. Then there was the time they had argued about the bird, the crow that they had ended up eating. He had told her to take responsibility that day. He had said a lot of things, but that one thing stood out. Putting the bird out of its pain and misery had been the right thing to do. She had to take responsibility for creatures more helpless than herself.

‘
Get Rilla
.’

Kyler had taught her to fight. He had pushed her as far as he could, taught her what to do, but ultimately it came down to her what she should do next. She knew that if she stayed in the tunnel she would surely die. It felt surprisingly easy. Sitting in the dark and letting herself slip away would be probably the easiest option in front of her. But her father never took the easy option; never let her shy away from facing things head on. He had driven her insane over the last few weeks since her mother died, but she finally understood why. He had felt guilt for her mother’s passing. The way she had died. Kyler had decided to not let his daughter suffer the same fate. He had tried to make her fight, to see a future, to know that the only way to live now was to fight or die.

Charlie edged herself forward and spat congealed, cloying blood from her mouth. She lowered herself into the filth and stagnant water, and with her right hand extended out in front of her, she began to pull herself along the drain. After only a few feet, she began to hear sounds again, only not voices or barking. She heard splashing sounds and groans. She knew those sounds and drove herself on toward them. The old Charlie would run away from those noises, but now she wanted them. She
needed
them. Using the moans of the dead as a guide, she kept pulling herself forward until she reached the edge of the drain. It emptied out into the ditch or moat that surrounded Attwood’s property. It was overgrown with tall reeds, and as she parted them she finally smelt fresh air. The moon was hidden by clouds, yet she could see stars high in the sky, and she pulled herself to the edge of the drain so she could finally sit upright. Her back ached and her right hand throbbed from the exertion of dragging her body along, but that moment by the ditch was glorious. It was as if she had been born again, emerging from that dark tunnel with a fresh outlook. Kyler had been right all along. There were only two options left to people still living in this world. She had been wavering between the two, but she
did
have a choice, and she knew what she had to do next.

‘A
ll I feel is the distant wind as you turn your back on me
.’

“Not now, brain,” said Charlie quietly. Listening to an inane song about things that no longer mattered seemed pointless now. It had served her well once, first as entertainment and then as a distraction, but now she had to retrain her brain. She had to discard her old things that were no longer relevant. She had a job to do.

Charlie spat again and looked out at the moonlit fields in front of her. If she could get up out of the ditch, across the road and home before any of the hundreds of zombies noticed her, she might just make it. Then all she had to do was dress her open wounds and hope she hadn’t contracted a fatal disease whilst crawling through half a mile of animal waste and stagnant water contaminated by rotting human bodies.

Charlie lowered herself off the drain and into the water. Her feet sank into the soft dirt, and she unsteadily began to head across the short ditch to the bank. A zombie in the water floated past her, and more on the road above her stumbled by, oblivious to her presence. Charlie smiled. She wasn’t going to die today. She was going home.

Only a few feet away lay a zombie trying to climb the bank. As Charlie put her hands on the bank to haul herself up, the corpse looked at her. There was no doubt that its eyes were locked on hers, and the dead body stopped moving. The dead woman let go of the grass, and her putrescent body slipped back into the water. The dead woman groaned and looked at Charlie who returned her look. Both of them stared at each other in silence and then Charlie watched as the dead woman resumed her quest to leave the ditch, grabbing handfuls of wet grass.

She was like
them
now. She was part of them as much as they were a part of her. Charlie pulled herself up the bank and stood still as the zombies filed past her. Maybe it was the smell or the way she looked, or maybe she was so close to death that they couldn’t tell the difference between her and themselves. Charlie began to walk slowly through the throng of corpses back to her house. She didn’t look back at Attwood’s. She didn’t need to.

It would still be there when she returned.

To fight.

CHAPTER 12

“Can I just do it now?” asked Tad. “You’ll let me drive, won’t you?”

Conan shook his head. “Wait.”

Tad knew there was no arguing with the big man. They had to wait for his brother, Butcher. As usual, he was taking his time and missing out on the fun. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Butcher was having fun inside the house, but Tad wished he would hurry up.

“Pass me another one, big man.” Tad sipped the last dregs of beer from the can and then tossed it behind him into the garden.

Conan reached into the cooler and fished another can out of the melted ice. He passed it to Tad without a word.

“Nice.” Tad pressed the cold can briefly against his forehead. The evening was warm and pleasant, and the sun was only just setting now. It was disappearing behind the fence in the west and bathing them all in an orange glow. A few flies buzzed around them all, drawn to the roses and the dead body.

Tad cracked the can open and took a long drink. It had been a long day. He had heard all about their new guests who had arrived in the middle of the night. It had been months since their last arrivals, and Tad was more than excited to learn that they had taken in two girls. Butcher had told him that he had to be patient, that he wasn’t to touch them, but it had been almost impossible to resist. The younger girl had spent most of the day locked up with Conan, and Tad couldn’t understand why Butcher put up with it. It wasn’t natural. Butcher said he needed Conan around, to be ‘the muscle’, and if that meant letting him have his pleasures in life to keep him happy, then so be it. Tad didn’t dislike Conan, but the man was a freak. He was a giant and said little except when prompted. If Tad were in charge, then he would’ve thrown Conan out. What he liked to do to little girls was disgusting. The thought of Conan with Vicky made Tad’s skin crawl, and he turned to thoughts of how he had spent the afternoon. The other girl, the older girl— now
she
was worth thinking about.

