Apocalypse Page 5

  Noah nodded. He walked up to Paul as he handed him the keycard.

  “Which cell again?” Noah asked.

  “C59. Just left at the end of the corridor. See you about. Rory.”

  He turned around and walked off.

  Noah stood there. Heart racing. Adrenaline pouring through his system.

  He turned around. His outfit growing suffocating. His chest tightening. His heart racing.

  He had to get to cell C59.

  He had to do it without drawing any more attention to himself.

  And then he had to get Kelly out of there—

  He turned the corner and slammed into somebody.

  “Shit,” he said. “Sorry.”

  The woman looked up at him, frowning. “Watch where the hell you’re going.”

  Noah nodded. Saw her glance at the blood on his outfit. Or did she glance at that name tag? He didn’t know. He was running out of time.

  He rushed to the end of the corridor. Took a left. Lifted that keycard with his shaking hand and pushed it into the pad beside the cell door.

  Dropped it.

  “Shit.”

  He grabbed the keycard again. Put it back into that cell door. Held it there, looking over his shoulder. Praying it unlocked. Praying it—

  The door bleeped and opened.

  And right away, he saw her there.

  Kelly. Sitting on a chair, just like he had.

  Blindfolded.

  Gagged.

  Wearing a white vest and long, white trousers, which were torn in places down her thighs. Nothing on her feet.

  Twitching a little.

  “Kelly,” he said. “It’s me. It’s—it’s Noah.”

  He rushed over to her. Pulled away her blindfold. Pulled back her gag.

  She looked up at him. Red eyes. Snarling. Angry.

  And then she realised it was him, and tears flooded her cheeks.

  “I’ve… I’ve genuinely never been happier to see you,” she said. “Like, really.”

  “That’s not saying a lot. Come on. We need to get you…”

  He heard it, then.

  Footsteps.

  Right behind him.

  When he turned around, he saw Paul standing there.

  Staring into the cell.

  Holding a pistol.

  Tongue poking between that gap in his teeth.

  “You’re not Rory, buddy,” he said. “And you’re gonna have to start being straight with me. Right this second.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Eddie heard the banging against the windows and the back door of Kelly’s cottage, and he knew they were screwed.

  It was pitch black. Late at night. He couldn’t see a thing outside. The moon was hiding behind thick clouds. Wasn’t a star in sight. No lights out there. Not now those torch-wielding bastards were in this kitchen with him, anyway.

  But he could make out silhouettes.

  Figures.

  Infected.

  And lots of them.

  More than he’d ever seen in one place.

  He looked around at the man beside him. The apparent leader of this trio. Older guy. Thick grey beard and long grey hair.

  “You did have to go and bring these creeps right to my house, didn’t you?” Eddie barked.

  The man lifted his hands. “Look, we didn’t know about any of this.”

  “Sure. A whole fucking mass of infected, and you didn’t know a thing about them.”

  “I swear,” the bloke said. “We… we’d had a quiet run all day. Barely ran into a soul. I dunno where they came from. But we didn’t see them. I swear—”

  A bang against the wooden panel covering the smashed window in the kitchen door.

  A crack.

  Eddie backed up a little. As too did that bloke. The two other guys were on their feet now. They looked a lot younger than this guy. Dark-haired. Looked like twins. Hard to tell in this light.

  “We don’t have much time to speculate, anyway,” Eddie said. “They’re gonna… they’re gonna get through that door. And we’re going to stand our ground. We’re going to fight.”

  The grey man looked at Eddie with wide eyes. “Are you insane?”

  “We fight. We have to fight.”

  “You didn’t see how many of those nutters are out there. They’re going to swarm this place.”

  “We can’t give it up,” Eddie said.

  “But—”

  “We can’t give it up!”

  Another blast at the back door. A hand worming its way inside. And then another. And another. Ghastly cries. Shouts. Some of them half-cognisant. Others just wails. Hard to tell who was alive or dead at this point.

  Another smash, then. The kitchen window. A rush of wind from the darkness outside. There were loads of these figures. They were going to overwhelm this place in no time.

  But Eddie couldn’t abandon this place.

  He couldn’t let Kelly down.

  He had to stand up.

  He had to fight.

  A hand on his arm.

  That grey bloke. The two other blokes already running through the kitchen, into the lounge, eagerly trying to get out of here. “Don’t mess around, Uncle Harold,” one of them shouted. “If he wants to die here, let him die. Let’s go!”

  But the bloke—Harold—just stood there. Looked into Eddie’s eyes as the chaos intensified; as the storm neared.

  “I know it’s hard giving up a home. But it’s already gone, brother. It’s already gone. Come on. Let’s get out of here. To someplace better. Come on.”

  Eddie looked into Harold’s eyes, and he wanted to punch the lights out of him. ’Cause he blamed him for this mess. He blamed him for bringing these bastards here. He blamed him for all of it.

  But then he heard the door crack.

  He heard the kitchen windows smash even more.

  And he heard those cries and those footsteps fill the inside of this kitchen.

  “Come on,” Harold said. “Now!”

  And as much as he wanted to stand up, as much as he wanted to fight for Kelly’s pride and joy, Eddie turned around and ran.

