The Screaming (Book 2): Refuge Read online

“We can’t stay here, they’ll get in.” She continued, pleading her case.

  “We need a plan, a vehicle.” Zac proposed.

  “The church mini bus!” Janet blurted out, no sooner had the idea entered her head.

  Zac’s interest focused on an optimistic Janet. He moved around the large table, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. Fee raised her head and both she and Zac waited expectantly. Reacting to the captive audience, Janet continued.

  “The old blue mini bus, it’s out there in the yard. I mean, it hasn’t been used for a couple of weeks, but it should go.”

  Janet stood up and her chair screeched back on the tile floor. She walked over to a large French dresser and opened a small drawer. After several seconds of rattling her hand about inside, she produced a set of vehicle keys, holding them up like the winning ticket in a raffle and smiled at Zac and Fee, who in turn displayed assured grins. But Max wasn’t grinning, he hadn’t moved, staring motionless out into the fog filled yard beyond the patio doors. Without averting his dutiful gaze, he spoke.

  “Where did you say the mini bus was?”

  “The other side of the yard.” Janet replied, her smile slightly fading.

  Max didn’t say anything else, he simply nodded towards the murky blanket of vapour that filled the yard. Janet walked over to the patio doors before turning her back on them and walking back to her chair.

  “What? What is it? Zac queried.

  He stood from the chair, careful not to allow it to screech across the floor like Janet had done, and walked to the doors. He strained his eyes as he squinted into the wall of mist and absorbed the despairing circumstance that presented itself. It was impossible to see how many, as the fog swirled around the immobile statues. But standing within the yard, were countless infected. The gloss of blood laden clothing and faces fresh from recent kills, tightly packed the yard. The now characteristic behaviour of a horde at rest revealed itself as each light breeze blew the fog about the confined cobble yard. Each one standing up right, staring off across the Thames, away from the patio doors, like some kind of collective trance.

  “Well that’s that then.” Fee snapped.

  “Why haven’t they broken in? These doors are like paper to them!” Zac pointed out.

  “Maybe the fog confuses them, or somethings got their attention.” Janet suggested.

  Suddenly Max marched up to Janet and grasped the vehicle keys.

  “Whatever the reason, it’s a tactical advantage. I’m thinking we only have a small window before the fog or whatever is keeping them interested fades and then, we’re dead.”

  “So what are you saying?” Janet enquired.

  “We have to go through them.” He confidently exclaimed.

  Fee muffled a nervous laugh and dropped her head to the table once again. Janet stared at Max in disbelief at the absurd suggestion, as she struggled for an appropriate response that didn’t include profanity.

  “We’ll be torn apart as soon as we step outside.” She finally said.

  “If we stay here, we’re dead come morning.” Max grunted.

  “It’s crazy. Can’t we hide upstairs or something?” Fee suggested.

  “They’ll get in.” Max responded.

  Zac hadn’t yet voiced his opinion. He simply looked out at the foggy minefield consuming the yard. Though having noticed the debate fall silent, he suddenly sensed three pairs of eyes burning into his back as they awaited his contribution.

  “Zac? Well?” Fee demanded in a frustrated tone.

  “Max is right. They’ll get in, just like the church.”

  Fee eyed Zac with a scornful look of disbelief. He tried to return it with a reassuring smile which was just met with a shake of her head. Max reacted by leaping into action. He approached the kitchen cabinets and started rummaging through drawers and cupboards.

  “We need supplies, food, water, weapons.”

  He laid out a selection of kitchen knives on a worktop and then proceeded to fill a hessian shopping bag with tins of food and a bottle of apple juice.

  “Come on then, arm yourselves.” He ordered, gesturing at the array of bladed items on the worktop.

  “Wait, we need a plan.” Zac demanded, in a challenge to Max’s self-appointed authority.

  “Yeah, we do, so listen in.” Max paused his scavenge and turned to his new recruits.

  “We move quickly, but quietly. I’ll lead. Janet, you’re next with the bus keys, okay? When we get to the bus, get in quick. It won’t take them long to be on us. We can’t hang around. Any questions?”

