7
Bargaining Tool
I could see Dorothy lying on her back, her breathing now much more obviously laboured. She was no longer drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness but was simply gone, her arm hanging down from the sofa where they had placed her. Arthur was talking low and continuously to her, trying desperately to do something from behind the small window in the door to the cell we were both confined in, though all he could realistically do was hope that she could hear him. I turned and surveyed the grimy cell, littered with waste and dried blood.
How long had it been since they had thrown us in here? I had no idea. It was still light outside but up until a few moments ago I had been drifting in and out of sleep on the cramped cell bed, despite the dangerous nature of the ordeal. Maybe it had all caught up with me; the blood, the death, the endless running. Even though we were at the mercy of whoever had taken us prisoner, this cell offered a safety that I hadn't felt for as long as I could remember. This helplessness was somehow comforting. If we couldn't get out, then the dead couldn't get in. The walls and tiny frosted windows were also so thick that I could barely hear the groans of the corpses outside.
We had no idea of how many other people were colluding with the bearded man but it had to be at least five or six judging by what I had seen on the way through half glimpsed doorways, which had also showed signs of horror that I had no wish to recall. There had been blood, pained movement and screams, which mercifully I could no longer hear. They were most likely local thugs who had invaded the station when the majority of the force were out trying to maintain order, as surely a station this size wouldn't have had more than around ten or fifteen staff when full anyway.
When I heard footsteps outside I moved back to the cell door to stand next to Arthur. The window was so small that I could only see a tiny portion of the corridor but it was enough to see the blade, the thick set arm and the features of the tall man standing over Dorothy. His head was shaved, with veins standing out thickly against his temples. His neck was so long and gangly as to look almost crooked, with his Adam’s apple standing out and quivering as he swallowed. He was wearing two or three t-shirts over his thin torso, stained to such an extent that their original colour couldn't be discerned. His jeans were equally grimy, even showing what looked like a hand print in caked blood on his thigh.
“Not a looker, is she?” he asked. I heard low laughter off to one side, from someone just out of view. “She's on the way out, too. Better to get rid, now.”
“Wait, no... please wait!” shouted Arthur, ineffectually pawing at the door with his one hand. The tall man turned, his left eye twitching a little as he peered into the window. He sucked his top lip into his mouth, running his teeth over it in a strange nervous habit.
“She belong to you?” he asked, a dark glint in his eye. Warning signs flashed across my mind, despite my lack of experience with people. This man clearly had desires and sensibilities that were dangerous...
“She's my wife, please, she's dying,” said Arthur. There was no anger there, simply cold fear, gripping his soul.
“We can see that,” said the other man, the bearded fat man, coming into view and looking into the window. His eye was even worse up close, a mess of conjunctivitis and puss around a red raw eyeball that must have been agony to bear, though if he felt any pain he didn't show it. I pulled Arthur aside, trying to take the spotlight, in case the men decided to play games with him. It was obvious they would have been able to elicit a strong reaction from him if they hurt Dorothy, though any trauma would most likely kill her when she was in such a state.
“I'm a doctor,” I said carefully, “and if you let us help her, just... we need some things from the pharmacy, then I'll help you. Your eye, that must bother you,” I said, trying the same tack I had used to defuse the situation with Arthur. The bearded man simply laughed again, his mouth twisting into a leer as he turned to the tall man.
“That's quite a claim. A doctor... don't that take you back?” he remarked to the taller man, who grinned in reply. “Before, when there were rules. Tell me this, doc,” he said, moving closer to Dorothy and raising the crowbar he still held over her sweat beaded brow. “What colour will this hag's brains be if I crack her skull?”
I didn't answer, terror gripping my chest. If I made the wrong move, Dorothy would die. The man turned his head, theatrically cocking his ear towards me.
“No answer, hmmm? See, I know,” he said, lowering the crowbar and walking back up to the window, coming so close that I had to stand back a bit. I saw the man behind him rest a hand on Dorothy's face, turning her head both ways to look at her more closely. I didn't want to think why. The bearded man continued. “I know because I've broken 'em before, women, blokes, a lot of 'em. Not all of 'em were dead, but they all ended up that way, f*cking clowns. Ask yourself, really, ask yourself... you should have asked this before you ran in here... ask yourself... what’s the sorta person survives in a world like this?”
