Remains of the Dead (30 page)

He raised a hand to his mouth and was about shout for help when he realized the noise of the rotor blades would drown out even his loudest cry.

Ali stood waving and waiting for the chopper to come into sight. The seconds stretched into minutes, and although the sound of the helicopter continued to grow, it was still maddeningly out of sight.

“Come on,” Ali said anxiously.

Masked by the driving rain, he could now see the pulsing flashes of its tail lights. Tantalizingly near yet impossibly distant, the chopper’s running lights beckoned.

Ali suddenly became acutely worried that the chopper wouldn’t see him or his small insignificant light in a storm. With the embers of dying fires still drawing the eye, maybe he’d be missed. Still with the lantern aloft, he turned back to look in the tent. He scanned the contents there, the stove, the rucksack, sleeping bag. Nothing was of any obvious use. As the panic of missing his ride climbed out of the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t remember what was in the rucksack.

He bent down, intent on spilling the contents on the ground, when it found him. A bright beam of light engulfed the rooftop, illuminating every streak of rain as it fell.

Ali turned round and the glare of the light forced him to screw his eyes shut. He placed his free hand in front of his eyes to shield them.

The force of the downdraft from the rotors tore at the tent and made Ali gulp down lungfuls of wet breath. Needles of rain stung his face, but Ali was jubilant. A triumphant smile filled his face and puffed out his cheeks. He waved the lantern, no longer signaling but rejoicing.

“I’m saved!” Ali beamed. “I’m saved!”

A crackle of static burst over the noise of the blades.

“Is your position secure?” the artificially amplified voice bellowed.

“Yes! Yes!” Ali shouted.

“I can’t hear you,” the disembodied voice replied. “Wave your torch up and down for yes, left and right for no.”

Ail waved the lantern up and down.

“Good,” the voice came. “Are the others with you?”

Ali signaled no.

“Have you seen other survivors since this morning?” the pilot asked.

Ali dutifully signaled yes, remembering the futile conversation with Ryan across the street.

“Are they alive?” came the next question.

In all honesty Ali couldn’t be sure. They may have burned in the building, they may have been killed trying to escape.

Ali moved the light round in a wide circle.

“I’ll take that as
I don’t know
,” the voice replied.

The helicopter banked slightly before the pilot could compensate for the gust of wind.

“Is there a flat roof nearby?” the pilot asked once he’d stabilized the flight.

Ali looked around. None of the buildings on this side of the street had flat roofs. The larger office block across the way no doubt had, but they had been destroyed by the fire.

Reluctantly Ali signaled back no.

“Is there somewhere flat I can land?”

Again Ali signaled no.

“I don’t have a winch, man. So I can’t pick you up without landing.”

“What?” Ali said, even too quietly to hear himself.

“I’ll come back for you,” the voice promised. “I need to go back and refuel.”

Ali was standing still, the lantern by his side, the rain lashing off his dumbstruck face.

“I won’t make it back tomorrow, what with the turnaround time,” explained the helicopter pilot. “I’ll come back for you the day after. Can you hold out till then?”

Frozen by his disappointment, Ali just stared at the chopper.

“Did you hear me? Can you hold out for two days?”

Robotically, Ali waved the light up and down for yes.

“Good. I’ll bring a winch operator and we’ll get you out of here. Hang tight buddy,” the pilot chirped.

The searchlight flicked off and the helicopter rose into the rainy sky.

“Two days,” Ali whispered despondently.

He stood like a stone gargoyle, the harsh white light of the lamp, his blank expression and unruly beard making him look all the more haunted and gruesome than the cadavers below.

“Two days,” he said again.

The blinking taillight was quickly lost to the rain-laden clouds and the moans from the excited dead below climbed above the noise of the receding chopper.

Ali stood frozen, unmoving against the rain.

“Two days,” he whispered.

Ryan was tidying away the contents of the first aid kit when Cahz came padding into the schoolroom.

“Perimeter secure?” he quipped at the half naked soldier.

Cahz nodded. There were splashes of dark brown mud up his bare legs, but he looked pale even in the yellow flame.

“You okay?” Ryan asked.

“Feeling light headed,” Cahz said, perching on the edge of a desk.

