But they didn’t matter. Not now.

  What mattered was the wall.

  The wall that was just a matter of metres away.

  Miriam turned to her left. Saw Sam sitting upright in the passenger seat. Cute kid. So well behaved, too. Considering everything he’d been through. All the shit a kid like him must’ve witnessed in a world like this.

  “How you holding up, kid?” Miriam asked.

  Sam glanced at her. His infectious little smile grew across his gaunt face. “I’m okay.”

  “You sure about that?” Miriam asked. She never held herself in high regard when it came to talking to children. She was okay at talking to teenagers. Fine at playing with babies. Her sister Penny had twin boys two years back, and in the wake of the breakdown of her relationship with Kelly, Miriam found a lot of comfort in spending time with them, looking after them.

  But kids Sam’s age. Just after the baby stage, well before the teenage stage. They were tricky to talk to. Like frigging aliens.

  “Well, I…”

  Sam shook his head. Smiled again. “It’s okay.”

  Miriam slowed the vehicle as they got closer to the wall. She thought about quizzing Sam more. But she knew how that’d look. Like she was prying. Like she was forcing an answer out of him. She knew how much she hated that herself. Always used to get right on her tits when Mum asked her how she was doing. Of course she wasn’t doing well. Not when she knew Dad was sleeping with his secretary from the office. Not when she’d caught them in bed together. Then in the shower.

  But what did she say to Mum? What did she tell her?

  Miriam took a deep breath. Refocused on the tunnel ahead. The fences were wide open. Nobody was around. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad sign.

  “I’m telling you; they’re gonna be out lookin’ for me. And when they find me in here, they’ll make sure a shitload of people are at the fences. They’ll be waiting for you. I’m tellin’ you. There’s no way out of this. Just—just let me go and we can call it quits.”

  Miriam looked back at Sam. Caught him smiling. She smiled back at him.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said.

  Then she accelerated into the dark tunnel, past the fences, towards the city beyond.

  Miriam drove slowly through the tunnel. She didn’t want to risk being ambushed. But she couldn’t deny the strange feeling she had. The sense that nobody was watching. The sense that something had happened. Like she was heading into a ghost town.

  She squinted beyond the range of her headlights towards the city. She couldn’t see anything. No opening. Nothing like that. Just darkness. Just total darkness.

  Maybe Hayden was still in here. Maybe he was trying to find his way into the city.

  Or maybe he was…

  She felt something under her left tire.

  Felt the truck elevate as it drove over something.

  For a moment she worried. Had she hit Hayden? Shit. She didn’t think she was going quickly. Surely she’d have seen him. Surely she hadn’t just hit him.

  And then she saw the bodies in the headlights.

  There was blood. A lot of blood. Bones poking out of flesh. Vacant expressions. Twisted necks.

  The fear kicked in again. Hayden. What if Hayden was amongst them? What if Hayden had been bitten by them?

  “Look. Someone’s there.”

  Sam’s voice snapped Miriam out of her thoughts.

  She raised her head. Saw him pointing out the windscreen.

  Through the windscreen, in the glow of the headlights, Miriam saw the outline of a figure. A man. About six foot one in height. Short hair. Skinny.

  She saw him standing there and her heart fluttered. Hayden. It was Hayden. He was okay.

  And then she saw the way he waddled towards the truck.

  Saw the way he put one foot in front of the other. Unsteady. Uncoordinated. Like a toddler.

  “Is… is it dead?” Sam asked.

  Miriam swallowed a lump in her throat, nasty tastes building up in her mouth.

  She wanted to move. Wanted to get out the truck. Wanted to see him. See him for herself.

  But she couldn’t.

  She couldn’t get out because getting out meant accepting it.

  Accepting the truth.

  Accepting the reality.

  It wasn’t long before Miriam had to accept reality anyway.

  Hayden stood in the headlights. Pale-faced. Blood oozing from his chest, his shoulder. His eyes pointed in two directions. But they weren’t looking at anything in particular. Not really.

  She saw him and she felt her own eyes sting.

  She saw him and she knew he’d failed. She knew they’d both failed.

  She knew what she had to do.

  She put a hand on Sam’s arm. “You wait there a sec. I won’t be a minute.”

  “But I’m scared—”

  “Just, please. Wait there. Please.”

  Sam stared at her for a moment, uncertain.

  Then he nodded.

  Miriam reached for the pistol. It felt alien in her hands. Out of place. But she knew that was because of what she had to do with it.

  Of the act she had to commit with it.

  Again.

  She saw her mum in her mind. Saw her screaming as Dad dragged her across the kitchen floor. As he wrapped his teeth around her ankle. Chewed down on her Achilles, blood spurting all over the new cream curtains.

  She saw Dad committing his final sin against her mum.

  And then she’d lifted the gun.

  Fired.

  Put him down.

  Put Mum down too.

  Just to save her from her eventual misery.

  To save her from her pain.

  Miriam stepped out the truck. Dropped down to the tunnel floor. She tightened her grip on the pistol handle. Listened to the rumbling engine of the truck.

  Then she heard the groan.