I didn't know what to say. I had no aces up my sleeve, nothing to turn the situation. What could I say that would help?
I felt a small stab in my neck and pulled my gaze away from the window to see Cato, as small as I had ever seen him, his tiny withered hands grasping at the flesh above my collar. He scrabbled up my face, boots digging painfully into my skin, before swinging himself above my earlobe, clinging to the side of my head. He must have bent his head towards my ear, because I heard his voice, small and insistent. “One that is strong enough to take what he wants.” It was a strange sensation. It was not only Cato that had spoken. The words had come out of my mouth.
The bearded man moved back slowly, eyes narrowing. The tall man stood up, looking over at me, a little wary.
“True, true,” said the bearded man finally. “That's us you see. We rule this world now, us guys in this building. We control this town. We control you. We can do whatever we want with you, for as long as you last...” His voice had an almost laughable edge of pride to it, as if he were a child laying out the rules of the playground.
“But surely,” continued Cato, his words tripping over my tongue without my volition, “there are still things you want? I can get them for you, if you'll let us save her. I'll go out there. If I die, you won't lose anything. No risk. Let me handle your needs.”
“Handle my needs? That’s quite an offer, I might take you up on that,” said the bearded man, smiling disconcertingly.
“As for ‘no risk’... I can tell,” said the tall one, wagging his finger, greasy and yellowed, “that you think you're smart, a smart one... but I'm smarter. We'll let you get some supplies, some for you and some for us, but we're keeping them here, your grandma and grandpa. You won’t have any advantage, you know. You'll do what we want and then... we'll see.” This one seemed more dangerous. The bearded man was clearly a thug – all testosterone and instinct – but the taller one was methodical and careful, a dangerous trait in a man clearly capable of horrific deeds.
“How do I know you'll keep them safe?” I asked. This was my own question, a gut churning fear pushing through Cato's words. The tall man scratched at his neck, a seedy grin creasing his features.
“You'll have to trust us.”
“Yeah,” said the bearded man, grinning with the same yellowing, predatory grimace as when we'd first seen him. “Trust us. You don't have a choice, from where I'm standing”
The men pulled me from the cell, with the taller one pressing a large kitchen knife into the back of my neck. I didn't resist, letting them shove me and paw me all they wanted. It would have just made it worse if I had fought.
They dragged me down a white painted corridor lined with health and safety noticeboards, the sad remains of a world long gone. Every window we passed was boarded up for safety, with the candles lined up along the window sills, their flames casting a dull orange light on the already hellish surroundings. Blood stains were obvious in many places on the walls and floor, either from initial attacks by the undead or instigated by the station’s new inhabitants. There were rooms to the left and right, maybe offices, though there was the glint of metal in one, the suggestion of pooling blood in another. We passed a man, who was nondescript apart from the two pairs of bloody pliers he was holding in his sweaty palms. His eyes were wide, wild and long past sane. The two men pushed him out of the way, causing him to give out a fit of nervous laughter before he ducked into one of the offices, shutting the door behind him. “Keep walking,” whispered Cato in my ear. “Eyes forward. Survive.”
As we were walking I also spotted another couple of cells, with other occupants, maybe three altogether, dark shapes huddled in the shadows. More people, more people relying on me. It was a weight I didn't need but also one that steadied my resolve. Did I somehow crave this power over life and death?
They pushed me against a wall next to a fire escape and thrust an empty sports bag into my hands. The tall man pushed himself up to me, holding the tip of the kitchen knife so close to my eye that I could feel the cold of the blade on my pupil. Cato scrambled onto my shoulder, hiding his face in his hands. The tall man spoke low and methodically, the stench of his hot breath making my eyes water.
“What we need, doctor, is some methadone. As much as you can carry. See, I like women... but they don't like me, the same as you don't I suppose. That's all right sometimes, but I don't fancy a fight today. I just want...” he sucked his top lip in again, his teeth biting and rubbing the skin, “some affection. Maybe I'll take some methadone myself. I'll be honest, the one we already had, she's not gorgeous anyway...”
“Worse now... less teeth, heh,” laughed the bearded man, scratching at his eyes with his palm. They were talking about their captive as if she was a piece of meat, a toy made for breaking. I would not be getting anything for his eyes, unless he asked. They deserved no kindness. Bargaining with them was a necessity but I had never felt so sick or so hollow about my actions.
