Tim Lebbon - Coldbrook

Jonah cried for a couple of minutes, not caring, what the tears were for. If he wept for those he had seen die, then they deserved this meagre tribute. And if he shed tears over those he had shot, then perhaps that might purge some guilt.

But even as his weeping ceased and he managed to calm his shivers, with every blink of his eyes he saw scenes of devastation that were sensations rather than images, intimations of chaos and death that filled him with a sense of deep, primeval dread. And as he rested his head back against the door and tried to resolve what to do next, the handle above him started to move down, then up again.

He stood and ran, legs shaking beneath him, his heart protesting with stutters and missed beats. The laptop almost slipped from his hand and he grabbed it just in time, pressing it against his chest. If he had a choice of what to drop it would be the gun, not the laptop. Battery won’t last for ever , he thought, but he was not thinking about for ever, or even the next few hours. This was minute-by-minute stuff.

The handle snapped down with a different sound as the catch clicked open. The door behind him banged open just as he reached the Hummer’s driver-side door. Regulations said that keys were to be kept in the vehicles, but they also said that cameras should be regularly serviced and that communication routes to the surface should be maintained at all times. Rick Summerfield had not heard any alarm, and the third camera in the garage did not react to prompts. Someone’s head’s gonna roll! Jonah thought as he stepped up and pulled the door open.

The keys were in the ignition, a Darth Vader key-fob hanging below. He climbed in, slid the laptop across the front seats and slammed the door behind him.

Something hard struck the vehicle on the other side.

Jonah jumped and stared into Sergey’s face. The physicist’s eyes were wide and staring, his lips drawn back in a grimace. He must have dragged himself through the garage door after Jonah, lifting himself on the door handle and thereby opening it, and climbed onto the Hummer’s step. Now he held on to the passenger-side door handle and tugged. Spittle flecked the glass, Sergey’s hair shook and tangled, and behind him Jonah saw a shape darting through the open door. This second shape joined Sergey on the step, scratching at the glass with long, delicately painted fingernails. Jonah did not even look at her face before starting the Hummer.

The engine roared to life, startling Jonah but causing no let-up in his attackers’ efforts to open the door. They’re fast. And they can open doors, even if it’s only by accident. Remember that . He shoved the big vehicle into gear and then swung it around to the left, clipping one of the SUVs and tearing off its bumper. It was a long time since he’d driven anything. He stamped hard on the brakes, bracing himself against the steering wheel as the dead woman disappeared below the Hummer’s door frame. Sergey hung on, tugging, tugging, his teeth still bared. His actions spoke of a need beyond understanding, but his eyes were dead windows onto the void.

Jonah backed up slowly, using both wing mirrors to judge his approach, trying to ignore the raving thing shifting back and forth to his left. He felt the gentle knock of the plant-room door being shoved closed, and even though it was moving slowly the final impact of the heavy vehicle against the wall jarred him in his seat. He revved some more, lifting the clutch but sensing no more backward movement. It was done. Whatever had passed through that way was not coming back, and nothing else could enter.

The woman jumped up at the passenger-side window, scratching at the glass rather than tugging at the handle. Jonah looked down into his lap, twisting his hands and remembering the time almost fifty years before when Wendy had slipped the ring onto his finger. Then he turned in his seat, held the gun in both hands and shot the woman through the window. She flipped back out of sight and he scooted over the seats, looking down to make sure he’d fired straight.

She slammed into the window again, glass starring and then tumbling into the cab in a hundred diamond shards.

Jonah kicked himself back, aimed again, and shot her in the face. This time she didn’t get up. He edged over and looked. She lay on the concrete floor, arms flung back, dead eyes staring at the ceiling, a neat hole in her forehead.

‘Good shot,’ Jonah said, and his immediate future was suddenly, awfully clear. There was the laptop, through which he could scout his path through the facility, remote-locking doors to secure certain sections. There was the gun in his hand, spare loaded magazines in his pocket. And there were the zombies.

He might be here for days, or weeks. He might be here for ever.

Turning in his seat and telling himself the thing at the driver’s window was no longer Sergey Vasilyev, Jonah lifted the gun once more.

‘Just what the fuck have you freaky fucks gone an’ done down there?’ Sheriff Scott Blanks asked. He was a big man, carrying a little extra weight but burly enough to get away with it. He was also quietly spoken, but Vic could feel the anger radiating from him. And fear. It was good that he was afraid; that was one less thing Vic had to do.

‘I’m just relaying what Professor Jones told me,’ Vic said.

‘And how come you’re not still down there?’

‘I was home with my family,’ Vic lied. ‘Got the call. He says that. .’ He shook his head, because it still sounded too outlandish.

‘What, son?’ Blanks was maybe a couple of years older than Vic, but it still seemed entirely acceptable that he should call him ‘son’. That was the kind of man he was.

‘Sheriff, can we talk in private?’ They were in the police station reception area and three other people were listening to their conversation, two cops and a desk clerk.

‘We are in private,’ the sheriff said.

Okay , Vic thought. Olivia and Lucy are waiting, I need to be as quick as possible, and. . And the only road leading away from Coldbrook came here. However damaged those infected were — whatever they had become — he thought it likely that they would follow the path of least resistance.

‘There’s been an accident. There’s an infection, and it makes people. . mad. Murderous. Jonah Jones says that lots are dead down there, and some of the killers may have escaped.’

‘Killers?’

‘And they may be coming for Danton Rock. So be ready. And Jonah says to shoot them in the head to stop them.’ Vic winced against the mockery he expected, but Sheriff Blanks only raised his eyebrows.

‘The head?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘What we got here, zombies?’ the woman cop said, chuckling softly. She was short and squat, pretty face, and she’d once let Vic off a parking ticket. The other cop was smiling, but moving nervously from foot to foot. He must have been ten years younger than Vic, and the flicker of uncertainty lit his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ Vic said, taking a chance, because he really needed to get away. Silence descended for a few long seconds.

‘Just what the fuck have you guys gone an’ done down there?’ Sheriff Blanks asked again.

‘I’ve heard talk about what they done,’ the young cop said. ‘Blasting holes into other places, that’s what. Letting stuff out. Just like in The Mist .’

‘There’s no mist,’ Vic said, unsure of what he meant.

‘Fiddling with stuff you shouldn’t?’ the woman said. Vic bet she wished she’d given him that ticket now. She’d laughed at the idea of zombies, but she knew there was something very wrong. She was that perceptive, at least. No one could look as shocked as Vic, nor act that edgy, without something being wrong.