Sleep, Think, Die, page 3
“No,” Bumper said softly, “Not anymore,”
They fell silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Just as Bumper thought he might be able to nod off again, Carson spoke up.
“So, what’s with the names?” He sounded tentative.
Bumper sighed, “They’re just names that’s all. Let it go, okay?”
“Pretty weird though, you’ve got to admit. I mean come on; Bumper Scuffs? Rumble Strips? Mad Gasher for God’s sake! Has no one ever mentioned it before?”
Bumper sighed again; where to start? “No, most people pick up on the vibes and keep their mouths shut about the names,”
“Why so touchy about it?”
Bumper gave up the thought of going back to sleep. He kept his voice low so as not to disturb anyone, “Look, if I explain, if I can explain that is, then you have got to lay off the subject once and for all. Don’t bring it up again with any of the others, especially Gasher; and no more smart-arse comments. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Carson said hurriedly, “So?”
“We were together when all this craziness started. Well, not together exactly, we just happened to be in the same pub. Lavender was with her boyfriend. I remember looking at her across the bar and thinking how attractive she was. She had more meat on her bones back then. She didn’t have that haunted expression in her eyes and she wasn’t terrified of everyone and everything either. She was relaxed you know? Happy,” He paused, trying to work out what to say next.
“Rumble Strips and Mad Gasher – I know it sounds like a bad comedy duo but believe me there is nothing funny about those two when the shit hits the fan. They may not be the sharpest tools in the shed but they’re handy in a tight spot. They’ve saved my arse more than once. Yours too, now,” he added pointedly. Carson gave a grudging “Hmm.”
“Anyway, Rumble and Gasher were on the door, your typical bouncers; smart shirts, buffed shoes, well-rehearsed politeness. Fists like snow shovels and chins that could cut diamonds. Me, I was the sad case sitting at the bar drowning his sorrows in too much beer. Woman trouble,” he added when Carson flashed him an enquiring look.
“There was a spot of bother at the far end of the bar. Some lads who couldn’t handle their ale were getting a bit boisterous. They’d had a few warnings but ignored them, you know how it goes; we’re all invincible when we’re young. When one of them picked up a chair and threw it over the bar, Rumble and Gasher decided it was time to step in. If they hadn’t left the pub door unmanned maybe things would have turned out differently. But they did and as they say, the rest is history,”
“What is history?” Carson demanded, “Tell me,”
“Well they were so busy sorting out these boys that they didn’t see what was lurching into the pub. No one did at first; it was all eyes on the fight. It was only when Gasher went to frogmarch the ringleader out that he found his way blocked by an undead. Of course, back then, we didn’t know what it was; not for sure anyway. We’d all heard news reports about the new drug on the streets, BrainChild, wasn’t it?” He didn’t wait for Carson to reply, “but I don’t think any of us had witnessed its effects. Hell, the only time I’d ever seen zombies was on T.V. Funny how long it took for that to sink in. I mean there we all were, frozen in shock, staring at this bloodied, ravaged, supernatural thing, yet our brains could not accept it was anything other than human. There was this moment of absolute stillness; I remember it vividly. I remember seeing Gasher and Rumble just standing there, confused. Then, mayhem.” Bumper stopped, recoiling from the memory of it.
Carson watched him closely, understanding, “Doesn’t matter how much you see or how many times you see it, it still chills you to the bone, right?”
“Right,” Bumper nodded, grateful for his understanding, “Right. You’ve had your fair share too of course. Like Jake?”
“Like Jake,” Carson nodded, “and others. But go on, what happened next?”
“Hard to say, it all happened so fast. The zombie moaned, someone screamed, someone else swore. Gasher still had the young troublemaker in front of him, hands behind his back. The boy was helpless to defend himself when the zombie reached out, grabbed his hair and yanked his head sideward. We all heard his neck snap. Gasher shouted ‘Fuck me!’ and let go, horrified. The zombie sank its teeth into the boy’s neck and then the place just seemed to erupt. The barman reached for his phone and tried calling an ambulance, all the while backing off into the cellar door. There were people crying, shoving and trampling one another in their rush to get the hell out of there, not realising that the street outside was crawling with the undead. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, so they say,”
“And you?” Carson prompted.