“She still tried to get at me, wouldn't take it...” said the tall man, glancing at the bearded man before turning back towards me. “So, methadone and... alcohol.”
“None left in the offy...” said the bearded man. “Cleaned it out last week.”
“Medicinal then,” said the tall man. “And sweets, I want sugar. They always have those f*cking... what are they called... lollipop stand things, at the counter.”
It was a ludicrous list, dictated by desire and nonsensical greed. The tall man was getting excited about my return now. Hopefully I could use that to my advantage somehow. At the very least, it would hopefully keep Arthur and Dorothy safe.
The tall man released me and stood back as the bearded man pushed the handle of the fire escape and peered through the gap to make sure it was clear, before grabbing my arm and throwing me forcefully outside. I landed on the flagstones heavily as the bearded man's crowbar clattered onto the ground in front of me.
“For luck,” he said, before slamming the door shut.
I slid down onto my knees behind a stack of wooden pallets, trying to gather myself before I moved on. Cato was still there, his little hands occasionally pinching the flesh of my neck as he scrambled around in a blind panic. I could smell rot nearby and spotted a small pile of corpses lying beyond the fire door towards the back of the alley. Limbs and bones, flesh and blood lay festering, mingling together as they broke down into their new form. Flies and maggots crawled across the feast and as I watched, somehow transfixed. I saw one or two of the limbs twitching, whatever infection was causing this epidemic still somehow surviving through the process of decay, defying the stillness of death. In some ways it could almost be seen as a miracle. Was it sending electrical impulses, was it forcing blood without a heartbeat, were muscles really moving without oxygen?
"We need to run, this is our chance. We can escape all this, leave it all behind, find somewhere strong to hole up. In a few months the dead will be gone, rotted away to nothing. You know this, all we have to do is wait. We should have never left the island..." whispered Cato, his hand stroking my cheek feebly, putting me in mind of the rustling of a moth's wing on my skin.
“I can't leave, people are relying on me,” I said quietly, hoping I was quiet enough so that only Cato would hear me. Cato was insistent though.
“If we keep going this way, she'll find us. She wants us all.”
“Who does? Perdita?”
“Of course,” hissed Cato, sliding around my neck to the opposite shoulder. “She wants you to find out, to finish it, to make all of this worthwhile.”
“Finish what? Cato, I'm too tired now, tired of all the games and the secrets... it's too much. Tell me what you mean,” I said, moving my hand up to my shoulder and gently picking him up, before holding him in front of my eyes. His arms were wrapped around his knees as he sat gazing up at me.
“I've already said too much,” he said in a tiny voice. “She will consume us all.”
The air seemed to be sucked out of my lungs as a sudden darkness descended upon the alleyway. Perdita stepped around the corner, wearing perfectly clean white shoes instead of walking in her usual bare feet. Yes, she was definitely taller now, and a little older. Her hair was tied up tight behind her head as she stepped slowly and purposefully towards me, her shoes clicking on the flagstones beneath her feet with every step.
“Perdita please...” I started.
“Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask...” muttered Cato frantically, crawling up my arm and hiding beside my neck. “She'll give you the answer.”
“Who are you?”
Everything froze, monochrome and dead as she placed her hand behind her back, before pulling out the map. She threw it towards me and it floated lazily, unfurling as it came, before lying flat upon the ground. The red line had continued, dots and scratches, still heading towards the centre, the burn. I was closer now but still not quite there. It was somewhere beyond the town, maybe twenty miles away. If only the map was complete then I could see what the destination was. As I crouched down to pick it up, colour bled back into the world and she stepped back out into the street, hands held behind her back. I quickly folded up the map and broke into a jog to follow her but when I reached the street she was gone. I ducked back quickly, careful so that the dead that were still outside didn't spot me, slipping the map into my pocket as I went.
I went back into the alley, trying to calm my heart and my mind, to think about this puzzle logically. Maybe I could navigate these troubles by reducing it to component parts, dividing my own position into small problems that I could solve, the first of which was how to get into the pharmacy unnoticed...
