Mark Morris - Bay of the Dead

So Leet told him, and now Oscar was rushing up towards the light, rushing and rushing, faster and faster. The light was getting bigger. First, it was the size of a pinprick; then an eye; then a football; and then suddenly it was the size of an entire planet.

Oscar burst back into the world with a sound like a thunderclap. He opened his eyes and there on the floor, just a few inches from his outstretched hand, was the gun, exactly where Leet had told him it would be. He curled his hand around it, and it felt good, it felt right . And then, with one bound, he was on his feet and looking around him, taking in everything in an instant with his super-sight.

Everything Leet had told him was true. His memories were out of his head, and out of control. He raised his hands and shouted, ' Stop! '

And the memories did stop. They stopped and they looked at him, as if waiting to be told what to do next. And the four people — the four real people — looked at him as well: the smart man with the chair; the chubby man with the metal stand; the handsome man in the long coat; the black-haired girl on the floor, who immediately scrambled to her feet and shouldered her way out of the memories which were crowding around her.

'Sorry,' Oscar said to them, and then he turned and pointed the gun at the tall window opposite the door. He pulled the trigger, and the window, blind and curtains and all, exploded outwards into the night.

A voice roared, ' Stop! ' and, incredibly, the zombies obeyed. The ferocious child pushed itself away from Gwen and stood beside her, almost to attention. The zombies which had been reaching down to tear her apart straightened up. Eerily, they all turned their heads towards the source of the sound. Exhausted, bedraggled and covered in bloody handprints, Gwen turned her head too.

She saw Oscar Phillips standing in the middle of the room, amid the chaos, with a gun — her gun — in his hand. His eyes were shining and his face was serene. When his gaze passed briefly over her she shivered, and then she scrambled to her feet.

'Sorry,' Oscar said, and then he turned and pointed the gun at the window. He pulled the trigger and the glass shattered, the impact causing the blind and the curtains to go flailing out into the darkness in the wake of the falling glass.

Gwen's attention was still focused on the jagged remains of the window when Oscar started to run towards it. He ran fast, with no trace of post-coma lethargy or muscle wastage, zombies stepping aside to allow him passage. Realising what he was doing, Gwen yelled, ' No! ' and leaped forward to stop him. But Jack leaped at the same moment, grabbing her arm and hauling her back. She could only watch in horror as Oscar dived head first out of the window, his thin, pyjama-clad body sailing into the night.

For a moment, like the Darling children from Peter Pan, he looked as though he might fly. And then his body twisted and he plummeted towards the earth.

Angrily, Gwen tore herself free of Jack, ran to the window and looked down. Oscar's twisted, broken body lay in a spreading pool of blood on the concrete far below. She heard gasps of shock and surprise behind her, and turned round.

Only Jack, Ianto and Rhys stood there on the blood-smeared floor, amid the broken glass and overturned furniture. All that was left of the zombies were a few spirals of glittering light, which rose into the air and disappeared.

Rhys dropped the metal IV stand, which clattered to the floor. Ianto put down the chair he was holding and sank shakily into it.

'They just. . melted away,' said Rhys. 'Into, like. . twinkly little balls of light.'

'Stardust,' muttered Ianto.

Jack reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew a creased and crumpled handbill, which he held out for them all to see.

'I think the All-Night Zombie Horror Show is officially over,' he said.

'Help!' came the shout from the bedroom.

Andy jerked awake, and realised that he was slumped on the settee with his arm around the shoulders of a sleeping Sophie. His hand was numb and his back was aching. He tried to sit up without disturbing her, but she stirred anyway.

'Wazzit?' she mumbled.

'Did you hear someone shouting just now?' asked Andy. 'Or did I dream it?'

As if in response, the shout came again. 'Help! Is anybody there? Can anyone hear me?'

'That's Dawn,' Andy said, detaching himself from Sophie and rising to his feet.

Sophie used an arm to push her blonde hair out of her face. 'What do you mean?'

'That's Dawn shouting. She sounds normal.' He ran out of the room and down the corridor to the bedroom.

'Dawn,' he shouted, tugging at the flex he had tied around the door handle. 'Dawn, it's Andy. Are you OK?'

'Andy,' she said, sounding half-relieved and half-angry. 'Where am I? What the hell's going on? Why am I tied up?'

Andy turned to grin at Sophie, who was padding along the corridor, yawning and wiping sleep out of her eyes.

'It's a bit of a long story,' he said.

Trys Thomas woke up shouting and thrashing. He had had the most terrible dreams. He sat up and looked around him, bewildered and terrified.

Where was he? In some kind of dungeon? Three of the four walls of the room — the cell — in which he was lying were made of rough, dank stone. The fourth wall appeared to be some kind of thick transparent plastic with neat air-holes drilled into it. Beyond the plastic was what looked like part of a corridor or walkway with another stone wall beyond that. The entire area was soaked in dim reddish lighting, and there were. . sounds coming from somewhere nearby. Horrible, animal-like sounds. Grunting and shuffling. Trys's heart started to race and he felt panic building inside him.

That was when he noticed the mobile phone. It was propped up against the bottom-left corner of the transparent plastic wall. Stuck on the wall beside the phone was a post-it note on which someone had written: Press 1. Licking his lips, Trys scurried across to the phone and snatched it up. He pressed 1.

Almost immediately a voice said, 'Hello? Is that Trys?'

Trys's voice was little more than a croak. 'Who's this?'

'My name's Ianto Jones,' said the voice. 'How are you feeling?'

'Where the bloody hell am I?' Trys demanded.

The man who had called himself Ianto Jones sighed. 'Listen, I know you're confused and probably a bit scared, but trust me, you're perfectly safe and we'll be coming to let you out in. . oh, about twenty minutes. So just sit tight, OK? I'll explain everything when I get there.'

'Where's my wife?' asked Trys. 'Where's Sarah?'

'She's fine. She's healthy.'

'And the baby? Has she-'

'He's fine too.'

'He?' said Trys in a kind of wonder.

'Yes. You're a dad, Mr Thomas. Congratulations. See you soon.'

Nobby groaned. As if things weren't bad enough, that bloody Samuels woman was doing his head in. Her husband was nice, but she was like sodding whiplash. Moaning and complaining. Constantly demanding to know what was going on, and what would happen to them. Why couldn't she just accept that Nobby was as much in the dark as they were?

First he'd heard of all this zombie nonsense was when Rhys had called him up at piss-off o'clock and told him he needed serious payback for that little slip-up with the cocktail waitress. Well, fair enough. But if anyone found out Nobby had taken the chopper without proper authorisation he'd be in the brown stuff up to his neck, valiant rescue or not. Rhys was a good mate and all, but this was taking friendship a bit too far.

In the end what it came down to for Nobby was a choice between his job and his marriage. And what had finally swung it was Rhys's dead serious insistence that for him and Gwen (ah, gorgeous Gwen) Nobby's involvement might literally be a matter of life and death. But if Rhys had warned him one of the people he'd be rescuing was Cruella De Vil's more obnoxious sister, he might have thought again.