  It was awful. Shiver-inducing. Mostly because she could recognise it. Recognise it as Hayden’s voice. That was the worst part of the groans. They always held a trace of the person they once were. Always a reminder that they were once alive. And now they were nothing but an empty shell.

  Nothing but a cry.

  Miriam took in a deep breath of the musty air.

  Listened to the water dripping down from the tunnel roof above.

  Then she turned towards Hayden.

  Turned into the light.

  Hayden was just a few steps from her. Dragging his left foot along behind him. His neck was tilted to the right. His teeth were cracked from all their snapping.

  She looked into his eyes and hoped he’d see her. Hoped he’d recognise her. For who she was.

  But she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  She knew that was never going to happen.

  Not to anyone.

  She lifted her shaky hand. Pointed the gun at his neck. She turned away at first. Felt a warm tear rolling down her cheek. She’d pretended not to like him. Tried her best not to get too attached. But she knew he was a good person underneath all his fears. She knew he wanted what was best for everyone. Just that all his hope had been buried. Buried and charred by this god-awful world.

  He was a leader. He wanted the best for other people.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Miriam muttered.

  She watched as Hayden staggered closer. Just five steps away now. So close that he could just reach out. Grab her. Rip her throat away.

  And maybe that’d be for the better. Maybe death was the best option.

  No. That was bullshit. She had Sam to look out for. She’d made it this far.

  She had to keep fighting.

  She couldn’t give up.

  And that meant doing what she had to do.

  She looked into Hayden’s eyes again. Looked into them and remembered the first time she’d seen him. Fearful. Lost. But prepared. Prepared to help her escape the Salvation prison. Prepared to help her make it this far.

  Just afraid to lose anyone.

  Afraid to lose anyone else.

  Afraid to lead.

  “You… you got us this far,” Miriam said. “I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget that.”

  She heard Hayden’s snarl echo against the tunnel wall.

  Watched him lunge towards her.

  Squinted.

  Squeezed the trigger.

  “You don’t want to do that,” someone said.

  Miriam stopped. Moved out of the way of Hayden. Watched him fall face flat on the tunnel floor.

  She looked back. Looked back from the direction she’d come. Back into the darkness. A woman. She’d heard a woman. She’d…

  A group of people were walking her way.

  A group of people led by a woman.

  Hayden snarled once more. Stuck his fingertips into the dusty concrete and forced himself upright, his body twisting and contorting in impossible angles.

  Miriam watched the woman and her group get closer.

  There were more of them. Way more of these people than she first thought.

  All walking so confidently.

  All walking so… fearlessly.

  Hayden looked right at the woman. He was just feet away from her. Inches, even.

  “Watch…” Miriam started.

  But the woman just brushed past Hayden.

  Her people just brushed past Hayden.

  He didn’t notice them.

  He didn’t even look at them.

  Miriam’s heart raced. She couldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand what this was. What was happening. Whether this was some kind of dream. Some kind of twisted reality.

  Then the woman stopped in front of her.

  Illuminated by the light.

  She was dark-skinned. Short. Old, probably in her fifties. She had a serious expression. A serious expression that scanned Miriam’s face like she was trying to see inside her; read her soul.

  And then Miriam became aware of the people around her. Men. Men in… in black suits with crosses around their necks. Women in the same outfits. And with them, a box. A wooden box on wheels. Diamond covered. Six people at the back of the group dragged it along. Walked past Hayden’s zombie like he wasn’t even there. No regard for him, none whatsoever.

  “What… who are you?”

  The woman stared Miriam right in her eyes.

  Scanned her a little longer.

  Hayden growled again. Started stumbling towards Miriam.

  “Restrain Hayden. We’re going to need him.”

  A few of the men grabbed Hayden by his arms. Held him back. He kept on lifting his feet, trying to walk, unaware of their restraints, unaware of anything but Miriam, but fresh meat.

  A sudden shiver crept up Miriam’s spine. “Wait. Hayden? You… you know his name?”

  The woman’s glaring gaze softened. She half-smiled.

  “I know a lot of things, dear. A lot of things indeed.”

  She held a hand out. Behind her, Hayden continued to snap, continued to writhe, continued to struggle.

  Nobody seemed to care.

  “My name is Martha. And I’m here to share some very important news.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Terrance Schumer felt the rough concrete underneath the soles of his bare feet and knew there was no escaping his new reality.

  He walked. The afternoon sun was baking hot. The warmest day of the year by far. Not a cloud in the blue sky.

  Just typical. Like the gods above were laughing at him. Like they too were punishing him for the things he’d done. For the actions he’d taken. For the lives he’d cost.

  He looked ahead at the long, ever-stretching road. It used to look distant from up in his tower where he was most comfortable. But out here, out here on the other side, it dragged on even further. Every step just stretched on and on. Danger lurked behind every unmanned car. Beneath every partly open manhole cover. Over the top of the embankments beside the road.

  The weight on his back didn’t help.