I looked at the pile of twitching bodies at the back of the alleyway and an idea formed. It always came back to decomposition. I took one or two deep breaths, trying to prepare myself for the ordeal to come. The smell was already too much and the bile rose in my throat. I crouched behind the pallets, vomiting what little food I had left next to the wall, before standing up and continuing towards the bodies. The buzz of flies started to fill my ears, almost drowning out the ceaseless groaning of the dead, though not quite. The moans were never completely absent, as if they had become the background to the world, as ever present as the horizon. I took a few deep breaths, steadying my nerves as my nose started to almost deaden itself to the stench, before plunging my hands into the rot. I pulled them back out, dragging muscle, black ichor and sickening liquid with them. Hands reached for me instinctively from the pile as I spread the mess across my clothes, caking myself in the dead. If I was right and the majority of the dead had lost their sight, then maybe it was smell, or the absence of a smell that attracted them, as well as noise. If I could stay quiet, then this dead meat might give me a chance of getting in and out of the pharmacy safely.
I picked up the crowbar and slipped it into the bag, before swinging the strap onto my shoulder as I walked back to the street. The rain was for the most part gone, with only a few drops here and there, though the cloud cover remained, casting a gloom across the shop fronts. I doubted that even if there were bright noon sunshine it would make the view any sweeter. To my right, the road continued down the hill towards the end of the high street and further houses. There were several corpses in the street, dots milling to and fro to their own rhythm, driven by something to keep moving, on and on. To my left, I could see a car that had veered off the road into a toy shop, the bonnet lying buried under bricks and mortar. The windows were smashed but I could just about make out movement within the car, the driver doomed to spend eternity struggling against the seatbelt and door, until decomposition finally and mercifully finished breaking its body down.
When we had run down the street towards the police station we must have drawn the corpses away from the pharmacy and there was only one left in the entrance, caught between the metal struts of one half of the broken glass double door. It would be as good a test as any, so I moved cautiously across the road, hoping not to attract attention. As I closed with the pharmacy I saw the corpse in more detail. It had been an elderly woman, quite large, with bloated legs and torso well into decomposition. Of course, it would have been the infirm, the slow and the sick who were taken first, unable to escape from the clutches of even the weaker dead. Its eyes were creamy white and largely gone, with larvae crawling throughout its features, slowly consuming it as it struggled helplessly to escape the its prison. I moved closer, watching carefully for any signs of change in its behaviour. As I came within a few feet I saw it slow, almost stopping as it cast its head around, mouth agape and spilling flies into the air. I involuntarily held my breath, my heart beating a steady staccato in my ears. I carefully moved to within two feet before gingerly opening the door next to it, my hand within range of it if it decided to make a sudden lunge, however its only movement was an involuntary jerk around its eyes as the cloudy pupils cast around in indecision. I manoeuvred my body inside, my boot even brushing the skin of its leg as I lost my balance a little, tearing the paper thin necrotic layer and causing a slow drip of clotted blood onto the black and white tiles of the entrance. Still the creature didn't make a move towards me. I breathed a sigh of relief... which was a mistake.
The difference was immediately obvious, as the arms started jerking in the frame of the door, clattering it against the metal. The corpse's legs scrambled and slipped as the thing tried to turn its huge bulk to face me, it mouth snapping and dripping viscous fluid as it groaned with hunger. I stumbled into the pharmacy in shock, knocking over a display of sun cream, as I turned to scan what remained of the shop for corpses. There was no obvious threat within, so I put as much distance between myself and the corpse as I could, slipping past plastic chairs and rows of plasters and cough medicine, scrambling over the counter door and ducking down behind the cash register. The shop looked for the most part untouched, though there was a distinct lack of bandages or sterile pads on the shelves. Did this mean that the disease had been spread by bite and blood, or was it simply a coincidence? Had there even been enough time for people to get in to the pharmacy before the town was overrun? In some ways, the earlier ones had been the lucky ones, dying before seeing the world descend into a nightmare of dwindling resources, where hope was hard to come by.
I'm not sure how long I waited there, my eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the rows of pharmaceuticals at the back of the shop, though it must have been at least an hour before I finally heard the door stop rattling and the corpse's moan diminish into silence. I tentatively cast a glance towards the front and saw the corpse had returned to its previous lazy struggle to free itself. I also spotted one or two new corpses staggering outside, obviously drawn to the noise the other corpse had been making. It would be tougher to leave than to enter, that was for sure, though I didn’t have to worry about that yet. I took the opportunity to grab a handful of packets of sugary cough drops from the counter, along with four or five of the lollipops the tall man had requested, feeling disgusted as I followed his instructions. I then moved behind the partition wall to the main storage area, keeping low and not standing up until I was obscured from the shop front.