“Me,” Bumper’s eyes took on a distant look, “Yeah, what about me? When I think back on it now, it’s like someone switched me into slow motion mode. I knew things were happening fast, yet at the same time I was watching it all with this sense of detachment, like it wasn’t real. I think I even took another sip of my pint as I looked on. I saw Rumble step up to help when the zombie finished with the boy and turned his attentions to Gasher. I heard the screaming ramp up big time and saw Lavender was one of the ones making the noise. Her boyfriend kept trying to keep her behind him, pushing her toward the back wall of the pub; the noise had drawn attention from outside and more zombies were coming in. I looked around for something to serve as a weapon. Someone saw me looking and threw me a pool cue. It’s all just a big, bloody mess after that. I remember having to wipe blood out of my eyes so I could see. I remember people being pulled down, someone shouting to for Christ’s sake lock the door. Glasses and bottles were being smashed over heads everywhere you looked. Lavender’s boyfriend died right in front of her, trying to protect her. We found her later, still lying under his corpse where she had hidden out the rest of the fight, hoping the undead would think she was done for already and leave her alone. Worked too, as it turned out,”
“Was he bitten?” Carson asked.
Bumper nodded, “Yep, though thankfully we were out of there before Lavender had to see the effects of that,”
“So how did you get out?”
“Well that’s the bit that’s really the answer to your question about our names. I mean, I can handle myself in a fight if I need to but those two,” he nodded first to Gasher, then to Rumble, “are something else. They were real handfuls, even for a posse of flesh-hungry undead. Gasher snapped the pool cue early into the fight, so he was just grabbing whatever came to hand. Soon there was nothing left to use as a weapon. He resorted to using his bare hands. I witnessed him tearing out the throats of at least two undead myself. He’d just flash out his huge fist and dig into the skin like it was nothing, grasping whatever he found there; gristle, veins, muscle, and just heave it right out. Rumble soon caught on and between the two of them they had floored most of the zombies that had ventured into the pub. By the end, they were up to their elbows in shreds of bloodied flesh, chests heaving. I swear I will never forget the look in Gasher’s eyes. I mean,” he lowered his voice so Carson had to lean in to hear, “Rumble’s eyes were wild, but Gasher’s were full of this insane light, almost as if he had enjoyed it,”
“Shit,” Carson murmured appreciatively.
“Yeah, well. When I calmed down a bit, I took a look around. The room was a bloodbath; carnage everywhere. The only ones still standing were me, Rumble and Gasher. We would have left Lavender behind if we hadn’t heard her sobbing. Good for her that we did or she’d be a zombie now too,”
“How did you get out of there?”
“I remembered the barman disappearing into the cellar. We headed for it, expecting to find him ripped to pieces. Instead it seemed he had opened the trap doors and taken his chances out on the street. I had visions of some zombies just dropping in on us by accident, so we wasted no time in following his example. Gasher had a car parked behind the pub. We ran hell for leather to his car and got out of there fast, Gasher mowing down any undead that got in the way. We were well out of town, on one of the moorland roads, when finally we stopped. It was such a peaceful night; the sky full of stars, a refreshing chill on the air, it would have been easy to believe that we had imagined it all. Except that Lavender couldn’t stop crying, Gasher was so tense he couldn’t let go of the steering wheel and Rumble could barely utter a word. As for me, I couldn’t stop talking; babbling like an insane person. In the end, it was Lavender who shrieked at me to shut up. I felt a flash of anger so I turned to look at her, and I saw then just how shattered she was; how devastated. I felt sorry for her so I asked her what her name was.”
“And?” Carson prompted when Bumper’s silence stretched out a fraction too long.
