The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (42 page)

“They’re here…”

A window shattered from somewhere behind him, followed by the bone-shuddering crack of rifle fire that made him flinch and almost drop into the foot well, and becoming incapacitated with fright. He was no longer turning the key or making any attempt to restart the engine. He was staring back at the figure by the collapsed fence, petrified and mumbling incoherently as more of the dead appeared from the gloom behind it.

“Get out of there,” Charlie growled as the last of his patience was spent. He reached across and pulled the mechanic from his seat before flinging him back into the passenger compartment of the bus.

More windows shattered as rifle-butts were slammed against them from inside, the troops acting on instinct and doing what they could to hold back the dead from the vehicle. Gunfire roared and people screamed, desperate to halt the impending disaster that was slowly unfolding around them. All around the depot rotted feet were trampling over the fences and shambling between the wreckage, reaching out their clawed hands towards the vehicle filled with living people and uncaring to the exploding heads and collapsing bodies that were dropping to the ground beside them.

The troops called out to one another, hollering target indications and the state of their rapidly dwindling supply of ammunition as their weapons thundered relentlessly in a desperate bid to hold back the infected and give them the time they needed to recover the stalled vehicle. Al looked around him and watched the men and women as they jumped from seat to seat, firing at multiple targets that were now within the perimeter fence of the depot.

“Magazine.”

“On your right, on your right. Nail the fuckers.”

“I’m out. I’m out of ammo.”

“Switch left, switch fire to the left. They’re coming through.”

“Come on, you big ugly bastard,” Charlie growled as he willed the engine to turn over. “Come on. Come on.”

Al turned his attention to the large windows at the front of the bus. The dead were beginning to fill the area ahead of them and blocking their escape route from the depot. If too many reached the exit, then it would not matter if the bus started or not. With the short distance between them and the growing crowd, the vehicle would not build up enough power and momentum for them to plough their way through a densely packed throng of corpses.

“Fuck this.”

He wrenched open the door and jumped from the step, immediately raising his rifle and firing rapid aimed shots as he advanced towards the gate. Tommy saw him leave and bounded after him, understanding what needed to be done in order to save the bus and the people inside. The two of them advanced side by side, firing their weapons and sending dozens of the infected to the floor while they headed for the street, seemingly undeterred by the number of reanimated corpses that were appearing ahead of them.

“On me,” Bryn hollered to the men and women around him, charging along the central aisle of the bus and heading for the door. “Help me, you fuckers.”

Two sections of the militia followed while the others remained behind with Nobby to defend the ground to the right of the vehicle and prevent the dead from getting too close and overwhelming them from the flank. They were desperately low on ammunition, and it would not be long before they were forced to fight the infected with whatever was to hand.

Outside, the sound of the gunfire raged as the fight was taken to the enemy. Everyone was shouting and screaming aggressively as they charged forward in a life and death struggle in an attempt to throw back the infected while shoring up their own floundering courage.

Al and Tommy, along with twenty other members of their civilian soldiers, threw themselves into the fray and instinctively knew that there was much more at stake than their own lives. Nothing would stop them now as their blood flowed through their veins, and their adrenaline heightened their senses. The gunfire raged, seemingly endless as every rifle was brought to bear, sending scores of the grotesque figures sprawling across the ground. All the while the sound of the bus’s engine continued to whine and stutter behind them.

“Forward,” Al called out as he changed his magazine. “Keep going. Keep the bastards back from the gate.”

Tommy was beside him. He was down to the last of his ammunition and needed to make every round count as he switched from one target to the next. They were headed directly for the thousands of dead that were pouring out from the main street leading back into the city. He saw nothing but a wall of flailing arms and screaming faces, all staring back at him and lusting for his blood. In his rage, he suddenly saw the face of Lucy flash before his eyes, reminding him what the monsters had done to her and stolen from him. He felt his anger surge.

“You bastards,” he cried as his weapon ceased firing.

Dropping his rifle to the floor, he drew his pistol and continued with his advance, shooting one after the other until there were no more rounds in the magazine. Again he tossed his weapon to the side and drew his machete, raising it above his head as he howled demonically and began chopping and slashing at the hands and faces that were closing in around him.

“Tommy, get back,” Al shouted after him, seeing that his friend was too far ahead and unsupported in his wild charge. “Tommy.”

The man was not listening. He was consumed by his fury as he hacked his way into the mass of grasping arms and snapping teeth and was quickly becoming swallowed up. Al chased after him, screaming for him to fall back while firing the last of his own ammunition into the creatures that were quickly surrounding his friend. But no matter how many of them he killed, there were more that were willing and eager to replace the fallen.

Someone screamed to the left of him. One of the militia was tackled to the ground by a group of hungry ghouls that quickly engulfed the man. Another ran to his aid and attempted to pull the howling soldier to safety, but was quickly surrounded, dragged down, and set upon as the ring of corpses tightened around the living. Screams of agony and calls for help rang out from all quarters as the gunfire ebbed and the dead surged. Some of the troops began to fall back while others were trapped and dragged away into the mass.

“Tommy,” Al yelled, ignoring the calls to retreat and chasing after his friend. “Tommy, where the fuck are you? Fall back.”

“On your right,”
someone called out.

“Watch it. Get back.”

Another of the soldiers screamed from the right flank as a rotted face sprang at her and bit down hard, its teeth chomping into her shoulder. Denise howled, falling backwards and sending up a splash of dark water as she crashed into one of the rain filled potholes that covered the road. The snarling body fell with her and landed on top of her, instantly seizing its chance to take another bite. It lunged and ripped away a large clump of flesh from her cheek, tearing the skin as it snatched its head backwards and began thrashing against the natural resistance of the tissue. The woman’s scream turned to a sickening gurgle as her own blood filled her throat. More of the dead scrambled in around her and joined in on the feast.

