The Sacrifice by Charlie Higson
Somehow word had got out. St George’s army was on the march.
Shadowman took out his binoculars and focused on the group of feeding strangers. He was tempted to try to shoot them from there, but figured it would be a waste of bolts. He could see Ricky’s bow lying on the pavement. Too complicated even for these clever strangers to use.
And then he spotted something weird. There was a lone father standing about ten metres from the group. Still as a statue, his arms held out in front of him as if he was holding an invisible box. He had his eyes open, unblinking, staring into the distance. Waiting for something.
Shadowman hadn’t seen this behaviour before.
He swivelled round and checked the other direction. No sign yet of the strangers who’d been following him from the Lexus.
Only a matter of time.
He slipped his bow off his shoulder, checked it, said goodbye to the dead couple and went down the stairs.
Once he was back on the street he moved cautiously towards the feeding strangers. As soon as he was close enough, he aimed at the back of an ageing mother and pulled the trigger. The bolt thumped into her and she fell forward. He put the end of the bow to the ground, slipped his foot into the stirrup and hauled up the string, snapped it in place, fitted in another bolt. The whole action took him less than thirty seconds. He’d had plenty of time to practise. The other strangers didn’t seem to have noticed that one of their gang had been shot and two minutes later four more of them had been hit. Two lay still, killed outright, but the rest were crawling around with the bolts embedded in their diseased bodies right up to the feathers. One was flipping about on the ground, arms and legs twitching.
Shadowman reckoned he’d done enough. It was safe to advance. He was fast with the bow, but time was running out. He had to get back to the car before the main mass of The Fear reached it. He slung his bow over his shoulder, drew his machete from its sheath and walked quickly up to the surviving strangers.
A mother had Ricky’s head and was smashing it on the ground trying to break the skull open so that she could get at the brains. It looked like an old rubber Halloween mask found in the bottom of the dressing-up box, floppy and out of shape.
Shadowman fought back a wave of nausea as he lifted the machete and swung. The mother had wanted brains, well here they were. The top of her head came off like the top of a boiled egg.
‘That’s how you get to the brains,’ he said, but had to turn away so as not to look at the shiny pinkish grey gloop that spilt out.
He shivered as he laid into the other strangers and soon they all lay dead.
Except for the one who was standing still as a rock up the road. As Shadowman checked him out, he noticed that there were two more, spaced the same distance apart, about ten metres or so, waiting, with their arms held out.
A word came into Shadowman’s mind. Sentinels.
No time now to work out what they were doing. The main thing was that they were ignoring him.
So he would ignore them.
He had to find that key.
31
Shadowman tried not to think too hard about the mess that was strewn everywhere. He remembered going on family trips to the countryside when he’d been small. Remembered the first time he’d seen roadkill. He’d been struck by how hard it was to tell what the animal had once been. So many cars had gone over it, smearing it into the road surface, and so many birds had pecked away at it that it was an unidentifiable smudge of fur and blood.
Ricky looked the same. The horde had made quick work of him. A hundred hungry mouths had torn into him. There wasn’t a lot left. Bones, shiny bits of gristle, a length of intestine, shredded clothing. He could see a hand lying under a parked car; one of the strangers had been trying to get to it when Shadowman had shot him.
He saw the stab-proof vest, which was still in one piece. He removed his backpack and bow and put the vest on. It hadn’t done much to protect Ricky, but it was better than nothing. Nearby was his leather jacket, also still in one piece, but covered in blood and faeces. Shadowman picked it up and hurriedly went through the pockets. There were a few pathetic reminders of Ricky’s life. A crumpled photo of his mum and dad, a valentine’s card, the membership card for a sports centre, a ticket to a football match, a lucky rabbit’s foot (ho, bloody ho) and a penknife that Shadowman pocketed.
But no keys.
‘Damn.’ He tossed the jacket away and wiped his hands.
Keep moving.
There was a pile of stuff in the gutter by the side of the road, a disgusting mangle of skin and hair, inedible body parts and torn clothing. He poked through it with the toe of his boot, turning it over, trying to find something he recognized. This was taking too long. He sucked in a deep breath, went down on one knee and went to work with his machete, lifting the layers to see what was underneath. At the bottom he found what he was after – a pair of jeans. They were filthy, covered in what looked like the entire contents of Ricky’s stomach. Some vile scraps of flesh clung to the inside. He felt the pockets and his fingers closed on something hard.
The key to the Lexus.
He fished it out, wiped it clean on his own jeans and zipped it into a jacket pocket.
He checked – the sentinels hadn’t moved – then looked the other way. Just in time. His pursuers had finally arrived, hobbling along the street, bunched together. He grabbed Ricky’s crossbow and slung it over his shoulder next to his own and set off back to the car, sticking to the route they’d originally taken when they were running from The Fear. The only problem was that he would have to go past the sentinels.
