Safe Haven
Josh swung open his door and fired three flares into the night, counting two agonising seconds between each one. He slammed the door shut with a gasp of relief and Nisha floored the gas. The wheels squealed in the ashen mush that choked the ground but hauled the Chevy forwards, painfully slow at first and slewing all over the place, but soon faster than a man could run. The pickup threw showers of gunk to either side, ploughing its way ahead, engine screaming with effort.
Three blooms of garish pink, blossoming one after the other, lit up ground that had not seen daylight for almost a year. The cinereous landscape was a mockery of a winter wonderland at the height of what would be summer, under a sky of perfect black. A pale blanket covered everything, like solidified smoke in this rare moment of pink-tinged brightness. Skeletal trees lined the avenue as silent reminders of a time when life once flourished. Cinders fell from the sky in thick flurries.
“That’s it,” cried Josh, banging his flare gun against the rusty grating that served as a windshield. “That’s Prester John’s chapel!” Upon the crest of the hill, dead ahead, the outline of a church stood out against utter darkness. Its spire stood like an admonition against the deadly sky.
Under the floating light, Nisha could see that the ash ahead of them was not broken by footprints or tyre tracks. “Are you sure there’s anyone there?” she gasped as she cranked up another gear.
“Everyone we’ve come across always said Prester John’s is a safe haven!”
“It had better be true,” she groaned, rubbing her hugely rounded belly.
Josh peered out of the grating in front of him and the one to the side, through the myriad holes too small for fingers to reach through. At the edge of the brightness, ambling figures appeared, shuffling through the thigh-deep powder, staggering into awkward runs, careless as to the choking clouds kicked around their faces.
“They’re coming,” he yelped. “Now we know there’s Breathers somewhere here.” He started to wind straps around his hands to secure them to the hafts of his axes.
Nisha cranked another gear and gunned the engine. She patted the pistols in holsters strapped to her thighs and slung from both shoulders, as well as the one shoved down her bra. Her routine gave meagre reassurance. She glanced down at the two shotguns on the bench between her and Josh.
“They’re loaded,” he grunted, pulling straps tight with his teeth.
When Nisha looked up, she groaned. “We’re gonna run out of light and road at the same time.”
The flares were arcing down to the cemetery around the church, still too far away. She’d have to drive blind, from memory. There was no way to fire more. Dozens of ghouls had lurched out from the trees and the caved-in houses to either side of the road. Some were close enough to throw themselves in front of the pickup. Some fell under the wheels, making the Chevy buck. Others clung on to the fenders despite the impact and scrabbled onto the cab. They clawed and bit at the improvised armour welded over the windows, and punched and kicked in a storm of blows, but they stayed mute in their breathless fury.
Jaw set, Nisha ploughed on. There was no way of telling where they were going and only the dull thuds and the lurching of the cab when the pickup struck more zombies proved they moved forwards at all. Then a huge shock – they had struck the gatepost of the cemetery. The zombies were thrown off. Searchlights from the spire lit up the scene and a torrent of gunfire picked off the ghouls as they struggled to their feet.
Clutching her bleeding forehead, Nisha hammered the horn. “We’re coming out,” she shrieked. Then she whispered a prayer as she heard the call, “Hold your fire!” from the parvis.
Both she and Josh kicked their doors open, throwing off clutching zombies. Josh swung both axes, clearing his way in half a dozen sweeps, then leapt over the crumpled bonnet between the cab and the smashed gatepost. Nisha waited for him, laying waste around her, firing one shotgun after the other, spinning them with practiced ease to re-cock and fire again.
Then they ran for their lives under the blinding white glare. He cleared the way ahead and she followed, blowing away any figure Josh hadn’t cut down. Josh hauled Nisha up the steps as she stumbled, gasping for air. The carven doors swung open and half a dozen men jumped out, spewing lead and smoke over the fugitives’ heads. Hands reached and grasped, hauling the two inside.
The doors boomed shut in the echoing vault. All was utterly dark for a moment of rasping breaths and shuffling feet and the hammering of a silent mob outside, against the great wooden panels. A stern voice intoned: “Praise the Lord, for He has delivered two more souls unto us! And bring a dang light!”
Matches were struck and lanterns hissed into warm glows all around, revealing a circle of anxious faces peering down at the two gasping refugees. “Prester John,” Josh laughed. “Is that you?”
But Nisha grasped his sleeve. “Josh,” she keened. He snapped his face to hers, then down to her shaking arm. A half-moon of small blood-welling pits imprinted her filth-streaked skin.
Hands reached and grasped again, unfriendly this time. Nisha screamed as she was dragged away. Josh’s bellow was cut short as a dull blow to the head robbed him of his senses.
Prester John’s orders rang out amidst Nisha’s echoing shrieks. “Keep that one under lock and key until he understands what’s best for the community. And now, Doctor Seth, bring your instruments to the altar. We may yet save the child!”
