Coldbrook

3

The nights, Jayne realised, were always going to be the worst. Tired, terrified, and vaguely hungover, Jayne stirred from a dream-filled sleep and took a couple of seconds to remember what had happened. She’d once enjoyed these brief moments before the stab of pain, these seconds of reconstruction, when her waking mind would bring together the disparate strands of her life and identity to remind her who she was.

Today it took her two whole heartbeats to remember that Tommy was dead.

‘They’re still out there,’ a man’s voice said.

Jayne kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, examining the ache in her head as a way of trying to bypass the heavy, hot pains in her limbs and hips. She pretended, in those few moments before reality smashed its way through, that this was her dream — this place, this time, with these diseased, dead people wandering the airport as they searched for anyone they had missed. And it might have worked for longer than a second if Sean had not persisted.

‘Jayne? You awake? You okay? I said they’re still there.’ His voice became muffled, and she knew he had turned again to one of the aircraft’s dulled, scratched windows. ‘Some have gone, I think. Or maybe they’re just waiting somewhere out of sight. But lots of them are just. . wandering. Like cattle.’

Jayne opened her eyes at last and grimaced at the familiar pain. Soon she would have to start massaging her limbs and joints, give herself the gift of movement.

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘Couple hours,’ Sean said.

‘What’s happened?’

He shrugged, his back still turned towards her. She could see the window misting and clearing as he breathed, and she wanted to tell him to get back. But it was dark inside the cabin, and outside there was flickering, dreadful light.

‘Terminal’s still burning. Hour ago, a big passenger jet overflew the airport, real low, then headed north. A few minutes after that an F16 went back and forth a few times.’

Jayne sat up slowly, wincing against the pain in her stiff limbs and joints. As she started massaging, the determination in Sean’s voice gave her a boost.

‘Did you speak to your daughter?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Did your friend call back?’ she asked.

‘Leigh? Yeah.’ Sean paused.

‘And?’

‘And he said he’d put a call in, and entered you on the immunity register. Help should be on its way.’

‘Should be?’

Sean turned around at last, retreating from the window, and for a moment Jayne saw the glimmer of distant fires reflected against his skin.

‘Shouldn’t we be calling the police, or something?’ she asked. ‘Or. . I don’t know, the army? Scientists?’

‘I’ve been thinking about this,’ Sean said, shaking his head, ‘and-’

From outside they heard the whoop of a police siren. Eyes wide, Sean glanced from Jayne to the window and back again.

‘Help?’ she asked.

‘Maybe. But we have to be careful.’ He was still nursing the gun in his hand, and she wondered whether he’d closed his eyes even for a moment while she had been asleep. She felt very selfish. She had rested, mourning a love she knew was dead, and all the while Sean had watched over her, not knowing what had happened to his daughter.

Jayne pushed herself upright and staggered across the aisle to the far seats. Sean grabbed her hand and eased her down, and they looked out of two adjoining windows. In the distance, past a series of boarding gates where several aircraft were parked, a blue light flashed three times. A siren whooped again, followed by three more flashes.

‘What are they doing?’ she asked.

‘Looking for survivors, maybe?’

‘Or looking for us?’

Below them, several shapes emerged from beneath the plane’s fuselage and headed across the wide span of concrete. One man walked quickly, almost with authority, but the splash of dried blood down the back of his white shirt was stark and black. The others followed at a slower pace, a couple of them hindered by the wounds that had changed them.

‘Hiding beneath us,’ Jayne said.

‘Sneaky bastards.’

‘Sneaky? You think they can sneak?’

Sean gave her a sidelong look and shrugged.

‘We should signal them,’ she said. ‘But we should warn-’

‘I doubt they need warning.’ He tensed for a moment, thinking. He chuckled. ‘Wish I could drive this thing.’

‘Wish I could fly this thing.’

Sean nodded, still distracted. ‘Cabin lights,’ he said at last.

‘I’m sure there’s a master switch, but where?’

‘Maybe it doesn’t matter.’ Sean reached for the overhead control panels, pushed buttons, and the weak reading lights flicked on.

