C
HAPTER TWENTY TWO
Freddy banged on the door unable to escape. The office had become a cell from which he would never escape. The financial ties that bound him to Fiscal Industries would never break, never let him go now. He would spend the rest of his days in the world his living body had longed for.
Rob
wandered through the underground car park. His rotting body had followed the crowds underneath the building when the others had escaped, but in the darkness, his infected brain had lost track of the living, lost track of what it was supposed to be doing, and left his body to shamble the damp darkness and the dark dampness endlessly.
Cindy’s body was perfectly preserved. Save for the bullet hole where her eye should be, she looked as beautiful as the day she was born. To the inquisitive rodents who scampered across the frigid floor, it looked like she was sleeping soundly in the cold locker she had been left in. She had died cleanly, uninfected, and this huge fridge would hold her until the building fell.
Chloe and Amber finally found peace on the sixteenth floor. Chloe’s body lay where Brad and Tom had left it, her skull crushed, her arms and hands tangled in the mess of wires beneath her desk where she had sat for months on end giving out useless advice. Amber’s charred remains hid the abuse that Brad had dispensed upon her. Her burning body had bounced around the office until it finally gave into nature, accepting it was dead, and collapsed. Her corpse was next to Troy, who in turn was spread-eagled over Dina. Her bloated carcass had been unable to get out from under a pile of bodies and it still twitched now, unable to muster enough energy from its torn useless limbs to stand.
Ranjit
had no resting place. Once he had been ripped apart, he had been devoured, only his belt buckle and gold wedding ring not ingested by the cannibalistic zombies. Mrs Conway from Greenwich had eaten his legs, a young girl who used to be called Sally, shared his face with a recently deceased stockbroker, and Ranjit’s ample belly had provided several schoolchildren with enough fresh meat to keep them going for weeks.
Parker had not moved from the spot he had died in the conference centre. That is to say, his infected corpse had indeed awoken
, but had found itself trapped in a small room with nothing but a table of mouldy sandwiches for company. Parker’s body had stumbled around the room for thirty seven hours before it succumbed to a strange apathy and slumped back down on the very spot it had expired. The infected body listened, smelt the air and tried to
sense
the living; it could not. Parker would stay there for several days before a passing survivor would rouse his body into the big bad outside world.
Reggie was in the church, his stiff body still prostrate on the cold stones where
Benzo had smashed his brains in. Michelle’s baby had been eaten, but she had ventured further than most. With her body in tatters, she had still managed to haul herself down the stairs and out of the Fiscal Industries building into the courtyard. Leaving a trail of rotting guts and intestines behind her, Michelle’s body had walked out of the plaza, across the bridge and for no apparent reason, onto the A13. At one point, a group of the living, survivors, had raced past her, but she had been unable to catch them before they passed her. She followed in their wake, along with several thousand other dead, but the group had frustratingly escaped by a small boat on the Thames. Once her dead eyes watched them float out of sight, she had resumed hunting the living on land, day and night, the hunger that could never be satisfied never leaving her.
Jackson held the list in his hands and stared at it. He stared at it, memorising the names on it. The roll call of the dead was a long one. Other than himself
, only Tom and Caterina had survived from the office. Everyone else was dead. He was thankful for Christina, Jessica, and Rosa too, but he felt lonely. His wife, Mary, was dead. His friends were dead. His sister, her children, their pets, their friends, their teachers, their doctors and dentists: all dead.
“Drink?”
Tom offered Jackson a glass and sat down beside him. Jackson took it and drank. He folded the paper up and put it back in his pocket.
“What’s that?” said Tom.
“Nothing,” said Jackson. He reclined in the sofa, feeling guilty that he should be here, sitting in this comfortable chair drinking wine as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
The airport lounge was homely, warm and most of all, secure. Harry had warned them that the terminal, the rest of the building entirely
however, was off limits; the dead still roamed the corridors, rooms and gates. Within the lounge though, they could do as they wished and, after Benzo had died, they had all found their way inside.
Christina and
Caterina had washed up, showering in icy cold water, not caring how cold it was, just relishing in its freshness, thankful to feel clean once again. They had found a couple of discarded coats and left their dirty clothes to dry, having rinsed them in the same shower. Jessica had coaxed Rosa into the building eventually, but she had withdrawn into herself. Jessica had given Rosa food and water, but she’d refused to speak. Finally, Jessica had lain Rosa down on a couch, covered her with a blanket, and left her alone. Rosa succumbed to a light sleep, utterly exhausted, leaving Jessica to herself.
Tom had
wanted to talk to her, but the shock of seeing Benzo die had been too much for all of them. They were malnourished, weak, scared: they had taken this refuge, this bizarre home, and crashed. They had all found their own place to hunker down and think, letting their minds and bodies crash until they could think clearly again. The dead were always close.
Tom had left Harry alone outside with his dead son
, and like sinking into a pit of tar, let sleep pull his aching body onto the nearest seat in the lounge. He had slept for five hours and when he’d awoken, he was hungry. The bar was well stocked and he devoured crisps, shortbread, and biscuits, before downing two pints of water.
“Is that right?” asked Jackson looking at the ticking clock above the bar.
“I think so,” said Tom. “Feels right.”
They both turned to look out of the window at the runway. The sun was still high
, yet it was mid-afternoon. The clouds had skittered away and left an untarnished deep blue sky. Tom thought about the jets they had seen earlier. Before he could say anything Jackson spoke.
“How’s he doing?”
“As well as can be expected I suppose,” said Tom. Harry was still outside, sat on the tarmac. About an hour ago, Jackson watched him pick up Benzo’s body and take it somewhere out of sight. After a few minutes, Harry returned and sat on the tarmac ever since.
