Part 24 (1/2)

As the slope of the hill lessened so he brought his dash under control. His lungs were burning with exertion and he craved a drink. He did not stop running, though, because the hedge was close now, a tangled, bramble-infested maze of dead twigs and crumbling branches.

Tewton was close too. He could see rooftops to his right, but little else. He'd be at the barricade in a matter of minutes.

He hoped, how he hoped that Mandy was there to greet them. She and their father would have made up already, arms around each other, smiling sad smiles. I've named my fears I've named my fears, Jack would tell her, and though their father would not understand they would smile at each other and hug, and he would tell her how what she had told him had saved him from going mad.

He reached the hedge and ran along it until he found a gate. His knees were flaring with pain, his chest tight and fit to burst, but he could see the road. He climbed the gate-there was a dead badger on the other side; not roadkill, just dead, and thankfully un-moving-and jumped into the lane.

It headed around a bend, and he was sure he heard pounding footsteps for a few seconds. It may have been his heart; it was thumping at his chest, urging him on, encouraging him to safety. He listened to it and hurried along the lane, moving at a shuffle now, more than a run.

As he rounded the bend everything came into view.

The people first of all, a couple of them still dragging themselves from the drainage reens either side of the road, several more converging on his father. He stood several steps from the barricade, glancing frantically around, obviously searching for Jack but seeing only dead people circling him, staring at him.

”Dad!” Jack shouted, at least he tried to. It came out as a gasp, fear and dread and defeat all rolled into one exhalation. Tewton... hope... help, all given way to these dead things. For a fleeting instant he thought the barricade was a dividing line behind which hope may still exist, but then he saw that it wasn't really a barricade at all. It may have been once, maybe only hours ago, but now it was broken down and breached. Little more than another pile of rubbish that would never be cleared.

”Dad!” This time it was was a shout. His dad spun around, and it almost broke Jack's heart to see the relief on his face. But then fear regained its hold and his dad began to shout. a shout. His dad spun around, and it almost broke Jack's heart to see the relief on his face. But then fear regained its hold and his dad began to shout.

”Jack, stay away, they're here, look! Stay away, Jack!”

”But, Dad-”

His father fired the shotgun and one of the dead people hit the road. It-Jack could not even discern its s.e.x-squirmed and slithered, unable to regain its feet.

Mandy, he thought, where's Mandy, what of Mandy where's Mandy, what of Mandy?

Mandy dead, Mandy gone, only me and Dad left- But the naming of his fears did him no good, because he was right to be afraid. He knew that when he heard the sounds behind him. He knew it when he turned and saw Mandy scrabbling out from the ditch, her long black hair clotted with dried leaves, her grace hobbled by death.

”Mandy,” he whispered, and he thought she paused.

There was another gunshot behind him and the sound of metal hitting something soft. Then running feet coming his way. He hoped they were his father's. He remembered the dead people in the field yesterday, how fast they had moved, how quickly they had charged.

Mandy was gray and pale and thin. Her eyes showed none of his sister, her expression was not there, he could not sense sense her at all. Her silver rings rattled loose on long stick fingers. She was walking toward him. her at all. Her silver rings rattled loose on long stick fingers. She was walking toward him.

”Mandy, Mandy, it's me, Jack-”

”Jack! Move!” His father's words were slurred because he was running, it was was his footsteps Jack could hear. And then he heard a shout, a curse. his footsteps Jack could hear. And then he heard a shout, a curse.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. His father had tripped and slid across the lane on his hands and knees, the shotgun clattering into the ditch, three of the dead folk closing on him from behind. ”Dad, behind you!” Jack shouted.

His father looked up at Jack, his eyes widened, his mouth hung open, his hands bled. ”Behind you!” he shouted back.

A weight struck Jack and he went sprawling. He half turned as he fell so that he landed on his side, and he looked up and back in time to see Mandy toppling over on top of him. The wind was knocked from him and for a few seconds his chest felt tight, useless, dead.

Perhaps this is what it's like, he thought. To be like them To be like them.

At last he drew a shuddering breath, and the stench of Mandy hit him at the same time. The worst thing... the worst thing of all... was that he could detect a subtle hint of Obsession beneath the dead animal smell of her. His mum and dad always bought Obsession for Mandy at the airport when they went on holiday, and Jack had had a big box of jelly-fruits.

He felt her hands clawing at him, fingers seeking his throat, bony knees jarring into his stomach, his crotch. He screamed and struggled but could not move, Mandy had always beaten him at wrestling, she was just so strong- ”Get off!” his dad shouted. Jack could not see what was happening-he had landed so that he looked along the lane away from Tewton-but he could hear. ”Get the f.u.c.k off, get away!” A thump as something soft hit the ground, then other sounds less easily identifiable, like an apple being stepped on or a leg torn from a cooked chicken. Then the unmistakable metallic snap of the shotgun being broken, reloaded, closed.

Two shots in rapid succession.

”Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh... Jack, it's not Mandy, Jack, you know that don't you!”

Jack struggled onto his back and looked up at the thing atop him.