Solstice: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse (20 page)

“I don’t think we have a lot of other options. The only problem is the chance the service trucks may be stalled and blocking the tunnel.”

“What if there are Ragers inside?”

“I don’t know. But we can’t turn back now.”

Inside the tunnel, dozens of pairs of silver eyes peered back when the headlights hit them. Melanie couldn’t stand it anymore. It felt as though an elephant had just taken a seat on her chest. She bent down behind the seat and took two puffs of the inhaler.

“Floor it,” she whispered breathlessly.

“I can’t, Melanie. This tunnel is only fifteen or so feet wide.”

“But—”

As the Rover approached, the eyes darted this way and that, scurrying away from the vehicle like roaches fleeing the light.

“Rats, sweetheart. Only rats,” Tomas said, sounding relieved.

Driving into the blackness of the tunnel was like sinking into the depths of the sea, unable to find the surface. Melanie reached over and wove her fingers through Christopher’s.

“We’ll be all right,” Tomas said.

Melanie wished she could be like Christopher—innocent of the terrible things that loomed in the darkness. He’d grown accustomed to the night and took everything as it came—the vanishing of his mother, the sudden departure from the only home, the only world, he had ever known.

Melanie steadied her breathing, pacing it with the taps of her fingers on her thigh. For the second time in a matter of days, she thought of praying and then dismissed the notion. What was the point? God had indeed forgotten them. As Tom Waits said, “God’s away on business.”

After what seemed to be several miles in, the headlights revealed a split in the passage, leading off to both the right and the left. Tomas pulled to a stop and rolled down his window. He took his flashlight and the machete, and climbed out.

“What now?” Melanie asked. She just wanted to see the other end of this terrible cave. She felt as though she were in the belly of a giant serpent.

“Just taking a look. We have time. They’re well behind us.”

“What about the things already in here?”

Tomas laughed softly, and his amusement at her expense pissed her off. She started to say something else, but he was already gone, only a shape and a rail of light moving off into the left tunnel.

She looked around, terrified of what she might see, but even more frightened of what she could not. Ahead where the tunnel curved, the headlights revealed walls graffitied with what could have been paint or blood. Notes, signs, drawings. Epitaphs in French and what appeared to be Arabic, but she wasn’t sure. She focused on one quite long paragraph. She could barely read the French, but she translated it as, “
Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts, and beasts so terrible that the ancient animal symbols of St. John will seem like cooing doves and cupids in comparison.”

One written in English, in rather childish, balloon-like lettering proclaimed, “
The light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off.”
Strangely, someone had drawn a large penis next to it.

The arched ceiling displayed some water stains, and a couple of inches of water had accumulated on the floor of the tunnel. That didn’t do much for her confidence in their making it to the other side. In the back of her mind, the Ragers had been replaced with a vast deluge of water bearing down on them like a freight train.

After a moment, Tomas reappeared at the side of the Rover. He tapped on her window, startling her. When she rolled it down, he said, “Sorry, but listen. I need you to climb up front and drive the Rover into that right corridor. Go about fifty meters, then stop and shut off the engine and the lights. I’ll be there in a few moments. Got it?”

She sighed. “Yes. What are you going to do?”

“I think I can block their passage. That way we can be on our way without fear of being followed.”

Melanie climbed out of the backseat. When her feet hit the floor, icy water seeped into her boots.

Tomas squeezed her hand. “We’re okay.”

“This isn’t okay,” she argued.

“We’re not dead, are we?”

She shook her head and climbed behind the wheel. Bo took her spot beside Christopher in the backseat, panting happily and nuzzling the little boy’s neck and cheek with his snout.

***

Tomas moved slowly along the tunnel, his flashlight offering only a smattering of light to shove away the dense nothingness that lay ahead of him. The place smelled of rot, mold, and briny seawater. People had been there, and recently. His light fell on bits of scattered rubbish—water bottles, a soiled diaper, an old sneaker. He didn’t want to spend any more time down there than necessary, but he needed to put a stop their pursuers. Likely, there would be new horrors to deal with once they reached Folkestone.

