The Screaming (Book 2): Refuge Read online

  THE sCREAMING: rEFUGE

  By

  Matthew Warwick

  Chapter One

  The muggy haze that coated the city, brought with it an uneasy calm. The air was unseasonably cold and the herds of virus fuelled monsters far below in the street, projected little more than a discreet shuffling, fused with a soft, lethargic groan. The harsh stone floor, made for a poor chilly bed. Fee snuggled into Zac, desperately drawing on his diminishing bodily warmth. Zac hadn’t slept for hours, every sound, commotion or clatter, immediately injected him with adrenaline and sharpened his senses. His body fired a recipe of confusing feelings and emotions to his brain, which writhed to process the signals. Hunger or fear? Thirst or pain? He could no longer tell the difference.

  The forefront of his mind exploded with the horrific experiences of the last week or so. He had no idea just how long it had been since he disembarked from the train at Kings Cross station and descended into the hell of the Underground. His eyes stung, dry from the tears he had shed and his throat was cut to ribbons by a relentless dehydration. He laid on his back, staring up at the dust covered oak beams of the clock tower ceiling. He thought about Emma and Mark, but could no longer muster up the tears to partner his blubbering exterior. He wondered if a flesh hungry Daz was still out there, maybe below, in the surging mass of bodies.

  The thunder of military jets and helicopters overhead, that drew Zac to the wooden shutters like an excited child, had long since faded. He just stared up at the dust covered beams, without hope, without a way out, huddled in shock and despair. A booming thud shattered the fragile silence, vibrating through the ageing rafters. Zac snapped back to reality and Fee shot up, roused by the noise, she blinked into consciousness.

  “Oh my god! Are they in?” Fee loudly panicked before trailing off to a muffled whisper.

  “Ssshhhh!” Zac sat up, his finger held to his lip.

  The noise had certainly got the infected multitude below very excited. Soft groans turned to animated panting and yelps as the swarming accumulation of bodies surged against the railings and church walls. Zac achingly clambered to his feet, hobbled over to the wooden shutters and squinted down into the smoggy shifting mass. Fee propped herself upright on the floor, staring across at Zac, eagerly awaiting his update.

  “Well?” She demanded.

  “I can’t see, it’s too foggy!”

  A second sharp thud, rocked the foundations, sending the encircling feverish horde frantic with exhilerated anticipation. A cacophony of sounds exploded into the church below as the noise of shattering tiles and splintering wood echoed up the narrow stone stairs. The noisy clatter of heavy feet inside the church sent the pair's hearts into a palpitating explosion of fear. Their eyes locked on the narrow dark stairway, as they found themselves instinctively cowering in the darkest corner of the tiny open room.

  Each stamp of the heavy boots bounding up the stairs resonated around the dingy little chamber like a barrage of canon fire. Zac looked at Fee, her eyes screwed tightly shut, their whole bodies tensed, bracing themselves for the inevitable pain and torture that would soon be on them. Zac closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Fee in a vain, but gallant bid to protect her. The hefty feet burst into the room without breaking stride, followed by another pair with a much lighter gait. Zac braced himself, as if he was trying to anticipate where the first bite would land on his body, while Fee struggled to stifle her terrified blubbering. Nothing.

  No bites, no clawing hands. A drip of sweat rippled down Zac’s forehead and pooled in the corner of his eye, just at the moment he braved a squinted peek at the large male stood over him. He blinked the salty stinging tear from his eye and raised his head. Looming over the pair was a large stocky man in military uniform. Scuffed dirty brown boots, supported a frame of filthy and torn camouflaged clothing. A green holster clung to his right leg and a grimy blood stained assault vest hung over his shoulders, encasing his chest with an assortment of pouches. Zac recognised the black pistol the soldier had pointed inches from his head as a Glock. Those hours spent playing Call of Duty finally paying off.

  “Say something.” The Yorkshireman insisted.

  “Hey? W…What?”

