Out in the corridor, Marshall frantically glanced left and right, his breath already coming in rasping wheezes. There was a violent rattling from downstairs, like a door being shaken and shoved. Marshall wasted no time in scurrying in the opposite direction, headed for the turn at the end of the corridor.
“Get the gun, get back. Get the gun, get back,” he whispered, repeating it over and over as he hurried along. “Easy. Not a problem. Get the gun, get back.”
He took the bend, found the open door, darted inside, then stopped. Daniel’s body was draped backwards across a table. His legs and the top of his head touched the floor, but the rest of his was bent upwards out of shape. The patterned carpet had a new design element – a slowly spreading patch of crimson that bloomed like a flower beneath the body.
Caught by surprise, Marshall covered his mouth with his hands, but too late to hold back the torrent of puke that erupted out of him. He doubled over and spat a few final chunks onto the floor. If the carpet hadn’t been ruined already, it was well and truly beyond saving now.
Straightening up, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then cast his eye across the room. It took him a couple of seconds to spot the UZI, sitting on a table over by the window. He hurried across to it, giving the blood puddle a wide berth. He picked it up and cradled it against him, immediately feeling just a little safer. Before turning, he shot a glance out of the window. The crowds were still gathered out there on the lawn. Apart from the twitching and weird hand-clawing, they didn’t seem to have moved so much as an inch.
Retracing his footsteps, Marshall reached the door. He hesitated, breathed deeply, then turned to look back at Daniel’s body. He’d seen enough gunshot wounds to know one when he saw it, even at this distance. It hadn’t been a bug that had killed him, not unless they were now packing heat.
“Sorry, pal,” he whispered, then he stepped through the door and started making his way back to the others.
There was a scuttling sound from behind him. Marshall spun around, his body tensing from the arse upwards. He raised the gun in time to see something sleek and black race across the ceiling, and launch itself into a leap.
***
The sound of machine-gun fire made Immy jerk violently. She broke into a new round of screaming, and Leanne leaned low over her, whispering soft
shushes
into her ear.
“Fuck,” Hoon hissed. He stabbed a finger to Moira. “Watch them. Keep away from the window.”
He tore open the door, slamming it shut behind him. He reached the corner in a matter of seconds. As he neared it, he noted again that the whispers in his head had stopped, and was suddenly grateful for the sword he still held in his left hand. Tightening his grip on the handle, he leaned around the corner.
The corridor was empty. There was no Marshall. No anything. Or not quite anything.
Hoon bent and picked up the UZI. It was warm to the touch. “Bollocks,” he muttered.
He looked along the corridor ahead of him, to where it ended in the T-Junction. He looked to his right, back to where he could just make out the door to the suite. He turned his head left and right, his conscience pulling him in both directions at once.
“Ah… fuck it,” he said at last, then he began to walk.
Amy tipped the last few peanut crumbs into her mouth, and shook the bag to see if there were any more still clinging on inside. Breakfast had been half a pack of chocolate-coated pretzels, and a full bag of honey-roasted peanuts they’d found tucked away in the driver compartment. They’d discovered a little box of mints in there, too, but had decided to save those for lunch.
Water hadn’t been a problem, but finding something to hold it in had been. Instead, they just took it in turns to drink straight from the tap in the bathroom. It tasted of chemicals, but it was wet and vaguely cold, and they didn’t complain too much.
Jaden chewed on his last pretzel. It was soft and tasted stale. He rolled the chocolate-coated clumps together with his tongue, then swallowed it all down.
“I can’t believe there’s no, like, in-flight meals on this train,” he grumbled.
“What do you mean, ‘in-flight meals’?” Amy asked. “Those are only on planes.”
Jaden shook his head. “Uh-uh. You get them on trains, too.”
“Well, OK, but you don’t,” said Amy. “In
flight
meals. It’s literally right there in the name.”
“She’s right, dude,” said Col.
“Bullshit,” Jaden said, leaning forward in his seat. “When my mom used to drive one of these things, there was a woman – I don’t know, fucking Angela or something – who had, like, a trolley with food on it. Sandwiches. Chips. All that shit. Every time I’d come visit my mom, Angela would slip me some candy or a Coke or whatever.”
He sat back again. “She got fired in the end. Compulsive thief. But they had in-flight meals.”
