THIRTEEN
In a hospital bed, linked up to all manner of drips and monitors, lay an unremarkable man. He was not much to look at – slight, bordering on weedy; plain, bordering on ugly; medium height; sandy hair. He had been lying here for over three months now, still and silent. He was fed through a tube, and he breathed with the aid of a respirator. He was bathed once a day and turned regularly to avoid the onset of bedsores. His mother, Clare, who was fifty-one years old (though she looked older), visited him every morning, and sometimes in the evenings too. She talked to him, and read to him, and played him his favourite music – Queen, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen – in the hope that he might twitch a finger or flicker an eyelid in response. But in three months he had done neither of these things, nor anything else besides.
Oscar Phillips slept on while the world passed him by.
Oscar was alone now, not exactly neglected but temporarily abandoned. Something was happening elsewhere in the hospital, something extraordinary, and the staff were understandably distracted. Which was why, when the wave patterns on the EEG machine monitoring his brain activity began to spike and trough crazily, there was no one there to note it; which was why, when his body began to twitch and shudder, there were no witnesses. Behind his eyelids, Oscar's eyes jerked and rolled, as though he was having a nightmare. His lips, which were greased to stop them from drying out, parted with a tiny pop and he released a low, wordless moan.
Gwen took out half a dozen zombies before realising it was hopeless. It was evident, from those she could see through the gap in the splintered noticeboard nailed across the broken window, that considerably more than the original twenty or so were now massing outside the house. She wondered briefly what had drawn them here – the smell of fresh meat? Some kind of telepathic communication? Whatever it was, they were now breaching the house's meagre defences, driven by the only instinct they knew – the instinct to kill and devour.
Above her, Gwen could hear pounding feet, as Rhys and the Samuelses raced upstairs. She fired off one more round, dropping another zombie in a spatter of blood and brains, and then she set off after them.
'We need somewhere we can defend. An attic or something,' she shouted as she ran up the stairs.
When she reached the upper landing, Keith was hovering underneath a square wooden panel in the ceiling, whilst behind him Naomi was clutching Jasmine, both of them shaking with fear. Keith looked pale and vaguely startled, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Gwen recognised the signs, knew that the trauma of the situation had rendered him almost incapable of action.
'Where's Rhys?' she said, looking around.
Keith stared at her blankly.
Exasperated, Gwen said, 'Have you got a ladder, Keith? We need a ladder.'
'It's all right, love, I've got a chair,' Rhys said, emerging from Jasmine's bedroom, pushing a typing chair on castors.
'Rhys, I could snog you,' she exclaimed.
'Save it till later. I'll hold the chair, you climb up.'
From down below came the sound of more wood splintering, and then a crashing thump, followed by what could only be described as a blundering inrush of movement.
They're through, Gwen thought as she leaped on to the chair and raised her hands above her head. She pushed the wooden panel with all her strength, and experienced a brief, panicky moment when she thought it wasn't going to give. Then it popped up so suddenly that she almost lost her balance. She shoved the panel to one side, hauled herself up until her head was poking through the gap and peered into the darkness.
Immediately dust ambushed her, making her sneeze, and sneeze again. The third time she did it, she thought angrily: I haven't got time for this! She wiped her streaming nose and eyes with her sleeve and saw that directly in front of her was a folding metal ladder on a hinge. Ignoring the ache in her hip, she scrambled up into the attic, unfolded the ladder and pushed it down through the hole.
'Quickly!' she shouted.
'Women and children first,' said Rhys, all but wrenching Jasmine out of her mother's grasp and plonking her halfway up the ladder. Gwen was afraid the girl would freeze, but Jasmine scuttled up the ladder like a mouse. Naomi followed, Gwen reaching down to grab her hand and haul her up. Then came Keith, with Rhys bringing up the rear.
Rhys was on the bottom rung of the ladder, his face dangerously close to Keith's slippered feet, when Gwen, looking down through the gap, saw the green-black face of a zombie suddenly pop into view halfway up the stairs.
'Quickly!' she yelled. 'They're coming!'
Keith glanced behind him, let out a terrified yelp – and froze.
'Go on, mate,' Rhys shouted behind him. 'What the hell have you stopped for?'
Keith didn't reply. Instead he wrapped his arms around the ladder and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
'Keith,' Gwen said urgently, glancing past him at the slowly ascending zombie, whose grey, slug-like eyes were rolled most of the way up into its head. 'Come on, Keith. Just another few steps and you'll be safe.'
But Keith shook his head, like a small child refusing a mouthful of food.
Gwen felt panic rushing through her. If Keith didn't move in the next few seconds, Rhys was dead. She wondered what she could say to encourage him – and then all at once she felt herself being elbowed aside by Naomi, who thrust her face out of the attic entrance and glared down at her husband.
