Coldbrook(133)

Vic knew that every moment counted. So he grabbed the ladder and started down. Hitch came after him, and for a few seconds Vic heard Chaney grunting and cursing. The weak daylight from above flickered. Vic looked up as he climbed down, and past Hitch he could see Chaney struggling on the small platform.

‘Chaney!’

‘Coming.’

‘Now.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ More shots, and the light seemed weaker now. Killing them as they come in, Vic thought.

A child cried out and Vic looked down. He’d trodden on a kid’s fingers. ‘Go on. Quick!’ Three children huddled on the damper blocking the duct, one of them clasping an electric torch, waiting for their turn to worm through to the next part.

‘Shit!’ Chaney shouted above them. ‘Shit!’ The gun fired twice more before it ran out of ammunition. ‘Okay, coming down, better get your asses in gear.’

‘Move!’ Vic said to the kids. He jumped down next to them, trying to stand on the struts across the damper. If he put his foot through it he’d be trapped.

Two kids climbed through, and as the third went Vic grabbed the torch from his hand. He was barely eight years old. ‘Candy and ice cream?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, buddy.’

The boy nodded and climbed down, guided by someone from below.

Hitch reached the opening and twisted through. Chaney was descending. And then the duct grew lighter again, and Vic knew what was happening without even looking.

‘Chaney, hug the ladder!’ he shouted, pressing himself against the duct. Chaney grunted, and three bodies crashed down behind Vic, thumping against his legs. He turned quickly, but they were motionless, their heads ruined.

‘Hoped that’d hold them longer,’ Chaney said, looking up.

Sounds came from above, and Vic looked up past Chaney to see another shape launch itself into the duct. It struck the sides and started spinning, and it hit the fallen bodies head first. It slumped against the duct, then started thrashing.

Vic brought the torch’s heavy end down on the zombie’s head, again and again. Each time he struck it jerked and hooted, and he was terrified he’d get its stuff on him, brains or blood or spit, that would work its way into scratches on his hands or arms.

‘Feet,’ Chaney said. Vic stood and stamped down. It was keening softly, a high-pitched noise that seemed to fill the duct, and when the skull broke it rose into a cry.

‘Dude, that’s not a person,’ Chaney said, dropping down beside him.

‘Yeah.’

‘Go. Torch.’ The big man snatched the torch from Vic and pushed him towards the opening.

Vic dropped onto his hands and knees and backed through, swinging his legs until he felt someone beneath the damper grab his feet and guide him down. He was at eye level with the corpses, and the one he’d crushed looked at him wetly. It was a man, and he’d loved and been loved, kissed with those bloodstained lips, dreamed with that glistening, pulped brain.

‘Chaney, come on!’ Vic shouted, but then he saw the truth. Chaney could not come. And he knew it.

Three more zombies dropped from the platform. One landed on Chaney and pushed him down, and the big biker lashed out with the torch, catching it across the chin and shoving it against the wall.

‘You stay to watch and I’ll bite you myself!’ he roared, and Vic knew that the only way to help Chaney was to go.

He slipped down into the next section of duct and clung on to the ladder. Hitch was lower down, looking up at the opening with his eyebrows raised. Vic shook his head.

‘Fuck,’ Hitch said. ‘I’ve never seen that man lose a fight.’

‘He hasn’t lost,’ Vic said. ‘He’s winning. Move it.’

They slid down the section of ladder, the duct lit by a torch shone from below. Another biker was standing on the next damper, lighting their way.

‘Chaney?’ he asked when they reached the damper.

‘If he’d survived he’d be—’ Vic began, and then the biker’s face broke into a grin. Forty feet above them, a pair of legs clad in stained, torn jeans worked their way through the gap. The legs kicked as the big man struggled, then one of his feet found the ladder.

‘Told you he’s never lost,’ Hitch said.

‘We should go,’ Vic said.

‘But Chaney,’ Hitch said.

Vic looked at him, then at the other biker. ‘You know we should go.’

‘It’s okay,’ the guy said. ‘He’s—’

Chaney was through. Clinging to the ladder. Blood spattered Vic’s face as he looked up, and he jerked back against the wall, spitting.

‘Go!’ Vic shouted, shoving Hitch at the gap. Hitch fell to his knees and went through, and the other biker followed, handing Vic his torch. I should have gone first, Vic thought, shining the light up.

‘Chaney?’

The man did not look down. He clung to the ladder, and his blood speckled the duct’s wall.

‘Chaney?’ Vic asked again. He looked at the narrow gap he had to go through, saw the Unblessed disappearing out of sight . . . and then something made him look up once more. A sense of silent motion, a feeling of change.

Chaney filled his field of vision and Vic jumped back, striking the duct wall so hard that he saw stars. The man landed hard and his feet punched through the damper, trapping him there, buried to his knees. He leaned forward – and Chaney was gone, scoured away by this f*cking plague. Such a big man, destroyed completely.