“Snack trolley,” Amy said. “Totally different thing. But yeah, one of those would be good, too.”
Silence fell. The only sound was the faint
crackle
of the peanut packet as Amy ran her finger along the inside, scooping up the honey and salt flavoring.
“What about him?” asked Col, nodding along the aisle.
They all turned and looked at the body on the floor. Jaden shook his head. “No way, man. That’s where I draw the line. There is no way I’m eating Dave Gatward.” He glanced at the others in turn. “Or, I don’t know, should we?”
“No!” Col said. “Jesus!”
“Hey, don’t get shitty with me, man,” Jaden told him. “You’re the one who suggested it.”
“I meant what are we going to do with him?” Col said. “We should get rid of him.”
Jaden opened his mouth.
“Not by eating him!” Col said, before Jaden had the chance. “We should just, I don’t know, throw him off.”
Amy nodded. “Works for me.”
“I call shotgun on the feet end,” Jaden announced.
“Aw, come on,” Col protested. “If I have to get the head end, I’ll puke, I swear.”
Jaden folded his arms. “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you shot him in the face, Columbo.”
“I was saving you!” Col reminded him.
“It’s fine, I’ll get the head end,” said Amy. “Jesus, let’s just get rid of him.”
Col reluctantly stood up. “No. It’s fine. I’ll get it.”
Jaden followed him along the carriage. “Let Amy do it. She might love doing the head,” he said. He looked back over his shoulder. “Amy? Any comment. Do you love the head?”
Amy flicked him her middle finger. Jaden nodded appreciatively. “I’m absolutely taking that as a ‘yes’,” he decided.
“Stop messing around,” Col said. He pulled the neck of his shirt up over his mouth and leaned down to grab Gatward’s arms. “Aw, Jesus. This is disgusting.”
“Quit whining, bitch!” said Jaden, bending to pick up the feet. “Half of that shit hit me in the face.”
“Ready? Three, two, one… lift,” said Col. They both took the strain and heaved Dave Gatward’s body off the floor. “Jesus,” Col grunted. “He’s heavier than he looks.”
“And that’s without his brains and half of his head,” Jaden pointed out. They waddled him up to the door, then let him drop to the floor. “Anything there?”
Col looked out through the window in door. “No. No, doesn’t look like it.” He hit the button and the door slid open. Col stepped back and joined Jaden in looking down at the body. “Should we say something, do you think?”
“Like what?” Jaden asked.
“I don’t know. We knew him, it feels like we should say something.”
Jaden nodded slowly. He thought for a moment. “Fuck you, Dave Gatward?”
Col shrugged. “Yeah, let’s go with that. Fuck you, Dave Gatward.”
They both got down on their knees and shoved Gatward’s corpse toward the door. It slipped easily along the vinyl floor, then plunged over the edge. There was the
crack
of snapping bone as he hit the edge of the track, then rolled heels-over-head, down the grassy verge beside it.
They watched him tumble down then spread into a vague star-shape at the bottom. “O Captain! My Captain,” Jaden began, then he shrugged. “That’s all I know.”
“That’s OK. Don’t think it’s about the captain of a sprint team, anyway,” Col said. He hit the button and the door closed. Col shot his friend a sideways look. “How you doing?”
“Right as rain, man,” said Jaden, a smile splitting his face.
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, well…” He let the rest of the sentence hang there. “How’s your arm?”
Col flexed his fingers in and out. “Hurts if I do that, so, you know, I try to avoid doing that where possible. Other than that, it’s not too bad.”
“How about now?” asked Jaden. He flicked Col on the bandage.
“Ow! You asshole!”
“I know,” Jaden laughed. “I have no fucking clue why I do these things.”
“Uh… guys?” Amy hadn’t raised her voice, but there was an urgency to it that couldn’t be missed. “You’re going to want to come and see this.”
She was leaning on the back of one of the seats, bent low to give her a better view out of the window beside her. Col and Jaden made their way back to join her. Halfway there, they saw the figures gathering outside.
Men. Women. Children. All drawing together alongside the train. All infected.
“Shit,” Col whispered, ducking low. “Where did they come from?”
“Not sure. Some of them might be the same ones from last night,” Amy said.