Oh well. They were spaced out, unmoving and unarmed, and he had his machete. He nevertheless gave the first one a wide berth, expecting him at any moment to come awake and run at him. He didn’t even blink. If it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes were open he might have been dead or asleep. It was the same with the second sentinel, and the third, and as Shadowman turned the corner, he saw more of them strung out along the length of the road at regular intervals. He counted them as he ran past. Three, four, five, six, seven …
And then he spotted the rear of the main pack, a seething dark mass, shambling slowly in the direction of the car. It hadn’t taken them long to eat Ricky, but it had delayed them long enough. With luck, there wouldn’t be too many around the Lexus yet and Shadowman would be able to get back in.
He couldn’t run through this mob, however, so he bypassed them by ducking into the next street, which was mercifully free of grown-ups. He ran as fast as he could. It was vital that he overtook the strangers. His legs ached, felt as if they’d been filled with concrete, and his body was flooded with lactic acid. He pushed on, ignoring the pain. How long had he been gone? Five minutes? Six? Probably more like ten. He hoped Jaz and Johnny would still be there after all this.
When he came to the next junction, he cut through and caught sight of the car. There were a lot more strangers crowding round it than he had hoped. The main body of The Fear had yet to arrive – there was no sign of St George – but there were still maybe thirty of them there, three deep around the car, with more arriving every second.
Once again he had a powerful urge to turn tail and get as far away from there as he could. He’d watched plenty of kids die in the days he’d been following The Fear. He clearly remembered that first one at Waitrose, his head coming out on a stick. He could watch these ones die as well if he had to. There was no point in risking his life if there was really nothing he could do.
Seriously, could he fight his way past thirty strangers to get to the car?
He stopped running. Started to back away.
And then the car horn sounded. A long unbroken blast that caused the startled strangers to cower away for a moment, clearing a space. Shadowman got a brief glimpse of Jaz sitting in the driver’s seat, her face white with fear, mouth and eyes stretched wide.
She’d seen him somehow and was signalling to him.
Damn her. Now he’d have to help.
And he had to move fast while there was an opening.
He unslung Ricky’s crossbow and started to run, faster and faster, with no real plan except to somehow get into that car. The strangers hadn’t seen him; they were too interested in the Lexus.
Closer. Closer. Closer still. He sped up.
At the last moment he let out a roar and fired the bow directly into the wall of bodies. A father went down. A fresh gap opened up. He raised the bow and used it like a club, battering his way through. Diseased faces turned towards him. Faces deformed by growths, by blisters and festering wounds, missing eyes and ears, noses, teeth.
In films this might all have happened in slow motion, clear and beautiful like a rehearsed dance. But this was real life and it all happened too fast. It was choppy and messy and confusing. Shadowman was in among the strangers. They swarmed around him in a blur, arms and hands with clawed fingers reached for him. He was in a hot, stinking world of open mouths, bulging eyes, yellow flesh. And then he recognized a dark blue business suit, a familiar face. It was Bluetooth, still with his earpiece in. He’d got hold of the spear and was pushing through the crowd.
So he was in charge here, was he?
Shadowman dodged him, hooked an elbow round his neck and hauled him backwards, throwing him into the scrum of bodies and bowling several over. Shadowman hurled the bow after him. It wasn’t any use to him in these cramped conditions.
He powered into the strangers nearest the car, shoving them out of the way. Now was his chance. The door was clear. There was Jaz peering out at him.
‘Open it!’ he yelled, but Jaz shook her head.
‘I can’t risk it. They’ll get in.’
Shadowman heard the clunk as she engaged the central locking.
‘Open the bloody door, you idiot.’
‘Pass me the keys through the window.’
Jaz waggled her fingers through the open crack at the top of the door.
‘Let me in!’
Jaz shook her head again.
Idiot.
Shadowman pressed the unlock symbol on the car key and before Jaz knew what was happening he tugged the door open. Unfortunately Jaz was holding tight to the handle on the other side and, as the door swung wide, it tugged her out of the car, spilling her on to the ground. There was a surge of strangers rushing to get at her.
She screamed.
Bluetooth was at their head. He lunged with the spear and the point went into Jaz’s shoulder, cutting off her scream with a gasp of agony. Shadowman tore his machete from its sheath and took a swing at Bluetooth, but a mother got in the way and the blade crashed into the front of her skull, spraying the car with blood and pus. Shadowman pushed her into Bluetooth, whose spear became entangled in the crush of bodies. Taking advantage of the clear space, Shadowman managed to scoop up Jaz. But he had to let go of his machete to do so. It clattered to the ground.
He threw Jaz into the car, a small teenager going with her. Shadowman hauled the teenager out and then, elbowing, headbutting and kicking all the way, he squeezed in after Jaz, half lying on top of her. He rolled on to his back and, using both feet at once, he repeatedly booted the faces of the strangers who were massing at the open door. And then he was aware of a movement from the back seat. Johnny wasn’t completely out of action; he was using the end of Jaz’s iron bar to jab at the grown-ups.