  He tensed, dragging his package even further. The package they’d attached to his back. The people who’d forced him out; forced him away. Told him to take it with him. Take it with him and get it out of sight. To take it far away, where it was nothing more than a memory. A dark memory of events that’d unfolded in New Britain.

  A reminder of what he’d done.

  A literal weight on his shoulders.

  A weight he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to.

  The sickly stench of rot came to him in droves. Reminded him of what he was dragging along. Of what he was carrying with him. He tried not to look back at it. Because it brought back too many memories. Too much guilt.

  He just had to get somewhere safe.

  One of his old prisons. Lock himself in a cell.

  Or get to a town. Somewhere where somebody would take him in. Because that’s what he needed. Refuge. Forgiveness.

  But the package attached to him would never go away.

  The taste of death pumping around his taste buds would never go away.

  He heard something. Heard a shuffling over to his right. He turned. Caught a glance of the package behind him. Heart racing. Sweat dripping down his head, the sun beating down, muscles weak.

  He looked over the embankment. Looked over to where he’d heard the shuffling.

  Nothing.

  He took a few deep breaths. Closed his burning eyes. All in his head. Just a figment of his imagination.

  Had to keep on walking.

  Had to keep on moving if he wanted to survive.

  Had to—

  And then he heard the shuffling again.

  This time, from directly behind.

  His body froze. The pain in his shoulders intensified. The pain he was doing everything he could not to focus on.

  He clenched his teeth together.

  Turned around.

  The first thing he saw was the package.

  And when he saw it, he felt that wave of nausea, that wave of realisation, hit him again.

  Attached to his back by six solid nails into his skin, into his muscle, glued and stitched back in place, was a net.

  Inside that net, remains.

  Remains of people he’d killed.

  Remains of the refugees he’d had butchered in the street.

  Loose heads of children.

  Arms poking out the side.

  The smell intolerable.

  Flies swarming.

  But he didn’t focus on the package for long. Not this time.

  Because all he could focus on were the three figures behind it.

  The three figures approaching it.

  Slowly.

  Terrance turned around. “Fuck.” He moved a little faster. Not much faster, but as fast as a man with a bunch of human remains tied to his back could manage. He knew he was leaving a trail of blood behind. He knew he was walking bait.

  But he had to keep moving.

  He had to get somewhere safe.

  He had to…

  He saw the movement up ahead and stopped in his tracks.

  In the distance, four more figures. All of them staring at him blankly. Not making a noise yet, but watching him. Heads twisting in the air. Like they were sniffing at it. Trying to weigh Terrance up.

  He stood there, totally still.

  Then, when the first of the zombies groaned, Terrance made a break for the embankment hill.

  He collapsed onto it. Tried to drag the package up the grassy slope. It was too heavy. Way too heavy. No chance he was getting up there with this on his back. No chance he was getting anywhere with these nails in his skin.

  He looked at the nails rammed into his left shoulder. Looked at the congealed blood underneath the glue, between the staples. He saw his skin going purple. Saw puss seeping out. If the dead didn’t get him, infection would.

  But fuck it. He’d rather take a chance with infection.

  He reached his hand over. Grabbed the first of the nails. Just touching it sent burning agony through his body.

  He clenched his teeth together. So hard he felt them going wobbly.

  The groaning mass of zombies edged closer.

  Terrance stuck his fingers into his skin. Ripped away the staples, each one of them splitting away making his head throb, his consciousness drift.

  But no. He had to keep on going. As fresh blood trickled onto his right hand, he knew he had to keep on going.

  He cut through the glued skin with the tips of his bitten-down fingernails. Got a grip on the head of the nail.

  Felt tears rolling down his cheeks as the growls edged ever closer.

  He held his breath.

  Gripped the nail tighter.

  And then he pulled.

  The pain wasn’t so bad. Not at first.

  Not until the nail got about halfway out of his shoulder.

  And then he couldn’t help but scream. Couldn’t help but cry out.

  Yet still, he kept on pulling.

  Still, he kept on ripping the nail from deep within his flesh.

  Blood splattering down his arm, onto his neck.

  He got a grip of the next nail as he pulled it away. His pulse blasted through his skull. He felt cold. Icy cold. And he knew what was happening. He was going to die. He was going to pass out and he was going to die.

  He’d never wake up.

  No. No, he would wake up.

  Just not as himself.

  Not anymore.

  He yanked the nail further out of his flesh, well aware of how on the brink of death he was.

  Something different happened this time.

  The nails came free of his skin.

  The rope dropped to the ground.

  He looked down at the bunch of nails. Looked at the sinewy pink flesh clinging onto their rusty exteriors. His head spun. His muscles were weak. But he had to keep on going. He could make it now. Now the nails were free he could make it. He could…

  A sudden sickness hit him square in the middle of his chest.

  He still had to get the nails out of his right shoulder.

  He turned. Looked at the wound where the nails were slammed in last night. Sweat poured down his face as memories of the last extraction swirled around his mind.

  The pain.

  The dizzying agony.

  He couldn’t do it.

  He couldn’t…

  No.

  He had to.

  He took a deep breath.

  Put his shaking, blood-soaked fingers on the head of the nail.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20