‘Might as well light a match,’ Jayne said, watching from the window. She could make out two vehicles, one a police car and the other a larger truck. In the flickering light of the burning concourse, they looked white.

Sean walked back and forth along the cabin, flicking on the lights.

Something exploded in the blazing terminal, sending a column of fire and rolling black smoke skyward. Gouts of flame arced comet-like from the blast, and as they rained down they too started exploding in brief, incredibly bright bursts.

‘Gas canisters,’ Jayne said. ‘The cop car’s moving back.’ She heard Sean’s footsteps as he raced to switch on more lights and suddenly she felt incredibly exposed here in this contained space. The glare of the explosions and the subdued lighting behind her combined to blur her vision, and outside there could be any number of grim faces turning her way. They’ll see us now, she thought. Whether or not those cops are here for us — whether or not they see us — the zombies will know we’re here. This might have been their one safe place, but now it was compromised.

‘I think we have to get out,’ she said when Sean crouched by her side.

‘Come on, come on,’ he said, willing the cops to see them.

The two vehicles were reversing away from the burning terminal and away from them, moving slowly but obviously under control. There was a flash from the truck’s passenger window that might have been a gunshot. And then the police cruiser stopped.

‘Come on,’ Sean said again. The cruiser’s blue lights flashed a few times, and he reached up and flicked two reading lights off and on.

‘They won’t see that,’ Jayne said, but then she grinned. They had seen it, because they’d been watching for it. And now they were powering across the airport, skirting around the burning main building, and as the police car veered around a staggering figure she closed her eyes just before the truck ran it down.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she breathed, and Sean squeezed her hand.

‘Come on. Back door on the starboard side.’

‘I’m scared,’ she said, thinking of a car journey through what was happening out there. Here they had drunk wine and talked, and she had slept. Out there, carnage and chaos ruled.

‘We could never have stayed here for long,’ Sean said. He looked older than he had before, his eyes heavier and darker because of his fear for his daughter. France? he’d said, amazed, and Jayne still could not believe that the infection had travelled so far so quickly.

‘I know.’ She nodded, and started rubbing her shoulders with both hands.

‘I’ll open the door.’ He walked slowly, glancing back as she followed. Jayne felt protected, but she also knew that she was providing Sean with a distraction, and a cause.

The blast of warm air when Sean opened the door was shocking. He stood back slightly, gun raised, then edged forward slowly.

‘They there?’ Jayne asked. She had to raise her voice against the roaring fires, and she realised how close they were. And the fact that they were in an aircraft that probably contained tens of thousands of gallons of fuel hit home.

Sean waved her over with one hand, then shoved the gun in his belt and held out his other hand palm out.

Jayne joined him at the door, wincing against the incredible wave of heat radiating from the conflagration. It stretched her skin and dried her eyes, and when she gasped her lungs burned.

The police cruiser was parked thirty feet away. The truck stopped thirty feet behind that, its bodywork, scratched and bumped. There was a swathe of dried blood across one wing and up the door. Its windows were darkened, and she felt someone — something — staring at her.

The cruiser was similarly battered, and the driver’s window had been smashed. Even before the door opened she saw the size of the man in there, and as he got out of the car and looked up at them, Jayne felt an unaccountable rush of optimism. The cop must have been six and a half feet tall. With someone like him coming for her. .

She closed her eyes and sighed, wondering how she could be so foolish. Maybe because she had always needed someone to help her look after herself. Was that a weakness? She hoped not.

‘You the girl got bit?’ the big man shouted up at them. He disregarded Sean and stared right at her.

Jayne raised her arm and pulled up her sleeve, displaying the bandage.

The man leaned back into the cruiser and grabbed a shotgun. He held it casually, as if he was used to it. He was sweating visibly through his uniform.

‘Who’re you?’ Sean asked.

‘Sergeant Waits, Baltimore PD. You?’

‘Sean Nott. I’m a sky marshal.’

‘Right.’ Waits glanced around every few seconds.

‘There are lots of them round,’ Sean went on, ‘so be careful.’

