Disintegration

37

“You ever been to Bromwell before?” Amir asked Lorna and Jas as they drove deeper into the dead town. He didn’t care what their answer was or even if they didn’t answer at all. He was just trying to distract himself; trying to settle his nerves and take his mind off the hellish, almost unrecognizable world they were now traveling through.

“Doesn’t look like we missed anything,” Jas said, not in the mood for conversation.

“I think my dad brought me here once when I was little,” Lorna answered. “I wouldn’t recognize anything now, though.”

“Damn right.” Amir smiled sadly. “Bloody hell, I drove down this road to work every day for more than twelve years and I don’t recognize anything.”

“If you’re a local,” Harte said, eavesdropping from the front of the bus, “come up here and tell us where to go.”

Amir reluctantly got up and walked along the aisle, holding onto the passenger rail as the bus lurched from side to side and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. He looked out through the dirty windscreen, trying to make sense of the carnage flashing past.

“Any suggestions?” Hollis asked.

“Give me a second,” Amir said quietly, trying to take in their surroundings and wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye. He hoped no one had noticed. He hadn’t realized how much coming home would hurt. In spite of the fact that everything looked so very different this morning, he knew exactly where they were and had done from the moment they’d set off. It was hard to concentrate and think about where to go next when everywhere he looked he saw the crumbling, dying ruins of places he used to know. They were just fading shadows now, gradually dissolving away to nothing. His whole world had been raped and ruined beyond repair.

“Well?” Harte pressed impatiently.

“Take a right here, then go straight up the high street.”

“Think we’ll be able to get through?”

“Should do. It was partially pedestrianized. There wasn’t a lot of traffic around when it all kicked off.”

“How do you know?” Hollis asked, holding on as Driver swung the bus around to the right. Amir wiped away another tear, unable to look away from the disintegrating world outside.

“Because,” he explained, his voice suddenly full of emotion, “I used to live here and work here and I was here when it happened.” The bus rumbled forward, then took a gentle turn and began heading up the high street. “And,” he continued, pointing out of the window at the row of shops and businesses on the right hand side of the road, “because until all of this happened, the Bromwell Jewel was the best place to eat for miles around here.”

“Was that where you used to work?” Harte asked.

“That was my business,” Amir answered as they passed the blue-fronted building, its unlit signage now faded and dull and its windows covered with cobwebs and dust. “That place was my life.”

What remained of the people of Bromwell were beginning to emerge from the shadows. They slowly spilled out from dark, hidden corners and dribbled through doorways, alerted by the noise. Their numbers were surprisingly low.

“Why so few?” Harte asked as a gray-suited cadaver dragged itself out in front of the bus. He winced as the powerful vehicle slammed into it, its head smacking against the bottom of the windscreen and popping open like a blood-filled balloon. “Can’t all be down to Martin’s music, can it?”

“What else could it be?” Amir wondered. “I’m sure that’s got something to do with it, but look out there. Some of them are holding back.”

He pointed farther up the street. Harte and Hollis peered ahead, but the fact that the color seemed to have been drained from everything, bodies included, made it difficult to make out detail until one of the cadavers moved. Amir was right, though, some of the creatures in the shadows were definitely keeping their distance, staying out of the way until the bus had almost reached them and they had no option but to move. Harte turned and looked out the rear window. Behind the vehicle the scene was disappointingly familiar. The main street was full of corpses all dragging themselves after them.

“What’s all that about?” Amir wondered, his eyes wide, nervous, and bewildered.

“We’ve seen it before,” Hollis replied. “They’re not as dumb as you’d think. Sometimes they keep out of the way if they think they’re in danger.”

“Seriously?”

“You just watch them,” he continued. “When they’re isolated or there are just a few of them they tend to keep out of the way. Now look behind the bus. The immediate threat’s gone so they come out into the open and follow us.”

“So is Martin making things better or worse? If they’re easier to deal with on their own, shouldn’t we be trying to keep them apart?”

“Don’t know. There’s no right answer. Even if you’re only up against one or two of them, if they can’t see a way out, they’ll fight you whatever.”

“Now where?” asked Driver. The end of the street was looming. Amir forced himself to concentrate and look ahead again. The far end of town had been redeveloped over the last eighteen months with several large buildings having been built on reclaimed wasteland the other side of a recently restored canal. There was a supermarket there, as well as the usual entertainment and fast-food outlets that always seemed to crop up together. He’d spent the last six months cursing the place, blaming it for draining the life from the town and dragging his customers away. Now he couldn’t get there fast enough.

“Keep going to the end of the road, then take the bridge over the canal. We should find something up there.”

The bus clipped the back corner of a burned-out car and sent the wreck spinning toward the buildings on their left. It crashed into the bronzed-glass frontage of a large social security office, releasing a previously trapped pocket of bodies which immediately began to pick their way through the rubble and glass, then lurched along the rubbish-strewn road. Harte walked the length of the bus, pressed his face against the back window and watched them. From all directions cadavers were now streaming out onto the main street and following the vehicle like a herd. There were still many fewer bodies than he’d expected to see, but more than enough to cause them problems.

