7 – One for Sorrow
The subway was quiet. Zoey bit back the pain that racked her body with every single step. Louis' fumbling hands wiped the sweat and blood from his brow as he struggled to turn his neck either way. Francis chuckled to himself as he tottered from side to side drunkenly. Bill winced as he glanced at the state of his team. The team he had handed to Zoey, the poor little girl who limped before him, dying. He sighed, breaking the silence. Zoey turned to look at him, and felt a wave of nausea, accompanied by pity for the old man. He was the least injured of the team, managing to ignore the jagged cut that ran down his arm, but his face was sadder than any of them. And he looked tired, so, so tired. Zoey felt obliged to break the silence.
"Not long now ladies!" she sounded somewhat preppy, and also reminiscent of Francis' safe room success jaunts. Zoey took a leaf out of Louis' book, and forced a smile onto her bruised face, simply because Louis was too hurt to do it himself. She challenged Bill's speed and valour, as she upped the pace of her plodding feet, biting back the pain that flowed from her abdomen freely and gloriously. She gritted her teeth and marched on, leading the group once more. She managed to raise her arm, and took down a zombie with three shots.
After a few painful minutes, Zoey spotted a light in the distance. It was warm and orange, but it didn't flicker like fire. She squinted and realised that it must be the exit of the subway. Relief passed over her once more, and went surprisingly far to dull the pain. As if it was possible, Zoey picked up the pace once more, almost dragging the boys with her. Although the boys didn't like to admit it, no matter how many slavering infected she peeled off them, they all saw her as the vulnerable one, and none of them wanted to be bettered by a nerdy teen girl. But Zoey had accepted that. And at least they were starting to value her as a superior. She grinned to herself, mocking her own sexist train of thought.
Zoey was suddenly propelled to the side, as Francis' drunken stupor caused him to topple sideways grasping onto Zoey for support. She gasped in pain as her ribs jolted in and out of place, sending agonising shivers down her body. She winced again, as Francis chuckled, righting himself. Zoey turned and stared into his unfocussed and glossy eyes, feeling rage and hopelessness building inside her. She slapped him. The slap must have contained some force, because it sent Francis' concussion filled head spinning to the side, his expression gormless and scared. The smile dropped from his lips, hiding itself once more, in his unruly goatee.
"You slap pretty hard, for a girl!" Francis slurred, bemusement replacing his previous fit of content hysteria. Zoey raised her hand to slap him again, but it was a mock threat. Francis flinched, and then muttered some form of apology. Zoey turned around once more, carried on walking, trying to ignore the sad expression on Bill's face. Although Zoey had thought it before; she now knew it to be true. Bill was too old for this "horseshit". She found herself thinking of the horrible things he might have encountered, but shoved them from her mind, as she realised that she didn't need to dwell on those things.
The tunnel had fallen quiet once more. There were no signs of life ahead, and things were looking up. As soon as they hit the road, they could find a car, and drive it to riverside. Zoey was so glad that they could use a car. It had been the number one rule she had forced onto the team when they had met. Do not use cars, as they only attract more zombies. But it would be ok on the open road; there wouldn't be many zombies, unlike the city, of course. The place was teeming with infected individuals. And again, irony struck, like lightening, which made Zoey grin. Every single zombie film ever, had told Zoey that the innocents always got stuck in the city, somewhere populated, and the city was always full of zombies.
Zoey trudged on, lost in her own thoughts, enjoying the chorus of their own soft padding footsteps, and the occasional twang of railway metal. Then the silence broke. It may have been broken long before Zoey realised, but she noticed eventually, and her safe haven of comforting thoughts was drained away. Fear gripped Zoey yet again, but this time, along with it, flew sadness so profound, that it shook Zoey. The steps lay in front of her, leading up, showing them the night sky, with the stars twinkling. But she didn't feel joy. She tensed, and along with her, so did the rest of her team. A solitary tear ran down Bill's cheek, before it was wiped away quickly. He was definitely too old for this.