“Hm? Oh, well she wouldn’t tell me. She said if she told me her name, then it would all be too real; it would make the events of that night a fact, and she wasn’t ready to face that. She made up a name on the spot; Lavender for the colour of her dress and Gin, because that was what she had been drinking with her boyfriend,” Rumble smiled, “It might sound childish now but at the time it made sense. If she wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, then I was happy to humour her. See, I was still thinking in terms of a solution back then. I thought it would be some sort of temporary madness. That all we needed to do was find a police station or a hospital and then later, maybe a psychiatrist and it would all be fine. So, I gave some thought to my own name. I had taken my scratched up old car to the garage the day before, so I settled for Bumper Scuffs. It was meant to be a bit of a laugh; you know how laughter is often the first defence against horror? But Rumble liked it! He asked me to give him a name. I thought about how handy he was in a rumble, then my mind went back to the car, then the road, and Rumble Strips just sort of tripped off my tongue, Then Gasher spoke up. His voice was hoarse where he had been bellowing like a lunatic in the pub. He said he knew exactly what his name should be until we returned to normality. Mad, because he was, and Gasher; well it speaks for itself doesn’t it?”
“Because of what he did with his hands?”
“Exactly. But of course, we never did get back to normality and so the names stuck. It’s an unspoken rule between us now to never ask about our Before names. Maybe now you understand us a little better?”
Carson’s face was serious in the grey light of pre-dawn, “I do mate; thanks. I won’t say a word I swear,”
“Good,” Bumper said, suddenly weary, “So how about you? You always been Carson?”
“Always,” Carson gave a rueful smile, “and if I have my way I’ll remain Carson for a good while longer yet,”
The Bell Ropes
In the end, they both drifted back off to sleep. It was much lighter in the little room below the belfry, dust motes spinning in thin strips of sunlight from the narrow windows set high into the wall, when Bumper opened his eyes again.
His head was pounding and he dreaded facing the day with a headache to cloud his thinking. He yawned and stretched, wondering again what the chances were of getting something to eat or drink.
The pounding continued. It took Bumper a few moments to realise it wasn’t in his head at all. He came immediately awake, jumping to his feet, shoving Carson roughly as Gasher opened his eyes to slits. Rumble stirred too, the sound also reaching him as he slept.
“What the…” Gasher snarled.
“Shh!” Carson snapped, “Listen!”
They froze, listening intently. All was silent. Bumper was just about to call false alarm when it resumed; the unmistakable sound of a heavy fist against wood.
Against the door at the foot of the stairs.
The men exchanged looks; each of them thinking in their own way ‘here we go again.’
“I thought you said this place was safe,” Rumble hissed accusingly, keeping his voice low.
Carson shook his head incredulously, “Why do you lot insist on misquoting me? I said relatively safe. Come off it, you know as well as I do there’s no such thing as safe anymore!” He matched Rumble’s tone despite his obvious exasperation.
“You ever had a zombie knock your door before?” Gasher asked.
“Never!” Carson said, wide-eyed, “That’s a new one on me,”
“What’s going on?” Lavender appeared at the bottom of the stairs to the belfry, her hair a mess, her clothes dishevelled, “What’s that noise?”
“Jesus!” Bumper swore, ignoring her, “You don’t think it’s another one of those weird zombies? Like the one we rescued you from, do you?”
Carson paled visibly, “You noticed then?”
“Noticed what?” Gasher demanded, rising to his feet.
The pounding grew heavier and apparently more effective. They could hear the large old key rattling in its lock with every blow that landed. After one especially hard beating it finally fell; clattering to the ground with a metallic tinkling.
“Do you think that door will hold for long?” Bumper asked Carson hopefully, “It looked strong enough,”
There came a sharp splintering sound. Gasher strode over to where the upended pew acted as a makeshift door and peered through a gap where it ill-fitted its frame, “The answer to that my friends, is no. A couple more bangs like that and the door’s open. What is it you two know about these freaks that you’re not telling?”