'For God's sake, Keith!' she yelled. 'What the sodding hell are you playing at? Get up here NOW!'
Keith's eyes opened as if he had been startled from a dream, and he blinked up into his wife's furious face. Next moment he unwrapped his arms from the ladder and hauled himself upwards. Behind him, Rhys started to climb again too, urging Keith to go faster. He glanced behind him, and his heart lurched.
The lead zombie was now at the top of the stairs, no more than half a dozen paces away. Rhys scrambled up another couple of rungs, digging his shoulder into Keith's buttocks and pushing hard.
'Hurry up, mate,' he said, 'or I'll be dinner in a minute.'
Hands reached down to grab Keith and haul him into the attic. With the way suddenly clear, Rhys scrambled up the ladder, trying to stay calm and focus on not missing his footing.
It was hard to ignore the impulse to look back, however. The dragging footsteps behind him were now horribly close, and the spoiled-meat stink of the creatures was filling his nostrils. He could hear them too, the sigh and wheeze of dead air passing through their rotting bodies, like the moaning of wind through a desolate mountain range. He glanced up, saw Gwen's anguished face framed by her raven-black hair, her hand stretching down towards him.
'Come on, Rhys,' she said. 'Come on, love. Nearly there.'
Rhys reached up to take his wife's hand – and at that moment another hand reached up from below and curled around his ankle. It was damp, that hand, and cold, but it was strong too. Rhys yelled and kicked out, but the hand only tightened its grip. He felt himself yanked backwards, and had to cling to the ladder to stop himself from falling. Above him he saw Gwen's face twist in horror and fury, saw her reach into her jacket and pull out her gun.
She shouted something, but he wasn't sure what it was. He thought she was maybe telling him to duck, to move out of the way. He flattened himself against the ladder, clinging to it the way Keith had clung to it seconds earlier. Next moment there was a roaring explosion by his ear, so loud that it not only deafened him, but sent a flash of light through his head like a bolt of lightning. He felt a split second's heat, and smelled something like scorched metal. Then abruptly the grip around his ankle loosened, though oddly Rhys could still feel the touch of the dead thing's unpleasantly yielding fingers.
He looked down, and saw that the hand was indeed still curled around his ankle – but that it was no longer attached to a body. The zombie, its foreshortened right arm a splintered mass of bone and meat, was sprawled at the bottom of the ladder, struggling to sit up. Repulsed, Rhys shook his leg, and the hand slid away from his ankle like a dead crab and fell to the ground below. More zombies were shuffling along the landing now, reaching out for him. He scrambled up the ladder and through the gap in the ceiling.
As soon as he was through, Gwen pointed her gun down through the hole and pulled the trigger. The head of a zombie which had reached the ladder disintegrated and it fell backwards. With Rhys's help, Gwen hauled the ladder up into the attic and slammed the panel into place.
They sat there in the dark, wheezing and gasping.
Finally Gwen said, 'We're safe.'
In the gloom, Naomi scowled at her.
'We're trapped, you mean,' she said.
Andy and Sophie sat side by side on the settee, munching slice after slice of cheese on toast. They had been amazed to discover how hungry they both were – and this despite the fact that Sophie had declared that the piccalilli with which Andy had coated his cheese 'smelled like puke'.
'You think this is bad,' Andy said around a mouthful of food, 'I had a mate who used to bring cheese and marmalade sandwiches to work every day.'
Sophie licked butter off her fingers and took a swig of tea. 'I tried tuna and banana once,' she said.
Andy grimaced. 'That's disgusting. What did it taste like?'
'It wasn't so bad once I put the ketchup on.'
'You never—' he began, and then he saw the expression on her face. 'You're pulling my leg, aren't you?'
'A bit,' she admitted. 'It was soy sauce, not ketchup.'
Andy laughed – though, as with every other rare and spontaneous outburst of humour this evening, the sound died quickly. It felt almost disrespectful to laugh after everything they had seen and experienced tonight and, whenever either of them did, it was invariably followed by a guilty and embarrassed silence.
Sure enough, for a minute or two they sat without speaking, crunching toast and listening to the thumping and writhing of Dawn on the floor of the bedroom, struggling tirelessly against her bonds.
Eventually Andy said, 'Um. . . Sophie?'
'Yeah?'
'I don't suppose. . . once all this is over, I mean. . . you wouldn't fancy going out for a drink or something, would you?'
Sophie looked at him, startled – and abruptly she began to giggle. Then, just as abruptly, the giggles became sobs and suddenly she was weeping, the tears running down her face.
Andy picked up a napkin from the low table in front of the settee and handed it to her with a guilty smile.
'Must admit I've never had that reaction before,' he said.
'Oh. . . sorry,' Ianto said, walking into the Boardroom and instantly turning on his heel to walk out again.
Sarah laughed. 'Don't be daft, I'm only breastfeeding. I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable.'
