Coldbrook (Hammer)(64)

‘Don’t you?’

Vic shrugged.

‘Just because people are using the word zombie,’ Marc said, ‘don’t go getting all spooked on me. I’ve spoken with Jonah, and he’s seen them first-hand. Killed a few of them himself. The body shuts down. The infection takes over their brain. And once we work out what the infection is, we might have a chance at a cure. Or an inoculation, at least.’

‘Body shuts down. Dead.’

‘Well . . .’ Marc said, and Vic saw the first glimmer of doubt.

‘So you produce an inoculation – what about those who are already infected?’

Marc raised his eyebrows. ‘Not our priority, sad to say.’

Vic rested his head back against the sofa, changing the subject. ‘So who does the chopper on the roof belong to?’

‘A friend of mine.’

‘You’re shitting me.’

‘No, really,’ Marc said. ‘I do have friends.’

‘I should tell Jonah I’m here,’ Vic said. ‘Update him. See what he’s doing down there. He said he was alone, the only survivor.’ And I worry for him, Vic wanted to say. But after everything he’d done, that sounded so trite.

‘Jonah’s a hard motherf*cker,’ Marc said. ‘His father worked in a coal mine, he ever tell you that? Fifty-two years. And every day of Jonah’s childhood, his father said he was working down there so Jonah didn’t have to do the same thing. His sense of worth comes from that, and his honour, and a lot of his attitude. Then when poor Wendy died . . .’ Marc shook his head and poured more bourbon. ‘Something on your mind?’ he asked.

Vic frowned and looked around the room, trying to grab hold of the thought that had been circling his consciousness for the last half an hour. Marc’s perception was sharp and, though they hadn’t exactly hit it off, it felt good to be around someone he couldn’t hide anything from. It meant that Marc was in control.

‘Something’s bugging me,’ Vic said, closing his eyes and rubbing them.

‘Your trip up here? Radio reports? Something you saw on the way?’

‘Jesus!’ Vic said. He closed his eyes and had it. So obvious! ‘They were completely still.’

‘Huh?’

Vic jumped up and pointed to the computer. ‘Those images, that military site. Bring them up again.’

‘You saw something I didn’t?’ Marc said. But he tapped at the computer and brought up the site, and Vic reached past him and clicked on a film clip taken from a low-flying helicopter. They both watched for a couple of minutes, neither of them commenting, and Vic was starting to think he’d been imagining things. Then he saw it.

He leaned across Marc and hit pause.

‘Here,’ he said, pointing at one of the zombies in the crowd of afflicted people. ‘A woman. She’s lost an arm and has abdominal wounds. Run over, maybe. But while all the others are running and doing whatever they can to reach . . .’ He pointed below the screen, where a crashed camper van was out of shot. ‘She’s doing something different.’

He hit play again. The woman stood motionless. The only movement was her head, turning left and right as a dozen other zombies raged past her, running as fast as their injuries would allow towards the camper. Some of them fell as the occupants of the crashed vehicle fired, then she too crumpled.

‘Didn’t see a bullet hit her,’ Marc said.

‘That’s because she wasn’t shot. She was watching, that’s all. Observing.’

‘Why?’ Marc asked.

‘Don’t know. Pacifist zombie?’

‘Call Jonah,’ Marc said. ‘Tell him. I’ll patch in on my phone.’

As Vic dialled he thought, This has only just begun.





6


Jonah shut and locked the door, though he knew it would do no good. He had been visited before – the dream on the day they made breach, and afterwards. Doors were no barrier.

Bill Coldbrook had killed himself without explanation. Jonah remembered finding the old man hours after it had happened, walking into his room and seeing the stillness that seemed so unreal, and the expression of peace on his face and . . . escape? Perhaps that’s what it had been. There had been no note, but the old man’s dying expression had said it all.

Not just me, Jonah thought, and the idea was terrible. That bastard has been here before.