Disintegration

overprotective parent. He pushed his way closer to the glass. Jas noticed that the trapped corpse almost appeared to relax when it saw him. It immediately backed off and returned to the shadows. Had it recognized Martin, or had he just imagined it?
    “We’re not doing anything,” Harte replied, sounding like a guilty child who’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
    “Leave her alone,” Martin said, seething with anger and turning on the other men. “She’s important. The day she finally drops is the day we’re free to go outside again. We need her. We’ve managed perfectly well here so far and we don’t need cretins like you coming along and screwing it all up. Understand?”
    Harte didn’t say anything. Martin didn’t give him a chance to. Before Harte could open his mouth he’d turned his back and stormed away along the corridor.

 
     
    33
     
    “You must have got rid of one of them?”
    “No, nothing.”
    “Christ, it’s been almost two months and you haven’t even fought one? You haven’t got your hands dirty once?”
    “No, I told you. Look, I’m not proud of it. I wish I could have been out there instead of being stuck in here, but you’ve seen what they’re like. You’ve seen what I’m up against. This lot are scared of their own shadows.”
    “It does you good to get rid of a few of them from time to time. Me and Stokes used to call it therapy.”
    “Therapy?”
    “Good for the mind and good for the body. You should try it.”
    “Maybe I will…”
    “Come on, then.”
    “What? Now?”
    “Why not? You scared?”
    “No, it’s just that I don’t think we should—”
    “Come on, you fucking wimp.”
    *   *   *
     
    Webb and Sean sprinted down the twisting track which led away from the front of the hotel, glancing anxiously over their shoulders to make sure they hadn’t been seen. It would be easier if they could get away without the others knowing—they’d just ask stupid, pointless questions and try to stop them. They wouldn’t understand. Webb knew what he was doing. This was important. Sean was surely going to have to fight eventually. Better that he got used to it now than when it really mattered. More to the point, if it came to the crunch he didn’t want to find himself fighting side by side with an amateur.
    “Slow down,” Sean moaned, “I’ve got a stitch.” He was nervous and hot and was struggling with the sudden exertion after weeks of sitting around doing very little. Webb had also insisted he put on as many layers of clothing as he could find and he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Webb grinned at him without any sympathy.
    “Not chickening out on me, are you?”
    “No, it’s just that—”
    “Come on!” he shouted, still running toward the coach which blocked the end of the road. “Get a move on!”
    Sean watched as Webb athletically pulled himself up the side of the coach using the wing mirror, then scrambled over the roof and lowered himself down the other side. With considerably more effort and less success he followed, clambering clumsily over the vehicle then half-jumping, half-falling to stand next to Webb in the middle of the desolate road junction where the survivors had fought yesterday. The carnage was incredible. He’d never seen anything like it. The carpet of blood and gore and dismembered remains which covered the ground was grotesque and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off it. He’d seen some sights since everyone had fallen and died weeks back, but nothing like this. Sean also found himself watching Webb, who casually kicked his way through the mayhem, using his nail-skewered baseball bat weapon to sweep decaying guts and smashed bones out of the way. The violence he had imagined beyond the hotel walls suddenly felt uncomfortably close and real.
    “Okay then,” Webb announced, his voice cocksure and overly confident. “Let’s get started.”
    Sean tried to say something but then realized that he couldn’t. His mouth was dry with nerves and all he could do was watch as Webb looked around and then jogged across to the far side of the junction. He climbed up onto the roof of the cab of another truck, knelt down and watched the dead on the other side as they immediately swarmed toward him. Using his spiked baseball bat like a bizarre fishing rod, he hooked the back of one of the nearest corpses and dragged it up out of the crowd. Its emaciated weight was negligible and lifting it was easy. He