Disintegration

“Hollis said that—”
    “I’m sick of hearing about what Hollis says,” Webb snapped. “He’s full of shit. You know what he’s like, he doesn’t want to do anything until he’s got no choice. If we sit and wait for him to make a decision we’ll have corpses knocking on the front door before he’s even agreed there’s a problem.”
    “So are they really changing?” Ellie asked.
    “Go down and have a look,” Webb said.
    “We know they are,” Stokes interrupted, “and the longer we leave it, the worse it’s going to get. We need to get in there now and sort them out before they’re capable of fighting back. We should get down there tomorrow and get rid of as many of them as we can.”

 
     
    12
     
    “I didn’t think you wanted to play,” Harte said to Hollis as he followed him out of the lobby and walked across the car park. Hollis covered his mouth and stifled a yawn. He’d given up wearing a watch several weeks ago but he guessed it was sometime around six in the morning, maybe even as late as seven. It was a cold, wet, and miserable day. Long overdue rain was finally filling the buckets, pots, and pans they’d left outside to gather water.
    “I don’t. I’ll be keeping an eye on you silly bastards from the window,” he said quietly as he filled a jug from the rainwater which had puddled at the bottom of a plastic paddling pool. “For the record I don’t know if this is going to work, but I guess it’s probably worth a try.”
    Harte nodded, surprised that Hollis seemed so positive. He watched him wander back to the flats, then pulled on a spare motorcycle helmet and ambled across the car park to where Jas stood checking the bike. Jas looked up as Harte approached.
    “You ready?” he asked. He sounded subdued.
    “Suppose,” Harte mumbled, adjusting the straps of a small rucksack which he hoisted onto his back. “Let’s just get it done.”
    It had seemed like a sensible plan last night, but now, standing here in the cold, low light of morning in full view of the endless devastation once again, they were both beginning to wonder what they’d agreed to. They were going out to try and create a distraction to reduce some of the pressure at the front of the crowd, but Jas suddenly felt less like a decoy and more like bait. Forcing himself to move, he turned his back on the huge expanse of rotting flesh which stretched out below him then climbed on the bike and started the engine. The spitting roar of the powerful machine disturbed the uneasy silence. Harte picked up a can of fuel and got on behind him, holding onto the back of the bike with his free hand as they drove away.
    Stokes and Webb watched the bike disappear from the dubious comfort of the now rain-soaked sofa where they’d sat and talked last night.
    “We should make a start,” Webb suggested. “Get down there and get ready.”
    Stokes shook his head and opened a can of lager.
    “Plenty of time, son,” he said. “Plenty of time.”
    *   *   *
     
    Jas weaved around the back of the building, cutting between the rubble and ruin and swerving around mountainous piles of rubbish which had been discarded by the survivors during their incarceration here. He drove the bike through a narrow alleyway, then powered across an empty rectangular yard lined with lock-ups and garages on either side. Through a gap in a chain-link fence, up a steep grass verge and they had reached the road without coming across a single body. There were always fewer of them on this side. Gravity, the overall geography of the land, and the mazelike layout of the dilapidated housing estate meant that the dead were naturally channeled down toward the foot of the hill rather than being allowed to gather in numbers up here behind the flats.
    The plan this morning was simple. Get far enough away from their base to be safe, yet stay close enough to create a distraction that would attract the attention of some of the huge crowds gathered around the bottom of the hill. They figured their work would be easier if the corpses were looking in the opposite direction when they mounted their attack.
    Navigating through the dead world was becoming more and more of a problem for Jas, particularly at such high speeds. He didn’t want to drive any slower, despite the relative lack of corpses on this particular stretch of road. Traveling at this rate he knew that he’d be able to get past any of the bodies foolish enough to get in his way. If he reduced his