Zoey gulped, wishing once more for a deathly silence. But it didn't grant her wish. Zoey's head hung in despair. She almost lay on the floor to die. But she couldn't. A sickness worked its way from the tips of their toes, to their brains, which, unlike any other strong emotion, failed to quell the pain. Instead the pain only swelled, and intensified. The silence was gone. And in its place, were only tears. The sobs echoed down the steps, gliding down each one, tenderly pressing itself into every nook and cranny. They swam through the air, killing all happiness in their path. But it wasn't the sound of the Witch crying that scared the team; it was the fact that it wasn't alone.
Zoey tried to separate each wail of sadness from the next; trying to pinpoint exactly how many Witches were waiting for them. When each sob ended, a different one started. Zoey ran it over in her head, and decided that she couldn't count them. She would have to look. Her mind felt like it had separated from its body, as she wandered up the steps, her feet uncertain and scared. The cries seemed to compete, as they intensified with each step. As the pain from Zoey's abdomen got worse, she battled it, while being assaulted by grim thoughts of what was to come, and feeling the pressure of the devastating sobs. Her thoughts were so utterly confused at this cruel twist of fate, and suddenly, everything seemed so much more poetic and metaphorical. As the Witches came into sight, Zoey's breath caught.
Although it only took a few seconds, it felt like Zoey had spent an eternity counting the Witches. At first, it had been hard to pinpoint where they were, because they were surrounded by white. Was it snow? It couldn't have been. Their chalky white skin did however stand out to the pitch white of the backdrop. Zoey squinted, keeping her breath caught in her throat. She didn't want to startle any of them. After another moment, Zoey counted eight pairs of glowing red eyes that bobbed up and down slowly and erratically. Zoey realised that these odds were the kind of odds that could kill you, and quickly turned back and skipped down the steps, her ribs clattering together loosely as she hobbled back to her team. She was almost at the point where the pain didn't hurt anymore, but she was still in agony.
"There's eight of 'em, and too close to sneak around." Zoey wheezed, as her lungs panged sharply with deep breaths. Francis guffawed loudly, but Zoey shot him a sharp glare. He pulled a childish face, but before he could go as far as poking his tongue out, his eyes rolled backwards in his head, and he clutched it painfully. The impact with that wall had knocked the sense out of him. Zoey considered feeding him to the Witches, to bring him back to earth, and she found herself chuckling at the thought.
She had to check herself quickly, feeling guilty once more. Perhaps it didn't matter that Francis had lost his mind, because in a way, they all had. Zoey watched as Francis waddled over to the nearest support beam to lean on it and catch his thoughts. Louis was silently cursing himself and rubbing his head. Woe didn't deserve to fall upon Louis, Zoey thought again. She had been crushed into the ground by a Tank, and Louis was complaining about a cut on his head. At least with Bill it was more psychological. Almost as though he couldn't bear killing these infected anymore. Louis of course still enjoyed killing them as much as Zoey and Francis did, but perhaps Bill was starting to see them as people more and more. Zoey tried to dwell on other things once more. What the zombies used to be, was a definite no go subject.
Her attention was brought back to Francis when he started giggling again. She looked up to him, to see him standing in the corner, his back to them, laughing. He had something in his hand, a bottle of some sort. There was the sound of a match striking alight. The realisation struck Zoey, but far too late. Francis brought his arm backwards his muscles flexing, illuminated by the light that flickered from the top of the Molotov cocktail. His face was creased in a mischievous smile. As Zoey's jaw dropped in horror, Francis' arm uncoiled, throwing the Molotov from his grasp. Zoey's eyes followed the spinning object through the air, as it spun like a Catherine wheel. It arced into the air, flying over the steps that led upwards, and disappeared through the opening that showed the night sky.
The muffled smash of the Molotov could be heard, which was instantly followed by a chorus of deathly screeches, each screech competing with the next. Zoey winced as the screams hurt her ears. There were a few moments of darkness, and then the tunnel was suddenly lit up. All eight Witches had appeared at the top of the stairs, all flailing and squealing as the flames enveloped their skin. Their hair circled their heads manically as it swung erratically from side to side, their feet stumbling purposefully, already heading for the survivors. In an attempt to put out the flames, their claws flashed about horribly, scratching at their skin. It was a horrible sight, and Zoey thought to herself, maybe this was hell.