  The short fused warrior pressed the barrel of the weapon firmly against Zac’s temple and slowly repeated his request, as though ordering a drink from a Spanish waiter. Hearing the voice of the gristly squaddie, Fee braved a look.

  “That’s enough, Corporal.” A disembodied Caribbean accent demanded from the darkness.

  A plump black lady emerged from the shadow of the doorway, a reassuring smile drew Zac’s eye to the dog collar around the neck of her grey grandad collar shirt. She was clearly not your stereotypical clergywoman. Long black braided hair adorned with beads rested on the padded shoulders of a dusty black biker jacket. Stonewash jeans and Doc Martin boots finished of the unique fashion ensemble.

  “I’m sorry, please forgive us, but we need to be careful.” She said as she moved alongside the soldier.

  Neither, Zac nor Fee could offer little more than a nod, as the relief of not becoming lunch for hundreds of voracious flesh eaters slowly sunk in.

  “Reverend Janet Prince, but Janet is fine.” The smiling vicar tendered before turning to the grimacing soldier, as if awaiting for him to also make his introductions.

  The soldier was still stood alert, gripping the Glock, primed to react to any sudden situation.

  “Have you been bitten?” he finally said.

  Zac reached for a low beam and started to raise himself to his feet. The soldier took a step back and was immediately on his toes, Glock raised again. Zac froze.

  “No, we’ve not been bitten.” Fee interjected.

  “Lower the gun, Corporal.” Janet insisted.

  The weary trooper huffed as he lowered the weapon once again.

  “Corporal Max Daniels, 2 Yorkshire Regiment!” He proudly reported.

  “Doctor Fiona Rickman, this is Zac!” Fee was keen to enter the battle of titles, which didn’t go unnoticed by Zac.

  “Zac Tennyson, Kanga’s Aussie bar.” Zac couldn’t resist the sarcastic retort despite the embarrassed glare from Fee.

  The predatory mass gathering that swarmed every corner of the 18th century building, had clearly been stimulated by the flurry of activity within the walls. Antique stained glass windows cracked and shattered under the constant hammering of fists. The pressure of hundreds of fragmented bodies crushing against the splintering oak doors caused the large iron hinges and locks to bow and crack.

  “We have to go.” Janet advised.

  “Where? How did you get in?” Zac replied.

  “No time to explain, we need to go. NOW!”

  Max took up a ready position at the door, the Glock raised. Instinctively, the other three lined up behind him. Cautiously they filed down the stairs, clinging to the shadows, as if they would offer some protection from the onslaught of brisk snapping mouths. Max breached the main nave, arching the Glock in a sweeping motion, ensuring every corner was clear of threats, before turning his attention to the rapidly deteriorating wooden doors.

  “Get going!” He barked.

  Janet took the lead and made a beeline for a pile of broken stone floor tiles and damp oak planks, which surrounded a dark narrow cavity in front of the alter.

  “A priest hole?” Fee queried.

  “This is an Anglican church, but the principles the same. Now go!” Janet instructed.

  Fee climbed into the tight space and bobbed into the dark tunnel, quickly followed by Janet. Suddenly two of the door hinges exploded, the doors burst open in a spray of splintered shrapnel and a tidal wave of viscera coated creatures erupted into the nave. The foremost
beasts buckled under the screaming density that had built up behind, and were promptly downed, instantly forming a distorted carpet of crushed bone and entrails as men, women and children bounded over their rapidly compacted corpses.

  “Come on!” Zac yelled at Max.

  “Go, I’m right behind you.”

  A deafening crack, resonated around the cavernous nave, sending a confusing ringing rattling around Zac’s head. Followed by a second and a third in quick succession. Gun fire. Zac plunged into the pitch black crawl space below the church floor. There was barely room to crawl on all fours, regardless, Zac started shuffling along the narrow space. The dull thud of shot after shot thumped through the tunnel ceiling from the church above. Suddenly a thud of a different kind, as two feet planted themselves into the tunnel entrance.

  “Max? Corporal?” Zac called.