Ianto turned back to face her with a stiff smile. Scrupulously maintaining eye contact, he said, 'Oh no, no. Not at all. You feed away. It's. . . um. . . not a problem.'
She smiled. 'It's OK. Really. He's about finished anyway.' Gently she removed the baby from her breast. He grizzled for a moment, then began sucking his fingers.
'So. . . how are you?' Ianto asked.
'I'm fine. Sore and tired, obviously, but apart from that. . .' She frowned slightly. 'How's Trys?'
'He's sleeping,' said Ianto quickly, thinking of her husband in the cells downstairs, staring stupidly out through the transparent wall, and occasionally blundering into it, unable to work out why he couldn't get to his prey.
'Still?' Sarah said.
'Well, we gave him some pretty strong sedatives.'
She sighed. 'I'm dying for him to see our son.'
'And he will,' Ianto said, hoping desperately that he was right. 'It won't be long now.'
He looked around, rubbing his hands together self-consciously. 'I, er, just came to see if you needed anything. Jack and I have to pop out for a bit.'
'Pop out?' she repeated, alarmed. 'You're not leaving me alone again?'
'No,' said Ianto. 'Well. . . not for long. We'll be back before you know it.'
'But where are you going?'
'We think we've got a lead on what's causing this. . . outbreak. We're just going to check it out.'
'But what if something happens while you're away?'
'It won't,' he said firmly. He produced a mobile from his pocket and handed it to her. 'My number's on there. Call me if you have any problems. Not that you will.'
She took the phone, but still looked worried. 'I'm really not happy about this.'
'You'll be perfectly safe,' Ianto assured her. 'Nothing can get in here. It's the most secure place in Cardiff.'
Gwen put her phone back in her pocket.
'What did Jack say?' Rhys asked.
'He said he and Ianto have got a lead on what's happening. They're on their way to St Helen's Hospital.'
'Why? What's at St Helen's Hospital?'
Gwen glanced at the Samuelses. It was clear she didn't want to discuss the situation in front of them – or, more particularly, in front of Naomi Samuels, who was not the most open-minded of people.
'Long story,' she said. 'I said we'd meet them there if we could.'
Rhys raised his eyebrows. 'How we gonna do that, love? We're stuck here for the time being.'
'Who are these people you're talking about?' Keith asked.
'Colleagues of mine,' said Gwen.
'Fellow spooks, you mean?'
'We're not spooks. But. . . yeah, that kind of thing.'
She lapsed into silence, thinking. From below came the sound of dozens of zombies, blundering and shuffling about.
'Not very bright, are they?' Rhys said. 'They can't even work out how to get up here.'
'That's why we're going to win,' said Gwen, reloading her gun.
'Win?' Naomi said sourly. 'And how are we going to do that then?'
In the dusty gloom of the attic, Naomi's face was a pallid mask of pinched, nervy anger. Gwen bit back on her impulse to snap the woman's head off, telling herself yet again that Naomi was just scared – and with good reason.
'We'll find a way,' she said.
'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' Naomi demanded. 'It doesn't mean anything.'
'Calm down, love,' Keith said placatingly. 'This isn't Gwen's fault.'
'She brought those things here, didn't she? Her and her boyfriend.'
'I'm her husband, actually,' said Rhys. He had wandered over to the grimy skylight in the roof, and was fiddling with his mobile.
'And we didn't bring them here,' Gwen said, trying not to get angry. 'Cardiff's overrun with them. It's chaos out there.'
'But they wouldn't have bothered us if you hadn't turned up,' Naomi retorted.
'We don't know that, love,' said Keith.
Gwen flashed Jasmine a reassuring smile. The little girl was clutching her yellow rabbit and eyeing the bickering adults with trepidation.
'Keith's right,' said Rhys. 'If those things had got in while you were asleep you'd have been torn apart in your beds.'
He noticed Gwen glance meaningfully at Jasmine and give a quick shake of the head. He shrugged.
'Sorry, Gwen, but it's true. You're a lot safer up here. Come on.'
This last remark was directed at his phone, which he was now holding above his head, as though making an offering to the moon.
'What are you doing, Rhys?' said Gwen irritably.
'I'm trying to get a decent signal on this bloody thing.'
'Why?'
'Why do you think? I want to make a call.'
Frustrated, he lifted the security bar on the window and shoved it open, then thrust the hand that was holding the mobile out into the drizzly night.
'Bingo!' he exclaimed.
'Who are you wanting to call anyway?' said Gwen. 'Rentokil?'
He gave her the look a teacher might give a facetious pupil. 'I'm calling in a favour,' he said. 'It's a bit of a long shot, but you never know.'