  After exchanging several blank looks, no questions were offered, and all too soon they found themselves stacking up at the door. Max drew his Glock, eased the top slide back to inspect the round sitting neatly in the chamber and raised the weapon ready. The others had each armed themselves with a kitchen knife as instructed and nervously gripped the culinary implements in sweaty palms. Max slowly turned the door lock, until it clicked, then pushed down on the handle and eased the door open.

  The fresh damp air hit them, almost demanding a large unified inhale. One by one they edged out into the thick shroud, lightly stepping across the uneven surface. They soon reached two infected, who stood proudly side by side. No more than a metre separated them. To the left a large male and the right a small woman. Both wore the scares of a recent feeding. The female wheezed as she sniffed the air, bloody mucus slid down her scared chin and the male ground his ruined teeth inside his emaciated mouth. Max edged his way between the two sentinels, closely followed by Janet.

  Zac was next. He edged each foot forward between the two plagued creatures, closely pursued by Fee who reached out and took Zac by the hand, grasping it tight. Suddenly the male snapped his head to the right, inches from Zac’s face. Zac froze, petrified to the spot as the male beast sniffed the air trying to regain the scent that had momentarily captured his attention and now eluded him. Zac could barely make out the creatures snapping teeth or swollen blood filled eyes that scanned the white for the source of the scent. He quickly realized that the combination of the plasma filled eyes and the thick fog seriously inhibited the infected monsters sight. Unable to regain Zac’s odour the creature soon returned to his default stance towards the river, and the group pressed on.

  What seemed like hours, was in reality, only minutes, as the group pushed slowly through the hazardous ordeal. Their hearts pounded like thunder, almost to the point of betrayal. Their mucus filled noses dripped onto their chins, too frightened to sniff and alert a nearby predator. They weaved within inches of sodden malodourous figures, some with horrific injuries, to torsos and limbs that were so willfully ignored by the victim, as though the lust for flesh anesthetized like morphine.

  It had clearly once been blue, however the rust encased mini bus was now a rainbow of oranges and browns and held together by little more than the faith of the organization it once served. The writing along its side read, ST MARY’S CHURCH. As was the progress of the group through the yard, Fee was the last to ease her back against the side of the decaying vehicle. Max nodded to Janet, who shuffled past him to the passenger door and slowly slid the key into the lock.

  A sharp turn of the key and the central locking clunked on each door. Almost instantaneously the attention of tens of infected that filled the yard was snapped to the direction of the bus. Ear-splitting screams erupted from every direction. The abundant heavy fog came to life with the shrieking cries of triumphant diseased killers.

  “Go, get in, NOW!” Max cried, as he raised his Glock.

  Janet slid straight into the driver seat and jostling with the keys in the ignition, turning over the laboured engine. Zac grabbed Fee by the arm and practically threw her through the door into the bus.

  “Max, let’s go.” Zac cried, as he watched body after body drop at the feet of the soldier, who squeezed off round after deafening round into the advancing wall of creatures.

  It was with overwhelming relief that the mini bus fired into life. Zac le
apt into the van, climbed over the seats and dumped himself next to Janet as she revved the old banger into life. One by one bullet riddled carcasses dropped at Max’s feet until the hammering of round after round was abruptly replaced by a disappointing click. Max wasted no time checking the weapon, he knew he was out of ammunition and with no time to reload, he was soon sprinting at the van door, under the animated and terrified encouragement of the others as they sat, helplessly, in the van.

  Only feet from the van, Max clocked a male infected, as it flanked him from his left. Its hunched chubby form bounded over smaller, weaker infected that stood in the way of its meal. An infected teenage girl, hobbling towards Max with her frail minced legs and seeping wounded torso, was thrown to the floor by the bulldozing chubber, as he made a bee line for the hurtling soldier. Max hit the van doorway without consideration of his speed, clattering into seats and forcing Fee to leap into the aisle.

