Should Have Killed The Kid (33 page)

'Good, good,' Marge muttered, her breathless tone making it sound as though she was about to keel over on the spot. 'That ought to throw them off our scent for a bit.'

She led the way and Will slunk back to Dave's side as they followed along. As soon as they took their first step on the upward gradient, Dave knew it was going to be a tortuous trip to the top.

Ten minutes later, he was proven correct. All three of them were gasping and their pace had slowed to little more than a crawl by the time they reached the top. They were forced to pause for a second.

Dave took the opportunity to study their surroundings by the glow of the nearby fires. Dave could see that once more his feet were on a road. Right in the middle of it, judging by the way the white line in the centre of the tarmac cut through the circle of clear space.

Dave could only vaguely discern the road stretching into the dark ahead of them. If he squinted, he could just make out that the looming shapes ahead were trees as opposed to more rubble. Beyond them he could see the vague outline of something spanning a smooth stretch of black. He assumed it was the bridge over the Murray. Anything else was washed out by the glow from the fires.

He peered for a long second but it didn't grow any clearer. Instead he looked back to the burning remains of Mildura that spread out around him and then to what he assumed was the far bank of the river where further destruction sprawled.

It made him think.

'How did you know that the bridge wouldn't be...’ He turned to ask Marge but stumbled when he took in her condition. After a brief struggle, he managed to force the last word out without too much of an awkward pause. '...destroyed?' before he trailed off with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.

Will apparently noticed Marge's metamorphosis at the same time. He whimpered and moved around until he was mostly hidden behind Dave's body.

'I'll let you in on a little secret, Dave. I didn't.'

Dave thought it might be a smile that Marge attempted but her deterioration made it impossible to tell. Her lips looked like shrivelled jerky pinned to her face and it was obvious her body had shrunk.

'Pretty fucking lucky, huh?'

Dave nodded as a reply, not trusting himself to speak.

Surely she must know,
he thought,
surely she can feel it.

If she did, Marge didn't let on. Instead she turned and hobbled forward down the road. Dave stayed where he was until he felt the nudge of the shield in his back, dragging him forward.

'Come on.' He had to coax Will before the boy would move either. Even then the kid refused to venture closer than a few metres to Marge.

They trudged forward, following the twisting white line at their feet through two sharp curves before Marge brought them to a halt again.

Ahead of them the bridge stretched out in solid black lines that were slightly darker than the star filled sky around it. It looked ominous to say the least, and nothing like when Dave had crossed the last time.

Then the trip across had taken all of half a minute, now it seemed to take an eternity. With each step, Marge's condition deteriorated. Dave could tell by the way her shoulders hunched and her movements became more spasmodic.

He found himself lagging a little further back until he was right at the edge of the protective bubble once more.

Dave was shocked when they reached the far side and stepped off into New South Wales without her collapsing. Shocked but not relieved. Although the bridge led to an area that was free of destruction, that just meant it was chock-a-block full of shadows. Dave didn't hold high hopes that Marge's shield was going to last much longer.

He could feel something building in the dome that separated them from the creatures. Some sort of nervous energy building in the air.

Something bad was going to happen.

It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

Dave just didn't want to bring things to a head quicker than he had to.

Though, really, he knew it was inevitable.

And ten minutes later, when Marge staggered to a halt and Dave saw how badly she'd degenerated, he knew the moment had arrived.

During their walk, Marge had desiccated to a point where Dave found it difficult to believe there was any moisture left in her body. If anything she looked even worse than Monty had when the same thing happened to him. At least then, even if it had just been deep down, Dave had known what happened had only been a projection. The same could not be said now. Marge's degeneration was
definitely
happening directly in front of him. The smell alone was enough to tell him that. Even though he couldn't quite put the odour into words – something like a mix between rot and sweated leather, but that didn't really do its foulness justice – it nauseated him. It grew in strength, permeating the interior of the bubble while Marge swayed in place and stared at Dave.

'What?' he asked. His question more an attempt to stall for time than anything else.

Will's grip on his hand grew tight.

'I'm not going to end up like Monty,' the thing in front of him croaked and Dave fought back nausea as the skin around its mouth cracked and the strange smell grew stronger.

Will whimpered.

'What?' Dave asked, this time because he really couldn't think of anything else to say.

The glittering eyes were about the only thing that hadn't degenerated and the look they fixed him in made him want to curl up in a ball and die.

After an extended stare, Marge didn't reply. She merely turned and trudged on a few steps while Dave stayed where he was until the shield nudged him forward.

'Dave...' Will whispered as they were forced forward first one step then another.

'What?' Dave murmured out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to Marge's shuffling back. His grip on the shield jar tightened.

'What's wrong with–'

Despite his best efforts, Dave couldn't help taking his eyes off the old lady to glance at Will.

When the boy's words cut off in a quick intake of breath and his eyes grew wide, Dave knew he'd made a mistake.

He whirled, just in time to see Marge spin again. He caught the glint as something slipped from the sleeve of her cardigan. A millisecond later he saw what it was.

With speed that completely belied her current state, Marge abruptly sprang at him. The glittering metal blade that she'd used to dispatch the soldier sliced through the air, headed for his throat. For a flash, his mind froze and he briefly wondered if maybe he was just going to give up there and then and let her do what she wanted.