“Sit down.” Ryan moved the first aid kit to one side to make space for him.

“Can’t. We need to set a signal fire.” Cahz looked down at the crisp white dressing on Ryan’s toe. “What happened?”

“I ripped a blister open on that fuckin’ desk,” Ryan cursed.

“Right. Come on then, we need to set a fire.” Cahz pushed himself up.

“You look like shit.”

Cahz let out a short sigh. “Feel like shit, too. I think it’s the infect—”

“No way, man!” Ryan broke in. “It’s the blood loss from the dog bite. That’s all it is and you know it. We’ll get you back to that ship of yours and you’ll be fixed up just fine.”

Cahz pushed himself up from the edge of the desk. “Regardless of what it is, I used both the flares out there. We need to build a signal fire or none of us are going to that ship.”

“Okay,” Ryan said.

He stretched up and pulled down his grubby jeans. They were still damp to the touch but at least now they had been warmed by the fire.

“Cahz,” Ryan said. “Stick your pants on, at least.”

Cahz nodded and snatched down some of his clothes from the line.

“How do we do this?” Ryan asked as he gingerly pulled his trainers on.

“Grab everything we can that will burn.” Cahz wriggled into his still damp fatigues. “Lay it out in a cross at the edge of the playing field. Set it alight and wait.”

“How do we keep it dry enough to get it lit?”

Cahz looked puzzled for a moment before leaning back on the desk. The metal legs scraped across the floor at the pressure. He looked down at the table. He ran a hand over the smooth varnished top and gave it a firm pat like it was a family pet.

* * *

Outside, the rain was still pouring down and the undead cried out for the flesh they could see through the railings.

“How many more of these do we need?” Ryan puffed, his arms full of textbooks.

“That’ll do,” Cahz said as he spread out his own bundle of books.

Although it was pitch black, he knew the zombies had a bead on them. The fence rattled and creaked as they pushed against it, trying to break through. And even though the wind and rain did much to muffle the sound, their deathly moans were all too clear. Inside the school, with the crackling fire, neither Ryan nor Cahz had any idea of the sheer numbers of zombies accumulating beyond the fence, their moans softened by the elements and the illusion of safety.

Although Cahz couldn’t see the enemy in the enveloping darkness, he sensed their vast numbers.

He pulled out the book of matches from their MRE and looked into the darkness.

“Shouldn’t we wait until we hear the chopper?” Ryan asked.

Cahz paused for a moment, thinking it through, and looked at the half empty book of matches.

“Visibility is low. By the time we light it, he could have flown past.”

Cahz struck the match and held it to a corner of the paper. The flame spluttered and hissed before popping out, leaving a warm ember and a thread of smoke. Cahz tried again and before the scorched paper could ignite, the match had fizzled out.

“Too damn wet!” Cahz snapped.

He shifted round on his haunches to try and block the worst of the rain.

“Aw.” Cahz winced as something hard and sharp dug into his thigh.

“You okay?” Ryan asked.

Cahz dipped his hand into his thigh pocket and pulled out the curved magazine. It was the spare Angel had passed to him this morning. He felt the cold metal magazine in his hand and remembered the woman’s stern warning to return the empties. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d seen her, since becoming exiled in this forsaken land.

Cahz teased the top round and flipped out it out. He pulled out his knife and plucked out the bullet that sat snugly in the case. It was too dark to see the cordite underneath, but Cahz knew it was there.

Cupping a hand round the open page of the schoolbook, he poured the powder into the crease of the spine. He ripped a page from an adjacent book and screwed it into a ball.

Cautiously, he lit the second to last match and introduced it to the small heap. The ammunition flared into life and a thick flame lapped up the side of the scrunched-up paper. He balled up more paper and nurtured the growing blaze.

“Keep fuelling this fire. Don’t let it go out.”

Ryan looked concerned. “Where are you going?”

“To get more shit to burn,” Cahz called back as he ran to the school building.

Copying Cahz, Ryan added a steady supply of balled up paper. The blaze spread quickly, its light and heat growing in intensity. As the flames took hold, the darkness was pushed further and further.

