H
ayden
and the four other remaining group members departed for the wall the following morning.
It was peaceful. Cool but bright. And as they approached an old town, seemingly derelict from afar, Hayden couldn’t deny today just felt like a normal late spring day. A precursor to summer.
And then he remembered what he’d done last night and the taste of sick filled his throat.
He looked up at the apartment blocks either side. Looked at the boarded up windows. The smashed glass. This place was dead. Just not the kind of dead they were trying to avoid, fortunately_.
Well. Not that they knew of.
The town was laced with a stench of old litter. Anthony and Renee walked together, a little further ahead of Hayden, Miriam, Sam. Sam asked questions every now and then. Questions about Charlie. About what’d happened. About what was going on.
Hayden wanted to answer Sam. He tried to answer Sam.
But he couldn’t get the sound of the gunfire out of his mind.
He couldn’t get the memory of lifting Charlie’s lukewarm body into the grave at the back of the garden out of his head.
“You okay?”
Hayden looked to his left. Saw Miriam staring at him. That expression of wide-eyed concern. An expression he’d seen far too many times in life for his liking.
Hayden nodded. Turned back to the road ahead. “Not seen any zombies for some time. Can’t complain.”
“I’m not talking about the zombies, Hayden.”
Heat rose behind Hayden’s eyes. “I know you’re not. But I don’t want to speak about—”
“You’re going to have to speak about it at some point.”
“No I don’t!”
The shout surprised Hayden himself. Renee and Anthony turned around. Sam glanced up at Hayden and Miriam, fear in his eyes.
“Everything alright back there?” Renee called.
Miriam stared at Hayden. Eyes watery.
Then she swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded. “Yeah. We’re just fine. Thanks.”
Hayden watched Miriam walk ahead of him. Walk away, Sam’s hand in hers. He knew he’d done wrong. He knew he’d been a fucking idiot to shout at her. Because she cared about him. She was concerned about him. That’s all it was. Concern.
“I’m sorry,” Hayden said.
Miriam stopped. Turned around. Nodded. “Like you said. You don’t have to talk about it. Not if you don’t want to.”
Hayden opened his mouth to call Miriam back. Because he was wrong. He did want to talk about it. Okay, maybe not
want
, but he definitely needed to talk about it.
He couldn’t let it eat away at him.
Couldn’t let it build up inside.
Couldn’t let guilt gnaw away at his conscience once again.
He was about to call Miriam’s name when he saw the truck creeping up the hill towards town.
“Company,” Anthony said, clearly seeing what Hayden saw. “Hide in one of the buildings or something?”
Hayden walked up and joined the rest of the group. Something about the truck seemed familiar. And yet it also seemed out of place.
“That’s… that’s one of the Salvation trucks,” Miriam said. “Like the one that took me when I got close.”
The truth crashed down on Hayden heavily. “But Salvation fell. Didn’t it?”
Miriam stared ahead. Forehead wrinkling. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. But we have to hide.”
They ran across the street. Tried six, seven doors before finally finding their way into the reception area of a hotel. The truck’s engine rumbled on, grew closer.
Hayden and the others crouched beneath a window. Watched the truck creep along. It slowed down as it moved through the town. Inside, Hayden saw three people. The back door locked. People being taken, no doubt about that. Just like Miriam said. Approaching the wall, and then someone taking them on a long journey north towards the Salvation camp.
The man in the passenger seat glanced out of his window.
Looked Hayden right in the eye.
Hayden stayed still. Completely still. He’d seen him. He’d seen him and he was going to stop.
Hayden was going to have to fight back.
He was going to have to…
The man looked away.
The truck carried on its journey.
Hayden and the group perched in silence for a few minutes, maybe longer. Listened to the truck ease away from the town. To the right, filling in the silence the truck had left behind, Hayden heard gasps. Groans.
“Infected,” he said.
Renee tutted. Rolled her eyes. “Just when I finally thought we were getting a modicum of peace.”
They stepped out of the reception area. Looked at the zombies in the distance. Not many of them. Six. Seven. A few errant stragglers.
Nothing they couldn’t deal with.
