Jonah dragged each body to the accommodation room nearest to where he’d shot them, and locked them inside.
He’d been keeping a count of each one he’d locked away or put down. He was up to eighteen. With Holly and Vic gone, that left nine people unaccounted for. Some had escaped up the ventilation duct – he knew that for sure – but he had no idea how many. Not nine, he hoped. And yet the fewer that had made it up there, the more remained down here with him.
No one had emerged at the sounds of gunfire and made themselves known. The hope persisted that some were hiding themselves away, and there were still those three closed doors in an accommodation wing. He had passed them by, and perhaps soon he would think about opening them. Perhaps.
Because Jonah thought he might have gone insane. What if I’m doing this for real? he’d thought as he stalked corridors and shot down shadows. What if I’ve lost my marbles, and picked up a gun, and tomorrow I’ll be an item on the news, just another gun massacre that would fade into obscurity for all but those affected? Madness had been an intriguing idea, and every time he pulled the trigger and opened his eyes again, he’d look carefully for any change in the zombies’ faces, any glimpse that there was terror hiding behind the facades he had brought into being. But the empty eyes persisted, and when those afflicted were put down the only change was that the eyes no longer moved.
The change he did notice was purely physical – the brains remained wet. While the blood from their non-cranial wounds soon coagulated, tacky and drying, the mess blown from their skulls was still rich with blood. This made no sense if their hearts stopped, but Jonah supposed that blood might sit in the brain for a while, kept fresh and heavy with infection, and the drive to spread the disease lived with it. The infection killed them, and then took over their brains. Could impulses pass along blood-denuded nerves? He thought not, and yet he could see no other way for them to remain moving.
He would not let a supernatural explanation even suggest itself to him. He could not. There was a process here, and he had already worked out how to end it. Discovering more was essential.
Thinking through the science of a zombie actually settled his nerves a little. As he considered venturing to his room to retrieve the remaining Penderyn whisky, Jonah switched on the radio.
‘. . . found dead beside the road, and a further five bodies were discovered in the camper van. A police source who does not wish to be identified said the bodies were “heavily mutilated about the head”. Elsewhere, a Scout troop is missing in the mountains north-east of Asheville. The Scouts were due home at midday, but with no communication from them since early morning concern is increasing, and parents are demanding a search-and-rescue. And in Bryson City rumours are rife of an army of “shambling ghosts” seen crossing the hillsides towards the township. More on these stories—’
Vic Pearson punched the ‘off’ button and the car fell silent. Olivia snored softly in the back seat, and he wondered when was the last time he’d watched his daughter sleeping and wondered at her dreams. He hoped these were still good ones. Soon, he feared, she would see and know things that might banish childish dreams for ever.
‘Is that all because of what happened?’ Lucy asked from the passenger seat. Vic could not look at her, because he feared the accusation in her eyes.
‘It might be.’
‘But have you told anyone? Have you warned them?’
‘I told the sheriff.’
‘But beyond that?’
The road was long and straight before them, a snake of headlights and lamp posts, and none of them could know what they were leaving behind. He didn’t know, not really. Not yet.
‘Jonah will be onto it,’ Vic said.
‘But it’s spreading. Fast. Those shambling ghost things near Bryson City, do you think—’