Road to London: City of the Dead

XI – August 1st

Conrad was both blinded and deafened by the blast. Completely disorientated he stumbled out of the arms of Will’s goons and onto the warm tarmac. Unable to move for the ringing in his ears he simply rolled on the floor like a dog being punished by its whistle. His head was filled with white and all he could do was lie there immobile. Though only seconds, it seemed like minutes before he was capable of forming anything that resembled thought in his mind.

The rage was still there. Though suppressed for a moment it returned now in full force. He focused his whole being on that image of plunging his knife into Will’s neck before he to recovered from the shock of whatever had just happened and before they found Katrina. Katrina. Though it had been months since they’d split up he still had indescribably strong feelings for her. The need to protect her was the only thing in the whole world that could release Conrad’s dark side. A side not bound by the morals of a good Christian upbringing and the ethical laws set down by his mother and father.

He was already groping for his second knife, another Swiss Army knife that he’d picked up in Cardiff a couple of weeks ago, when he noticed that his nemesis’’ pistol was still firmly in his mouth. Will must have kept it there while the two of them recoiled from the explosion. Without thinking or opening his eyes Conrad slashed at the arm that held it there, surprised by the lack of resistance the blade met. No resistance, for there was no arm. Had the Londoner dropped his weapon and it was in fact Conrad himself who’d kept it locked in his teeth?

Snapping open his eyes the mystery was instantly solved. There was indeed a hand and a forearm attached to the revolver, but only a hand and a forearm. The reddened stump was smoking and raw, cauterised instantly by the bang. Will’s chocolate brown fingers were still tightly coiled around the trigger, ready to fire. Flinching with disgust and fear Conrad pulled the thing out of his mouth and tossed it aside. The combined weight of the weapon and the arm was more than he had expected so the appendage now lay only a few feet from him.

He crawled away from the disfigured limb and then stumbled to his feet. He searched the area around the car with his eyes, hunting for the boy who would soon die at his hand. His search was futile however and a confused Conrad turned to see one of the thugs who had detained him swinging a small iron hammer towards his head. Conrad ducked instinctively, the hammer whirling just above his forehead.

This new assailant was obviously stunned as much as he was, for his attacks were sluggish and inaccurate as he took another two swings. As a fourth, mistimed attempts saw the boy lose his balance, Conrad saw his chance as stuck his knife into the boy’s stomach. It was only after he pulled out the blade that he realised what he’d done. For the first time in his life he had used a lethal weapon on another human being.

This boy wasn’t a Dead. Though they seemed to react to pain in a normal way, there was nothing human about the way the Dead wailed as they were being cut down. Not like this. The teenager he had just stabbed sank to his knees, whining with his hands clutched over his wound that seeped blood through his clothes. Conrad backed away, aghast. Though

Nathan and the others had resolved to do anything and everything necessary in order to protect themselves and their friends, he had taken silent vows to never kill a person. Now the tortured wretch in front of him was in danger of shattering his promise before his eyes.

He tore his eyes away, looking instead to Israel, who was repeatedly smashing a boy’s face into the roof of the car, not caring whether he was unconscious or dead. Red was pouring through the cracks and holes in the hockey mask that thankfully obscured his ruined features. After several blows more than was necessary, Israel flung open the Land Rover door. After letting his victim drop so that his head was rested on the edge of the back seat, Israel slammed the door as hard as he could. From here Conrad couldn’t see what damage had been done but he heard a sickening crack.

As more of the group won their individual struggles, they became less outnumbered and more filled with bloodlust. They were clearly better fighters than the footballers and were generally better armed, Hiya-kō’s katana and Nathan’s khukuri making short work of the sports and D.I.Y equipment in the West Ham players’ hands. Conrad watched on as Hiya-kō put her blade through a small lad’s throat and then used her bare hands to break the neck of someone who was trying to grab Latiwa from behind.

It was horrific to watch his friends using the skills they’d learned fighting the Dead to dispatch real people. His rage was dispersing rapidly and now he shook with fear at what he and his allies were doing with ease. His thoughts returned to Katrina. He frantically swept his surroundings for any sign of the beautiful blonde girl. She must still be in the car. Throwing aside Israel’s mangled prey he tore the blanket away from the foot well and to his relief found her cowering. She was a miserable sight, tears streaming from her eyes and a shotgun clasped tight to her chest.

It took Conrad a second to put two and two together, to realise that here was the source of the blast that had toppled him and dismembered Will. Putting this to the back of his mind he embraced her. Though perfectly aware that the carnage was still ensuing and he was vulnerable to an attack from behind here he didn’t move, choosing instead to pull Kat to him as if he was never going to let her go again. He hauled her clear of the back seat and propped her up against the car. She was hyperventilating but still hadn’t let go of the gun.

By now the group had dealt with any immediate threat, with any survivors either fleeing for their lives or crying on the floor, mortally injured. This time, everyone was exhausted, especially Nathan. No one here was used to fighting human beings for their lives and the experienced had rendered the group completely shattered.

A few nods were exchanged between Nathan, Israel and Hiya-kō. They dragged the wounded enemy to the side of the road then stood behind them with weapons raised, fully prepared to carry out execution if their leader so wished it. When Conrad saw this he went mad with panic. “What are you doing!?” he shouted, flailing his blood stained arms in the air. His dirty blonde hair was sodden with sweat and clung to his glistening forehead.
“Are we gonna kill em’ boss?” asked Israel. His tone was cocky yet completely serious. He was holding a boy up by his collar whose foot was missing courtesy of Nathan. The cruel, black iron chain wrapped around his neck.
“Of... of course not! Let them go! Now!”