“Hell, if Dave Fucking Gatward could follow us, maybe these guys came from the train station, too,” said Jaden. He was the only one still standing fully upright, and didn’t appear too bothered about the horde amassing outside.
“They’re on the other side, too,” Col pointed out, rotating one-eighty. “God, there’s hundreds of them.”
“So?” said Jaden. “We’re in a train. This thing’s a fortress.”
“Gatward got on,” Col reminded him.
“That’s very true,” Jaden admitted. “Difference is, when Gatward got on, it wasn’t moving.”
He squeezed past Amy. She moved before he could brush his crotch against her ass, much to his disappointment. “All we have to do is start her up and roll on out. Those alien-zombies aren’t a problem.”
“Oh, they’re alien-zombies now?” Col said.
Jaden nodded. “You heard the president. Extra-terrestrial, he said. They’re alien-zombies. Or zombie-aliens. One of those.”
“Can you drive this thing?” Amy asked.
Jaden snorted. “It’s on tracks. Forward. Back. How hard can it be?”
He opened the door to the driver’s cabin. He was about to step inside when he saw the bugs. There were dozens of them, scattered across the inside of the windshield and squirming through the air vents in the dash.
Jaden looked down. The floor was heaving with them, too, their legs tapping lightly on the vinyl, their mandibles snapping open-shut, open-shut.
Quickly, Jaden pulled the door closed again. He pressed his back against it, then took two bounding steps away. “What is it?” asked Col. “What’s wrong?”
“We might have a problem,” Jaden said.
Col glanced at the driver’s door. “A problem? What… a big one?”
Jaden shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “More like
lots
of really little ones.”
May 25th, 1:41 PM
Marshall awoke in darkness.
No. He didn’t awake. He’d been awake. He’d been awake through all of it. Every agonizing second, right up until the moment his brain switched itself off, overcome by the horror of it all.
And now that his brain was restarting, the memory of it all came crashing back in. He sobbed and tried to curl into a ball, but his hands and legs were attached to the floor which chords of... gunk. He didn’t know what it was, just knew it had been hot against his skin as the bug had puked it onto him from a hole in its stomach.
He’d struggled. Tried to get free. The carpet burns on his cheeks and forehead were testament to how hard he’d fought, but the gloopy bonds had been too tight, the weight of the thing on his back too heavy.
The soft bit at the back of his head, just above his neck, felt like it had been burned, too. The bug had bitten him. At least, he hoped that’s what it was doing. There had been… not pain, exactly, not at first. Pressure. A slowly building pressure, like something was being driven deep into the base of his skull.
It was then that the pain came. It flooded down his spine and through his head. It boiled through his bones and snapped at this tendons, and he’d arched his back and screamed just as the bug had shrieked in terrible triumph.
The pain had faded now – still there, but little more than background noise for the moment. It hummed below his skin, though, like it might flare up again at any moment and burn him all the way to ash. The back of his head was numb. When he moved, he felt it tingle, like his bottom lip after a trip to the dentist, but other than that it felt completely dead.
There was a sound from along the corridor. He scraped his chin on the carpet as he struggled to raise his head. The bug was coming back. It wasn’t like the others he’d seen back at the station, this one. It was larger for one thing. Much larger. He hadn’t got a clear look at it before, but now it was right there in front of him, slowly inching closer.
Its body was far bigger than any insect had a right to be. It was the size of a small cat, with long, scissor-like mandibles up front, and a long, thin tube protruding from below them. It was a shiny black, or maybe a very dark blue. Six legs extended from the body, ending in blades that curved like a pirate’s cutlass. They picked their way across the carpet towards him, and Marshall heaved and thrashed against his bonds.
“N-no, please no,” he whimpered, jerking his arms and kicking with his legs. “Don’t, don’t, please,
please
.”
The bug crept closer, the mandibles hinging open and closed. The proboscis beneath its head grew longer, unfurling like a paper party horn. Marshall’s voice became just a series of silent sobs. He heaved on the restraints until they tore at the skin on his wrists. “P-please,” he managed, but the rest of the sentence was lost in a babble of tears.
The blades tapped lightly across the carpet. The bug chittered something that could almost have been a laugh. The room grew darker, as Marshall’s mind once more went into retreat.
