‘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 fucking plague. Such a big man, destroyed completely.
And now he wanted Vic.
Vic kicked out at Chaney, knocking aside one grasping hand. Chaney hooted. It was an absurd sound coming from him, a man Vic had only known for a matter of hours but who was already large in his memory, and he looked so pathetic trapped here. Vic dodged left, and realised there was no way he could make it down into the gap without Chaney grabbing him.
He heard the noises from above and knew that none of them could hope to survive down here. The zombies were coming through, and in moments they’d fall upon him, and then he would become one of them.
If only he had a gun, he would take that pain away from Lucy and Olivia.
Chaney jerked forward, then grew still. Something sharp and wet projected from his left eye.
Vic shone the torch into the narrow gap leading around the damper. He thought it might be the first time he had ever seen a crossbow for real.
‘Lucy.’
His wife was shaking, but her strength was clear to see. ‘Hurry,’ she said, and as she struggled back out of sight and the next body came down Vic followed her.
They worked their way quickly to the ground and went through the main duct into the plant room. There was no time to seal it from there: they could already hear the thuds of falling bodies. In the garage Holly was already revving the Hummer. Vic slammed the door and waved, and she reversed the big vehicle against the door, blocking it shut.
She pulled hard on the parking brake. They all heard it creak. So much depended on that.
Olivia ran to them, and Vic hugged Lucy and her as though he’d been away for ever. He heard children crying and talking, and one or two of them even laughed at something Vic couldn’t see. Their voices were music to his ears.
16
Now what? someone said. Jayne wasn’t sure who. There were new voices here, and she wasn’t sure she recognised them. Or perhaps her pain was distorting the voices of those who had saved her, and making them strangers.
Now we find a cure.
Or try, Marc said, and there was an emptiness in his tone that Jayne could hear clearly, even with sight taken from her. She wondered if she would ever see again. The churu was playing with her, and each game was a fresh agony.
She’s really immune, a new voice said, full of wonder. It had a strange accent that she could not place, which gave it a sense of distance.
Just like your Mannan.
‘Who’s Mannan?’ Jayne whispered. She recognised her own voice — even felt her jaw and mouth and tongue moving as she spoke — but the words came from a very long way off.
‘Jayne?’ Sean said. ‘You’re awake. Can you move? Can you open your eyes?’
‘Nnnn,’ she said, because she could do nothing. It had her in its grasp.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘A disease,’ Sean said. ‘Churu. It affects her joints and bones. She can usually massage it away, but-’
‘Does Mannan have the same disease?’ Marc asked.
‘No,’ said the stranger. ‘But this looks like chero-blight. My wife would have known for sure.’
An awkward silence. Jayne breathed deeply, felt hands on her that she knew were Sean’s. They gently massaged her shoulders and neck. She opened her eyes to find that, mercifully, her vision had cleared.