Lurk

Chapter Twenty-One

“Drop your guns and climb!”

Lurk had remained ignorant to the losses over the long run, and only realized the damage when he reached the fence to the authorized car-park. The sound of footsteps coming up from behind was of much less volume than when they set out for the vehicles.

He couldn’t bring himself to turn, so waited in static indecision as, one-by-one, the survivors caught up. Snake’s bruised face was the first to bump into the wire fence, followed by his identical twin. They pursued the orders like attack hounds, dropping rifles to the ground and pouncing into the fence.

As a set of fingers landed on his shoulder, Lurk threw out a side-kick.

“Fuck!”

An already battered Nathan fell to the ground after taking a heel to the ankle. It was spot on, knocking his balance off scale without hardly any energy wasted. Vinnie flashed a “what the hell?” glance, but Lurk was past sympathy. “Get him back up, and move.”

Holstering his revolvers, Lurk fitted his feet into the wire circles, and scaled the fence like the hundreds he’d been forced to climb during basic training. Up and over, like a flash.

The nostalgia was brief, as the ground met his feet with a sharp crackle. The others decided to stop as soon as they landed, knelt over and wheezing for breath like an army of asthmatics. But he was focused on the objective: escape.

Much a suspected, the car park was a no-man’s-land, except for a few vehicles which either wouldn’t start up or were abandoned. Behind them was the fuel-station, which consisted of petrol canisters, a tanker and a small low-roof building.

“I can’t believe he’s dead!” Nathan sobbed, falling hard to his knees as the un-dead clawed at the fencing.

Their torn faces pressed up against the wiring, yellow-black tongues poking through every nook and cranny they could find. The twins were thankful to be alive, sharing an almost telepathic conversation. Snake’s eyes told it all: he wasn’t just grateful; he was shocked to be alive. While they deterred in speed, the Lurkers just gained more and more. They hadn’t the brains to register muscle pain, only the savage hunger to keep on sprinting.

Luckily for the survivors, the hordes had been slow to react to the presence of the living. But the barbaric brain-eaters which stood metres away at that very moment were in an entirely different league. It wasn’t just hunger: their eyes looked for much more than flesh.

“What the fuck are they looking at?” Vinnie scowled, booting the bottom of the fence in an effort to startle the horde. After it proved ineffective, he tried to follow their line of gaze. Every single sizzling eyeball was locked onto the same man.

The survivors froze.

Lurk also drew to a halt, withdrawing from his effort to break into a Jeep. The back of his neck tingled with the same suspicion and a paranoia that haunted him every time the situation became personal. He could feel their eyes, prodding into and scrutinizing his every breath. “What?”

Spider spoke up. “They’re looking at you... the Lurkers...”

They can see it. “Come on.” The driver window of the Jeep caved in to the will of his boot, broken glass splashing out onto the ground. With his hand he reached inside, using the inner handle to unlock the camouflaged Land Prowler.

“I guess we’d better do what he says,” Snake shrugged, following under the companionship of his brother. “If he got us this far, there’s no point in questioning him now.”

Vinnie looked to Nathan. “I guess not...”

“What... where’d they go?”

As he staggered out of the medical centre, Private Tim White set eye on the chaos which had all but ended. The only difference now was that the gunfire had ended, and all that was visible beyond the swooping hordes were clouds. Like the Lurkers, they drifted eastwards, taken by the whispers of the wind.

Not a single zombie took notice of him, and although it was obviously a bonus, he couldn’t help but feel like his power declined. After taking a man’s life at the barrel of a gun, the world seemed open with opportunity. If he could pull the trigger on another man, then he was capable of anything he desired. Nobody would ever doubt his abilities again – not as a soldier, and definitely not as a man.

“Well I’ll give you fuckers something to look at...” as he raised the barrel, Tim chose his first victim: a slow-moving First Sergeant who’d taken a bite to the neck.

Click. Ping.

One bullet to the side of the head was all that it took, and the Lurker was brought to the ground, dead. Hoping to gain some attention, Tim let the rest of the magazine rip freely, shredding the faces of four rabid Lurkers. The multitude of casualties made him buzz inside, seeing the commotion which he’d caused with one gun.

But that desire for power came at one obvious price: as steam blew from the AKs barrel, the army of the dead which had previously ignored his presence drew to a sudden stop.

“Oh shit.”

Tim abandoned his AK47, throwing it to the ground as he darted away to the left. In the distance, the nose of Hangar 6 poked up from the sea of the dead. It would be his only chance to escape this parade of rotten flesh.

“Wait, stop!”

The Jeep skidded to a standstill in the middle of the runway, leaving a trail of semi-flattened corpses in its wake. Their path of destruction was clear one to follow, with the meshed up Lurker brains painting a path sickeningly similar to the breadcrumb trail from Disney’s beloved story. But the collective will of the passengers longed never to return to this place, under any circumstances whatsoever.

Sticking up through the roof and manning the mounted MG was the masked killer responsible for the disruption. Nathan was driving the Prowler, being the most confident driver of the five. His voice was muffled, and barely able to transfer through the armoured plating.

“What is it, Lurk? We’ve got to get moving now...”

Lurk knew perfectly well why they couldn’t move on, as he rotated 180 degrees in the gunner seat. The sound of gunfire hung stale in the air, and forming in the rear of the horde were small cracks. Someone with either a suicidal conscience or a severe drug habit was deciding to penetrate the now multiplied un-dead soldiers.

Looking down the crosshairs, Lurk tried to locate the maniac in question. He was careful not to shoot, just in case that one survivor might take a hit.

“What is it? For fuck sake mate, we need to move!”

Then he saw him. “Don’t wait for me!”

Lurk bundled out of the hatch, his knees grazing the butt of the MG. A host of confused cries came from within the Prowler, and one desperate hand snatched his wrist.

There was no competition though: as Wayne Mason, Lurk had won countless arm-wrestling matches when serving overseas. That’s what the lads did when they were starved of entertainment – they fought, drank and challenged each other till they couldn’t stand any longer.

He would’ve been glad to drive on, forgetting any survivors in the hope to actually escape. But he had nothing to go back to after leaving this place. There was no life for Wayne Mason outside DMB, but as for Lurk...

“You’ll be fine, just stay off the roads and use your instincts.”

The moment his feet touched the ground, the Prowler burst forward like a shot, the exhaust spitting out monoxide and pieces of flesh. And ten metres ahead, the front of an army limped towards him, frothing at the mouths.

All he had was two revolvers and the mentality of a serial killer. But deep down, this felt right. He would avenge the “friends” of his which had fallen dead over their service under the badge, and in spectacularly gory fashion.

Bring it on.