The Screaming (Book 1): Dead City (7 page)

              Only one of the creatures now remained. Squatting over the remnants of the teenagers, frantically picking minuscule segments of tendon from bone.

“Oh shit, no.” It was the old teacher.

              The once valiant defender, now battered and torn, resorting to picking at the leftovers that were once his class. Despair filled Zac as he pondered the power of something that could turn a warm hearted, caring man, willing to sacrifice himself to protect others, into a flesh hungry cannibal in a matter of minutes. Zac couldn’t help but think of how his mother’s mind had slowly degraded, leaving an unrecognisable shell. Warm saliva filled his mouth as the comparison sickened him. He hated himself for allowing his mother into the same trail of thought as these creatures. Sick filled his mouth until it filled beyond capacity and the partially digested Coco-pops he had scoffed before leaving home that morning, gushed down his t-shirt.

              He refocused on the here and now and looked across at the teacher again. His anguish deepened as he realised that the old man knew of his hiding place. Though, at the moment, he seemed somewhat content by the scraps at his feet. Or simply the traumatic transformation into blood thirsty monster had caused some degree of brain damage. Regardless, Zac knew he needed to get out.

              He slowly started to edge himself out, each inch left an echoing scrape as he pushed his wedged backpack through the tight gap. He froze as the old teacher paused to sniff the air and look over his shoulder towards the cage, before sinking his face back into the mass of slops. Zac fed his backpack out and placed it on the floor, then slid himself out of the gap, scooted down the steps and back onto the hard core, before ducking behind the lip of the platforms edge. He waited for the sound of screams or heavy footsteps, convinced he must have been seen.

              Nothing. He looked himself over to find a fine vail of cobweb coating his clothing, with dust matted Coco-pops clinging to his chest. He wiped his face down with his hands and quietly brushed himself off, pausing briefly as he realised just how much his hands were shaking. He clenched his fists and wiggled his fingers before turning his attention to his next move. He studied the platform on the opposite side of the tracks. It was a mirror image of the slaughter filled platform Zac cowered against. It had the same long concrete surface, with pillars supporting a low ceiling of artificial lights. It also had a large concrete staircase leading topside.

              No sign of any movement along it. Zac decided the stairs were his best chance of escape. He needed fresh air. The stale, claustrophobic tunnels were stifling and Zac’s desperation was building. He needed to get out and find help. He looked across at the old teacher. He was now stood, bimbling around the remains of his class, scanning their corpses for remnants of flesh. He was clearly distracted, but Zac had to be quick before the old man started looking further afield for his next meal.

              Zac placed his backpack over both his shoulders and pulled the straps tight. He took one last sympathetic glimpse at the old man, which doubled as a check to ensure he was still distracted. The old teacher was bent over, tugging at a clump of long blonde hair attached to a cluster of red bone. His back to Zac. This was his chance. Zac stood up and stooped across the rails, trying his best to avoid the noisy hard core, and the live rail in the middle. He reached the other platform edge in seconds and rolled onto the cold concrete floor. He paused laying on his belly as he scanned for movement. The old man was still otherwise engaged. Zac crawled forward to a pillar and sat behind it, shocked at how out of breath he was. The staircase was only, yards away. Zac took a large deep breath, and raised himself to his feet, pressing his back against the cold pillar. He counted in his head.

“One, two, three.” Frozen. He couldn’t move. Fear was setting in as he stood, exposed in the open.

“Come on you fucking idiot.”

“One, two, three.”

              He darted for the stairs, his foot hit the fourth step without breaking stride and he bounded topside.

Chapter four

              His feet planted onto the top step and he paused to listen for pursuers. No sign of the old teacher or any others bounding up the stairs after him. Zac exhaled hard with relief and turned his attention to what was ahead. A long corridor appeared to taper off to a row of chrome turnstiles. Beyond these the main station. An unimpressive concourse of art deco, filled with benches and ticket machines. The station then opened onto a large corridor where a small set of steps with brass hand rails connected the station interior to the outside. Zac was shocked to find daylight blasting in through the corridor. Just how much time had passed? The sounds of alarms, screams and shouting resonated from the streets. The occasional figure darted past the station front at speed, casting elongated shadows on the walls.

              Zac squatted next to a wall and scanned for movement. He saw no signs of anyone inside the station, but the shadows and noise invading from outside, terrified him. He expected a torrent of screaming cannibals to penetrate the comparatively peaceful station at any moment.

              Zac slowly stood and edged forward along the wall until he reached the turnstiles, squatted behind them and again scanned the room. To his left was a row of glass fronted ticket booths. Two of the glass fronts had been smashed and blood coated the desks. A large clock above the desks read, 04:42 am. He paused to listen. Whatever had happened there, appeared to be over. A trail of blood meandered up the corridor and outside where the attackers had clearly made their escape. It was a modest sized room and it was clear to Zac that his only way out was the corridor onto the street.