Ryan looked up at the rain clouds, praying to see the flash of the helicopter lights. There was nothing. Dejected, he lowered his eyes. As he did he saw the horde of undead at the fence. Their cyanotic faces snarling, their palsied arms forced between the slats, their fingers stretched out, grasping for their prey. Ryan stared, mesmerized by the forest of dead arms. For as far as the light extended, all he could see were hundreds of arms waving and clawing, desperate to seize him and devour his flesh.

Cahz’s voice broke Ryan from his daze. “Lend a hand,” he said from behind a massive bookcase teetering precariously across his shoulders.

“Sure,” Ryan said, glad for the distraction.

He grabbed the swaying end of the bookcase and helped Cahz extract himself from under it. Cahz turned as if to leave, but instead of running off he delivered a brutal side kick to the shelving. The wood cracked and snapped under his powerful and accurately placed kicks.

“Add some of these bits,” Cahz said, tossing over a broken shelf. “The wood will burn longer.”

Ryan swept up an armful of lumber and went back to diligently stoking the flames.

Cahz delivered a brutal kick to the last intact length of shelving. “Listen, I’m off to get some more. You keep at the fire.”

“How’s Rebecca?” Ryan asked as he angled the wood over the fire.

“I don’t know,” Cahz confessed.

“Oh for god’s sake, Cahz. Why didn’t you check in on her and make sure she’s still safe?”

“She’s sound asleep,” Cahz argued. “She’ll be fine.”

Ryan looked up at Cahz, his face framed by the glow of the fire.

“You didn’t know that. You’ve just told me you haven’t checked in on her. Look, just check in on her on the way past.”

“Okay,” Cahz replied, and jogged off.

Ryan watched the soldier as he ran into the school.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s like it’s too much to ask,” he moaned as he grabbed a handful of smashed shelving.

As he stood back up, Ryan froze. The zombie marched straight at him, battering into the table that separated them. Carried forward by its momentum and unable to brace itself on stiff limbs, the dumb creature toppled over.

Ryan dropped the splinters and went for his pistol.

But it wasn’t there. His mind flashed to the gun sitting with the body armour and the bag of cans.

“Cahz?!” Ryan called, but there was no reply.

He turned to run for the school and then he heard it. Through the rain and the moans came the sweeping sound of helicopter blades.

By the time he’d ran to retrieve his gun, Ryan knew their rescue would have passed them by.

“Cahz!” he hollered at the school.

He turned and lunged at the fallen zombie. The decaying creature was struggling to its feet when a pair of warm hands grabbed it.

Fuelled by rage, Ryan picked up the animated corpse and threw it back over the tables. Ignoring where it landed, Ryan started tipping over the desks acting as an umbrella. The fire hissed and spat as the raindrops evaporated in its heat. But already the pyre was beginning to wane. The section Ryan had lit first was close to consuming the last scraps of paper.

As he reached the last table the zombie was upon him. Ryan snatched up the table and thrust it between them like a shield. Its dead arms tried to curl round the desktop to claw at Ryan, but they couldn’t reach. The walking dead stood in the flames, its skin too leathery to catch, its tattered clothing too wet to ignite. But as it shuffled among the flames it was kicking the fuel away, extinguishing the flames. Ryan shoved back with all the rage in his heart and the zombie went flying across the field. He raised the desk above his head and charged at the cadaver, screaming like a berserker.

Standing over the zombie, he hurtled the table down at its head. The blow from the flimsy school furniture wasn’t enough to destroy the squirming cadaver, so Ryan stomped his foot down hard. The writhing creature couldn’t move out of the way and Ryan’s sole stamped straight down across its jaw and neck.

Underneath that leathery skin, bones snapped and grey matter turned to mash. The zombie lay still.

Ryan stood above the corpse like a conquering gladiator, his chest heaving from the exertion. An agitated moan caught his ear and he turned to see a second zombie plodding towards him. And in the sky behind it, Ryan could see the blink of navigation lights.

“Yes!” Ryan let slip in relief, the light rain splashing down, bouncing off his face.

More movement caught his eye. Across the playing field, a swarm of undead were pushing past the dislodged desk, pouring in faster than before.

The barricade had failed utterly. Lubricated by the sodden grass and mud, the desk Ryan had used to block the gap had been forced back by the combined strength of a thousand undead. Now that legion were raging through the breach.