Tad burped. “Say, Mom, you think you can get Rilla cleaned up again after Butcher’s through? I’m still a little tense and could do with relaxing before tonight. You know what I mean?” Tad raised his can of beer to Conan who said nothing and refused to acknowledge Tad.

“Suit yourself,” said Tad. He looked across at the pickup truck and wished Butcher would hurry up.

“Sure, honey,” said Verity. She sipped her beer from a glass, preferring not to drink out of a dirty can. “Just as soon as your brother’s done. You know how he hates to be rushed into anything. I’ll go take a look at the bitch after supper.”

“Okay, okay.” Tad scratched his nose and fidgeted in his seat. They had brought four chairs out from the dining room, as was their way on a nice warm evening, and planted them in the rose garden. It was a secluded little area to the side of the house and offered a great view from the hill over the town. There was a small gap in the surrounding trees through which they could see Peterborough. The town was quiet now, and Tad wondered if they had seen off the last of the people from that shitty town. At first a lot of people had come to the house looking for help, but over time the numbers had dwindled. Nobody had been able to get over the wall, and Butcher wasn’t about to leave the door open. He had told Tad there was a distinct difference between the people out there and them. The outsiders were no good. They just wanted in, to take what Attwood had, to forego the world of the dead, and take refuge in Attwood’s property behind its large, strong walls. But by doing so, all they would do is bring death in with them. Butcher had made it quite clear to Tad that on no account should he let any of them in. Now and again they would allow one or two in, just the women, just for some amusement. But they couldn’t let any men in. Tad knew that the men would just want to take the place for themselves and had to remain outside the walls. The girls came and went, and the men never got a chance.

Over the last couple of months, they hadn’t seen or heard anything, and then last night it was like Christmas. Of course, they had to be careful about who they let in, and most of them didn’t pass the grade. Butcher selected who he allowed into the property since Attwood was no longer capable of making those decisions. Tad chuckled and looked up at Attwood. His body still hung on the cross and occasionally he groaned or tried to get free, but the old man was nailed to the cross and not going anywhere.

“Here’s to Attwood,” said Tad, raising his beer. “May he forever rot in hell, the old bastard.” Tad chuckled again but noticed Conan still wasn’t responding. “Oh, come on, Conan. Crack a smile, can’t you? You’d think after the day you had you might actually be in a good mood for once.”

“I’d say he’s pretty tired,” said Verity, slapping Conan’s knee. “He had to clear up the mess from last night
and
got his dick wet. Big day for a big man, huh?”

“Damn straight,” said Conan. He belched and picked up another can from the cooler. He crushed the empty can in his hand and dropped it at his feet.

Verity laughed and looked at Tad. “Now stop looking at that truck, you. We’ve got to wait for your brother. If you go ahead and do anything before he—”

The sound of footsteps on the driveway interrupted Verity, and she looked up to see Rilla approaching them. The girl wore the skimpy green dress that Verity had dressed her in that morning. Why she had to dress the girls up she didn’t know as they spent very little time dressed. Verity saw the vacant look in the girl’s eyes and the bruises down her bare arms. It was a sight she was familiar with and turned away. “Tad, get a beer for your brother. Looks like he’s worked up quite a thirst.”

Rilla stumbled toward them and stopped when she reached the chairs. Her lip was cut and a thin trickle of blood ran down her leg, visible below the dress that stopped at the knees.

“Cheers,” said Butcher as he took a cold can from Tad. Butcher walked from Tad to Conan to Verity giving them all high fives. “What did I tell you? This place is ours. You want something, and I get it. Right, Conan?”

Conan smiled and nodded.

“Right, Tad?”

“Right on, brother.”

Butcher shoved Rilla forward and ordered her to sit in the vacant chair. She sat down slowly and winced when Butcher touched her. “Want a drink?”

Rilla said nothing and stared at the ground.

“I said, you want a drink?” asked Butcher impatiently.

Rilla shook her head slowly.

“I don’t think she’s thirsty,” said Tad. He raised his can and jumped up out of his chair. “I bet you already slipped something down her throat, though, huh?”

Butcher looked at Tad plainly. “Dude, not now. Mom is right there. She is
right
there.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Tad lowered his can.

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” said Butcher, grinning. He held up his can for Tad to toast. “I’m surprised that girl can even sit down, the day she’s had.”

Tad laughed nervously and glanced at his mother. Verity was staring out at the sunset, either oblivious to the conversation or willfully ignoring it. She got the girls ready, cleaned them up afterwards, and did as she was told. She seemed content with her lot and never complained.

“So what’s going down?” asked Butcher, as he began to tie Rilla to the chair. He bound her ankles together and then brought her arms around the back of the chair. He tied her wrists together and stroked her hair.

“Can I drive?” asked Tad. “You never let me do it. I really want to do this one.”