              He took a moment to dwell over his options. Going back down was not on the cards. He couldn’t face it down there again. Concentration was becoming tougher, as he struggled to push the bloody carnage he had faced, to the back of his mind. A creeping migraine filled his head. He needed a drink. The dust of his cage prison hung in the back of his throat. One thing was clear, he needed help. But where from? Who? Whatever the answer to those questions, he knew he wouldn’t find them within this station. He had to try his luck outside.

“Right” He said defiantly. He raised to his feet and leapt the barriers.

              He scooted over to a row of benches and slowly edged his way along the corridor. No shadows had passed by for several minutes and the sounds seemed further away, the closer he got. Perhaps amplified by the narrow hallway, he thought to himself. The blood trail from the ticket machines faded as it reached the small steps up onto the street. Zac squinted as daylight dazzled him as he edged into the open. He felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever. He quickly rubbed his eyes to try and re-focus on his new environment.

              Immediately outside the station was a bus stop. A large red double decker bus sat alongside it with all its doors open. Several smashed windows lined the ground floor of the bus and the now tell-tale signs of a bloody attack were clearly evident. Beyond the bus was a large road of several lanes. Abandoned cars appeared strategically placed like chess pieces. To the left of the station was a row of small shops.  An orchestra of burglar alarms wailed along the length of the shop fronts and a bulk of discarded lootings littered the doorways.

              A high pitched scream snapped Zac’s attention to his right. A broken lamp post rested on the bonnet of a small blue Mini and a blood stained hand was freely hanging from the driver side window. The screaming sharply stopped. Zac cautiously edged to the crashed car. As he inched closer he saw what remained of a young woman crushed between the seat and the collapsed dash board. Patches of flesh had been stripped from her body and her head and shoulders were bare to the bone. What was left of her innards hung from her shredded torso and nestled on her masticated thighs!

              Zac stepped back, it was all too much. Sickness exploded in his empty stomach, and he began to gag, but little more than bile found its way into his mouth. He spat it out, coughed and wiped his face with his soiled t-shirt. Suddenly movement on the back seat of the Mini caught his attention. He moved to the back of the car and cupped his hands to the tinted window. Inside, a baby wriggled in a child seat. Securely held in by strong safety straps. Zac strained to make out detail through the blackened glass. He quickly stepped back and opened the door.

              The small baby girl was no more than a year old, with short brown hair and wearing a tiny pink tracksuit. He had found the source of the scream. The poor child was one of them. Blood stained her feet as they hung over the edge of the seat. But other than that she was largely unharmed. The attackers must have been leaning in over the woman to get to the child. A thin solution of blood and tears rolled down the girls face from her lifeless red eyes.

              Zac started to sob. He reached out his hands to try and pick up the child, suddenly struck by some sort of caring instinct. The child repaid his gesture by snapping her toothless mouth at his fingers, desperate for a taste of his flesh. His hands just out of reach, frustrated the child, who took a deep breath and shrieked with all her might. So much louder with the door open. He jumped back, slamming the car door shut, muffling the squawking child’s cry.

              Zac abruptly zoned back into his own personal predicament. A feeling of vulnerability again shrouded him, as he snapped his head around, scanning for approaching flesh hungry beasts. It was time to move, time to find help.

“FUCKING RUN.”

              The man had sprinted around the corner out of nowhere, yelling at the top of his voice. Zac threw himself against the car, stunned at the man’s sudden appearance. The male bounded up to Zac and grabbed him by both shoulders.

“Move it, they’re coming.”

              Sweat was dripping down the breathless mans face as he struggled to speak. Pungent body odour seeped from under his council parking attendant’s uniform. Zac looked the man up and down for signs of blood leaking from his face, and quickly concluded that he was normal. A pin badge on his uniform hung from a ripped shirt pocket.

It read, “TOWER HAMLETS COUNCIL,” and the name “CLIVE.”

              Clive looked back fearfully in the direction from which he’d run. Zac turned his head and followed his anxious gaze, as a surge of people sprinted around the corner, towards the two men. The masks of blood on each of their faces instantly apparent.

“Fuck! Go, go.” Zac roared, as the two men took to their toes and started to run for their lives.

              Zac weaved his way around discarded cars, closely followed by Clive. The tidal wave of blood thirsty hunters streamed into the street, filling the wide road from kerb to kerb. A cocktail of exasperated grunts and deafening screams thundered over the heads of the fleeing men, as the horde made ground on them with every step.

“They’re coming, they’re coming.” Clive desperately panted.

              Zac suddenly changed direction and tore up a side street. Clive followed without question, right on Zac’s heels. Victorian terraced houses lined Brockesley Street, Zac frantically searched for an open door or somewhere to hide as he sprinted the length of the street. The pack of shrieking animals baring down on them forced their way between buildings, into the narrower road, some crushed against walls and others trampled over by the surging stampede. Their sights fixed on their fleeing prey.