‘Careful. Right.’ Waits looked back at the blacked-out truck behind them, and Jayne wondered what might be inside.

‘Did Leigh call you?’ Sean asked.

‘Leigh?’ The big man shifted the shotgun to the other hand, moving forward and leaning against the truck’s damaged hood. The blood did not seem to concern him.

‘About us.’ Sean touched Jayne’s shoulder, and she could feel his hand shaking. ‘About Jayne.’

‘Don’t know no Leigh. Just know a girl’s got bit, hasn’t turned. Been plenty of claims on the register, but none confirmed so far.’

‘Where will you take us?’ Jayne asked.

‘Back to the station.’ Waits looked around again, and gave a vague signal to the truck. ‘From there, don’t know yet. How long you been up there?’

‘Several hours,’ Sean said.

‘It’s fucked as hell out here,’ Waits said. ‘We been through some stuff. But the station’s tight, and it’ll be a damn sight safer than-’

They all heard the sound at the same time — the thumping of feet against metal. Jayne knew instantly what it was, and even as Sean gasped and Waits turned she shouted, ‘Bus!’

The vehicle was between the fire and the aircraft, where it had stood silent and unthreatening since they had closed the aircraft doors. Now she could see movement inside, silhouetted against the flames.

A man appeared on the bottom step wearing a bus driver’s hat, and when he stepped forward it was like releasing a stopper from a bottle. They flowed out behind him, rushing towards the police vehicles as fast as their various injuries would allow. For many of them, their wounds did not slow them at all.

Waits rested his elbows on the cruiser’s roof, aimed the shotgun, and fired. The resulting mayhem was so sudden that Jayne did not even see if anyone fell, and then Sean was grabbing her arm and pulling her inside the aircraft, reaching for the door handle and tugging it closed.

Something struck the aircraft with a loud, hollow thunk! and she realised that the shooting had begun in earnest.

‘The window!’ Sean said, pulling the door closed and engaging the locking lever.

‘Window?’

‘We might need to move fast, so we have to know what’s happening.’

Jayne tried to move quickly, but her joints screamed and the churu threw grit into her eyes, clouding her vision and disturbing her balance. She staggered along the aisle and fell sideways across a row of seats. She could hear gunfire outside, the pop pop of individual shots and a heavier, more sustained burst of machine-gun fire. She bit her lip and her vision cleared, and she felt a terrible, unreasonable shame at being such a burden.

‘It’s okay,’ Sean said softly. He was beside her on the seat, helping her upright and then leaning across her to look outside.

‘I don’t believe this,’ Jayne said. Tears burned in her eyes.

‘It’s not over yet,’ Sean said. But she could tell that the words belied his belief. So she pushed him away, and leaned forward to see from the window herself.

And it was all over, because Waits was already down and smothered with raging, thrashing people, and the cruiser’s other door was open and a uniformed woman was being dragged out, and she was shooting people in the head — three, four — before a young boy bit into her arm and she dropped the gun. And as automatic gunfire raked the cruiser from the truck’s lowered windows the monsters turned that way, rushing forward and being cut down, walking across those who fell to press themselves against the truck’s side, forcing those inside to withdraw their weapons and close the windows. The zombies — there must have been fifty by then, perhaps more, and others were rushing from all directions to join in — swarmed around and over the truck, punching and stamping and head-butting until windows smashed and gunfire erupted again.

As Jayne saw Waits standing, different from how he had been before, she pulled back from the window.

‘He saw me,’ she gasped.

The gunfire ceased. Someone screamed, the sound distant and muffled.

‘They can’t get in,’ Sean said. He was passing the gun from one hand to the other, as if he was trying to find a way to hold it without his nervous sweat making it slick.

‘But he knows we’re here,’ Jayne said.

Sean blinked at her and shrugged. But there was nothing he could say.

From outside there came that familiar, terrible call. Jayne looked again. They stood motionless now, following Waits’s stare, and before she pulled away from the window again Jayne was aware of every single one of them looking up at her. And she knew that they would wait.