He’d spotted the bumper of a narrow service van as they cruised the main passage, but he hadn’t realized just how far down the left tunnel it was. He was positive it couldn’t be more than a dozen meters, but it certainly felt like a lot more in the dark.

The van didn’t start, but Tomas had expected as much. The battery was so dead even the headlights wouldn’t shine. He cursed under his breath and placed his flashlight on the dashboard to light the way back toward the main tunnel. Then he shifted the van into neutral and climbed out. He shoved his machete into his belt and wondered absently whether he could remove it quickly enough if he were attacked. Worse, he might jab the bastard through his thigh and bleed to death in the darkness. It didn’t take much to get the thing rolling. Reaching inside the door to steer, he leaned into it and pushed the van toward the main passage.

Water sloshed around his boots, and he imagined rats swimming between his legs, teeth exposed, like tiny Ragers themselves. He shivered inside his heavy coat. His mind drifted to Leila. How she’d hurt him, taking a lover. What had he done to make her decide she needed someone else? He imagined her, young and naïve, as he’d met her years ago. She’d chased him, and he’d loved it. All he wanted was to make sure he, Christopher, and Melanie lived long enough to find Sanctuary and hope. They would handle whatever came after that when it came.

The van drifted toward the wall, and he cranked the steering wheel sharply to the right. Once at the main passage, he guided the van another fifty meters back the way they had entered. Perspiration built under his layers of clothing and ran along his face, stinging the scratch marks Leila had left on his face. He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, but it didn’t help.

Satisfied he’d gone far enough, he cut the wheel toward the wall and allowed the van to roll to a halt diagonally across the passage. The service van completely jammed the main passage. Nothing was getting through, unless it squeezed through on foot, and even that would be a trick.

He headed back toward the Rover, his flashlight dancing ahead of him, the blade in hand rather than in his belt. His boots sloshed along the wet floor and the splashing echoed loudly. Reaching the driver’s-side door, he tapped gently on the window, careful not startle Melanie again. The girl glanced up at him, relief smoothing her creased brow. She unlocked the door and slid over to the passenger’s seat.

“Are we ready, Daddy?” Christopher asked.

“We’re ready,” Tomas said. He pulled back into the main passageway and pressed the gas as much as he dared in the narrow tunnel. The needle crept to forty, and he kept it there, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white, as if either of those things might keep the Rover away from the walls.

A deafening crash erupted from behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Melanie cried.

“I think my barricade worked.” Tomas glanced in the rearview mirror. Behind them, the inky tunnel was alight. It appeared both the service vehicle and the dogging truck had burst into flames. Tomas stopped for a moment and turned to look. “I don’t think they ever bothered to slow down.”

Several fire-engulfed figures crawled from around and beneath the service van. Their howls resonated sharply, causing Bo to break into a fit of enraged barking.

They rounded a curve, and the flaming vehicles could no longer be seen, although their screams still followed the Rover. The dog’s irate barking dissolved into agitated growling. The mouth of the tunnel lay just ahead, much to Tomas’s relief. At least the walls had held up; the notion of drowning wasn’t any more appealing than being devoured by a Rager.

Still, it seemed something seemed to be obstructing the opening. Tomas slowed the Rover. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“We can’t get out?” Melanie asked.

He stopped the Rover just at the obstruction. “Let me check,” he said, climbing out.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing at first. The headlights didn’t provide the best illumination. He moved closer, running his hand along the barrier. It was a six-wheeled semi hauler. He drew his fingers along the cold steel as he moved to the other end of the tunnel opening.

The mouth of the tunnel wasn’t completely blocked, as he initially feared, but there was no way the Rover was getting through. He knelt and peered through a small opening. Folkestone was just outside, and from what he could see, it was the same as every other town they had passed through since Solstice. There were several stalled automobiles just beyond the tunnel.