It was all Shadowman needed. He sat up, got hold of the door handle and pulled it. A mother had her hand in the way, however, and the door bounced off it. It took him two more slams before she removed her mangled fingers and he was able to close it properly. Then he squeezed the lock button on the key.
Thunk.
He was still on top of Jaz, who was whimpering and panting and bleeding into the seats. Shadowman slid off her on to the passenger seat, pushing her legs out of the way. He was covered in blood from head to foot, but couldn’t tell yet if any of it was his.
‘Well done, mate,’ said Johnny. ‘That was awesome.’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ Shadowman was trembling and felt like he might throw up again at any minute. The strangers had gone into a frenzy, hammering on the car with a noise like thunder. Shadowman tried to ignore them. They weren’t in the clear yet.
‘I assume Ricky was the driver?’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said Johnny.
‘Can either of you two drive?’
‘I’ve done a bit. But the way my leg is I don’t reckon I could use the pedals.’
‘What about Jaz?’
‘She’s had a bit of practice. Can she do it, though, like that?’
‘She’s gonna have to.’
32
Shadowman helped Jaz upright. She leant forward against the steering wheel for support. Her shoulder was soaked with blood. Shadowman pressed a hand to her wound, trying to stem the flow.
‘Can you drive?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Jaz was even paler than before. ‘It hurts like hell. I’m gonna die, aren’t I?’
‘We just need to get away from here.’
‘That spear was dirty, had zombie blood on it. That was like an injection of shit.’
‘Don’t think about that now,’ said Shadowman. ‘The main thing is to get moving.’
‘I don’t know if I can. I’m gonna pass out.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Jaz jumped as a grown-up whacked the windscreen with something hard and heavy. Cracks appeared.
Shadowman rammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine rumbled into life. Outside, Bluetooth was using the spear to try and smash a side window; another father was chopping into the bonnet with Shadowman’s machete.
‘Just drive,’ Shadowman shouted. ‘Go, go, go … ’
Jaz winced as she tried to put the car into gear. She couldn’t move her left arm, though. Shadowman checked the gears. It looked like an automatic. He pulled the lever to the drive position with his free hand. Jaz stamped on the accelerator and the Lexus lurched forward, bumping and jolting as it ploughed through the strangers. Johnny gave a cheer from the back.
‘So long, you mugs!’
The car sped down the road, swerving slightly from side to side as Jaz tried to steer with one hand. It banged and the bottom scraped horribly as they went too fast over a speed bump. The windscreen was so cracked and streaked with filth it was hard to see ahead.
‘Slow down,’ Shadowman croaked. Jaz said nothing. There were tears streaming down her face.
What a mess.
Jaz didn’t slow down; if anything she sped up. Johnny was giving directions from the back, but he wasn’t confident of the route, which was making Jaz more and more tense. Shadowman couldn’t risk getting his backpack off to reach for his A to Z. He didn’t want to take his hand away from Jaz’s puncture wound. The point of the spear looked like it had gone all the way through her shoulder. He was already slick with her blood. She was losing a lot of it. Only fear and adrenalin and a deep-rooted sense of survival were keeping her going.
Was it enough, though, to get them back to her camp?
They bounced and rattled round corners, Jaz only just managing to keep control of the big heavy car. It was clear that she was desperate to get home. They might have made it if they hadn’t spotted another group of strangers. About twelve of them, wandering down the road in three strung-out groups.
‘Jesus. Where are they all coming from?’ said Johnny.
‘Who cares?’ said Jaz. ‘But I know where they’re going.’
‘Leave it,’ said Shadowman. ‘All that matters now is getting back safely.’
‘They killed me,’ said Jaz. ‘The filthy bastards killed me.’
She stomped on the accelerator and the Lexus roared straight into the first knot of strangers. Shadowman realized he didn’t have his seat belt on. None of them did. There hadn’t been time. He braced himself with his free arm and there was a grating thump as they hit the first stranger, then another and another; bodies flew past the car and then the Lexus wa
Jaz cried out and wrenched the wheel round so that they swung back the other way, ploughing through the rest of the strangers. Now they were in danger of hitting a parked car on the other side of the road. Again Jaz hauled on the wheel, oversteering and causing the car to swerve back too sharply the other way. It was completely unstable now, driving on two wheels, and as Jaz tried to right it, it twisted round completely sideways, slamming into the last few strangers before at last tipping over. Shadowman’s head banged into the roof as they went into a roll.
He could still hear the noise, the thudding and crunching, the rattle of breaking glass, screams. He remembered the weird, unreal sensation of being upside down in a car, the world outside spinning round, as they went over and over and …
Now here he was.
How long had he been unconscious?
Long enough for it to get dark.
He must still be in the wrecked car. Lying in a cocoon of twisted metal. He was on top of a body. Was it Johnny? Jaz? One of the strangers?
At least he hadn’t been eaten. Had the Lexus miraculously wiped them all out? Or had they pulled the other kids free and were eating them before they moved on to him? Had they tried to pull him out and failed? After all, he was well and truly stuck here.