“And how are you doing?” said Jackson.
“Yeah, fine I suppose. I...I guess, I don’t know really. I’m alive. We’re here. That’s all. You?”
“I’m here
, but I don’t know why. So many younger, healthier people should be here instead of me. Benzo should be sat here now talking to you, not me.”
“Don’t beat yourself up
, Jackson, it’s nobody’s fault. We all did our best and we all knew the risks out here. It’s just...”
“
...Shit,” said Jackson finishing Tom’s sentence.
“Yeah, it’s shit.”
Tom got up and grabbed two bottles of beer from the bar.
“I’m going out to see him.”
Jackson watched as Tom went back outside, feeling the afternoon warmth temporarily invading the cool lounge as the door swung open.
Tom sat down beside Harry on the tarmac. They said nothing and Harry took the beer from Tom.
They sat on the runway, past the army trucks and jeeps, away from Ferrera’s body, looking out at the city through the chain link fence that surrounded them.
It was quiet. After the past few days
, Tom felt it more so; the quietness and stillness unnervingly unusual. He knew that a few feet away, the other side of the lounge, there were a hundred zombies. Yet, out here, the only movement came as a seagull flew overhead, wheeling away silently. Nothing approached the fence, no more jets flew overhead and no traffic noise reached them. The sun’s heat rebounded from the tarmac and Tom began sweating after only a few minutes. He wondered how Benzo’s father could stand it out here all day.
“Did you know him well?” said Harry.
“Quite well, but not for long. We’ve been together the last few days, ever since this thing started,” said Tom. “Jackson knows him better than anyone. Benzo saved my life, all our lives.”
“He was a good son,” said Harry. “I knew he’d come
here. He was a thinker, was my boy. He was going to make something of himself. When he was five, we thought about having another kid, giving him a brother or sister you know, but we couldn’t. I’m glad now.”
Tom didn’t respond but sipped on the cold beer, beads of sweat trickling down his neck.
“So tell me, how did you get here, why the airport?”
“How we got here is a long story. Why? Well
, we just figured it made sense; it’s the closest place to the city where we thought we might be able to find help and get out of here.”
“Good idea,” said Harry. “I was banking on it. I tried to get to your office, to reach
Benzo, but it was impossible. They’re everywhere. The whole city is infested. I managed to get home, but my wife was already gone. One of the neighbours had broken in and...well, anyway, there was no point waiting at home. I knew Benzo had more sense than to try too.
“It was a long shot
, but I eventually made it here and just kept my fingers crossed Benzo would make it too. I’m glad you came today - I was going to give up tomorrow. There’s only so much food in there and with Ferrera taking half of it, things were...tense.”
“I’m sorry about
Benzo,” said Tom.
Harry chugged on his beer until half of it was gone. “So tell me, how
did
you get here? How did Benzo end up like that? We’ve plenty of time now,” he said, smiling at Tom.
They talked for a couple of hours
with just the sun, the sky, and cold beer for company. When the sun finally sank behind the nearby buildings and the cool shade crept up on them, they went back inside.
Once inside the lounge
, Jackson made a beeline for Harry.
“Sorry for your loss, Harry,
Benzo was a good man. He was my friend,” he said shaking hands.
“Appreciate that,” said Harry. Jackson saw a different man to that he had met earlier. He had looked into the eyes of a man earlier who had looked desperate, a man who had killed to survive, who hadn’t found what he was looking for. Now he saw something stronger.
Harry went to the bar and pulled a cold bottle of water out.
“I’m sorry we met like this everyone
, but I’d like to talk to all of you, if that’s okay?”
His self-assured posture and resonant voice brought instant attention and focus in the room. Jessica and Rosa got up from the couch and ventured over to him,
Caterina and Christina too, finding large plush chairs to sit in nearby, whilst Tom and Jackson leant against the bar. With the small group of six sat around him expectantly, Harry began.
“I’m Harry
, for those of you who haven’t met me. There are a few things we should talk about. First of all, I want to thank you for bringing my son here. I know things didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped, but I’m thankful that I was able to see him again one last time before he died. For that I am indebted to all of you.”
“To
Benzo and all our friends, past and present,” said Jackson holding up a glass. There were small murmurs toasting Benzo and their dead friends. Harry continued.
“Secondly, I assume, and hope, that you will stay here tonight? There is plenty of room for all of us. If you want some privacy
, then Private Ferrera was staying in the aeroplane out there, you can stay there if you like. Within the fence, we’re safe. The plane is safe too. I don’t think Ferrera will be using it anymore.”
“Speaking of which,” said Christina, “I don’t mean to be blunt
, but I think we should do something about him. I mean we can’t just leave him out there, what if his body attracts...them?”
“Agreed.
When we’re through, Tom and I are going to take care of him. We’ll dispose of the body in the river. Anyone object?”
Nobody said anything and Harry went on.
“I should add, before I go on, that I am
not
in charge. I am simply taking the floor as I’ve been talking to Tom, and it sounds like I know a bit more about our situation than the rest of you. I’ll fill you all in as best I can, but then any decisions we make will be made by
us
. By you.
“This thing, this infection; once it gets hold of you, there is no way back. There is no cure. By rights, as soon as Marin, I mean
Benzo, was infected, you should’ve taken care of him. That means if any one of us gets infected, we have to expect the same. And that also means, be careful. You’re safe within the airport perimeter, but don’t go attracting unnecessary attention. Make too much noise and they’ll be on us in a heartbeat. These walls are not that thick, and I don’t need to tell you what is on the other side.”