Hayden took down the woman with the greying, crumbling skin. Smashed the metal pipe right across her neck, pierced it through her throat.
He watched her stop moving the moment the pipe split through her neck. Watched her go still. The incident at the supermarket yesterday must’ve just been coincidence. The zombies that wouldn’t die. The dead that wouldn’t give in, no matter how much their necks were split.
The rules hadn’t changed.
Everything was okay.
Everything was—
“Hayden!”
Hayden heard Miriam’s voice. Heard the panic in it.
But when he turned round to face her, he didn’t see zombies swarming her.
The zombies were on the road, completely still.
Miriam stood at the top of a hill on the road. She looked out at something. Smiling.
She pointed.
Hayden walked towards her. Then he started jogging. What had she seen? What had she seen that was worth smiling about? What had she…
He saw it.
He saw it, and the breath left his lungs.
In the distance, at the bottom of the hill, there was a wall.
A long barbed wire wall stretching on for miles. As far as the eye could see. Cutting right through the middle of roads, like it’d just been constructed wherever possible—or like it’d sprouted up from the ground.
He couldn’t see beyond the wall, but he didn’t have to.
He saw masses of people surrounding it.
Swarming towards one area in particular—a tunnel.
People.
People just like him.
Just like Miriam.
“We made it,” Anthony said, grabbing Renee and holding her tightly. “We flipping made it!”
Hayden listened to the laughter, saw the smiles.
He stared into the distance.
Stared at the wall.
“Not yet,” he said.
K
atrina Holt held
her breath as she squeezed into the dark confines of the tunnel.
It was morning, but in the darkness of this tunnel, it was impossible to tell that much. It was cool outside, dry, but not Katrina. Not her two bambinos, Walt and Harry. Not anyone in the mass of refugees trying to reach the other side of the tunnel. Trying to reach safety. Everyone was damp. Covered in sweat. Just the new normal. Just the way they felt. Just what they had to deal with.
Sounds of chatter and excitement surrounded her, packed into this tunnel like sardines, forced to move forward. Couldn’t turn back even if they wanted to.
But why would they want to?
Why would anyone want to?
“Mummy, I can’t breathe proper.”
Katrina looked down at Harry. He clung onto her hand. The tears on his face told her straight up exactly what he thought about this tunnel, about the situation they were in. Walt was a lot better. Little bit older, aged twelve. Harry was still only seven. And he always had been a more difficult child. More sensitive. Jamil used to say he’d cry at the wind if it pushed him over.
Katrina smiled at the memory of Jamil. Sweet, friendly Jamil.
She hoped he forgave her for what she’d had to do to him.
They moved further down this long tunnel. Katrina had no idea how long it stretched on. The walls looked pretty flimsy from outside, but she could see on her way in that the tunnel led right across to the other side of the city. A way of working out what to do with an oncoming mass in plenty of time. Smart, really. Clever.
She just hoped the rumours weren’t true.
As she held her boys’ hands tighter, tried to keep her footing in the ever increasing pace of the crowd, she remembered what Sol told her back in Wolverhampton. Something about a partition. About this place being too full. About the guards here turning people away.
And she’d seen the trucks. Seen the trucks filled with people. Driving them away from the wall, taking them somewhere else.
She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be thrown in the back of a smelly, cramped truck with her children, taken to some unknown camp in the middle of nowhere.
She wanted this.
She wanted her freedom.
She deserved her freedom, didn’t she?
“Mummy, I feel really sick,” Harry said.
“God,” Walt groaned. “Does he ever stop complaining?”
“Walter, don’t speak to your brother like that.”
“But he’s—”
“Hey, young man. Might not have school anymore but I’m still your mother. Do as you’re told.”
Walt tutted. Shook his head. Loosened his grip on Katrina’s hand.
“It’s okay, young man,” Katrina said, leaning into Harry’s ear. “We’ll be all okay soon. All of us.”
“Will Dad be here?”
A lump swelled in Katrina’s throat.
“Of course he won’t,” Walt said.
“Walter.”
“What? It’s about time he realised Dad’s d—”
Katrina did something she’d never done in her entire life.
She smacked Walter across the face.
