Dead Frost - 02 (12 page)

Shane
was pleased to put his feet on dry-ground as he dropped down out of
the Jeep. The concrete cover of the gas-station was more comforting
than he could have
hoped
for; not even one flake of snow landed on him as he reached for the
pump.

Then, he found
himself wondering whether the fucking Snatch took unleaded or diesel.
He had been stupid not to check before taking it, and now he found
himself standing at a fuel-pump with a metaphorical impotent cock in
his hand.

Momentary panic
washed over him; he knew the consequences of making the wrong
decision. It was a fifty-fifty decision that he didn't want to have
to make.

Terry was already
at the door to the station. As he entered – to the tune of an
electronic signal – Shane knew that the one man who could
possibly know was otherwise engaged.

*

The station stank of
mouldy cabbage and something else that Terry couldn't quite put his
finger on. As the door closed behind him, he raised the shotgun and
made his way down the centre-aisle towards the counter.

Stations like this
one required an attendant, somebody to press a button to allow the
pump to start working. It was, of course, to prevent people from
just pulling up and stealing fuel, yet on this occasion it was
nothing but a fucking nuisance.

Something had gone
down in the station, but Terry doubted that the blame lay with
looters. Everything still appeared to be there; there was just more
of it on the floor than on the shelves where it belonged. A bloody
smudge decorated the fridge to the left of him, a clear handprint
dragged downwards towards the ground.

Where was the body?

Terry
could hear the sound of his own heartbeat as it
hush-thumped
inside his head. He dry-swallowed and gingerly stepped up to the
counter.

Peering over, he
saw the rigor-mortised arm of the female cashier who had
unfortunately picked the wrong night-shift. She was fresh, perhaps
twelve hours, which meant that there were lurkers in the area.

Stepping
around the body – which was missing most of its head and a lot
of its torso – Terry began to
search
for the switches that activated the pumps.

The only problem
was that he had never paid much attention to gas-station attendants
whilst they did it; either that or he was out by the car, waving
frantically to get their attention.

There were lots of
buttons, including a big read one which probably alerted the local PD
in the event of a robbery.

Out here, it would
take them at least an hour to send a unit, and by then it would
almost certainly be too late. Maybe the oversized button was merely
to make the attendant feel more comfortable; sort of an electronic
placebo.

Terry glanced out
through the window and saw Shane looking as confused as he was. The
guy was searching for something beneath the bonnet of the Snatch, and
for a moment Terry found himself panicking.

Is there a problem?
Is it fucking overheating?

And then he
clicked; Shane was nonplussed over which type of fuel to use.

Terry
managed to locate the set of buttons required
and
clicked the one for PUMP EIGHT. There was a deep thrum as the pump
kicked into action. Shane almost banged his head on the open bonnet.
Terry tapped gently on the window in a vein attempt to get Shane's
attention.

It worked.

Making
a D – for
Diesel
- with both hands, Terry smiled, then made the universal signal of
the
Dickhead
at Shane, who began to smile.

With the Snatch
being filled, Terry decided to grab a few things. Since the barracks
was severely depleted of it, he shoved handfuls of pills and medicine
into his jacket. By the time he was finished, his pockets bulged,
filled to capacity.

They would be
grateful back at the barracks, though. It was too late for a few,
but those that remained needed all the help they could get.

He stepped slowly
over the stiff cadaver, who apparently was called Julie when she had
been in better shape – and moved for the fridge. Ignoring the
bloody handprint, he swung the door open and was delighted to find
several cans of Red Bull hidden behind the milk.

He cracked one open
and downed it in a few gulps. With the rush of sugar and caffeine,
he felt like he had been reborn. The accumulation of several days'
fatigue vanished in an instant. It truly was the drink of the Gods.

He grabbed two more
cans and turned for the door. It was then that a cold, dead hand
grasped him hard around the throat.

*

They came out of
nowhere; silently, which made Shane wonder if they were evolving
somehow.

He was almost
finished pumping gas when Marla screamed from the back of the Snatch.
He dropped the pump as her screech echoed through the forecourt. As
he turned, he saw three of them, pushed up against the station,
trying to get in to Terry.

'Where
the fuck did they come from?' Shane yelled, unintentionally drawing
the three lurkers' attention. Terry, through the station window, was
struggling with a single
lurker. It had him around the throat, but Shane knew that it was no
match for the old man, who was already lifting the shotgun into place
beneath the growling creature's chin.

Bang!

Blood flew from the
top of its skull, spraying the ceiling with a thick, black goo.

Terry was fine,
already on his way out of the station to help with the other three.

Shane ignored
Marla's screams – though it might have been Jared; it was
difficult to tell – and placed himself in front of the Jeep.
He put the first creature down with one shot to the head. The second
– a bearded, vagrant-looking motherfucker – scampered
forward at a speed that seemed beyond it. Shane levelled the pistol
and fired, but only managed to graze its cheek.