  The figure crouched in the hole, the shredded jaw of the blonde woman gaped open as she locked her sights on Zac. An ear-piercing shriek blasted from her deformed face and fired down the tunnel like an acoustic projectile. Fighting the urge to cover his ears, Zac turned and was moving again, his already blooded elbows and knees taking a further mauling from another harsh gravel filled surface. A dull light penetrated the black tunnel ahead, but Zac was already moving at the maximum speed his body would allow, as the snapping teeth of the quick moving creature closed in on him from behind.

  Suddenly pain fired up his leg as the woman’s once manicured crumpled fingers took a firm grip of Zac’s calf muscle. He stifled a painful grimace through gritted teeth as he thrashed his leg, kicking out desperately at the voracious animal, which lost its grip and rapidly received a sharp thrust to the face from Zac’s flailing foot. He found himself loose from her untiring grasp and without hesitation, starting scuttling along the tunnel. Soon the beast was gaining her composure and was baring down on him as he spewed from the tunnel, at Janet’s feet.

  Almost immediately the blood thirsty hunter projected herself from the darkened hollow and instantly came under barrage from an iron poker, gripped tightly in Janet’s hands. Blow after blow hailed down onto the imploding cranium of the writhing woman, as all fight, forbearance and life drained from the grotesque pile of bloody mush. Janet kneeled down next to what remained of the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “Lord forgive me.” She muttered under her breath, her eyes screwed tightly shut.

  Finding the moment almost awkward, Zac found himself taking in the room. The priest hole opened up at the back of an enormous inglenook fireplace, sided by imposing stone carvings of lions. A neat pile of bricks, sat atop an impressive marble hearth. A large bay window took pride of place at the front of the room, looking out onto a mist filled garden. Ornate oak bookcases shrouded the other two walls, stacked with a multitude of leather bound books and fronted by two brown chesterfield sofas, one of which Fee found to be a useful barrier and was nervously huddled behind.

  “Help me move her.” Janet sniffled, as she regained her feet and took hold of the battered girl’s wrist.

  Zac hobbled to his feet and took hold of the girl by her other wrist, both pulled her trailing feet free of the opening and dragged her onto a Persian rug that lay in the bay of the window. Zac gripped the corner of the rug and pulled it over the young woman’s corpse, before returning to the tunnel entrance and squinting into the blackness which seemed to fluidly alter before his eyes. Movement.

  “Somethings coming down the tunnel.” He yelled.

  Janet grabbed for the iron poker and took position next to the tunnel, the poker primed for a volley of strikes. Zac reached for a brick from the neat pile and readied himself as darkness gave way to a small figure, which slowly emerged from the hole. No more than 9 years old, a bright red coat of blood covered the boys once blonde hair, his face mutilated by a stream of gnawing bites which had devoured his right eye and cheek, though had unfortunately not been enough to end his short life. Fate instead resigning him to a painful end and the inevitable transformation into this murderous creature.

  The room was frozen in time. Neither brick nor poker rained down on the young boy’s head, as both Janet and Zac found themselves unable to release their defensive arsenal. Even Fee had ventured from the sanctuary of the sofa, in a subconscious Florence Nightingale effect. The boys head snapped from figure to figure, honing in on a target. Overwhelming vulnerability suddenly repossessed Fee who darted back behind the sofa, as the small child released an ear thumping high pitched shriek.

  “KILL IT.” Fee cried, from her leather clad haven.

  Janet sharply raised the poker above her head but froze again, as she wrestled with the morality of her actions. The young beast needed no invitation, as it took advantage of the pair’s indecision and sprung towards Zac. Teeth snapped and hands clawed out, as Zac stumbled back, hitting the hard floor with a thud and sending the brick clattering across the floor. Suddenly the youth was on him, biting through the air, held at bay by Zac’s desperately deflecting swipes at the child’s advancing attack.

  A deafening thump echoed through the room, as a thin mist of blood, detonated through the top of the boys head. His lifeless form slumped motionless on top of an exhausted Zac, who scurried out from under the dead boy’s body, defiantly kicking away at it as he shuffled clear. The tunnel entrance was again filled with the form of a panting figure.