Walter grabbed his cheek. Looked at his hand. Then looked back at Katrina in shock, surprise.
She didn’t know what to say to him. Didn’t know whether to apologise or what. She’d never smacked him or any of her children before.
But speaking about Jamil was out of line.
Upsetting his younger brother was way over the mark.
“Grow up,” Katrina said, choosing not to apologise for what she’d done. “Be a man. Not a boy. A boy acts immature. Says hurtful stuff to his family. A man loves his family. You’re the older brother now. Be the man.”
Walt looked like he was about to bite back with some venomous bile.
And then a sound screeched through the tunnel.
The crowd slowed. Katrina lost her footing.
The sound. It came from ahead. It came from…
Shit.
She saw the light peeking through the end of the tunnel. Saw the city beyond. The buildings. The place where she could live. Where she could raise her children.
“They letting us in?” someone behind her asked.
“They frigging better be,” someone responded.
They waited. Waited, as footsteps echoed at the end of the tunnel. On tiptoes, Katrina could see people. See people dressed in black gear.
Holding guns.
Wearing…
“What’s that racket about?”
It took Katrina a few moments to realise what the noise was. The crying. The shouting. The sound of things being thrown, of metal being rattled.
And then she saw people behind the wall in the distance.
People, all dressed up nicely, all washed and trimmed.
Angry people.
Throwing stones towards them.
Holding placards:
Keep Infected Out Of Our Border!
We’re Full! GO HOME!!!!
Katrina stared at the angry mob of people. She stared at them in a state of shock, much like many of the other people around her. This place was supposed to be kind. This place was supposed to let people in.
She saw a few people at the front of the group run towards the guards.
“Back away,” someone called. “Turn around. You’ll require full authentication, full decontamination, before entering.”
Full decontamination? What did that mean?
“Mummy, I’m scared.”
Katrina rubbed her fingers through Harry’s hair. “Don’t be scared, bambino. Don’t be scared one bit. They’re just people. Just worried people.”
“But why are they worried about us?”
Katrina pondered Harry’s question.
Why were they worried about them?
And then the gunfire snapped her out of her trance.
She watched the refugees sprinting towards the guards fall to the ground.
Watched blood splatter from their heads.
Watched bullets fire into the crowd.
Pandemonium erupted. Screams filled the tunnel. Some ran one direction; others ran the other.
More gunshots.
More blood.
More panic.
Katrina tried to run away, but she fell.
She fell, and as she did, she dragged her boys down with her.
Felt feet trample over her.
Smelly boots stamp on her face, crack her bones.
She clung to her boys’ hands as the chaos erupted. As the panic continued. And as her consciousness slipped away, she told herself everything was going to be fine, everything was going to be okay. This was just a hitch. They were just worried. They were just paranoid.
She was still holding her sons’ hands when the door at the back of the tunnel closed.
When darkness filled the cavern.
She was still holding her sons’ hands when she woke up.
Woke up in a large sports hall type area.
Confused. Disoriented. Mouth dry, dehydrated.
“What…”
She was still holding her sons’ hands when the gas sprayed out of the ceiling.
The yellow, greenish gas fell on them.
When the burning filled her throat.
Crippled her lungs.
She fell forward. Held onto Harry. Held onto Walt. She tried to tell them everything was going to be okay as their eyes streamed. As blood rolled down their nostrils. As they cried, coughed, wailed.
She tried to tell them everything was okay as she burned from the inside out.
But she knew it wasn’t.
Finally, she knew it wasn’t.
The next time she drifted into unconsciousness, it was an unconsciousness she’d never wake up from.
T
errance Schumer stared
out of his top storey window at the wall. The numbers diminished around it. A few stray people allowed inside. Just for show. Just to give the residents a false illusion that everything was okay. That some people had been “decontaminated”. That the truth—the undeniable truth—was nothing more than a conspiracy.
He heard a knock on his door. Turned around, saw Luis standing there, eyes steely, sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Well?” Terrance asked.
“It’s done,” Luis said.
Terrance nodded. Looked back at the window. Back at his beautiful city.
He wiped a tear from his eye and hoped God would forgive him for his sins.