And then there was sound like a coconut cracking. A long sliver of metal hit the bug in the center of the head, then split it all the way to its back end. The insect didn’t screech or shriek or try to fight. Instead, it just fell neatly into two halves. Left half. Right half.
“See how you fucking like it,” Hoon spat. He brought up a boot and stamped it down once on each half for good measure. “Creepy big bastard.”
The DCI dropped to his knees beside Marshall. “Martin? Martin, you OK?”
Marshall shook his head. Hoon nodded. “Aye, stupid question. Hold on.”
Wedging the sword under Marshall’s restraints, Hoon eventually managed to cut them away. He helped Marshall up, and just held him while he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
Eventually, Marshall straightened up. His pale face and red eyes made him look like some sort of demonic clown. He turned to look down at the mangled bug, and Hoon let out a hiss of shock.
“Ooh fuck.”
“What?” Marshall whimpered. “What now?”
“Just… just the back of your head,” said Hoon. “No! Don’t touch it.”
Marshall twisted, like he could somehow turn his eyes enough that he could see the back of his own skull. “Why? What is it? What the fuck is it? What’s there?”
Hoon held him steady and studied Marshall’s hairline where it met the back of his neck. “It’s like… Jesus. Do you really want to know? Truthfully?”
“Aye! Fuck!” Marshall yelped. “What’s on my head?”
“It’s like… an arsehole,” Hoon said. “I don’t know how else to say it, really. It’s like a wee arsehole, all puckered up.”
Marshall gaped at him. “What?” he said, swallowing. “What do you mean? What do you mean
it’s like an arsehole
?”
Ignoring Hoon’s advice, he reached back and touched his head. His fingers brushed something at the base of his skull which felt, quite unmistakably, like a wee arsehole. Marshall whipped his hand away as if he’d been electrocuted.
“What the fuck? What the fuck is that?” he sobbed. “What did it do to me?”
He stamped down on the squishy remains of the insect. “What did you do to me?” he demanded, but his foot slid in the mush, and Hoon had to catch him to stop him hitting the deck.
“Doesn’t matter, you’re alright now,” Hoon said. His brain was suddenly filled with the chittering of the bug. He looked Marshall up and down. “Huh.”
“What?” Marshall whimpered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing,” said Hoon. “It’s just… the bug, the one in my head, it wants me to protect you. It wants you kept safe.”
“Well… that’s good, isn’t it?” Marshall croaked.
“Aye, maybe,” said Hoon. “But if this thing wants you kept alive, you can bet it’s no’ out of the kindness of its heart.”
Marshall looked down at himself. “So… what are you saying?”
Hoon rolled his tongue around in his mouth, considering his next few words carefully. “Fuck it, doesn’t matter,” he decided. “Come on, let’s get you out. Can you walk?”
Marshall nodded, but Hoon handed him the UZI, then put an arm around him, anyway. “Lean on me. We’ll get back to the room then figure out our next move.”
They made their way back through the twisting labyrinth of corridors, Hoon half-carrying Marshall along. With each step, Marshall seemed to deteriorate. By the time they were back in the corridor where Hoon had found the UZI, Marshall could barely drag his feet behind him.
“D-don’t feel good,” he said, his voice slurred. His face was slick with sweat. It formed into beads on his nose and chin, and made his skin shimmer beneath the hotel’s lights. “Hurts.”
“What hurts?” Hoon asked.
“E-everything,” Marshall stammered.
His body felt like it was filled with acid, his legs like they were filled with lead. His insides burned, his outsides itched, and it was taking all he had just to hang on to Hoon’s arm.
They turned the corner together, Hoon pulling Marshall along. “Nearly at the room,” Hoon said. “You can rest for a bit.”
As they reached the door, though, Leanne stumbled out, holding Immy close against her chest. Moira appeared next, pulling the door behind them.
“What’s happened?” Hoon demanded.
“Bugs,” Moira said. “Big ones, little ones, they’re all coming in.”
Leanne’s eyes went wide when she saw Marshall. “Martin? Jesus Christ, what happened?”
“He can fill you in later,” Hoon said. “We need to go for the trucks now.”
“Garden’s still full of nasty-looking fuckers,” Moira said.
“Aye, well we don’t exactly have a whole lot of choice,” Hoon said. “You up for a wee run, Marshall?”