I almost yelled out as I tripped over the pair of black leather shoes, tumbling onto the floor and desperately scrabbling at the sports bag. I managed to pull the crowbar free and turned to be faced by the sight of a pair of legs, all that remained of presumably one of the pharmacists. The legs ended in a bloody mess of spine, ribs and rotting organs, though I could barely smell them due to the stench that was covering my clothes. I was relieved that I wasn’t being drawn into another fight but as I looked around I could see that this was going to be a hard task anyway. I could barely see a thing in the room, as the partition wall was a double edged sword, keeping me hidden from whatever senses the corpses were using but blocking out the light from the front windows to such an extent that all the stock was anonymous unless I held it directly in front of me. As I was casting my eyes around for a solution I saw a slim line of light on the floor towards the back of the room. As I moved towards it I saw that it was a fire door, connected up to a keypad and alarm system, the display of which was blank from lack of power. It would do as an escape route but I couldn’t risk using it now in case there was a battery back up. If I set an alarm off, my time within the pharmacy would be drastically reduced. There was nothing for it, I would have to go shelf by shelf, item by item, at least until I worked out the filing system.
“What the hell are you doing now?” I heard Marcus ask. I glanced over my shoulder towards the fire exit but it was so dark I could only see his eyes, like burning embers in the shadows.
“Leave me alone, this is none of your business,” I said, sliding along the floor as I checked one of the bottom shelves. I found a few syringes and pulled the bag into position, pulling my arm across and sweeping them all into it. They could be invaluable. I also found a few bottles of medicinal alcohol, although I only took one as I had no wish to fill the bag solely with the tall man's requests.
“Everything you do is my business, everything,” said Marcus, taking a couple of heavy steps towards me. The floor seemed to shake but I tried not to let him see any change in my mood due to his show of power. “You’re half a man without me. Less than that. You’re a melancholic, narcissistic worm. You would be dead without me.”
“That’s not true...” I started to say but Marcus bent down quickly next to me, his words sharp and hot in my ear, spitting his consonants so fast that my skull ached.
“It bloody well is and you know it, sunshine. You've got a piss poor survival instinct without me helping you. I got you here, safe and sound. Now you’re throwing your life away for some old dear who’s going to be dead by Christmas anyway.” Somehow I could smell blood on his breath, even over the rotting body. What had he been eating this time?
“Stop pretending you’re helping me. I know you released the dead in the harbour...” I said quietly, trying to move away from him surreptitiously. He stood up, almost brushing the ceiling as he drew himself up to his full height. The coat of skin he now wore was dripping blood into a pool around his boots, spreading over the floor in a red pool.
“I did at that, I did. But my hand was forced,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly all too human and vulnerable.
“You said ‘we’re ready’,” I said, remembering the shop shutters and Marcus' quiet, disturbing words.
“We were ready. I’d known it was coming even if you hadn’t. So had Cato, it was why he suggested packing those rucksacks. We wanted to keep you safe, always, but when I’m told to do something it has to get done. There was no other option.”
“Who...”
There was no need to ask the question. I knew, of course, who it had to have been who had commanded and was probably still commanding him. I pulled the map from my pocket and saw Marcus’ eyes widen as he spotted it, the red tint in his pupils fading quickly as his skin blanched. He took a couple of steps backwards, breathing heavily.
“She said you were getting comfortable. She said you were going to stay, or worse, get back on a boat and leave. That was why she wanted Eliza out of the way. That was why she threw her hands over your mouth...” he spoke low and fast, his eyes moving quickly around the room as if expecting the walls to cave in on him.
“But she’s never spoken,” I replied, as I started scanning another box, which this time turned out to be useless hay fever tablets. I had to move quickly and try to concentrate on my job despite his presence. I could sense the tension winding up in the room, ready to unravel at any moment.