  Janet planted the pedal to the floor and the van spluttered forward, but it was too late, the chubber was at the door. Max flung around and started throwing kicks at the males array of chins. His heavy army boots left impressive rubber marks on the beasts bruised and bleeding face, but they had little effect at shifting the creature from the side of the vehicle. Fee bravely joined the fray, thrusting her seemingly feeble kitchen knife into the flab filled chest of the growling monster, as it frantically grappled for a hold on the vans interior.

  Max frantically fondled a small pouch on his assault vest, for a fresh magazine and simultaneously released the empty one, which dropped onto his chest and slid off, rattling along the floor to the back of the bus. He wasted no time feeding the fresh magazine into the Glock and releasing the slide, which smoothly fed a fresh round of ammunition into the barrel as he concurrently raised the weapon into the aim.

  Suddenly and without warning, the poised creature exploded in a fine spray of blood, as it vanished in an eruption of dazzling sparks and a piercing screech of grinding metal. The universally recognisable pattern of bricks and mortar hurtled past, as the van replaced the threat of the flesh hungry hanger on, with the reassuring old wall that bordered the vicarages garden. The labouring old vehicle shot through the driveway, depositing a haze of black exhaust smoke over the pursuing infected.

  “Sorry about that Corporal.” Janet apologised as she caught the eye of the breathless warrior in the rear view mirror.

  “No, good job.” He replied as he slumped into a seat and holstered the Glock.

  Chapter Three

  The cough and splutter of the struggling worn engine, enticed infected Londoners into a fruitless foot chase at every junction. As the rusty old van laboured by, sprinting creatures burst from the shadows of buildings and discarded old piles of indiscriminate fed on flesh, for the slightest opportunity of fresh meat. At more open ground, such as parks and roundabouts, hordes of masticated, broken shells stood proudly in their entrancing parades. That was until their peaceful meditation was rudely disturbed by the chugging old diesel wagon, which lead the procession of cannibalistic automatons through the streets like a twisted Pied Piper.

  “That way!” Zac advised as he pointed down a road seemingly clear of hazards and infected.

  “Yes, thank you, I know where I’m going.” Janet sarcastically retorted as she cruised past the top of the road.

  “Where are you going? In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve picked up a bit of attention.” Zac angrily gestured to the ever increasing cavalcade of stalking predators closing in at the rear of the van.

  “I know where I’m going.” Janet reiterated snappily.

  “It doesn’t look like it. What are you looking for? Devine intervention?” Zac mocked.

  He tutted and sank back into his seat like a sulking child.

  “Where are we going Janet?” Fee calmly asked.

  “Tower Bridge, we need to head north.” She quickly responded.

  Zac raised his head, and looked across at Janet, her hands firmly grasped the steering wheel, her knuckles were whitened and her eyes were wide. He glimpsed the writing on the back of her hand, before looking back up at eye level. He could see she was clearly frightened. He instantly felt remorse for how he’d snapped at her, turning him warm and resentful, like a schoolboy waiting to see the headmaster.

  “I’m sorry Janet.” He said.

  She momentarily glanced across at him before whipping her head back to the road ahead.

  “It’s fine.” She quietly uttered and sniffed.

  “We should head north, it would give us more options once we get out of the city, but we can’t go over Tower Bridge! It will be blocked. Just like all the rest” Max proclaimed.

  “He’s right. All the bridges are like it. We’ve seen it all along the river.” Fee concurred as she looked to Zac for his vocal support.

  Zac wasn’t interested in contributing. On his face was an expression of pale vacant loss as he looked aimlessly and without focus into the wing mirror at the stampeding multitude behind. He struggled with the images of the past week as they flashed to the forefront of his mind and then vanished again with equal haste. Soon the debating voices of the others faded into distant white noise as he zoned out. He found his mind wandered to Emma. How she would still be laying in that cold bath, blooded, pale, deformed and left to rot and as for Mark, he would be nothing more than bones and a stain on Daz’s mutilated face. The superficial guilt he felt for snapping at Janet, was insignificant compared to the culpability he buried deep inside for their horrific fates.

  “What about a boat? We could sail out of the city!” Fee enthusiastically suggested.