But Action-Zoey kicked in, and she flicked her heads to her team. Louis' mouth was open, as if he was going to scream, and Bill's eyes were wide with fear, as he struggled to decide which of the attackers he should gun down first. The smile had actually been wiped from Francis' face, finally. He was obviously realising now, that what he had done was wrong, and stupid, but still like a child, he didn't think that his actions had killed him.
Ignoring the pain in her ribs, and the pain in the back of her head, Zoey dodged around Bill and Louis, who were still frozen by the sight, and darted for Francis. Her hands darted for his shiny new shotgun, and yanked it from his grasp, meeting little resistance. She sensed him drop to his knees, as she pointed the shotgun forward and fired wildly into the oncoming Witches. They had actually reached the bottom of the steps as she did this, and Bill and Louis had started to move backwards. It must have taken a lot of courage on Louis' part to not just turn around and run away.
Zoey counted nine loud bangs from the end of the shotgun, before her ammo count was spent. She tried to focus on the Witches, and tried even harder to ignore the pain she felt, every time the shotgun jerked backwards, bashing her ribs each time. On the sixth shot, a Witch's last dying scream escaping from its falling corpse. Its body managed to stumble two other Witches, which were already heading for Bill and Louis, buying them some time, as they too began to unload on the demonic things. Zoey allowed a small smile as she saw that there was at least some hope.
Spinning back to Francis, who was still on his knees, she reached forward and grabbed onto his vest pocket, wrenching it open and sending shotgun shells scattering into the air. She quickly scooped up four and loaded the first one into the gun. As she turned back to see the Witches, she gasped as a fiery Witch emerged in front of her, bringing its deadly claws in a wide arc, swiping for her abdomen. A short bark erupted from the shotgun surprisingly, and the Witches head exploded into a spray of blood. Bile rose in the poor vulnerable girl's throat, as the Witch fell. A third Witch was suddenly on Francis, the already bloody claw shredding the front of his vest, and sending smatters of blood across its rage filled face. As Francis cried out, and thudded to the cold hard train tracks, Zoey urgently loaded the shells into the gun and fired them at the Witch, aiming for the head once more. The third shot managed to kill the Witch, which slumped over Francis' legs, blood pooling onto the floor. Francis screamed as the heat of the still burning Witch scalded his legs.
As Zoey bent low to scoop up another pile of shells from the floor, she saw a whiz of white before her, and she looked up to see a flaming Witch standing above Francis, its body shaking violently, in small jerky moments, its claws raised above its head. Its claws sunk into Francis' belly, as Zoey loaded another two shells and fired them. This didn't kill the Witch, and it began to thrash back and forth wildly, its claws still buried in Francis. Zoey loaded on more shell and aimed for the head, sending the Witch keeling over, and slumping on the tracks. Zoey turned, and loaded another shell, her wrist aching. Another Witch was heading towards them, but it had already been shredded by the assault rifles, and it fell after one blast.
Before Zoey could catch her breath, there was a loud gritty scream, which came from further down the tunnel. Zoey scooped another pile of shells, ignoring Francis as he lay on the floor crying, clutching his slightly shredded stomach. There was another scream, this one higher. Zoey rounded the corner, loading the tenth shell into the shotgun. She didn't allow herself to wonder how reloading a shotgun had been so natural to her. Zoey hopped over a dead Witch, which was no longer alight, just slightly charcoaled, and then Bill and Louis came into view.
Bill was closest, with a Witch slumped in front of him, dead. He was on his back, and blood was leaking onto the tracks, from a wound in his chest. He had drawn his dual pistols, and was firing further up the tunnel. His shots were sluggish, and not very accurate, but they were still managing to shred the back of the glowing Witch that was now towering over Louis devilishly. Its claws darted forwards and Louis screamed once more. Before the Witch could begin to thrash about, Zoey fired the shotgun down the tunnel, killing the Witch in four shots.
Without hesitating, Zoey grabbed Bill, pulling him to his feet, and then sped off down the tunnel, heaving the dead Witch off Louis, and then dragging him back up. He sobbed as she yanked his arm, and grabbed his shirt collar, shouting into his face.