Driver forced the bus up over the narrow bridge which separated the redevelopment from the rest of the town, the sudden jolting movement violently throwing his passengers about.

“Jesus,” Hollis cursed, gripping the handrail tighter and struggling to stay on his feet. He looked out the door and peered down into the canal with disgust. The sides of the waterway were largely open with benches and shelters scattered along the tow path. Over the weeks vast numbers of dumb, uncoordinated bodies had fallen into the cloudy water. There were so many of them around the sides of the bridge that the canal had become a dark, murky quagmire filled with flesh. Bony, barely recognizable heads, limbs, and other body parts jutted out from the greasy green-gray sludge at unnatural angles. It occurred to him that the canal might actually help them in the same way that a moat protected a medieval castle. Some of the cadavers following the bus would no doubt manage to cross the bridge by chance, but many more would join the packed masses below already wallowing in their watery graves.

There were hardly any bodies on the other side of the canal. Harte was reassured by what he saw as he returned to the front of the bus. From left to right there was a large toy store, an electrical superstore, some kind of furniture and household goods outlet, a bowling alley, and a supermarket.

“Look for the loading bay,” he suggested, hoping that their usual tactics would work. Driver was one step ahead of the game.

“Good idea,” Amir said quietly.

“We’ve done this before,” Harte mumbled.

The once-white supermarket building appeared dirty and decayed. Weeds and moss had sprung up around the entrance and had begun to climb the walls, their surprisingly aggressive growth rates no doubt increased by the plentiful nutrients supplied by the remains of the dead shoppers lying nearby.

“Fuel,” Hollis said, nodding toward the supermarket filling station on one edge of the car park. This was an excellent find. There was a tanker on the forecourt. If they were lucky it would still be full. If they were unlucky the fuel would be in the tanks beneath the pumps. Wherever it was stored, this was good news. Maybe they could even drive the tanker back if it was still loaded up. Not today, but later in the week perhaps. Hollis forced himself to concentrate on getting the maximum amount of supplies today, that was why they were here. They could make plans for their next trip tonight as they rested in comfort back at the hotel and ate decent food and drank themselves stupid.

“Doors are closed,” Harte said as they drove past the main entrance, wiping out another trio of curious cadavers.

“Is that good?” Amir asked. He thought it was a strange thing to say.

“Absolutely!” he replied. “You want to try going into one of those places when the doors have been left open? Swarming with those fucking things, they are. They’re drawn to shops even after they’re dead!”

“Are you serious?”

Harte laughed. “No, but it is easier when they’re closed up. Thing is, they can get into buildings easier than they can get out.”

“Like the golf course?”

“Exactly, and the longer you leave it, the more you’ll find stuck inside. Just adds to the fun!”

“Fun?” Amir grumbled nervously. He was sweating profusely and trying hard to remain calm. The bitter sadness he’d felt since returning to Bromwell had now been replaced by absolute fear. He wished he’d stopped at the hotel. He couldn’t believe he’d actually volunteered to come out here. It had seemed like a long-overdue opportunity to break the monotony of his prison-like surroundings, but now all he wanted was to be back in his “cell.”

Driver skillfully coaxed the bus around a tight corner and into the loading bay, knocking down the “maximum height” warning sign which hung from a barrier overhead as he reversed into position. This place obviously hadn’t been designed with double-decker passenger buses in mind.

“Bingo!” Jas said excitedly. “Look at that. Delivery!”

Hollis couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The morning was getting better by the minute. Straddled across the far end of the loading bay was a huge delivery lorry, decked out in the supermarket’s distinctive orange, yellow, and white livery. The doors at the back of it were hanging open and they could see that it was still more than three-quarters full. It looked like they might be able to get what they need without even having to risk going inside the store. Perfect.

“Going to have to stop here,” Driver announced. “Won’t get out if I go in much further.”

“Okay,” Hollis agreed, grabbing onto the nearest handhold again as the bus lurched to a sudden stop. The doors hissed open, letting in a blast of cold air from outside, accompanied by the fetid stench of dead flesh and rotten food. Sean and Webb thundered down the stairs from the top floor, weapons in hand, ready to get rid of the first few bodies which were already inching closer.

“I’ll keep those two in check,” said Jas, picking up the chain saw and squeezing out between Hollis and Harte. He ran after the others, quickly catching up with Sean. Webb was already level with the first of the advancing cadavers, wielding his baseball bat with typical blundering force, making short work of any corpses unfortunate enough to stagger within range.

“Do we try and block them off from the bus or…?” Sean started to ask, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous again, despite what he’d learned yesterday. Jas shook his head.

“Not worth it,” he replied. “We might as well just get rid of them. Makes it easier in the long run. Look, we can cut them off if we get closer to the bridge. Most of them are going to end up in the canal, so we’ll just be left with the ones that manage to get across. Dumb bastards.”

He started the chain saw and marched forward purposefully. Machete in hand, Sean followed close behind, figuring that he’d stay back and deal with those few corpses which managed to evade both Webb’s and Jas’s attacks.

