Purification

turning onto the road which ran through the heart of Danvers Lye. ‘I think we’re better off leaving the vehicles here. We don’t want to go too far in there and find we’ve got ourselves cut off.’
    Brigid stopped the jeep and turned off the engine. The other car pulled up behind her and the truck stopped alongside it. Quietly and nervously the survivors climbed out of their vehicles and regrouped in the middle of the road.
    ‘So what now? Do we just go marching in there?’
    Harper asked. Michael shook his head.
    ‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe we should take it slow and try and clear the buildings one at a time?’
    ‘Sounds
    sensible…’
    ‘Look,’ Gayle Spencer whispered. She pointed further along the street in front of them, deeper into the shadowy village. Alerted by the sound of the engines, a number of bodies had already dragged themselves out into the open and were moving towards the group with obvious intent.
    Harry Stayt readied his sword.
    ‘We knew there were going to be a few like this, didn’t we?’ he said as he anxiously swapped the blade from hand to hand.
    ‘We should try and flush these out,’ suggested Fry.
    ‘What?’
    ‘All of the bodies that are still reacting like this - we should try making as much noise as we can to bring them out into the open.’
    ‘Makes sense,’ agreed Brigid. ‘What have you got in mind?’
    Fry ducked into the front of the pickup truck and reached across and leant on the horn. The ugly, unexpected noise echoed across the otherwise quiet island, so loud that for a moment it seemed even to silence the relentless sound of the waves crashing against the grey-stone walls of the small harbour just a couple of hundred metres ahead of them.
    ‘I’ll make a start,’ Stayt muttered under his breath. He began to walk down the road to meet the gangly bodies staggering the other way, his sword gripped tightly in his hand and raised ready to strike. His stomach was churning with nerves.
    ‘Does anyone else get the impression he enjoys this?’
    Harper mumbled. ‘Sick bastard.’
    ‘At least he’s trying,’ Spencer snapped. ‘We’re just stood here looking at him.’
    Michael watched anxiously as the lone survivor neared the first two bodies. Like an expert swordsman (which he clearly was not) he lifted the blade above his head and swung it round in a long and surprisingly graceful arc, managing somehow to effortlessly sever the head of the nearest cadaver. The body crumbled to the ground instantly, its decapitated head thumping down onto the tarmac next to it like a rotten peach. Another flash of the blade and the second corpse was also felled, its head removed with equal speed but far less precision.
    ‘I’m behind you, Harry,’ Harper shouted as Stayt marched forward with increasing confidence. Harper jogged down the street after his sword-wielding colleague.
    He had visions of the other survivor thinking he was a body approaching from behind and turning round and striking out at him with his blade. Ahead of them six more dark figures now were near, and six more figures were almost instantly hacked down. Harper, Michael and Spencer began to collect up the bloody remains of Stayt’s handiwork which lay scattered around the street. Moving quickly they dragged the corpses over to an area of scrub land on the other side of the road and began to pile them up.
    The emaciated remains of Cormansey’s most senior police officer lurched at Stayt from behind a wooden fence, knocking him off-balance momentarily. With one gloved hand he pushed the body away, sending it stumbling backwards. It tripped over the twitching torso of another dead islander and fell to the ground. Seizing the opportunity Stayt lifted his sword and chopped down at the corpse, slicing the top of its head clean off, following through and hitting the ground. He winced as the vibration of the impact of the sword on the hard tarmac travelled the length of his tired arms. Breathless he moved onto the next body and then the next and then the next, driven on by a curious combination of adrenaline and revulsion. Fry and Brigid stood together and watched from a distance, listening as Stayt’s blade whistled and sliced through the cold October air.
    ‘That’s it, Harry,’ Harper shouted. Suddenly aware that the clumsy movement around him had stopped, Stayt stood still and looked up and down the street. The previously unremarkable grey scene was now awash with blood and gore and fallen