Coldbrook(32)

The woman jumped up at the passenger-side window, scratching at the glass rather than tugging at the handle. Jonah looked down into his lap, twisting his hands and remembering the time almost fifty years before when Wendy had slipped the ring onto his finger. Then he turned in his seat, held the gun in both hands and shot the woman through the window. She flipped back out of sight and he scooted over the seats, looking down to make sure he’d fired straight.

She slammed into the window again, glass starring and then tumbling into the cab in a hundred diamond shards.

Jonah kicked himself back, aimed again, and shot her in the face. This time she didn’t get up. He edged over and looked. She lay on the concrete floor, arms flung back, dead eyes staring at the ceiling, a neat hole in her forehead.

‘Good shot,’ Jonah said, and his immediate future was suddenly, awfully clear. There was the laptop, through which he could scout his path through the facility, remote-locking doors to secure certain sections. There was the gun in his hand, spare loaded magazines in his pocket. And there were the zombies.

He might be here for days, or weeks. He might be here for ever.

Turning in his seat and telling himself the thing at the driver’s window was no longer Sergey Vasilyev, Jonah lifted the gun once more.





5


‘Just what the f*ck have you freaky f*cks gone an’ done down there?’ Sheriff Scott Blanks asked. He was a big man, carrying a little extra weight but burly enough to get away with it. He was also quietly spoken, but Vic could feel the anger radiating from him. And fear. It was good that he was afraid; that was one less thing Vic had to do.

‘I’m just relaying what Professor Jones told me,’ Vic said.

‘And how come you’re not still down there?’

‘I was home with my family,’ Vic lied. ‘Got the call. He says that . . .’ He shook his head, because it still sounded too outlandish.

‘What, son?’ Blanks was maybe a couple of years older than Vic, but it still seemed entirely acceptable that he should call him ‘son’. That was the kind of man he was.

‘Sheriff, can we talk in private?’ They were in the police station reception area and three other people were listening to their conversation, two cops and a desk clerk.

‘We are in private,’ the sheriff said.

Okay, Vic thought. Olivia and Lucy are waiting, I need to be as quick as possible, and . . . And the only road leading away from Coldbrook came here. However damaged those infected were – whatever they had become – he thought it likely that they would follow the path of least resistance.

‘There’s been an accident. There’s an infection, and it makes people . . . mad. Murderous. Jonah Jones says that lots are dead down there, and some of the killers may have escaped.’

‘Killers?’

‘And they may be coming for Danton Rock. So be ready. And Jonah says to shoot them in the head to stop them.’ Vic winced against the mockery he expected, but Sheriff Blanks only raised his eyebrows.

‘The head?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘What we got here, zombies?’ the woman cop said, chuckling softly. She was short and squat, pretty face, and she’d once let Vic off a parking ticket. The other cop was smiling, but moving nervously from foot to foot. He must have been ten years younger than Vic, and the flicker of uncertainty lit his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ Vic said, taking a chance, because he really needed to get away. Silence descended for a few long seconds.

‘Just what the f*ck have you guys gone an’ done down there?’ Sheriff Blanks asked again.

‘I’ve heard talk about what they done,’ the young cop said. ‘Blasting holes into other places, that’s what. Letting stuff out. Just like in The Mist.’

‘There’s no mist,’ Vic said, unsure of what he meant.

‘Fiddling with stuff you shouldn’t?’ the woman said. Vic bet she wished she’d given him that ticket now. She’d laughed at the idea of zombies, but she knew there was something very wrong. She was that perceptive, at least. No one could look as shocked as Vic, nor act that edgy, without something being wrong.

‘You leavin’ town?’ the sheriff asked.

‘Yeah,’ Vic said, nodding. ‘Had a trip planned for a couple of days, and—’

‘Don’t bullshit me, son. You’re running.’

Vic did not reply, and silence descended again, broken only by the creak of the young male cop’s shoes as he shifted left, right, left.

‘Okay,’ the sheriff said eventually. ‘Okay.’ And Vic heard the decision in his voice. He listened, he heard, and now I can go.

‘Might only be one or two of them,’ Vic said.

‘We’ll need a statement,’ the woman cop said, and then the phone rang and she snatched it up. ‘Sheriff’s office.’ She was silent for a while, her eyes flicking from Blanks to Vic, back again. ‘Okay, keep the doors locked, get upstairs, we’ll be right there. Got a firearm? Okay. Okay.’ She hung up.

‘What?’ the sheriff asked.

‘Pete Crowther, the farmer. Says two men and a woman’re trying to break into his house. Says one of them’s had an arm torn off, and the woman looks like she’s bin run down.’ Her pretty face had paled, and she kept glancing at Vic as she talked. ‘Says they’re like animals, but quiet. ‘Part from the hootin’.’