              Road was running out. Fast. Zac shot through a row of bollards onto a footpath that ran along the end of the adjoining streets. The path was bordered by a low brick wall supporting a large iron railing fence. Beyond the fence were row upon row of graves drowning in long grass. Zac darted left onto the footpath, and dared a glance over his shoulder as he changed direction. Clive was fading with every step. He had lost one of his slip-on patent leather shoes and was puffing like an asthmatic donkey.

              The stalking flood of carnivorous monsters filed onto the narrow path, battling for a prime position at the front of the pack. Zac re-focused ahead of him. How long could he keep this up? He needed to find cover. His lungs were exploding from his chest and begging him to stop, but if he did he was dead. Or worse. He ran across the back of two or three streets, frantically surveying each street for a means of escape.

              Then hope. Ahead was a gateway in the railings. The low brick wall tapered into two large brick pillars, supporting a heavy iron-gate.

“Wait, wait for me!” Wheezed Clive.

              Zac didn’t look back, or slow down, as he hurtled towards the large iron-gate. Undeterred by the unnecessarily massive lock and chain firmly securing them, he threw himself up the heavy black barrier, clattering and scrambling up the obstacle. The gate was topped with decorative iron spikes, which Zac quickly, but delicately, swung his legs over. Clive slammed into the iron bars and anxiously started to climb the metal obstacle. Clive’s impact shook the gate hard on its hinges and it slipped out from under Zac’s feet. His grip weakened as he clattered to the ground with a thud.

              Clive wept and whinged as he made slow exhausted progress.

“Help me, help!” Clive cried. Zac staggered to his feet and moved towards him.

“Fucking move it.” Zac yelled like a scary drill sergeant.

              Zac leapt back as the gate was suddenly crammed with blood thirsty bodies. The swarm of flesh hungry screamers had landed, some shaking the gate like caged apes, others reaching through for Zac. The shrieks and screams reverberated through the park in which Zac now found himself as the mutated pack lined the fence. Clive clung to the top, like a mountaineer who had lost his nerve. His fingers turned white as he gripped the vibrating gate with all his remaining strength.

“Climb over.” Zac implored.

“I…I can’t,” came the fear filled reply.

“You have too, climb over and jump down.”

              Clive looked over his shoulder at the snapping sharks below, and slowly raised his foot up to the next horizontal bar. Suddenly he bellowed in pain. A hand had snatched a tight hold of his ankle and the triumphant beast’s finger nails were sinking through his thin uniform trousers and embedding themselves into his flesh. A trickle of blood dribbled down the creature’s hand. Clive’s footing was ripped out from under him and he clattered against the gate, smashing his face on the solid immovable bars. His body had dropped and he was immediately set upon.

“No,” cried Zac as he watched, powerless from               the relative safety of the other side.

              Clive was overcome with panic, whimpering like a lost child and kicking wildly at the faces below, but it was all in vain and he was soon overwhelmed by the mass of grinding, snapping teeth. His thin uniform was torn from his body, he cried out in pain as flesh was torn from his back, finally, his grip gave way and he slipped into the pool of feasting bodies, who then gathered over him, hands scratching and clawing at his weakening body, which was soon sucked of life and consumed. One of the victorious creatures stood clutching a handful of severed flesh. She scurried away from the pack, fighting off challenges of competition for her spoils from other less successful members, before squatting next to a garden wall to eat her catch.

              Zac collapsed onto the floor, his head dropped towards the ground and he watched his tears drip into the sun dried mud at his feet. He was soon snapped into the real world, as the gate started to rattle again, as the pickings of Clive’s corpse started to run thin and the periphery of the horde started turning their attention back onto Zac. He slowly stood and turned his back on the increasingly frustrated mass of blood stained beings, in a small gesture of defiance.

              He made his way into the thin woodland, surprised to find himself in such surroundings deep in the middle of London. The thin gravel path crunched under his feet, so he chose to walk on the short grass verge that bordered it, afraid of drawing attention to himself. Graves and memorial statues filled the woodland floor, nestling in the long un-kempt grass, as though reclaimed by nature. Figurines of angels, crosses and memorials, jostled for positions of importance, relics of Victorian grief and family pride. An old metal sign stood to the left of the path next to a park bench. It read…

“TOWER HAMLETS CEMETARY PARK.”

              The sounds of screams and banging metal gates, slowly faded as Zac was consumed by the canopy of trees. He pressed on along the main path, hoping to find a way out, free of cannibalistic people, set on eating him. Daylight cut through gaps in the treeline like laser beams, though the blanket of foliage created a largely cool and dark sanctuary from the morning sun. Zac was desperate for a drink, his throat was painfully dry. He had only been walking through the park for about ten minutes, but when he saw another park bench he took the opportunity to sit down. He looked himself over, dust and dirt caked his t-shirt and jeans. He saw no point in trying to dust himself down anymore. A car alarm sounded some way off, back towards the iron-gate. He hoped the gang of people that had taken down Clive had moved on.