Lorna, who had been quiet and subdued since leaving the hotel, quickly sprang into action. Hollis, Harte, and Amir were at the back of the lorry, discussing what to take first and how to best organize themselves.

“Come on,” she said, barging past them all and clambering up into the massive vehicle. “It won’t empty itself.”

Not waiting to hear their response, she grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on—a tray of tins of beans—and slid it across the floor toward Hollis. He picked it up and carried it over to Harte, who had returned to the steps of the bus. He took the tray from him and took it down to the end of the vehicle where he stored it carefully in the foot-well just in front of the farthest seat back.

We need to pack this stuff carefully, he thought. The better we pack it, the more we’ll get in. The more we take now, the longer before we have to come out here again.

* * *

It took less time than they’d expected to empty the back of the lorry and transfer its contents to the bus. Hollis mooched around in the darker corners of the loading bay, keen to check they’d taken everything of value before leaving. He shifted a pile of traffic cones, shovels and other bits of maintenance equipment, then walked over to the other side of the bay to investigate a few wooden pallets which had been stacked up against a wall. He glanced back at the bus as he worked. The others were sitting on the steps up to the rear entrance of the store, drinking, eating, and catching their breaths before they headed home.

The pallets were of little interest. Some were broken, others had just been piled up awaiting collection by the next—

A single cadaver suddenly threw itself at Hollis, grabbing hold of him and sending him tumbling over. His heart thumping, he struggled to right himself and get a grip on the rancid figure which had rushed him. Where the hell had it come from? He forced his hand up, gripped the foul-smelling creature’s neck and squeezed. His gloved fingers dug deep into its rotting flesh, ripping open its disintegrating trachea and allowing all manner of disgusting dribbles of decay to squeeze out and run down his arm. His composure quickly returning after the sudden surprise of the attack, he gradually managed to shuffle himself around and roll right over so that the corpse lay beneath him and he could use his weight advantage to the full. He stared into its revolting face—a mass of pus, dried blood, ripped skin, and an infuriatingly vacant expression which seemed to scream so what? at him—and wondered how something so pathetic and inadequate could catch him off-guard like that. Was it just the fact that he couldn’t hear properly, or was he losing his touch? His confidence wavering, he angrily grabbed a long-shanked screwdriver which he’d been carrying and plunged it into the monster’s left temple. In one side and out the other. He pulled it out again, stood up and gave the suddenly limp figure an angry kick to the gut to make sure it wouldn’t get up.

“You okay, Hollis?” Jas shouted. “Having trouble?”

“I’m fine,” he answered quickly, determined not let the others know what had just happened. He must have released the cadaver when he’d been scavenging around just now. He’d acted like a fucking amateur and he felt angry and scared. Angry because he’d been stupid and put himself at risk unnecessarily, scared because he hadn’t heard the body until it had been too late. He’d got away with it today, but the outcome could have been much worse. He’d hoped his hearing would have improved by now but, if anything, it was deteriorating. How the hell was he supposed to survive if he couldn’t hear? Hollis felt more exposed and vulnerable today than he had done when the rest of the world had first fallen dead at his feet. He wiped the gore off his screwdriver and put it back in his pocket as Jas approached.

“We’re going to head off,” he said. “You ready?”

Hollis nodded and followed him back toward the bus.

The lower floor and half of the top floor of the huge vehicle had been filled. Struggling to find a seat, Lorna wearily climbed the narrow stairs and flopped heavily into a chair right at the front, well away from everyone else. The bus began to rumble and shake as Driver started the engine, then it slowly trundled forward. She could already hear the crashing of badly packed supplies and excited laughter and conversation coming from her fellow looters standing in the aisle downstairs. By the sounds of things they’d be lucky if there was any booze left by the time they made it back to the hotel. She closed her eyes, leaned back in her seat, and tried to shut it all out for a while.

The bus turned around and powered back across the bridge over the canal. The sudden jolting movement threw her forward and she opened her eyes again. She gazed down over the dead streets of Bromwell. Even now, two months since it had first happened, it was hard to comprehend the full scale of the inexplicable devastation which surrounded her. She could see many bodies scurrying around in the shadows down below, dragging themselves around ceaselessly and tirelessly like busy worker ants but without purpose or direction. She couldn’t imagine a worse existence—condemned to haunt this dead world until such time that their physical form finally failed them. What had any of these people done to deserve this?

Half an hour earlier, Lorna had watched Webb and Sean taunting a corpse. The pathetic, maggot-ridden creature had been sliced in half by Jas’s chain saw but it had still been moving. She’d watched it pull itself along the ground, the stump of its spinal cord dragging behind, leaving a crimson snail trail on the gray paving stones. Like kids teasing a stray dog, Webb and Sean had taken turns to lie down directly in its path, taunting it and playing chicken; waiting until the last possible moment before rolling away, then tricking the corpse into crawling after them in another direction. Stupid idiots. Didn’t they care that that used to be a person? Maybe they did. Maybe it just didn’t matter anymore.

Maybe she was the one who’d got it all wrong.