"Louis, I'm half your size! C'mon, get up!" Zoey was desperate. She couldn't let him die. Louis scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, which worryingly, wasn't very fast. After he was up, Zoey darted back down the tunnel to Bill, placing a hand on his shoulder, and then after she was sure he was alive, she ran to Francis.
There was a substantial amount of blood that decorated the floor around Francis, and four Witches lay close to him, definitely dead now. All flames were now extinguished, which left Francis in semi-darkness. He was mumbling and slurring, and half-humming as his head lolled from side to side. Zoey dropped to one knee, and slapped him as hard as she could. His eyes snapped open, and he panted hard. He looked genuinely terrified, and Zoey felt guilty again. His hand rose carefully to his face as if to check it was still there, and then floated gingerly over his stomach before it caressed it gently.
"Zoey? Why am I bleeding?" Francis asked, fear present in his voice.
"You startled all those Witches, Francis! Remember?" Zoey said, with venom. It was Francis' turn to look guilty, and he pulled himself up. He used the wall to support himself, and looked up, watching the sulking girl walking away from him.
"Zoey…" Francis asked apprehensively. "Did they get you?"
Zoey looked down at her stomach, and saw that there were two parallel slits running across her stomach, and the material around them was wet with blood.
"Just a scratch." She whispered, but it was loud enough for him to hear. Bill and Louis' slow footsteps padding close behind her, but she didn't turn. Her feet sped up again, and she climbed the steps without stopping. As she reached the top, confusion struck her. Before her lay a large white expanse, but it was not of snow, but of sugar. A huge tanker lay before them, with a huge hole in its side. The word DUCATEL could be seen written across it, and all of the sugar had leaked out onto the road. Zoey didn't know how this explained the Witches, but it would do for an explanation, for now.
Zoey felt a surge of pain, as her ribs started to throb madly, bringing her to her knees. The cold sharp air brought sugar up into her eyes, stinging them, and hurting the Witch inflicted wound that was spread across her stomach. She began to laugh manically, rocking backwards and forwards, tears streaming down her eyes. The pain hurt so bad, that it warped her vision, the sugar before her swirling and dancing in some sort of sick and twisted tango with her thoughts. She heard a voice, which was somewhat gruff and close, but also faint and distance. Was it her father? She looked to her right, still laughing quietly to herself, her ribs detaching from her body and jumping out of her skin with every heart beat. Then suddenly all went quiet.
To Zoey's right, stood a magnificent army SUV that had its driver side door slightly ajar. The laughing stopped, and the pain subsided. There was hope after all. She clumsily and painfully climbed to her feet, and began to make her way slowly to the SUV. She knew the way to Riverside from this station, and it would only be about 10 miles or so. If riverside was still holding out, they could get help and all their wounds would be healed. She might live to see sunlight again.
Zoey wrapped her frail hand around the bloody door handle of the SUV, and wrenched it open. With Bill's help she pulled the dead driver from the seat, leaving him in a pile on the floor. She climbed in, and wrapped her hands round the driving wheel. She reached for the ignition, but the bleeding Louis climbed in beside her, a health kit in hand, and lifted her jacket without asking. Zoey tiredly pushed his hand away, and took the health kit from him.
She whispered "Where?", and Louis pointed to an ambulance that was on its side, mere yards from where the SUV stood. Bill and Francis were limping from it, fresh blood still staining their clothes, but with as much health packs as they could carry. Zoey managed to smile as they climbed in, and as Louis took another health kit, Zoey lifted her jacket up, turning to the side, so he couldn't see. Ten minutes passed, as the survivors patched up their wounds.
Then as a collective sigh escaped their mouths, Zoey flicked the dog-tag dangling from the key absently, and then twisted it in the ignition. The car jerked as the thick wheels crunched over a dead infected that lay in the sugar, and Zoey hoped that the men wouldn't be able to hear the way her ribs clanked together painfully. Stepping down on the accelerator as hard as she could, Zoey drove off into the night, all to painfully aware of how uncertain their fates were.
