Disintegration

Feeling more confident, Sean stood his ground as it bounced back and came toward him. This time he thrust it back much harder, suddenly reveling in the unexpected satisfaction of the one-sided fight. After weeks of being held back and stifled he could understand why Webb thought of this as therapy. Problem was, what did he do next?
    “What now?” he asked, feeling nervous again.
    “Finish it,” Webb replied.
    “How?”
    “The bat.”
    He looked over his shoulder. The baseball bat was on the ground a short distance behind him. Giving the body a final hard shove to keep it at bay, he picked up the bat, then turned back around to face his dead opponent. The weapon felt comfortable in his hands, reassuringly natural. As the cadaver began to stagger forward again he swung the bat around. Almost two months of pent-up anger, pain, frustration, fear, and grief added to the strength of his attack. He felt the bat slice through the air, heard it whistle as it flew past his ear, then felt it smash into the body, lifting it clean off its feet. An unexpected shock ran through his arms as the end of the bat drove straight through the dead man and thudded into the side of the truck, nails sinking into metal. He dropped his hands. The weapon remained stuck in the truck door.
    “Fuck me,” Webb said, getting closer again. “Good shot, mate.”
    Panting, Sean looked up and admired his handiwork. The remains of the bearded man were pinned to the truck, the bat having pierced its throat, almost flattening it. He looked down and saw that the force of his attack had been such that the creature’s feet were swinging inches off the floor. With a a satisfied grunt, he pulled the bat free and the bloody carcass dropped to the ground.
    “How you feeling now?” Webb asked.
    “Get me another.”

 
     
    34
     
    Bloodied and exhausted, Webb and Sean returned to the hotel hours later to find the rest of the group gathered in the Steelbrooke Suite—a large, bright conference room with floor to ceiling length windows along two sides, located toward the rear right-hand corner of the hotel complex, overlooking the grounds and the boundary fence. The two men stashed their soiled clothing in an empty bedroom before joining the others, hoping to hide the evidence of their excursion like naughty schoolchildren. They needn’t have bothered. Hardly anyone looked up when they arrived.
    “Where’ve you been?” Harte asked, only slightly interested.
    “Exercising,” Webb replied before Sean could say anything which might incriminate them. He walked toward the back of the room where Hollis, Lorna, Martin, and Gordon sat looking at a map of the area. He stopped first at another table, upon which a pile of food had been left. He helped himself to a bar of chocolate, threw one across the room to Sean, then began cramming food into his mouth.
    “Take it easy,” Martin complained as Webb almost immediately picked up a second bar and unwrapped it as he walked toward the others.
    “Why?” he protested with his mouth full, showering the map in chocolate and spittle. “There’s plenty left.”
    “We’ve only got one more box left in the stores,” Ginnie piped up from where she sat nearby, sewing a pair of trousers.
    “I’m not talking about what’s in here,” he explained. He pointed out of the window. “I’m talking about out there.”
    “I’m working on them, Webb, give me time,” Hollis told him. Intrigued, Webb looked down at the map.
    “Where’s this, then?” he asked, still chewing.
    “You are here,” Hollis answered, tapping his finger on the top right corner of the page.
    “So what’s here?” Webb wondered, drawing a large circle in the air above the map. “Anywhere worth going?”
    “Bromwell,” Gordon volunteered, pointing out the small town a few kilometers east of their present location.
    “So that’s where we’re heading?”
    “We’re not sure yet,” Martin quickly interrupted. “That’s what we were talking about, but no decisions have been made.”
    “Well, I’m sure,” Harte said from across the room. “Forget all this bullshit, that’s where I’m going.”
    “And that’s what bothers me.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You know exactly what I mean. I saw how you were with the Swimmer this morning. If you go out there making as much of a disturbance you’ll end up bringing thousands of bodies back here with you.”
    “Whatever,” Harte mumbled, far from interested.
    “We