Marshall’s head lolled forwards, then bobbed up again. Hoon shrugged. “I’m going to assume that was a ‘yes’.” He nodded towards the stairs. “Moy, lead the way. Something moves, blow its fucking head off.”
Moira nodded. “With pleasure.”
Hoon hoisted Marshall up a little, taking more of his weight. He could feel the heat radiating off him. If they didn’t find a way to cool him down soon, Hoon thought, he might be looking at his first case of spontaneous human combustion.
“Leanne, your job is to keep Immy safe. Everyone else’s job is to keep you safe. Got that?” Hoon asked.
Leanne nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got it,” she said, but her eyes were wet and her arms were shaking, and more than anything, Hoon just wanted to give her a hug.
“You’re doing great,” he told her. “You’re a wee fucking superstar, alright?”
Leanne sniffed and smiled. “Thanks.”
A blade-like foot stabbed through the wood of the door, making them all jump. “That’ll be our cue to fuck off, then,” Hoon said. “Get downstairs, get outside, then get to the closest truck as fast as you can. Everyone got that?”
The others nodded. Even Marshall managed to wheeze a quiet, “Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s move,” Hoon barked.
Moira took the lead, hurrying to the staircase and shooting a glance up and down. At the foot of the steps, the door through to the bar rattled violently. “Clear, but we need to be quick. That door’s not going to hold,” she warned.
Keeping her shotgun raised, she led Leanne down towards ground level. Hoon followed behind, dragging Marshall with him. “I need you with me here, Martin,” Hoon said. “Keep your legs moving. Left, right. It’s no’ complicated.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Marshall coughed. His pupils swam in the bloodshot pools of his eyes. He blinked, and the lids seemed to take forever to open again.
They reached the bottom step and Marshall’s legs gave out as they stumbled into the hallway. Hoon struggled to stay on his feet, only just managing to keep them both upright. The door to the bar pushed inwards, revealing a squirming horde of infected trying to shove their way through from the other side. Moira spun towards it, taking aim with her shotgun. “It’s going to go,” she warned.
“Come on, Marshall, you’ve got to walk,” Hoon barked.
Marshall shook his head. “C-can’t. Hurts t-too much,” he sobbed. “It d-did something to me. Put something i-inside me, didn’t it?”
Hoon hesitated, but then nodded. He deserved the truth, at least. “Aye. That’s why the bug wants me to protect you. There’s something inside you. Something I don’t think we’ve seen before.”
Marshall’s face scrunched up. “No, no, no,” he wept.
“I’m sorry, Martin. I really am,” Hoon told him.
The door rattled. The belt creaked. Moira eyed the exit. “We need to go, Bob. Right fucking now.”
“We’re going to get out of here, alright, Martin?” Hoon said. “We just need to run a bit, and we’re home and dry.”
Marshall’s head twitched. “N-no. I can’t.” He swallowed and forced his legs to straighten up. “I’m going to die. Whatever happens, I’m going to die, amn’t I?”
“Look, we don’t know what…” Hoon began, then his voice tailed off. “Aye. Aye, probably.”
Marshall nodded slowly. He dragged his sleeve across his face, wiping away some of the sweat. “Then go,” he said. “Leave me here. I’ll buy you some time.”
“We can’t just leave you, Martin,” Leanne protested, but he waved her away.
“Please. You have to,” he grimaced, gritting his teeth as a fresh wave of pain tore through his body. His hand shook as he raised the UZI towards the bar door. “Th-they’re going to come through. Go.”
Hoon glanced across at Moira, who shrugged, then nodded. “Whatever we’re doing, it has to be now.”
“OK. OK, check the front door, clear us a gap if you have to,” Hoon instructed. He helped Marshall over to the reception desk, then propped him against it. From there, the door to the bar was dead ahead. An easy target, even in his condition. “You sure about this?” Hoon asked.
“Not really,” Marshall admitted. He managed something that almost qualified as a smile. “Any chance I can g-get my job back?”
Hoon patted him on the shoulder. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”
Marshall hissed out a breathless laugh. “Did I ever t-tell you you’re an arsehole, sir?”
Hoon’s bushy eyebrows raised. “No, but it’s high fucking time someone did,” he said. He held out a hand. Martin squinted at it, as if trying to figure out what it was, then eventually shook it. “Goodbye, Martin.”