The shrieks of the living were now drowning out the excited cries of the dead and creating a soundtrack of horror to accompany the terrifying events that were unfolding all around them. There was no ammunition left, and there were far too many of the infected for the living to stand even the slimmest of chances against with their hand to hand weaponry. A total collapse was now inevitable.

“Help. Help me.”

From somewhere within the confusion Trevor was screaming. He howled and thrashed as he was dragged away by a group of the creatures, feeling the agonising torment of his body being ripped open by hundreds of groping fingers and teeth while his innards spilled from the gaping wound in his abdomen. His cries became muffled and eventually faded as the last of his life was plucked from his body and his bloodied carcass was dragged away into the tide of rotted flesh.

Al continued forward, determined to help Tommy despite the failure of their assault. From within the crowd he caught sight of a tall, dark figure that was swinging its arms and wielding a long blade that glinted as it cut through the air. It was Tommy, high on his bloodlust and determined to kill as many of the infected as he could. He chopped his way through them leaving a carpet of mutilated and squirming bodies behind him as the ground became coated with coagulated blood and putrefied brain matter.

“Get back, Tommy. We need to pull back,” Al shouted after him.

Tommy had disappeared from sight again, becoming caught up in the swarm, and completely surrounded. Al ran forward, shoulder barging his way through the mass of corpses that stood in his path and sending them scattering in all directions as they feebly reached out for him. He could now hear the grunts and growls of Tommy just ahead of him. The man was unrelenting and utterly oblivious to the orders for withdrawal. Al reached through the swarm, feeling his fingers come into contact with a warm body and instantly grasping hold of the material around it. He wrenched his arm backwards and Tommy burst through the crowd as he was pulled away by Al’s powerful arms.

“No,” he screamed, still swinging his long blade at the nearest decomposing faces. “No. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill the fucking lot.”

“Get back. Get to the bus,” Al demanded, hearing the engine behind him as it continued to chug and snarl. “There’s too many. We need to get back.”

Al, Tommy, and the remaining militia began to run, dragging themselves and their wounded across the street and back towards the gate. Some were hobbling, and others were virtually crawling, hurt and desperate to get away from the biting tide of death. One of them was Bryn, his prosthetic leg having been ripped away from him and now needing to be supported by one of the militia as he made his retreat.

As the dead surged after them, Al caught sight of a bright flash of light close by emanating from above the wailing crowd. A wall of heat blasted outwards sending many of the dead tumbling to the floor as a ball of fire engulfed them. Al felt the flames brush against the bare skin of his face, and the light shockwave push against his body as the dark street was instantly illuminated, revealing the thousands of silhouetted bodies around them.

A plume of orange and black billowed up from amongst the mass of corpses and was immediately followed by another and then another as the flames erupted with a growling whoosh. More of the dead fell, their fragile and heavily decomposed bodies unable to withstand the pressure waves and extreme heat surging out from the fiery detonations.

“Come on, Tommy,” Al growled, realising that they now had a chance of escape as another ball of flame erupted from close by.

As the fires roared and the dead groaned, Al could hear the distant sound of a dog barking. In that instant it seemed impossible, but during the chaos and confusion the noise had definitely registered in his mind. Dragging Tommy back towards the bus while the militia continued their retreat while hauling the wounded with them, Al caught sight of something happening to his left and above them. Glowing objects were sailing through the air and coming from the rooftop of the nearest building. They crashed down into the mass of infected below where they burst like small pods of napalm, incinerating everything that they came into contact with. He recognised them immediately. They were Molotov cocktails and were being tossed from the building by someone who was trying to help them, creating a wall of fire that stretched the whole width of the street and blocked the horde of infected from getting through. As the flurry of fuel bombs ceased, bursting into flames as they smashed into the ground and spreading rapidly into the infected, a shadowy figure moved, scurrying along the edge of the building’s roof.

Al could not stop. There was no time to call out or investigate. The dead were burning as the flames were engulfing their forward ranks, and the remainder of the living were fleeing back towards the stalled vehicle. Someone was helping them, but at that moment there was no time to thank them, let alone find out who it was.

He reached the door of the bus, still struggling against Tommy’s thrashing arms and determination to fling himself back into the fight. He threw the raging man inside, quickly lunging forward and landing a flurry of blows into his face. Al’s knuckles smashed against Tommy’s cheek and jaw and sent him reeling backwards into the arms of Nobby. He went limp, Al’s punches knocking him out cold. As Al helped to heft his friend’s limp body onto the bus, he saw the shining, warm blood that coated Tommy’s hand. He gripped the cuff of his jacket and pushed it upwards revealing the bite wound on Tommy’s wrist below the vambrace that protected his forearm. Al’s heart sank.

“Get him in,” he growled while barging his way through the door.

Charlie was still sitting behind the wheel and shouting at the dashboard while banging his palms against the wheel.

“Start, you bastard, start.” He turned to Al and shook his head while his face glowed orange from the reflection of the flames outside. “It’s no good. We’ll have to bug-out on foot.”

“Try again,” Al replied and then turned to the rest of the men and women on board. “Prepare to move.”

He looked back and saw something moving from within the flames. The dead that were still mobile were slowly regaining their feet, but what Al could see was not one of the infected. The figure was hurtling towards them, a smaller object bounding along at its side as they both charged through the fires and infected, passing through the gate and headed for the depot.