“Not to you, no, not yet, but she will. She has plans. Cato and I can’t keep you safe forever. We’ve tried for so long but... she forced me to push you towards the mainland. I ride a tide of blood, fear and terror tethered to my chariot, driving me onwards, and yet it means nothing to her. She got her little hand, grabbed my beating heart, twisted... her fingers are so bloody sharp... the darkness inside is limitless...”
He was babbling. I was about to confront him further when I spotted a locked cupboard laid into the wall. I knew what it would contain: the most restricted pharmaceuticals, exactly what I needed. I held my breath and moved my hands over the rotting remains of the pharmacist on the floor, finding the tell-tale bulge of a key in one of the sticky pockets. When I had extracted it, I was able to unlock the cupboard, revealing row upon row of controlled substances including several small bottles of the greenish, sickly sweet methadone. I threw a couple into the bag in disgust. What was I going to be party to? My stomach continued to turn but I had to be strong, I had a duty to Arthur and Dorothy.
I was up to the middle shelves, when suddenly I found something I was after for myself, something actually necessary. There were a few penicillin derivatives of varying strength, so I threw them all in the bag, at least knowing that I could deal with any normal infection that might rear its head. All I needed was a good antipyretic but as I started to pick out the sound of shoes on the tiles in the shop – delicate, careful footsteps – I knew my time was up. Marcus took a few steps backwards, placing his hand onto the handle of the fire door. I couldn’t see his face in the shadows at the back of the stock area but I somehow knew it was wearing an expression of sorrow. I started to grab anything, pulling one or two boxes of each item into the bag, desperately hoping that when I had a chance to look in the bag I would find something I could use. I could hear Marcus’ breath, rasping and rough as if he was in great pain, as if even standing up was a chore. The footsteps... stopped.
“Run,” he said quietly, as he pushed the bar down. The alarm started immediately, a high pitched wailing that was almost deafening. Despite the sound, I could still hear the answering calls and moans of the dead from the front of the shop. I risked a glance around the wall and saw three corpses lumbering into the pharmacy, their arms grasping and their heads casting about wildly. I looked back and saw that Marcus had gone, his bloody boot prints leading out of the doorway. I went to zip up the bag when a couple of bottles on the top shelf caught my eye, now illuminated by weak daylight flooding in through the open fire door. I looked closer at the label and saw it was quinine. Even though it was primarily used to cure malaria, I knew that it also reduced fever and vitally, it could be injected. I took both bottles before zipping up the bag and slinging the strap over my shoulder, grabbing the crowbar as I ducked out of the back of the shop.
Despite the overcast sky I still had to blink a couple of times to adjust my eyes to the light outside after the darkness of the pharmacy. The fire door led out onto a delivery road, one car’s width wide between high windowless brick walls still slick from the earlier rainfall. To my right I saw the road was crowded with corpses, still twenty five metres away but closing quickly, their arms reaching towards me. Whether they knew I was there or were simply reacting to the still blaring noise of the alarm I couldn't say, but I didn’t wait to find out. I turned and ran to the left, following the delivery road around to a corner to where it crossed another small back road behind the shops, the right branch leading out into what looked like a supermarket car park, with the left heading back to the high street. I stopped momentarily, almost slipping on some cardboard that had been scattered across the road but managing to keep my feet. I looked back at the crowd of the dead – most of which had stopped at the pharmacy, one or two scrambling and tumbling inside the fire door – and spotted three of them that had somehow noticed me lumbering in my direction. In some ways the way they moved was strangely childlike, singular of purpose with all other feelings or notions of self preservation overridden by pure desire.
What was the intelligence level of the dead? Was it comparable to a two year old? A one year old? Was there any memory of their life ‘before’ in those liquefying thoughts, or were they simply being driven by the most primal section of the mind, the reptilian brain, closest to the brain stem? The fact that the dead, no matter their other shortcomings, could still balance showed that this section of the brain was at least partly functional.
From out of nowhere I suddenly recalled the memory of an old diagram I had seen of the mind relating to thoughts, inspiration, cowardice... a strange way to separate the brain's sections but understandable. I had to wonder morbidly if the part of the brain still active in the dead had any capacity for emotion or pain. With no way to express it, there was no way to know, unless their moaning was not out of desire but anguish. I didn’t want to imagine the pain of actually feeling your muscles slowly break down over the course of months.