  “Can you sail a boat? Because I can’t. It’s too slow, we’d be screamer bait before we could cast off!” Max patronizingly replied.

  “What about the underground?” Janet chipped in.

  “We’d have to leave the vehicle. It would leave us exposed.” Max replied with a more respectful tone, that didn’t go unnoticed by a snubbed Fee.

  “Not the underground.” Zac suddenly zoned back in and contributed, before drifting away again.

  “That gives me an idea though.” Fee tried again to impress.

  “Well?” Max politely showed half an interest.

  “The Docklands Light Railway, they have bridges over the river. They might not be blocked like the road bridges.” She explained.

  “How are we supposed to get the van up there?” Max sniggered as he shot her down again.

  “No wait! She’s onto something. I know a place.” Janet contributed, much to Fee’s smug relief.

  They pressed on down narrow streets, tall Edwardian buildings spanned both sides of the road, many baring the signs of a conflictive and bloody massacre. The expended remains of men, women and children, littered kerbs, gutters and doorways, many still clinging to briefcases, purses and school bags. Cars seemed almost untouched, not like other areas where vehicles had been laden with suitcases and personal effects. The towering gleam of the shard building projected over roof tops, beyond the road ahead. Its reaching glass aspects, seemed largely unscathed, almost overlooked by the wave of hunters that seized the city, street by street.

  “It looks like it happened quickly here!” Fee commented.

  Every crossroads presented a new challenging obstruction. Large double-decker buses and fields of abandoned cars besieged junctions, discarded by desperate escapees in favour of running.

  “We need to stay vigilant, we could run out of space at any minute.” Max said as he raised from his seat to improve his view ahead.

  Janet nodded, but said nothing as she pressed on. A crashed police car raised a fleeting interest as its fading blue lights, slowly rotated, its battery slowly dying. A blood stained officer lay slumped over the steering wheel and what remained of his colleague was scattered across the road like he’d been blown apart by an exploding landmine. Janet swiftly manoeuvred the tortured old bus through dumped cars, bikes and buses, trying her best to avoid the scattered remnants of the dead that laid tattered, fra
yed and consumed across the road. Every junction, off-road and exit was gridlocked with forsaken transport.

  “You were right! There’s no way we’re getting over Tower Bridge.” Janet conceded.

  “They’re all the same, blocked in the panic and crawling with infected.” Max smugly sniffed.

  “So we head for the railway bridge? Yes?” Fee said.

  Her question fell on selectively deaf ears, as Max once again, chose to ignore her contribution. Fee gritted her teeth and clipped him across the top of the head with a swift swipe, before stomping to the back of the bus and dumping herself on the back seat. Max looked over his shoulder, sarcastically rubbed his head and slyly grinned at Fee, who tried to ignore the look and glared out of the window, though she couldn’t help but fight back half a smile.

  “They’re getting tired.” Zac suddenly exclaimed.

  His head still rested on the window as he stared into the wing mirror at the flagging throng of screamers. Janet checked her mirror, while Max and Fee broke their mutual stare and checked Zac’s claim.

  “Good. This could be our chance to lose them. We need to turn.” Max commanded as he slid seamlessly back into his commanding role.

  “I’m already on it Corporal. These are my streets remember.” Janet stated as she flung the steering wheel to the left.

  A cobbled back street took them underneath a railway viaduct and down a narrow cutting before circling around and back underneath another section of the viaduct. Suddenly, Janet slammed on the brakes and pointed to a large black gate next to the viaduct wall. Beyond the gate was a railway maintenance yard, a sign on the gate read, TRANSPORT FOR LONDON DANGER KEEP OUT.

  “It’s locked.” Fee said, noticing the large padlock securing the heavy metal gates.

  “Drive through.” Max ordered.

  Janet didn’t hesitate, she turned the steering wheel towards the gates and planted the pedal to the floor. The van burst forward and struck the gates with an orchestral clang, loud enough to bring any marauding screamers within a square mile running. The pitiful archaic engine revved and grunted as the lock buckled and the gates popped open with a rattling chime as the padlock slid across the yard and the van hustled into the yard.