“I don’t know anything for sure, it’s just a suspicion,” Carson said
“And I don’t know anything at all, other than something was different about the zombie you killed back at the gym,” Bumper added.
“Can we talk about this later?” Lavender said urgently, “I think there might be other things to worry about just now,”
Another splintering crash. Rumble’s rifle was at the ready, though he had no confidence about how many more bullets were left in the thing. He reached for his Glock, wondering as he did every time he went for it where the hell the dead policeman had got it from. As ever, Gasher was gripping his spiked club, a hungry look in his eye.
Lavender hovered on the stairs, at a loss. There were few places to hide here; absolutely nowhere that would not eventually be discovered. Her heart sank as she realised she was in precisely the sort of situation she did her level best to avoid; she was cornered and would have to fight.
She delved into the loose pockets of her jeans and retracted a small, solid looking object which she slipped onto her slender fingers.
“Sharpened knuckle duster,” she said by way of explanation when she saw all four of the men were watching her. Her bare hand slipped into her other pocket and came out holding a cut-throat razor which she flipped open one-handed with ease.
“Where the hell did you get that from?” Rumble said, astounded.
Lavender shrugged, “Men on the road don’t take no for an answer sometimes, if they catch me alone or off guard. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do,” she added enigmatically.
“Jesus!” Carson said softly, “And you felt the need to protect her,” he nodded to Gasher.
“Er, like Lavender said gents, can we maybe discuss all of this later? That door’s not going to take much more of a beating,” Gasher said, still peering through the gap at the side of the pew.
There came an almighty splitting of wood. Gasher stepped back, alarmed, as the door twisted awkwardly on its hinges, tilting see-saw like in its frame, making it awkward to pass for the already clumsy undead behind it.
“That might hold it a bit,” Gasher said, turning on his heel and ushering Lavender back up the stairs, following hard on her heels. Rumble went after them, always Gasher’s loyal shadow.
Carson and Bumper’s eyes met in mutual understanding. As one, they crossed to the pew to peer through the gap just as Gasher had done. Your average zombie would have struggled with the yo-yoing door, half-falling, half-crawling over it to get past. They both watched as this one stopped, looked the door over and appeared to reach a decision. It leaned down, grasped the solid, ancient door on either side, and heaved upwards, tearing the hinges apart like chicken bones from a Sunday carcass. It turned and threw the door aside, then focused its attentions back on the now open stairway.
Bumper and Carson were already gone, racing up the stairs after the others, knowing that the pew door was no defence, that there would not be room enough in the little belfry for any of them to fight effectively.
“Shit!” Bumper gasped breathlessly, “It is one of them!”
*
They spread themselves out on the little square balcony surrounding the drop from which the ropeless bells still hung. Bumper was nearest the open doorway, and so the most vulnerable to attack when the zombie finally found them, huddled in their paltry defensive position.
“I should go back down,” Bumper said, wishing someone would talk him out of it, “I’ve got the Glock. If I aim right I can stop it before it gets up here,”
“You have just as much chance hitting it square between the eyes from where you are. You’ve got the advantage here, being able to look down on it as it comes up. Stay where you are,” Carson advised. Bumper’s opinion of him improved a little.
“And stand back a bit,” Rumble advised, “So I can blow its head off with my rifle if you should happen to miss. If you’re in the way, then tough. Better you share a bullet than it takes a bite, eh?”
Bumper knew Rumble wasn’t joking. He could hardly blame him. They were likely all going to die here anyway; even if they did kill this one, there’d be more to follow. They couldn’t hold them off forever.
A bone-chilling moan came to them from the lower stair well.
“Unless,” Carson said, biting his lip uncertainly.
“Unless what?” Gasher demanded.
“Well, I was afraid I would accidentally pull one of the bell ropes when they were hanging down into the room below; scared I would ring the bells by accident somehow and alert every zombie within a five-mile radius that I was here. So I cut the ropes down,”
“Get to the point will you! We haven’t got time for life stories!” Rumble hissed.
