Lane turned and ran. The Ella…thing couldn’t move very fast, thank God, on account of her guts hanging out and tripping her up every few steps. Lane felt like she was in some kind of nightmare, although now she was positive it wasn’t one she was going to wake up from.
She bolted out of the B and B and took off up the road like Usain Bolt. She’d already caved one head in this morning and didn’t think she had the stomach to cave in another. Plus, who knew what the fuck was going on in this town. She might need to break another head with this vase before the day was over.
And how in the hell could Ella even be breathing, let alone moving? It didn’t make any sense. She’d been mauled. And what about Joanne? Yesterday she’d been on death’s door, and now she was eviscerating people with her teeth? And how could her head just pop like that?
Lane stopped running when she got to Commercial Street. She looked around, half expecting a mob of B and B owners to come shuffling up the road, tripping over their intestines as they went. But the place was empty. Too empty, but what did Lane know about Provincetown? Maybe no one got up before midday. All the same, it was strange. She checked her watch. Almost ten. Shouldn’t shops be open or at least be getting ready to?
Well, she didn’t have time to ponder that. She needed to get to a phone, fast. She’d left her mobile phone upstairs in her room. If there was no one out on the streets, then there would be a house or another B and B whose door she could knock on.
Just as Lane turned to walk up the road, all hell broke loose.
* * *
Meg heard Wendy behind her—at least, she hoped it was Wendy. Either way, she was getting the hell out of the library. She pushed through the doors and out onto the street and skidded to a stop almost immediately.
What in God’s name was that coming up the road? People. It was people, except…except were they people? They came from the left, from the direction of the Wired Puppy coffee house. There had to be more than twenty of them. They were moving slowly, shuffling. And moaning. Just like Celia back in the storeroom. What was going on in Provincetown?
As they got closer, Meg could see they’d been mauled. Like, really and truly mauled. Some were missing limbs. Most had chunks of flesh missing. Meg thought she might puke. She turned slightly towards Wendy without taking her eye off them.
“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Meg asked and chanced a glance at her.
Wendy nodded, mouth wide and eyes like marbles. “I…I think so. How are they still even alive?”
“I’ve no idea, but I have a feeling if they’re anything like Celia, we don’t want them to see us.”
Wendy took Meg’s arm. “Come on—I know a back way into the library.”
“We can’t go back in there. Celia,” Meg said.
“There’s a room we can lock from the inside. She won’t be able to get in. I’ve been storing some of the artifacts from the Viking haul in it. Trust me, it’s like Fort Knox.”
“What if she’s waiting for us back there?” Meg asked.
“What are the other options? We can’t go out onto the street. Those…people…”
Wendy was right. What choice did they have? At least locked in the library they’d have some chance of staying safe until help arrived. Out in the street God only knew what might happen.
“Okay, let’s go,” Meg said and followed Wendy around the back of the library.
* * *
Lane ducked into an alley, out of sight. She watched as a stream of what she assumed were once people staggered past in clusters of ten or twelve. They were all messed up like Ella had been. Bits missing from their bodies here and there. One person had half his face gone—looked like someone had shot him. Yellow goo dripped from his head, and then, he fell and didn’t get up. He was soon trampled by the others who looked like they didn’t even know he was there.
Suddenly, from a house across the street, a woman and a man, both partially dressed in what looked like police uniforms, burst from the front door, both wielding shotguns. Lane watched in fascination as the whole group of people abruptly stopped their shuffling walk up the street, turned as one, then shuffled towards the couple. The woman and the man began shooting.
Lane ducked down, narrowly avoiding a bullet which whizzed over her head.
“Dale, I’m out,” she heard the woman shout.
“I’ve got you covered, Barb,” he called back.
Lane poked her head out and watched the man blast into a bunch of the shufflers while the woman reloaded. Lane had to hand it to them—they were great shots. Heads popped and yellow goo flew.
For a moment, Lane thought they were going to get them all, but the number of shufflers was just too great. Lane tightened her grip on the vase and considered coming out of her hiding place to help them. It was obvious they were about to be overrun. But realistically, what could she do, though? Those people had guns, and they weren’t going to hold the shufflers off much longer. How much use would Lane’s ugly vase be?
Lane could only watch as Dale and Barb were pulled into the mass of people before they disappeared from sight. One of them—Lane thought it was Dale—screamed once. Then there was silence. Most of the shufflers started moving on again, while several stayed to—oh fuck—to eat the couple, by the looks of it.
Lane turned her head and vomited into the alley. They were like…zombies. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they were bloody zombies. But zombies didn’t exist in the real world, did they? It was impossible.
Lane crouched down and waited. She couldn’t look any more, but she daren’t leave either. The people were shuffling off but not fast enough. And they’d moved quickly when they saw Dale and Barb.
After a moment, Lane poked her head back round. The last of the shufflers had moved on. What was left of the woman and man lay in the street like rubbish. Lane had to do something. Claw back some kind of dignity for them.
As she started to come out of the alleyway, one of them twitched. It was just like with Ella. And just like Ella, Dale and Barb should be dead. But here they were, twitching and now moving and now trying to stand up.
Zombies, Lane thought. They were fucking zombies.
