Ralph looked at Frank, a final exchanged glance.
The infected thing let out a scream, reached out and snagged the back of Ralph’s jacket.
Ralph cried out.
The back of the infected thing’s head exploded.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Another infected went down. A bullet whirred past Frank’s head, into the chasing pack. He turned.
There were two men standing on the road, five yards back, one with a rifle and the other with a shotgun.
The man with the rifle shouted, “Get down!”
Frank dragged Florence down with him. Ralph and Joel hit the road on their stomachs.
The two men opened fire. Frank hugged Florence, burying her face in his chest. The world around him became an explosion. He screamed and Florence screamed with him.
Frank screamed until his throat was raw.
Then there was silence. Frank raised his head. The smell of blood and smoke hung in the air.
The two men reloaded their weapons. The infected were littered all over the road, many of them still twitching. The road was red and mushy. Arms and legs lay at broken angles, twisted and smashed, ripped from bodies. Pulped remains. One of them, a woman with most of her face obliterated by buckshot, reached out to Frank as he rose. He stepped away from the infected woman. Her hand grasped at the air, her muffled grunts desperate and gasping. She opened her mouth and a dark green fluid slipped onto her chin.
He was glad he didn’t recognise her.
The woman slumped upon the road. Her bleeding wounds lessened their flow as her heart finally stopped. Her eyes remained fixed on Frank.
Ralph and Joel got to their feet. They looked at the bodies on the road, struck with awe.
The men with the guns raised their gas masks.
The man with the rifle was old and limping. He was in his late sixties with a face like pale, creased leather and a grey beard. He was short and narrow. The other man was younger and red-bearded, with large eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered. They reloaded their weapons.
The men stopped five yards from Frank. They eyed him warily.
The old man grinned. “Frank Hooper. I thought you were dead.”
Frank nodded. “I thought you were too, Roland.”
They walked to the edge of the village, where the houses gave way to fields. The distant cries of infected drifted through the air. The day was darkening, becoming colder. Frank was hungry and exhausted.
Roland Pratt was friends with Frank’s parents. “Here we are. Mary should be waiting for us. We don’t want to be outside when it gets dark.”
The other man was Henry Pratt, Roland’s nephew.
Roland knocked on the front door and waited. The lock clicked and the door opened. Mary Pratt greeted them with a nervous smile. She was a short, plump woman wearing a long dress and a stained, white apron. Her grey hair had been tied into a bun. Roland gave her a quick hug and entered the house. Frank and the others followed him. Henry locked the door, threw the bolt.
They were in a hallway. The only light was from candles flickering by the walls. The house smelled of old shoes and sweat. Frank had been here before when he was a teenager and had come here with his father. It suddenly felt strange that he hadn’t visited the house since then.
“I thought I heard gunshots,” Mary said. “I was worried.”
Roland kissed her on the cheek. “No need to worry, dear. We encountered some of the corrupted ones. We made short work of them.”
“Good,” she said, smiling. “That’s good.”
“Mary, you remember Frank Hooper, don’t you? John and Lucy’s son.”
“Yes, I do. I hope John and Lucy are safe in France,” she said. “And Ralph Barrow and Joel Gosling. I remember all of you lads!” She looked at Florence. “And who’s this pretty thing?”
Florence eyed her warily.
“Ah, shy, is she? Never mind. All little girls are shy.”
“Hello, Mary,” Frank said.
Ralph and Joel greeted her, too, offering polite smiles and nods.
Roland smiled. “We found them near Piece Lane, being chased by the demons. A whole pack of the bastards.”
“Roland and Henry saved us,” said Frank. “We were very lucky.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Roland.
“You’re all safe now,” said Mary. “Safe and sound.” She held her hands together and smiled. “Now, who wants tea and cake?”
Victoria sponge, buttered scones, and tea weakened with powdered milk. Frank stifled a burp and relaxed into the armchair. He was drowsy from the rich food. He was ready to burst. His stomach had shrunk.
Florence was eating her third scone. Crumbs stuck to the edges of her mouth. She was sitting on the floor next to Frank. Ralph and Joel were slumped on the sofa. Joel was rubbing his stomach with one hand, holding a mug of tea with the other. Ralph was devouring a fourth slice of cake. He was on his second cup of tea.
It was a brief, glorious respite. Frank savoured it.
Candlelight painted the living room. The curtains were closed over the wooden planks nailed over the windows. Roland and Mary were on the other side of the room, sipping from their own mugs of tea. Henry was leaning against the doorway, still holding his shotgun, staring at the floor.
Before Mary had served the food and drink, Frank had recounted their journey to their hosts, finishing with the loss of Magnus.
Mary, Roland, and Henry had listened in silence.
“Do you know what happened to my wife?” Frank asked.
“And Anya, my fiancée,” said Joel. “She’s missing.”
Roland looked at Mary, then at the floor. A shadow passed over his face. “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”
“Gone where?” asked Joel.
“Gone away,” replied Mary. “All gone away.”
“They were evacuated,” said Roland.
It felt like worms were making a home in Frank’s guts. “Evacuated?”
Mary said, “People turned into monsters. The demons roamed the streets, made it their playground. We stayed here while people died. After two days we went outside. Many of the demons were gone, and there were other survivors. Catherine and Anya were among them.”
Frank wanted to smile but couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew she was safe.
“Then the army arrived,” said Roland. “They took most of the survivors away.”
“Where did they take them?” asked Joel.
“There’s a camp on the coast, apparently. Near Sidmouth. Apparently they’re evacuating people from Britain.”
“Why didn’t you go? Frank asked.
Mary held Roland’s hand. “We wanted to stay here, so we hid. This is our home. We’ll never leave.”
“We’re safe here,” said Roland. “We’ve got enough supplies for a long time. We don’t need electricity. We’ve got the stove to cook with. We’ve always been self-sufficient. We’re safer here than in some filthy camp, and we’ve got guns, just as importantly. We’d rather die in our home with our own ground under our feet.”
“I can empathise with that,” said Ralph.
Frank and Joel exchanged a look. Joel’s eyes were wide, wet and glassy. But the relief was evident on his face and the stiffness had drained from his body. Frank felt like collapsing into a fit of hysterical laughter. He wanted to hug and squeeze Florence and tell her that she would see her adoptive mother very soon, and they would be a family together. And then things would get better. He wanted to believe that.
“It’s the Devil,” said Roland.
Frank looked at the old man.
Mary nodded her head, pursing her mouth.
“All of this,” said Roland. “It’s the Devil’s work.”
Ralph snorted.
“Don’t be so cynical,” said Mary. “The Devil’s come up to see us, and he’s spreading his evil, making people become demons. Making them kill and spread the evil to others.”