I looked towards the high street. It seemed relatively clear, so I crept towards the intersection and peered both ways. I had come out between a flower shop and a card shop, both of which were relatively intact compared to the other shops on the street, obviously due to the lack of practical uses in their contents. That was all life was now, practicalities. What truly separated us from the dead was our minds, even though the only thing we could use it for now was to help us simply survive.
I spotted Arthur's car a few metres away, a corpse still squirming under it, despite most of its torso having been crushed, leaving a wide gory trail behind the vehicle from point of initial impact. As I looked around I could see very little activity nearby. Down the street I could see thirty or forty corpses heaving and staggering outside the pharmacy, struggling to get into the building that was already full of the dead, as if they were attending an album signing. The dead had the ultimate mob mentality.
I decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I moved closer to the car and tried not to think about the grisly mechanics of what I had to do. I thrust the crowbar's straight end down hard, the metal hitting the stone after passing through flesh and smashing the ribs of the corpse under the car. Its head snapped bloody teeth at me, one of its eyes hanging loosely on its ocular nerve whilst the other was a mass of jelly from the impact. I pulled and tugged, dragging the remains of its shattered body into the road and freeing the wheels. The car started to roll a little so I darted around to the drivers seat and opened the door, throwing the bag onto the passenger seat as it moved forwards, gathering momentum. I was about to turn the key in the ignition when I thought better of it, instead simply letting the car gather speed by itself as I gently pumped to brakes to keep it under control. I brought it to a stop just before the police station, pulling on the handbrake and collecting the key, before slipping out of the door in a crouch and pulling the bag with me. I slipped around to the back of the car, still keeping low as I unlocked the boot, pulling the right hand side door open and dragging my rucksack out. I reached for the side pocket and pulled out the small fold out knife that Marcus had given me at Eliza's. As I slipped it into my trouser pocket I smiled with grim satisfaction. Finally it had a use. I now had something up my sleeve, something to give me an unexpected edge at a vital moment.
I locked the doors of the car before heading to the police station. A couple of the fresher corpses spotted me and broke away from the crowd at the pharmacy but I was close enough to my destination so that I could run around the side of the station and into the alleyway unmolested, before beating out a desperate knocking on the fire door.
After a few excruciating seconds the bearded man opened the door, grabbing my jumper and pulling me inside. As I staggered forwards under the weight of the sports bag the tall man grabbed my arm and wrenched the crowbar from my grasp, before kicking my leg sharply in the side of the knee. The bearded man sniffed his fingers before hurriedly wiping his hand on his trousers.
“What the f*ck are you covered in?” he said, disgusted.
“A disguise,” I said, disentangling myself from the sports bag and pulling myself painfully to my feet. “Now, please, I need to see Dorothy.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said the tall man, grabbing one of my arms and pressing the tip of the kitchen knife between my ribs. I winced as I felt the blade break the skin but I tried not to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me. “You’re coming with me first. Move, that way.”
He pushed me forwards and I moved as carefully as I could, trying to stop the blade from cutting me further. The bearded man fell into step behind us, after recovering his crowbar from the tall man. They led me down the opposite branch of the corridor, away from the cells, until we came out behind the counter of the reception, which was covered in assorted improvised weaponry and many more candles. In fact, there were so many candles dotted around on benches and surfaces that the heat was almost unbearable. Around the corner to the left of the counter was a small corridor which led past the front entrance – the door that we had first entered the police station through – which was now barricaded with a table and several chairs. The corridor then turned back to the rear of the station, presumably reaching the cells from the other side. To the right there was the waiting area for the reception that had been turned into a huge “bed”, strewn with various cushions, blankets, and sheets. Even though most of the bedclothes looked relatively new, they were not free of the blood stains that seemed to be everywhere in this horrific building. My stomach felt heavy as I thought of what had happened here in the past and what was going to happen with my help, but if I didn’t administer the methadone then there would be two deaths on my hands, not Marcus’. I had no wish to emulate him.
The tall man pushed me forwards, releasing me from his grip and rolling his neck, causing a sickening cracking sound as he flexed.
“Get the junk ready, get a dose for her. F*ck it, two doses, she’s built like a house. Don’t make her OD though. You know what you’re doing, doctor,” he said, his voice thick with seedy lust. From the way he was looking at me, I could almost believe that I would be next...