A
hole appeared in the front of the creature's face; its tongue was the
only determinable feature remaining, as the rest of its face exploded
outwards in a violent eruption. As the lurker fell forward, Shane
caught a glimpse of Terry as he reloaded the shotgun. The old man
had saved him, or at least
that was how he would see it.

As the third
creature rounded the side of the Jeep, Shane knew he had to act
quickly. There were people in there, scared people who would
probably not want to find themselves face-to-face with one of the
undead peering through the back.

He lifted the
Walther and fired. An explosion of blood and gore...well, that's
what should have happened. Instead, the gun simply clicked.

Shane couldn't
believe how stupid he had been. He should have checked the gun for
rounds before packing it, and now – because he hadn't –
it was about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Without pause, he
raced around to meet the creature at the back of the Snatch. It
grunted, lunged for him, sprayed the front of his jacket with dark,
infected saliva.

The pistol slammed
against the lurker's temple. Shane was glad to see teeth flying out
of the side of its mouth.

Inside
the Jeep, Marla was scrambling to her feet.
She
picked up a tyre-iron that she had been keeping a close eye on for
the duration of the journey, though she didn't think she would need
to use it.

Shane hit the
creature again; its head snapped to the side. There was a crunch as
its neck broke; its head dangled loosely now on a pivot.

'Shane, let me take
it!' Terry called as he made his way around to the rear of the
vehicle. Shane was preventing him from getting a clean shot.

'I've got it!'
Shane said. He tucked the pistol into the front of his trousers and
grabbed the lurker's broken face with both hands. He heard Terry
mutter something from behind, but ignored it. The creature grimaced
as if it knew what was about to happen.

Shane put a knee
into the thing's belly and pulled. For a moment, he didn't think
anything was going to happen...

And then it did.

The
lurker gargled as its head came away from the rest of it. The body
fell backwards, hitting the concrete with a meaty thump. Shane
growled maniacally as he
realised
he was holding the lurker's head. Marla, staring out the back of the
Snatch, turned the other way, not wanting to see any more.

'Holy shit!' Terry
said, allowing the shotgun to drop to his side. 'That is just all
kinds of wrong.'

Shane tossed the
head aside and wiped his soiled hands on the front of his coat.

Terry stepped up to
Shane, who was shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. 'It's
okay, Shane,' he said, although he wasn't sure if it actually was.
'Can we just get the fuck out of here, now?'

Shane turned. His
eyes were wide – like saucers – and his breathing was so
heavy that Terry could feel the warmth on his face even though he was
a foot away.

'We need to go,'
Shane finally said.

'That's what I just
said,' Terry replied.

'No,' Shane said,
pointing towards the station. 'We need to go right now!'

They
were coming from everywhere. Lurkers, about thirty of them, all
scrambling forward through the snow. They must have been feeding on
something at the
rear of the
building. There was a car-wash, just out of sight, and they must
have been otherwise occupied.

Until now.

Terry ran around
the Snatch and practically fell in through the door. Shane was
already trying to start the engine, though his hands were so cold
that he fumbled with the key for what seemed like an eternity before
managing to get it into the ignition.

'Erm, can we go
now?' Jared gasped from the back. He could see out through the mesh;
in fact, they had the best view in the house.

Shane turned the
key and half-expected the Jeep to fail to start, like it always did
in the movies. When it kicked into life first time, he felt as if
something was on their side, something preternatural watching over
them.

'Drive!' Terry
said, winding his window down halfway. Cold instantly filled the
Snatch, For a moment, Shane had no idea what Terry was doing.

Then the old man
levelled the shotgun out of the window, aiming towards the ground,
and the pump which Shane had been using; the fuel was still pouring
out.

'Uh-oh,' Shane said
as he pulled the Jeep away from the station.

The creatures
stumbled forward a few feet, confused, desperate to latch onto the
vehicle and the people inside of it.

Terry waited...and
waited...and then fired.

The Jeep seemed to
speed up as the blast kicked the back of it. Marla screeched, as did
Jared. Shane was too busy trying to keep the Snatch on the road to
make any sort of noise. He could see in the rearview mirror, though,
a bright orange ball of flame whipping up to the station roof. It
was as if a mini-nuke had been detonated.

Lurkers were
running everywhere, most of them on fire. Some of them had come
apart with the first blast, and limbs began to rain down on the road
like a storm in Hell. A leg bounced off the Snatch's bonnet and
Shane had to swerve to prevent the Jeep from hitting a hedgerow.

When they were a
few hundred metres away, there was another explosion, this one bigger
than the first.

And
then the only sound came from the engine,
and
collective sighs.

'I'm thinking you
need to work on that anger of yours,' Shane said to Terry, whose eyes
were closed.

'That's a bit rich
coming from you,' Terry smiled. He opened one eye, before adding,
'Pistol-whipper.'

After that, nobody
spoke for a while.

SEVENTEEN

Colburn led the old
woman to a secluded part of the camp. When she had asked him what it
was about, he simply told her that it was not his business and that
Victor Lord had requested her presence. The woman seemed to buy that
– she had expected the captain to summon her at some point or
other, although she thought he might have already gone off in search
of his precious vehicle by now.