The three did as they were told, if not slightly begrudgingly. The captives who could run did so and those who could not lay on the floor in silence, waiting for unconsciousness to wash over them, “What the heck have we done!?”
“We did what we had to do,” piped up James, “It was self defence.”
“It was damn murder!” Conrad announced, red in the face and distraught by what he had just done and witnessed. “We just killed people! Does nobody else get that!?” There was silence. Everybody else did get it but none of them wanted to admit it. Not even Svet.

Katrina was the only other person who seemed overly upset. Before today she had barely hurt a fly. Of course there had been times where she’d had to give a Dead an occasional stab but she was the most opposed to violence of anyone else in the group. Not only that but she’d fired the gun first, initiated the bloodbath. Conrad, James and Israel had practised loading and reloading with the shotguns while they were staying at the Bettle House but Katrina had been the first person to actually fire one.

It was now and only now that Conrad noticed Will. He’d completely overlooked him before because the body was utterly unrecognisable. Not only was there no arm but there was no head or upper torso to speak of. Just a mess. Katrina had demonstrated the awesome and terrible power of the firearms. The level of gore was horrific. As the others noticed the remains James and Latiwa had to turn away to be sick.

Conrad noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Something had risen out of the long grass on the roadside and was fleeing hastily. It was a person, the same person who had stolen the fuel from the Land Rover’s tank while he was in captivity. Across his shoulders he held a bar resembling the kind used to bench-press weights in a gym. Instead of weights however, there were two large paint cans hanging from the ends of the pole.

For a few seconds the group watched him run. Israel looked ahead to where he was running to. There was a large coach stretched across the length of the road that Conrad hadn’t really taken any notice of. “Oh no way,” Israel stated, there was a look of annoyed disbelief in his eyes, as if a dog had taken a shit right on his shoe. “No fuckin’ way is he nicking our juice!”

Conrad watched bemused as Israel scoured the floor for something. His eyes lit up when he spotted Will’s severed arm by Conrad’s foot. He walked over and to everyone’s disgust prized the fingers one by one off of the pistol. When he computed what was going on Conrad began to protest. “No man, no more killing. Not today.” He desperately wanted Israel to put the gun down but made no effort to physically stop him.

Israel levelled the handgun and looked down the sights towards his target. The culprit was at least fifty metres away by now and was had nearly reached the safety of the bus. With no formal training with firearms of any kind Conrad knew that the chances of Israel hitting the boy were astronomically small. However he also knew that in Israel’s hands the weapon would have no choice but to deliver pain and death.

The bullet missed the boy, as Conrad had expected, but by sheer fluke struck one of the cans of petrol that he was carrying. Without warning the whole area around the boy erupted into bright orange flames. As loud as the roaring of the blaze was it couldn’t drown out the shrieks of agony. As the initial wave receded the boy was left engulfed in a fire that was consuming him slowly and mercilessly. The heat wasn’t enough to kill the man but was enough to have him screaming for his life. Screaming for help. Nathan shivered as the skin on his still healing face tingled.
“Fuckin’ hell...” even Israel was taken aback by the show. He’d never expected something this spectacularly savage to happen.
“You stupid arsehole!” shouted Latiwa angrily, “That was all our damn fuel!” They watched for a while, no one certain exactly what to do until Israel came out with;
“Should I kill him?”

Conrad said nothing, which Israel took as a “yes”. He preceded to pick up a pitching wedge from the road and began jogging steadily towards the squirming inferno that had by now been brought to its knees. He carried the golf club over one shoulder and as he approached, slowed to a gentle stroll. When he reached the writhing mass he took the wedge in both hands, took aim as if he were teeing off at the last hole of a prestigious course. Then he struck the boy across the face. The body went limp instantly and fell slowly to the floor but Israel took no chances. He had a good four more swings before he was finished.

The others watched this with contempt but not disapproval. The ‘Its them or us’ mentality still firm in everyone’s minds. When it was done Israel walked back to the group, leaving the bent and bloodied club behind him. The killing was over. Without waiting for Israel to return, Conrad clapped his hands once as had become the signal for the rest of the group to listen to his instruction. He thought hard before speaking, doing his best to push the blood to the back of his mind.

“We’re walking.” As obvious as this was to the rest of the group who had just borne witness to Israel’s Stirling use of the last of the fuel, this comment was still hard hitting. Though it was true that they’d never been able to drive for more than a couple of hours without stopping, mostly out of pure caution, the car had provided them with a connection to the old world. The world where you could cruise down the motorway and listen to BBC Radio One and not have to worry about bastards with machetes pulling you over and trying to rape you.

“I’m not risking that happening ever again. Even though we’ve stuck to staying off the major roads it’s pretty darn obvious that all cars get us is the wrong kind of attention. If we were on foot back there we’d have seen that roadblock a long time before it was too late. As it happened we got ourselves in a whole heap of trouble!” Conrad was busied all over and his lip was busted badly. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and rubbed the spot where he’d taken the baton to the face earlier.

He looked up at the sun, that giant ball of light which sustained this whole world. Now so different to the object of his childhood, so quite literally different. It was still unnerving to witness such a dramatic change in its colour. A sign of how far to shit this world had gone.

“If we’re still going to London then we’re going South first. With the sea on one side it’ll be a lot safer than all these damn hills and woods. Once we get to the coast we can pick up another car. Until then we walk.”