I did know what I was doing. I knew all too well. I slung the bag off my shoulder and placed it on the ground, before opening it and rummaging through the contents for a bottle of methadone. They would have to force it down their poor victim's throat but I had no doubt that they would have no problem with that. I tried to busy myself with the task at hand, checking the potency, working out the dosage based on a guessed weight. I had to keep this unemotional, a task that must be completed to save Dorothy. Heaven only knew whether she would want to be saved at such a cost though, to be brought back into this world where the living preyed on the living whilst the dead waited for their chance. At least the dead had solidarity, a kind of brotherhood. We had fallen upon each other as soon as the shackles of law had been cast off.
“Jason, go get her. Grab Freddy, you might need a bit of muscle to get her out of that cell.”
The names were laughable, as a memory somehow dredged itself up from the depths. They were famous, weren't they? Characters in horror, here emulated by men, people, real people who thought that such acts were permissible as long as there was no one to see or stand over them. In their youth they must have dreamed of this, the freedom to act as they chose, to revel in rape and bloodshed. These were the best that the human race could offer, these were our Noahs in the flood of the undead. I couldn't help myself, retching and vomiting once again a stream of black bile onto a bed sheet, all that I had left in my system spat out as a curse on these foul demons.
The tall man kicked me hard, slamming me into a bench as he waved the knife over me.
“That's my bed, you stinking f*ck!” he yelled as he kicked me again, this time in the leg. I felt the metal handle of my knife dig into my hip bone but possessing it gave me no comfort. How had it come to this?
Shadows shifted beyond the candlelight as a man I hadn't seen before – presumably “Freddy”, no more than a teenager with a mop of dirty brown hair and a ragged t-shirt – staggered into the room, nervously pulling the arm of...
Eliza.
I had known it, part of me had surely known it. There were only so many people alive in this world now, certainly only a few with the same tenacity to survive. She was an angel compared to these others though, her kindness and willingness to share and her wish to fondly remember the past was somehow a divine trait in this setting. The bottle of methadone shook in my hand.
“You,” she said when she came into the light, staring at me through puffy eyelids, her mouth a mass of blood and bruising. “Of course, you would be here.” The anger and bitterness in her voice was a knife into my heart. I dropped the methadone, somehow unable to keep a hold of it. The tall man tutted as I reached down, scrabbling in the dirty blankets to find it.
Bearded Jason slapped Eliza viciously on the side of her head. “Shut up slut, Vince here doesn't want a talker. That's why the doc's here, to make you feel a bit more receptive. Vince loves you, don't you Vince...”
I looked to the tall man, who I now knew was Vince. He had placed his knife on the floor and was breathing deeply, his eyes wide and fixed on Eliza as he once again ran his teeth over his top lip. He started to twist his body, pulling his clothes off, revealing a wiry torso, muscled but with folds of skin, obviously from sudden weight loss. Maybe he had forgotten to eat since he entered this new heaven of murder. The name Vince didn't carry the same pop culture connotations for me, as I coldly realised it must be his real name. He didn't even feel the slightest remorse at his actions; he had no need to hide behind a character. Hate bubbled within me, as my right hand slid into my pocket, my fingers opening and closing over the knife handle, in time with the heartbeat that was pounding in my ears.
Freddy and Jason pulled Eliza forward and onto the bloody sheets, wrestling her to the floor. She still fought, kicking her legs as wildly as she could, though I could tell she was tired and the fire was fading.
I balled my hands in front of my eyes, rubbing them hard in an effort to... what? To rid myself of the sight? To find myself back on the island, safe with those three? Yes, that was it, some part of me still longed for that ghostly existence, that simple time of scavenging, sleep and discussion, even if it had been fraught with tension. It had never been as bad as this. At that moment I would have rather been anywhere else, or been anyone else.
Vince pulled my hand away from my face, spitting words at me.
“Get up. Dose the bitch. I'm ready to f*ck...”
My hand closed around the bottle... didn't it? No, my hand closed around... a wrist. I looked down in shock and saw a huge hand, strong and heavy, holding the knife, blade glowing yellow in the candlelight. Beyond it was an arm, buried in the sheets but pulling itself out, and beyond that, a head, covered in black, crawling... glorious spikes. All I had to do was pull.
At that moment, there was nothing I wanted to do more.