The safe haven rang to the rafters with ever more desperate screams. Outside, the lethal mob dispersed in the darkness of eternity, in total silence.
Three blooms of garish pink, blossoming one after the other, lit up ground that had not seen daylight for almost a year. The cinereous landscape was a mockery of a winter wonderland at the height of what would be summer, under a sky of perfect black. A pale blanket covered everything, like solidified smoke in this rare moment of pink-tinged brightness. Skeletal trees lined the avenue as silent reminders of a time when life once flourished. Cinders fell from the sky in thick flurries.
“That’s it,” cried Josh, banging his flare gun against the rusty grating that served as a windshield. “That’s Prester John’s chapel!” Upon the crest of the hill, dead ahead, the outline of a church stood out against utter darkness. Its spire stood like an admonition against the deadly sky.
Under the floating light, Nisha could see that the ash ahead of them was not broken by footprints or tyre tracks. “Are you sure there’s anyone there?” she gasped as she cranked up another gear.
“Everyone we’ve come across always said Prester John’s is a safe haven!”
“It had better be true,” she groaned, rubbing her hugely rounded belly.
Josh peered out of the grating in front of him and the one to the side, through the myriad holes too small for fingers to reach through. At the edge of the brightness, ambling figures appeared, shuffling through the thigh-deep powder, staggering into awkward runs, careless as to the choking clouds kicked around their faces.
“They’re coming,” he yelped. “Now we know there’s Breathers somewhere here.” He started to wind straps around his hands to secure them to the hafts of his axes.
Nisha cranked another gear and gunned the engine. She patted the pistols in holsters strapped to her thighs and slung from both shoulders, as well as the one shoved down her bra. Her routine gave meagre reassurance. She glanced down at the two shotguns on the bench between her and Josh.
“They’re loaded,” he grunted, pulling straps tight with his teeth.
When Nisha looked up, she groaned. “We’re gonna run out of light and road at the same time.”
The flares were arcing down to the cemetery around the church, still too far away. She’d have to drive blind, from memory. There was no way to fire more. Dozens of ghouls had lurched out from the trees and the caved-in houses to either side of the road. Some were close enough to throw themselves in front of the pickup. Some fell under the wheels, making the Chevy buck. Others clung on to the fenders despite the impact and scrabbled onto the cab. They clawed and bit at the improvised armour welded over the windows, and punched and kicked in a storm of blows, but they stayed mute in their breathless fury.
Jaw set, Nisha ploughed on. There was no way of telling where they were going and only the dull thuds and the lurching of the cab when the pickup struck more zombies proved they moved forwards at all. Then a huge shock – they had struck the gatepost of the cemetery. The zombies were thrown off. Searchlights from the spire lit up the scene and a torrent of gunfire picked off the ghouls as they struggled to their feet.
Clutching her bleeding forehead, Nisha hammered the horn. “We’re coming out,” she shrieked. Then she whispered a prayer as she heard the call, “Hold your fire!” from the parvis.
Both she and Josh kicked their doors open, throwing off clutching zombies. Josh swung both axes, clearing his way in half a dozen sweeps, then leapt over the crumpled bonnet between the cab and the smashed gatepost. Nisha waited for him, laying waste around her, firing one shotgun after the other, spinning them with practiced ease to re-cock and fire again.
Then they ran for their lives under the blinding white glare. He cleared the way ahead and she followed, blowing away any figure Josh hadn’t cut down. Josh hauled Nisha up the steps as she stumbled, gasping for air. The carven doors swung open and half a dozen men jumped out, spewing lead and smoke over the fugitives’ heads. Hands reached and grasped, hauling the two inside.
The doors boomed shut in the echoing vault. All was utterly dark for a moment of rasping breaths and shuffling feet and the hammering of a silent mob outside, against the great wooden panels. A stern voice intoned: “Praise the Lord, for He has delivered two more souls unto us! And bring a dang light!”
Matches were struck and lanterns hissed into warm glows all around, revealing a circle of anxious faces peering down at the two gasping refugees. “Prester John,” Josh laughed. “Is that you?”
But Nisha grasped his sleeve. “Josh,” she keened. He snapped his face to hers, then down to her shaking arm. A half-moon of small blood-welling pits imprinted her filth-streaked skin.
Hands reached and grasped again, unfriendly this time. Nisha screamed as she was dragged away. Josh’s bellow was cut short as a dull blow to the head robbed him of his senses.
Prester John’s orders rang out amidst Nisha’s echoing shrieks. “Keep that one under lock and key until he understands what’s best for the community. And now, Doctor Seth, bring your instruments to the altar. We may yet save the child!”
The safe haven rang to the rafters with ever more desperate screams. Outside, the lethal mob dispersed in the darkness of eternity, in total silence.