Hopefully, he could get one of them running.

January 3

Chapter 30

London, England

The kindly, industrious George Edwards who Stu had met only a couple of weeks ago was gone. Stu observed the old man through the thick glass that separated the supervisor’s office from the warehouse area and felt a bit too much like a man watching a wild creature at the zoo. George’s clear blue eyes had become white and dull. His inquisitive, relaxed demeanor had been replaced by an enraged, snarling man. The steel-colored hair he’d kept neatly combed was billowing out away from his scalp as if he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. Spotting Stu at the window, he began a violent tirade of cursing and insults.

Stu pulled a five-gallon bucket near the glass, popped open a lager from the six-pack at his feet, and just watched and waited. He had a strange fascination with George, a morbid wonderment. What happened to the “Ragers,” as the radio broadcast called them, once they changed? George had slept as if he’d died, and Stu had to wonder if perhaps he
had
died. It was the stuff of a straight-to-DVD horror movie, but he’d seen so many things he would have never thought could happen in his normal, boring world. But of course, his normal, boring world had sunshine and people who died and stayed that way.

George had bitten off the pads of his own fingertips. He had started with the nails, first the index finger on his left hand, and worked his way all the way down to the little finger. Blood had flowed, slow as syrup, and the old man licked it greedily. He grinned with red-stained teeth, his white eyes focusing on Stu, and pressed his bloody hands against the glass, creating smeary handprints.

“When are you going to do it, Headmaster?” the old man rasped.

“What are you talking about, George?” Stu wanted to feel something for the man. He’d quickly discovered a fondness of George, developed a reliance on him, but in less than forty-eight hours, he’d come to loathe him. He reminded himself that it was the infection talking. George’s soul was no longer residing in that familiar body.

“I’m talking about you coming in here and finishing this… this
thing
. I want this thing inside of me out.” George pressed his hands against the glass again, the blood coagulating into sickening paint swirls. He dropped his jaw open impossibly wide. The old man’s mouth appeared to be stressed at the corners, beginning to tear like tough old leather. He pressed his face to the window, his tongue lolling out and lapping at the thick film of blood. His teeth were discolored with watery blood and years of tea and coffee, even squares like miniature tiles, but impossibly sharp.

George then drew back, laughing manically. He slammed his open hands against the glass, and Stu stumbled backward, dropping his half-full bottle of lager. Behind him, someone moved, and he jerked around to find Josh standing there. Josh’s smooth face was drawn, his eyes wet with tears.

“Josh? Are you okay?” Stu asked.

The kid turned and walked away without a response, leaving Stu with his heart threatening to leap from his chest, and George cackling like the madman he’d become.

***

The pounding awoke them all at the same time. Stu crawled from his tent, the pistol in his hand, blinking into the shadowy bedroom light of the supermarket They’d put up a few reading lamps and shut down the main overhead lights to conserve the generator gas. It was either the lights or the heat. The decision wasn’t very difficult. His heart thudding, he moved slowly along the wide aisle of the outdoor department.

BAM BAM BAM

He spun around, trying to pinpoint the origin of the sounds. They echoed sharply throughout the store. He turned, stepping backward slowly, his gun raised. Something brushed his shoulder, and he jumped, biting back a scream.

It was only Ashley, looking young and very afraid in a pair of pink pajamas, her hair a wreck. Tana appeared behind her, Davis in tow.

Stu lowered the .44 and sighed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“It’s only me, Mr. McCarthy,” Ashley whispered needlessly.

The pounding commenced again, three in succession, a pause, and then again.

“What is that?” Tana asked.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s coming from the warehouse,” Stu said.

Davis took his mother’s hand. “Is Mr. Edwards going to eat us?”

“No, son. Mr. Edwards is locked in,” Stu told the frightened child, but his eyes met Tana’s. That was exactly what he feared.