The pod, which was sitting in an open containment case on Ianto's lap, was going crazy, pulsing brighter and more fiercely as they neared the hospital. The coloured lights flickering just beneath the surface of its opaque skin were moving so rapidly that Ianto couldn't keep track of them. The pod's rate of regeneration was increasing too; indeed, Ianto fancied he could now see the silvery orb repairing itself before his eyes. He was watching it, mesmerised, when the SUV slammed into something, jolting him out of his reverie.
'Zombie roadkill,' said Jack. 'Couldn't be helped. He stepped right out in front of me.'
Ianto glanced into the rear-view mirror, to see a dark smear on the road behind them.
'There's no need to sound so happy about it,' he said. 'I worry about you sometimes.'
Jack grinned. 'What can I say? I enjoy my work.'
They were very close to the hospital now. The drive through Cardiff had been a journey through a nightmare landscape. Even in the couple of hours they had been in the Hub, the number of zombies had increased dramatically. They were everywhere, filling the streets, aimlessly shuffling. Cardiff had become a city of the dead.
Jack had managed to avoid most of them, though some had had to be nudged aside. Ianto knew that if Jack had had his way, he would have simply ploughed through the lot of them.
'It's not like they're real,' he had told Ianto, when Ianto had asked him to slow down and be careful, 'and this baby is big enough and tough enough to cope.'
'That's not the point,' Ianto said. 'You're not the one who has to clean up the mess afterwards.'
It didn't help that the creatures seemed so interested in the pod. Whether it was the flashing lights or something more intrinsic, it certainly seemed to spark a reaction. Or maybe it's just us, thought Ianto. Maybe it's just the fact that we're the only thing apart from themselves that's moving. Certainly, wherever they went, the dead would converge on them, arms outstretched and something like. . . what? eagerness? recognition? in their otherwise glazed eyes.
At last they turned a corner, and there was the hospital entrance, a hundred metres ahead of them.
'Weird,' said Jack.
'What is?'
'Look around. What d'you see?'
Ianto peered through the windscreen. It was a leafy street in a nice part of town. Big houses on the left; the hospital grounds, flanked by high hedges, on the right.
At first he didn't see what Jack was getting at, and then he realised. 'Oh,' he said. 'No zombies.'
'A coupla streets behind us it was wall to wall, but here there's nothing,' said Jack. 'Pretty odd, wouldn't you say?'
Ianto remained silent. It was only when Jack swung the SUV through the gates leading in to the multi-level car park and they saw the brightly lit building before them that the mystery of the missing zombies was solved.
The creatures were standing in rows, several layers deep, forming a cordon around the building. There were literally hundreds of them, and they were motionless and eerily silent.
'My God,' breathed Ianto. On his lap, the pod was pulsing more fiercely than ever.
Jack looked across at Ianto and raised an eyebrow. 'No prizes for guessing what they're guarding,' he said.
It was odd in a way, but the constant state of tension, of apprehension, had become boring after a while. Tired of the crush of people in Reception, and more particularly of their endless theorising and analysing, Rianne and Nina had retreated to the empty maternity ward, and were now sitting in the semi-darkness, staring out over the car park, cradling mugs of tea.
They hadn't talked much in the last half-hour or so. In fact, Nina had spent much of the time dozing. A nurse had cleaned and re-bandaged her leg for her; despite what Nina's friends had thought, she hadn't needed stitches.
'I wonder what happened to the Thomases,' Rianne said.
'Huh?' Once again, Nina's eyes had been drooping closed. Rianne reached out and gently took the half-empty mug out of her hands.
'Sarah Thomas. She's one of my ladies. She phoned earlier this evening to say she'd gone into labour. I hope she's all right.'
Before Nina could rouse herself to answer, the faint screech of brakes from outside drew Rianne to the window. At the top end of the car park was a big shiny-black vehicle, all lit up like a Christmas tree. In fact, it was pulsing with light, as if it contained some kind of mobile disco.
Rianne tensed. Clearly the occupants of the vehicle had seen the creatures massed around the hospital. Turn back, she urged them silently, turn back.
The big black vehicle began to rumble forward.
'No!' Rianne said, loud enough to snap Nina fully awake.
'Wassamatter?' Nina muttered.
Rianne gestured at the approaching vehicle in dismay. 'Another lamb to the slaughter.'
Nina hauled herself out of her chair and hobbled across to stand beside Rianne. They watched the big black car edging towards the hospital, rippling and strobing with inner light, almost as if it wanted to draw attention to itself.
The creatures encircling the hospital had been still and silent for some time, but now twenty or more of them jerked into motion and peeled away from the main throng, shuffling towards the newcomers.
'Get away from here. Get away,' Rianne urged, her fists clenched in dreadful anticipation.
Nina's voice was as bleak as her words. 'Whoever they are, they don't stand a chance.'
In his hospital bed, Oscar Phillips thrashed and writhed. His lips curled back over clenched teeth gleaming with spittle, and his eyes rolled madly behind their closed lids.