* * *
Meg tried 9-1-1 again. Someone should be answering, but it just kept ringing out. She checked her service and saw she had plenty of mobile signal even in this closet Wendy was trying to pass off as a room. Meg had never been great in small spaces, but this place sucked. It didn’t help that Wendy was pacing about like some kind of caged animal.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Meg said.
“Pacing helps me think,” Wendy said and jolted Meg’s shoulder as she walked past. Again.
Meg gritted her teeth and swallowed the urge to yell at Wendy to sit the fuck down. Wendy was as terrified as she was. If pacing kept her calm, who was Meg to give her a hard time? Besides which, with the rest of Provincetown going crazy, she and Wendy might be the last sane ones left.
OMG, Lane. Meg had totally forgotten she was here in Provincetown. Was she okay? The idea of her being hurt made Meg feel sick. She should go find her. She might be—was probably—in trouble. Lane could barely tie her shoelaces.
“Wendy, I need to get out of here.”
“It’s too dangerous. We should wait until the cops show up,” Wendy said.
“They aren’t picking up the phone. For all we know they’re like the people out there. Which means they aren’t coming to help us.”
“They can’t be. There must be someone. They have guns and training,” Wendy said.
“Right, but who expects this? There weren’t just a few sick people out there. There were a ton of them.”
Wendy shook her head and picked up speed. Back and forth, back and forth. Meg wanted to scream.
“And what would we do out there except end up like them?” Wendy asked.
“I have a…friend here in town. I need to check that she’s all right,” Meg said and stood.
“The Englishwoman?” Wendy asked.
“How did you—never mind.” Meg was still getting used to how small towns worked. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. It was better when the tourists were here, but even so, news spread quickly.
“I understand why you want to go to her, honey, I do. But it’s too dangerous right now. Let’s wait a while. The cops may show up. Or the army. Someone.”
Meg didn’t doubt that someone would turn up, but how long it would take them might be the difference between life and death for Lane. Meg’s experience of Lane in London was that she wasn’t exactly self-sufficient. Chances were she’d be running around like a headless chicken right about now.
* * *
Lane smashed the vase down on the shuffler’s head. “Take that, you piece of shit,” she said.
Lane had managed to break into Spiritus Pizza and was fortunate that the shuffler inside hadn’t seen her as it ate raw tomato sauce from a container behind the counter. Lane crept up on it and gave it a good old wallop to the back of the head.
The shuffler went down easy enough, but Lane still felt sick about caving someone’s head in. She’d never even been in a fight at school, but here she was, murdering random strangers.
The only thing that made it bearable was the fact these people should be dead. The injuries they carried—mostly to their stomachs—were such that no one could reasonably be up and walking around. And they had yellow goo for brains—she could not forget that.
Lane searched behind the counter for a new weapon. This vase had shattered into a million pieces as soon as it came down on the shuffler’s head. She found a marble rolling pin, tested the weight, and decided it would do. What she really needed was a gun, like Barb. But she’d never shot one in her life and had no idea where to even get one. And also, the gun hadn’t really helped Barb or Dale when it came down to it, had it. But then Lane wouldn’t be taking on the zombie hordes by herself. She just wasn’t that brave.
As Lane was coming back from behind the counter, she heard a commotion outside. Shit. That didn’t sound good.
She crouched on a booth behind the large window at the front of the shop. Outside, a good fifteen people were running down the road. Lane stood up. She couldn’t just wait in here and not help. As she opened the door there was a great thundering sound, like the world was being torn in two. Even the people outside stopped running and turned to stare.
Standing in the middle of the street was what Lane could only think of as the chief zombie. He was huge. Lane stopped where she was with her hand on the latch.
The chief zombie had to be at least eight feet tall. There was barely any flesh left on his body, and his bones showed through the thin layer of skin that covered him. Skin that was grey but shone with a weird blue glow. He had plaits coming down either side of his head, but they looked like they could do with a really good conditioner. He should be in that exhibition in the library, Lane thought.
He shouldn’t be real, but he was.
Very real and very solid and standing right up the street.
Behind him stood twenty or thirty zombies of the kind Lane had seen before. Recently dead, she guessed, unlike him. He looked like he’d been dead for years.
He spoke—shouted—in a language she didn’t understand. The other zombies seemed to comprehend him, though, and they fanned out behind him like an army about to go into battle.
Lane was terrified.
The chief zombie lifted his hands out to the sides, turned his head to the sky, and roared. Lane thought she might wet herself.
* * *
Outer Cape Echo
3 hours ago
Who’s the man in grey? Locals and tourists alike have all been reporting sightings all over Ptown of a tall ghostly man. Is it a hoax or something more sinister? Whatever it is, it has lots of people spooked. Have you seen him? If you have, or you know anything about the malnourished giant, tell us in the comments below.
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3 Comments
Lou Bellamy: I seen him. He just stands up by the pier when I’m coming in with my boat in the morning. Weird, crazy guy.
Fi Armstrong: It’s a hoax. My son’s friend’s cousin said some kids from his school made the grey man for an art project, and they’re moving him all over town to scare people.
Cab Dolores: [We suspect this of being a duplicate account and your comments have been suspended.]