  He raced into the front room, Barney close behind. Footsteps closed in. Shouts. Cries. Echoes. All of them racing towards him. No idea how many of them, but twenty—at least twenty.

  All chasing them.

  Hunting them.

  Determined to destroy them.

  He ran through the lounge, past the twins. Swung the door open, tumbled outside into the darkness.

  The second he stepped out, the moment the air hit his face, his stomach sank again.

  There were more of these infected outside.

  One of them. Just up ahead.

  Right before him.

  A man approached him. Late twenties, he’d guess. Bearded. Eyes streaming bloody tears.

  “You didn’t need to steal her! You didn’t need to take her away from me! You’ll pay!”

  He threw himself towards Eddie.

  Eddie stepped to one side and braced himself.

  Then, cooly as he was able, stabbed that knife as far into his neck as he could.

  He watched him fall to the ground. Then he looked back at the trio, then at the house.

  “The hell was all that about, Uncle Harold?”

  Harold shook his head. “No time to bicker, Simon. We need to get away from here.”

  Simon—the more muscular of the two guys—shook his head. “You almost threw it all away for this guy. I told you it was a bad idea coming here—”

  “Simon,” Harold said.

  “I told you it was—”

  It all happened so fast.

  The front windows smashed open.

  Two hands lunged out.

  Grabbed Simon by the throat.

  Dragged his screaming body back.

  “Simon!” Harold shouted.

  The other guy—Simon’s brother—cried out.

  “Let him go! Let him go!”

  Eddie stood there. Stunned. He grab
bed Harold, stopped him launching himself at the cottage as the other twin looked on, crying out, shaking his head.

  More hands stretching through the window.

  Sticking into Simon’s screaming mouth as he tried to break free, tried to fight back.

  Tons of fingers sticking into his eyes.

  Tearing through his shirt.

  Digging into his chest and—

  Blood.

  Blood and intestines and—

  “Fuck,” Eddie said, looking away. “Fuck.”

  He listened to the screams grow more muffled. The footsteps drew closer. Time was running out.

  And he knew there was no staying here.

  He knew there was no fighting for this place.

  Not anymore.

  “Simon,” Harold cried. “No. Please.”

  Eddie looked at Harold, crying there. At the other guy, in a state of shock as those figures closed in.

  And as he stood there with Barney, he thought about running away.

  Thought about leaving.

  But then he thought about what Harold had done for him.

  How he’d fought for him, right to the wire.

  “It’s time to go,” Eddie said.

  Harold looked up at him. Shook his head. “But—”

  “It’s time to go. Now.”

  Harold opened his mouth.

  Looked like he was going to protest.

  Then he looked back at the blood-soaked remains of his dead nephew and nodded.

  “Tim,” Harold said.

  Tim shook his head. He was in a real state.

  “Tim,” Harold said. “It’s time to go.”

  Tim looked like he was going to stay put. To protest.

  And then the figures started clambering out of the window, rushing towards them, and he was left with no choice.

  Eddie turned around.

  Harold turned around.

  Tim turned around.

  And together with Barney, they ran.

  In the darkness, Eddie swore he could still hear Simon’s screams.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I won’t ask you again. What the hell are you doing in here? And who the hell are you?”

  Noah stood in Kelly’s cell, and his body went numb. Shit. He should’ve known this plan was a shitty one. That bloke, Paul. He’d seemed far too friendly. Far too laissez-faire for someone who was working on whatever wide-scale operation this was. No way he’d just hand Noah a keycard without querying who he was or whether he had the authority to be here or whatever.

  He was on to him.

  And he’d led him right into a trap.

  “And don’t even think about feeding me some bullshit about being Rory. I know Rory. Not well, but I know him. And I know too damned well he doesn’t look like you. So I’ll ask you again. One more time. Who are you?”

  Noah thought about cooking up some bullshit story. But in the end, what use was it? This guy was already onto him. He knew he wasn’t who he said he was. And he’d seen the blood on this outfit already. Didn’t take a genius to jump to conclusions.

  So Noah raised his hands. “I’ll level with you. I just want to get out of this place. To get my friend out of this place.”

  Right then, Paul’s eyes widened. “Ah. Damn. It’s you, isn’t it? It’s actually you. I didn’t recognise you at first, behind that visor. But you’re him. The golden boy.”

  Noah frowned. “What do you mean by—”

  Paul lifted his pistol. “You don’t just get to leave this place. That’s not how it works. You’re here for a reason. You’re here to help. You’re here for—”

  “‘The greater good.’ I know. So you people keep saying. But I don’t give a damn about this greater good. I care about my friend. I care about surviving. And I care about getting out of this place—”

  “You’re selfish. You know that?”

  “I’m selfish?”

  Paul edged closer to Noah. Kept that gun pointed at him. Kelly sat on that chair by Noah’s side, free from her ties but still seated, still silent. “You’re here because you’re different. There’s something different running through your bloodstream. And that could help people.”

  “If you people would just be straight and honest, maybe more people would comply.”