Then his body finally responded, just in time to swerve to one side. He felt the blade bite into flesh, somewhere near his right shoulder but he barely even felt it. He swung blindly and Marge's skull made a horrendous cracking noise as he connected. The knife skittered away and bounced off the shield before cluttering to the tarmac.

He hoped that it'd be a repeat of his brief stoush with Monty. Another lucky punch that would drop the old lady straight away. But despite the clear power that he connected with and her near mummified condition, Marge merely stumbled back a few steps and shook it off.

'That all you fucking got?' Marge spat, her leathered lips cracking into a hideous and demented smile. Dave's stomach churned as he saw the divotted crater that topped her left temple. His fist had taken a hunk of hair with it as it connected and it revealed split skin that seeped brownish-black ooze he hesitated to think of as blood.

Whatever damage he'd caused didn't seem to be slowing her down though. After a second's pause where those eyes glittered pure evil at him, Marge hissed and abruptly rocketed across the dome as though propelled by jets.

'No–,' Dave finished the rest of the sentence internally,
fair,
as the old lady hit and sent him sprawling across the dome. He hit the barrier hard, twisted awkwardly after he realised mid air that the jar labeled bomb was still in his pocket and he did his best to protect it from the brunt of the impact.

'STOP IT!' he heard Will squeal but barely had time to focus on it before Marge was above him. She grabbed a handful of shirt and, with impossible strength, levered Dave up a few centimetres.

'Don't... the bomb...' Dave tried to protest but his words came out more of a blubber. A strange, swirling kaleidoscope of colours engulfed his vision, making it appear as though everything beyond the hideous visage was a blur.

'Fucking hit a grandma, would you?' the zombie creature roared. 'Fucking need to learn some fucking respect!'

Dave doubted that pointing out she'd been trying to kill him at the time would have any effect.

Marge opened her mouth and hissed at him again. The resulting wave of stench almost made him pass out.

He didn't see the punch coming, just felt the result. His head ricocheted off the shield behind him, darkness briefly swirled his vision and he felt a wet pattering rain over his top lip.

The jar in his hand rolled free, Dave could hear it rattling over the tarmac but felt powerless to stop it. His nose felt swollen to twice its usual size. His head reeled.

Dimly, as he blinked the black away from his vision, he could hear Marge cackling away. But when he managed to peer through his tears, what immediately caught his attention was the stream of red that flowed past his eyes.

He watched it for a second, completely confused until he traced its length to where it vanished into Marge's gaping maw, turning her cackling into a half-choking gurgle.

Then in a thundering heart beat, it dawned on him what it was.

My blood!

He whimpered and tried to scramble free but Marge effortlessly held him in place and he had no option except to watch his blood drain across the gap.

'MMMMMmmmHHHHhhhh.' The contented noise Marge made as she gulped made Dave want to vomit.

He could feel the strength leaving his body as more and more of his life force was drained.

He scrabbled, trying to reach into his pocket, some last minute plan to shatter the jar in his mind.

He actually managed to ease the glass out but as he raised it, Marge paused mid swallow to laugh while the red splattered down her cardigan.

'Ha, that only works on those things, you fucking moron,' she spat and Dave felt little flecks of his own blood speckle across his face. Her words came out clearer than they had previously and Dave quickly realised why. Some of the splits and tears in the taut skin had repaired themselves and in the few seconds that had passed since she'd started draining his blood, Marge had already started to look less like a mummified corpse.

'There's no way I am going out like Monty,' she hissed again and Dave felt hot tears start to streak his cheeks. 'This was your fucking fault anyway. There's no way I am taking the fall. No fucking way–'

Marge's hissing tone abruptly cut off and in its place came a geyser of vomited blood – his own, Dave suspected – that doused his face in a torrent of sticky, hot moisture.

The flood blinded him and for a second he could do nothing but listen to Marge choke and gurgle as a second torrent splashed across him, followed by a third, until it felt like his entire body was doused in blood. He could feel it trickle all sticky down the back of his collar and the smell was horrendous. All thick and coppery.

A wet tearing joined Marge's chokes and then, just when Dave thought he was going to drown in the hot flow, the grip on his shirt fell away and he collapsed back against the side of the shield, gasping and wiping at his face with his free hand, desperately trying to clear his sight; to get the vomited gunk away from his mouth.

When he could finally see, the sight of Marge convulsing in agony on the ground brought him grim satisfaction.

As well as confusion until he looked up behind her and saw Will. The boy stood, his jaw quivering with shock, his eyes wet with tears and the red-stained blade gripped tightly in his shaking hands.

'Ha HA–' Dave started to laugh in shock and relief until he looked beyond where the kid stood bawling and saw something that almost stopped his heart.

The shield flickered once. Then again a few seconds later. Then once more. And again. The interval between the flickers growing shorter and shorter.

Oh fuck no,
Dave darted a glance at Marge. She convulsed again and rolled over, revealing the long rent of a tear that ran up the length of her back. Through the semi-desiccated flesh, Dave could see the glint of her spine.

He knew she wasn't going to last much longer.

And if she goes so does that shield...

FUCK!

The panic sent his eyes skittering around, scanning the interior of the bubble for the jar he'd dropped in the scuffle.

He saw it across the far side. Three metres or so away

'Will,' he gasped and immediately his eyes started watering. His voice came out all nasally and weak and ignited a throb in his head that nearly made him pass out. 'Will!' he tried again even though it hurt.