“In a moment, Tad. We’ll get to that.” Butcher looked at Conan. “I take it we’re all cleared up?”

“All dead,” replied Conan. “Not much left. One had turned, but I quickly dispatched him. The rest I washed away. Couple of the dogs bought it. Probably that Schafer guy. Looked like he put up a hell of a fight.”

“Shame.” Butcher knew that meant they were down to two dogs. They would have to start looking for replacements soon. The need to keep them there was getting less and less every day, but he would rather have them than not. If another large group came along he would need them. “Anything useful turn up?”

Conan shook his head. “No. Couple of watches that don’t work and a couple of wedding rings. Not much value.”

“I did get this sweet hat,” said Tad, proudly tipping his new fishing cap to Butcher. “Found it in the kennels. One of the dogs used it as a chew toy after killing the boy. It’s pretty comfy.”

Butcher ignored his younger brother and turned to Verity. “Dinner nearly ready?”

Verity nodded. “It’ll be done shortly.”

“Good. After we’ve eaten I need you to clean our guest up. Maybe find something to pep her up a bit. We’ve still got some Coke, right? Just enough to give her a quick pick me up. I’ve got plans.”

Verity yawned. “Sure. One of you boys will have to help me clean the dishes though. I’m not doing all the hard graft around here.”

“Tad?” Butcher looked at his younger brother who opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it. “Great.”

Conan crushed another beer can in his hands and then tossed it at Attwood’s feet.

“Say, where’s your gift, Conan? You been busy?” asked Butcher. “Not still got her tied up in the house have you? You should bring her out here. I’ll bet she could use a drink.”

“I think I broke her,” said Conan, bored.

“Can I drive?” asked Tad, excitedly. “Please, Butcher, just let me this one time.”

Butcher looked over at the pickup truck. “Shit, Conan, you done with her already?” Victoria was bound up and tied to the back of the truck. A length of rope hung from the bumper and was wrapped around her neck. Her feet and hands were strapped up with cable ties, and yet Butcher could see she was very much alive. She was trying to extricate herself from the ties, but there was no way she was going to get them undone on her own.

“Please?” asked Tad again, as he got up from his chair.

Butcher looked at Conan. “You sure? It’s been a while since the last one, and I ain’t sure when your next gift is coming along. You understand, big man?”

Conan nodded. “She was fine. Just a little... old.”

Butcher slumped down in Tad’s vacant seat and looked up at his brother in the waning sunlight. “Okay. Just be careful. You fuck anything up, and you’re paying for it.”

“
Yes
!” Tad downed his beer and went over to the truck where he disappeared inside the cab and started the engine.

“Right,” said Butcher. “I’ve got one minute. Any advance?”

“Two,” said Verity as she watched Victoria twist and turn to free herself from the rope.

“Thirty seconds,” said Conan.

“Brave choice,” replied Butcher. “Brave choice.” He looked over at the pickup truck idling on the driveway, and Tad looked out of the window as he revved the engine. Butcher raised a hand and gave him the thumbs up. “Ladies and gentlemen, start your watches.”

The driveway was clear and led down to the annex where it ended. There was room to turn, and usually the truck did a quick turnaround before heading back up to the house. It took no more than a minute to complete the circuit although Tad hadn’t driven it before.

“Playtime is over, Conan. You’re going to lose,” said Butcher, smiling as Tad began to move the pickup down the driveway.

“Stop, what are you doing?” asked Rilla. She only half heard the conversation between them, and was only now realizing that Victoria was tied to the back of the truck. She’d heard them confirm that everyone was dead, including her father, and it was only when they started laying bets that she looked at the truck. As it slowly pulled away she saw Victoria try to get to her feet.

“Quiet,” said Butcher as he glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ve got latrine duty riding on this.”

The truck sped up quickly, and the rope behind it extended fully before catching Victoria. She had managed to get to her feet and was trying to jump along. Rilla saw her red eyes and knew that they had hurt her. They had said they would look after her, but it was all a lie. Even the old woman had been in on it. If they had done just half the things to Victoria as they had to Rilla, then she would make sure they paid for it.

“Wait, please, she’s only a little girl,” pleaded Rilla.

“I said shut up,” said Butcher as he saw Tad waving out of the window and grinning like a child in a candy store. “Otherwise, it’ll be you strapped to the back of that truck next.”

Rilla watched as Victoria was yanked off her feet and her body thrown into the air. As the truck roared down the driveway the rope abruptly went taught and Victoria’s body was slammed down onto the driveway. Victoria screamed, unable to put her arms out in front of her to protect herself, and her body began to bounce along the hard tarmac as Tad kept going.

Rilla jumped to her feet. “Stop, right now! Stop it!” she screamed.

“Conan, sort that shit out,” said Butcher as he kept half an eye on Victoria and half an eye on his watch.

Conan walked over to Rilla and drew a hand across her face. The slap stung her cheeks, but Rilla knew that Victoria was in far worse pain. And if they didn’t stop, she would be dead soon.

“Fuck you,” said Rilla, facing Conan. She could feel a bead of blood drip over her bottom lip. “Fuck you, you animals. What the fuck are you—”