  Paul stepped right up to Noah. Pointed that gun at him. Shakily. Somewhat nervously. “I don’t have the authority to clarify. But… I need you to trust me. You’re important. You’re valuable. And you need to stand down. We can forget this. If you come with me back to your cell, we can forget this. We can move on. But you can’t do anything stupid right now. You can’t do anything that will jeopardise everything we’ve been working towards.”

  He stood there. Gun to Noah’s beating chest.

  “One thing,” Kelly said, her voice wheezy.

  Paul looked around at her.

  “If golden boy here is so important to you, why the hell would you even think about shooting us?”

  Paul’s eyes raised, just a little.

  The next thing Noah knew he was sliding to the floor as Kelly kicked him in the shins. Hard.

  Noah threw himself onto him. Reached for his pistol. Struggled with him for it. Grabbed it.

  Then he pressed the pistol against Paul’s visor. Held it there.

  Kelly by his side.

  “Now we’re going to tell you how this is going to go,” Noah said. “You’re going to help get us out of this place. And if you dare stand against us, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eddie, Harold, Tim, and Barney didn’t stop running for miles.

  It was pitch black. Suffocating. Eddie always hated the darkness. Used to be afraid of the dark as a kid. Always thought he saw things moving in the night. Figures. Shadows. Dad used to tell him he was being ridiculous. Mum was always more caring, more sympathetic. She’d come in when Dad turned his light off and turn up the dimmer, just a little. Didn’t say anything to him, just smiled at him. A knowing smile.

  He always slept with some kind of light on ever since. Whether it was a lava lamp, the television, or just his phone screen. Which was another reason why this damned outbreak had messed with him. Didn’t sleep as well at night. Couldn’t drift off.

  He ran as quickly as he could through the fields. Mud splattered up onto his tired, aching legs. He was out of breath. Gasping. Wheezing. Took him back to cross country runs at school. Always looking for an opportunity to take a breather. Hiding behind trees, hands on his knees, just trying his best to divert any attention from himself.

  But it always ended the same way.

  Someone dragging him out. Damien, usually. The biggest bully going. Spotty-faced. Mean look in his eyes.

  “Fatty’s taking a breather! Tell sir!”

  And they’d always grass on him. Or at least threaten to grass on him unless he did something embarrassing. Something that drew attention towards him. Tie his shoelaces together and force him to waddle back, barefoot. Make him give himself a wedgie. Make him dance and laugh as his “man boobs” wobbled beneath his T-shirt.

  The same pattern, over and over.

  The same old predictable turn of events, time and time again.

  He ran across this field, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

  He stumbled over. Hit the grass. Mud splattered up into his face. Barney stopped, panting beside him. Harold and Tim kept on running, until Harold noticed he’d fallen, anyway.

  “You okay?”

  Eddie pushed himself up. He didn’t want help. Didn’t need it. He had this. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Harold said. “You don’t look so well.”

  Tim tutted, shook his head. “Jesus, Uncle. Just leave him. If it weren’t for this bastard, my brother would still be alive.”

  “Tim, shut the hell up, now,” Harold said. Anger in his voice. Pain in his voice. “Eddie, do you need a hand?”

  Eddie wanted to push back. Wanted to resist. He didn’t want to
be weak. He didn’t want to keep accepting help from those around him.

  “My asthma,” Eddie said. “It’s… it’s flaring up a little. I just need a minute.”

  Tim shook his head, let out a laugh of disbelief. “A minute? Those infected are on our tail. We don’t have a minute.”

  “We don’t know they’re still chasing us,” Harold said.

  “Are you insane? Of course they’re still chasing us.”

  “We’ll take a minute,” Harold said. “We’re in this together. Whether we like it or not.”

  Eddie tucked his head into his knees and thought of Kelly. She’d be so gutted he’d lost her home, wherever she was out there. She loved that place. Spoke about it like she cared about it more than anything else. He’d let her down. He should’ve fought for it. He shouldn’t have let these people draw attention to it. He should’ve done more.

  He took deep breaths in. Tried to steady his heart. He didn’t like that sharp pain in his chest, right by his heart. He knew he wasn’t the healthiest of guys. Always worried about his heart, or about any discomfort in that area. Often sat up at night wondering just when his weight was going to kill him.

  He wanted to sit there. Stay there. Recover.

  Then he heard Barney growl.

  He kicked back against the grass. Kicked clumps of mud back.

  And he looked right over Eddie’s shoulder.

  Right at the direction they’d come from.

  “Something’s not right,” Tim said. “There’s… The dog. He doesn’t like this.”

  Harold looked into the darkness. Eddie found himself looking over his shoulder, too, hoping they were wrong. Praying it was nothing.

  Silence.

  And then he heard them.

  Shouts.

  Footsteps.

  “Crap,” Tim said.

  Eddie clambered to his feet. Heart racing. No choice. Didn’t matter how exhausted he was. Didn’t matter that it felt like his heart was going to burst at any moment, rip through his chest.

  They had to get away.

  They had to run.

  The infected were coming.

  He ran along the field. Legs shaking. Shrieks getting closer. Harold and Tim were much further ahead. Even Barney wasn’t hanging back for him anymore.