Tim Lebbon - Coldbrook

‘Gun?’ Vic said. He took Hitch’s gun and leaned over his back, shooting first one and then the other zombie in the face. He didn’t register who they might have been, not even their sex. They fell away and Hitch scrambled inside. It was then that Vic realised they had another problem.

He glanced down the five-feet-wide shaft. The nearest kid was maybe twenty feet down, with another twenty to go before they reached the first damper across the duct. Those lower down had already worked their way around that structure, descending the same way he’d ascended less than a week ago.

And the duct access cover was outside, buried beneath twenty bodies.

‘Go,’ Chaney said.

‘But-’

‘Go. Your family.’ He snatched the gun from Vic’s hand and pushed him, grasping his belt so that he didn’t tumble from the small platform.

‘No time to argue,’ Hitch panted. He smelled of fuel and sweat, and there was vomit and blood plastered across the front of his leather jacket. Unblessed indeed.

Vic knew that every moment counted. So he grabbed the ladder and started down. Hitch came after him, and for a few seconds Vic heard Chaney grunting and cursing. The weak daylight from above flickered. Vic looked up as he climbed down, and past Hitch he could see Chaney struggling on the small platform.

‘Chaney!’

‘Coming.’

‘Now.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ More shots, and the light seemed weaker now. Killing them as they come in , Vic thought.

A child cried out and Vic looked down. He’d trodden on a kid’s fingers. ‘Go on. Quick!’ Three children huddled on the damper blocking the duct, one of them clasping an electric torch, waiting for their turn to worm through to the next part.

‘Shit!’ Chaney shouted above them. ‘Shit!’ The gun fired twice more before it ran out of ammunition. ‘Okay, coming down, better get your asses in gear.’

‘Move!’ Vic said to the kids. He jumped down next to them, trying to stand on the struts across the damper. If he put his foot through it he’d be trapped.

Two kids climbed through, and as the third went Vic grabbed the torch from his hand. He was barely eight years old. ‘Candy and ice cream?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, buddy.’

The boy nodded and climbed down, guided by someone from below.

Hitch reached the opening and twisted through. Chaney was descending. And then the duct grew lighter again, and Vic knew what was happening without even looking.

‘Chaney, hug the ladder!’ he shouted, pressing himself against the duct. Chaney grunted, and three bodies crashed down behind Vic, thumping against his legs. He turned quickly, but they were motionless, their heads ruined.

‘Hoped that’d hold them longer,’ Chaney said, looking up.

Sounds came from above, and Vic looked up past Chaney to see another shape launch itself into the duct. It struck the sides and started spinning, and it hit the fallen bodies head first. It slumped against the duct, then started thrashing.

Vic brought the torch’s heavy end down on the zombie’s head, again and again. Each time he struck it jerked and hooted, and he was terrified he’d get its stuff on him, brains or blood or spit, that would work its way into scratches on his hands or arms.

‘Feet,’ Chaney said. Vic stood and stamped down. It was keening softly, a high-pitched noise that seemed to fill the duct, and when the skull broke it rose into a cry.

‘Dude, that’s not a person,’ Chaney said, dropping down beside him.

‘Yeah.’

‘Go. Torch.’ The big man snatched the torch from Vic and pushed him towards the opening.

Vic dropped onto his hands and knees and backed through, swinging his legs until he felt someone beneath the damper grab his feet and guide him down. He was at eye level with the corpses, and the one he’d crushed looked at him wetly. It was a man, and he’d loved and been loved, kissed with those bloodstained lips, dreamed with that glistening, pulped brain.

‘Chaney, come on!’ Vic shouted, but then he saw the truth. Chaney could not come. And he knew it.

Three more zombies dropped from the platform. One landed on Chaney and pushed him down, and the big biker lashed out with the torch, catching it across the chin and shoving it against the wall.

‘You stay to watch and I’ll bite you myself!’ he roared, and Vic knew that the only way to help Chaney was to go.

He slipped down into the next section of duct and clung on to the ladder. Hitch was lower down, looking up at the opening with his eyebrows raised. Vic shook his head.

‘Fuck,’ Hitch said. ‘I’ve never seen that man lose a fight.’

‘He hasn’t lost,’ Vic said. ‘He’s winning. Move it.’

They slid down the section of ladder, the duct lit by a torch shone from below. Another biker was standing on the next damper, lighting their way.

‘Chaney?’ he asked when they reached the damper.

‘If he’d survived he’d be-’ Vic began, and then the biker’s face broke into a grin. Forty feet above them, a pair of legs clad in stained, torn jeans worked their way through the gap. The legs kicked as the big man struggled, then one of his feet found the ladder.

‘Told you he’s never lost,’ Hitch said.

‘We should go,’ Vic said.

‘But Chaney,’ Hitch said.

Vic looked at him, then at the other biker. ‘You know we should go.’

‘It’s okay,’ the guy said. ‘He’s-’

Chaney was through. Clinging to the ladder. Blood spattered Vic’s face as he looked up, and he jerked back against the wall, spitting.

‘Go!’ Vic shouted, shoving Hitch at the gap. Hitch fell to his knees and went through, and the other biker followed, handing Vic his torch. I should have gone first , Vic thought, shining the light up.

‘Chaney?’

The man did not look down. He clung to the ladder, and his blood speckled the duct’s wall.

‘Chaney?’ Vic asked again. He looked at the narrow gap he had to go through, saw the Unblessed disappearing out of sight. . and then something made him look up once more. A sense of silent motion, a feeling of change.

Chaney filled his field of vision and Vic jumped back, striking the duct wall so hard that he saw stars. The man landed hard and his feet punched through the damper, trapping him there, buried to his knees. He leaned forward — and Chaney was gone, scoured away by this fucking plague. Such a big man, destroyed completely.

And now he wanted Vic.

Vic kicked out at Chaney, knocking aside one grasping hand. Chaney hooted. It was an absurd sound coming from him, a man Vic had only known for a matter of hours but who was already large in his memory, and he looked so pathetic trapped here. Vic dodged left, and realised there was no way he could make it down into the gap without Chaney grabbing him.

He heard the noises from above and knew that none of them could hope to survive down here. The zombies were coming through, and in moments they’d fall upon him, and then he would become one of them.

If only he had a gun, he would take that pain away from Lucy and Olivia.

Chaney jerked forward, then grew still. Something sharp and wet projected from his left eye.

Vic shone the torch into the narrow gap leading around the damper. He thought it might be the first time he had ever seen a crossbow for real.

‘Lucy.’

His wife was shaking, but her strength was clear to see. ‘Hurry,’ she said, and as she struggled back out of sight and the next body came down Vic followed her.

They worked their way quickly to the ground and went through the main duct into the plant room. There was no time to seal it from there: they could already hear the thuds of falling bodies. In the garage Holly was already revving the Hummer. Vic slammed the door and waved, and she reversed the big vehicle against the door, blocking it shut.