  “Corporal, thank god!” Janet huffed in relief.

  The battered fatigued soldier, filled the tunnel entrance, the smoking glock still raised towards the slain child. Zac achingly raised himself to his feet, clutching the tender abrasions on his elbows.

  “Thanks Max.” He garbled.

  Max leapt from the hole and immediately started throwing bricks from the pile into the tunnel.

  “I’ve collapsed the tunnel further down, but it won’t hold. Help me.” He barked.

  “Leave it, let’s go.” Janet ordered, making for a large wooden door.

  Chapter Two

  The kitchen was equal in size to the previous room they had so unconventionally entered. A large glass skylight revealed the darkness of dusk through the thick foggy filter. Max instinctively patrolled the perimeter of the room, securing doors and ensuring no surprises lurked in the pantry. Fee slumped into a chair tucked neatly under a large pine dining table with her head in her hands and liking the idea, Janet quickly followed suit.

  “Thank you, for the rescue.” Zac said.

  Max nodded in acceptance of the gesture and quickly turned his attention to the patio doors that looked out onto the thick mist. Zac quickly realized he’d get little more from the attentive warrior and turned to thank Janet. The exhausted preacher raised her head to see Zac offering his hand. Wiping her eyes and clearing her throat she took it.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Zac couldn’t help but notice the oddly familiar scrawling of black marker pen on the back of her hand. It simply read, LUKE 9:39. Seeing Zac’s interest, she quickly pulled her hand away, shrouding her hand in the sleeve of her jacket. Zac racked his brain, but couldn’t place where he had seen the writing before.

  “Where are we?” Spotting the awkwardness, Zac changed the subject.

  “You’re in my vicarage.” Janet was happy to move the conversation on.

  “You’re a doctor? Right?” Max uncouthly interrupted, looking across at Fee.

  “Erm! Yes, that’s right.” She replied.

  “So do you know what’s happening to them?”

  “I’m… just an Accident and Emergency intern, I…”

  “You must have an idea?” Max pressed.

  “It’s a virus, very short incubation period. It’s fast.”

  “No shit! But…”

  “That’s enough Corporal.” Janet interrupted.

  “I just wondered if all those boffin doctors had figured out a cure, that’s all.”

  “They didn’t live long enough.” Fee angrily retorted.

  Her bold come back raising an impressed smile from the trooper, wh
ich didn’t go unnoticed by Zac, who seemed compelled to jump to Fee’s defence.

  “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?

  “Well you’re in the army, you must have an idea what’s going on?” Zac pushed.

  “Not a lot.”

  “Oh come on, you must know something.”

  There was a long awkward silence, until Max cleared his throat.

  “All I know is my whole regiment were on guard at the Palace, little over a week ago. First time in ten years. A real honour. Now they’re all dead.”

  “What happened?” Fee probed an averse Max.

  “We were called in to assist the police, the riots or whatever they were, escalated out of control. We had nothing more than Batons and shields. Half the boys were torn apart in minutes.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Zac uttered as Max continued.

  “We were pulled back to the barracks with what wounded we could save. But we didn’t even have time to regroup. No sooner were we inside the walls, the wounded turned on us. Pulling people apart, eating them.” Max swallowed the lump, forming in his throat.

  “Everyone hesitated, I mean you don’t open fire on your own wounded, your mates.” Max’s head dropped.

  “The whole base was wiped out.” He mumbled.

  “How did you get away?” Fee quizzed.

  “Fought my way out didn’t I” Max explained, raising his head and puffing out his chest in renewed defiance.

  Nobody really believed him, but no one questioned it.

  “You’re very brave Corporal.” Janet offered.

  Max was no longer listening, he discretely wiped a tear away that had managed to fight its way to the surface of his reinforced exterior and turned his attention back to the fog. A dull pounding started to emanate through the large oak door that lead back into the tunnel room.

  “They’re trying to get through the tunnel.” Fee anxiously contributed.