Living with Survival: Part 2
Chapter 2: The Mask
Tears streamed down Jons face as he charged towards the infected. Tears of sorrow, or grief, maybe hatred, he wasn't sure. Very little time to think about it now. There were four. A child, its clothes brown and soaked in gore, he couldn't have been older than ten. A young woman, could have been his sister, her matted blonde hair now almost black with dirt and blood. Two men also, one completely naked, with a terrible gash at his left shoulder, the other was a swat team member, his grimy uniform topped off with his helmet, a wide crack in the visor, apparently where the infected managed to get in at him.
The crowbar came down first on the naked man, all the momentum of the glorious charge channelled into one blow. A sickening crack as his skull flew to pieces. His lifeless body crashed down to the pavement.
A spin of Jons heel brought further momentum to his second blow, the impact came directly across the face of the young girl. A loud terrible screech as she went spiralling away from him, Jon wasn't entirely sure if the hit had been fatal. But he knew he had bought a few seconds at least before she was coming back at him.
Momentum gone...
"Oh shit". The little child was nearly upon him. The swat team guy was a few feet behind. Jon allowed the child to charge right towards him. As he came within reaching distance, Jon took a wild chance. Grabbing the front of the childs t shirt with his free hand. He catapulted him the way he was charging. It worked beautifully, almost too well. The child tumbled with great speed past Jon, Jon watched as the young boy was thrust head first into a nearby lamppost. Jon had never quite seen a head and shoulders split apart like that. It actually took him out of the moment. He watched as the child slumped lifeless against the post. Broken in ways he never thought a body could be broken.
Crack! Jons vision went spinning. The swat infected had reached him in his moment of awe. It had brought its gloved fist right into the back of Jons head. Jon twirled around just quick enough to see the infected tackle him to the ground. Pain, pain is all he felt now.
Somehow, the crowbar was still tightly within his grip. His vision was blurred. He knew the infected was on top of him, he knew another blow was going to come soon. If that next hit came, it was over for Jon. He wasn't coming back from another one of those vicious punches.
"fuck you", it's all he could muster as he swung the crowbar with all his strength. If his last words were to be fuck you, at least they were fitting.
Contact, right into that cracked visor, he had punctured its face somewhere. An eye perhaps. It slumped backwards off of him. Jon still couldn't see. His world was still pain and spiralling vision. He threw up right there and then. A mix of the pain and pure adrenaline, he fell lifeless to the cold hard cement below. Unable to move, even if he wanted to. A strange thought came to Jon in that moment. All those movies he had watched. The hero gets the shit knocked out of him and still gets up to fight. One punch and an awkward rugby tackle and Jon simply was unable to go on.
What seemed like hours, but was actually minutes. He heard the gurgled snarling coming towards him from the direction of the church. Get up Jon, for Gods sake get up. He looked up towards the sound. If only to watch his doom approach.
His vision was slightly steadier, but only slightly. He waited a few seconds and focussed towards the sound. That's when he saw him; at first he didn't believe it. But he recognised him.
"Jesus Christ" Jon said as the priest came speeding towards him. It was him. The same priest they had locked away in the church a few weeks ago. His manic look had not changed, yes he was a little more dishevelled and had been infected for a few weeks at least, but he was undeniably familiar under the red eyes and monstrous facial contortions.
He jerked and shrieked as he got closer, as if unable to control his movements fully. A couple of feet away now.
The noise was deafening, as was the other one that followed it. Jons eyes slammed shut as if by reaction. Not before seeing a spray of blood come spurting from the priests neck. He opened his eyes just in time to see the second bullet go tearing through the back of his heads and out threw its jaw. And as if by magic the movement stopped. He stumbled first to his knees and then face planted the pavement.
"What the fuck" Jon looked around, still unable to gather his surroundings. That's when he saw it running towards him.
A black rain coat that ran down to his shins, its hood up over his head. The mask it wore was part terrifying and part hilarious. A clown face, with a gaping smile, one buck tooth peeping from under its lips. The nose up to its forehead was decorated with the British flag. It held an impressive rifle in both hands.
"Get up" it said. "GET UP!". It held out a gloved hand.
"More infected will be coming, they always do"
Jon grabbed it by the hand and pulled himself to his feet, pain in his head, he was amazed he could stand.
"Now fucking run"
The mask lead the way, yanking Jon by the wrist. As they darted down a nearby alleyway, Jon could just about hear the infected closing in on where they just were.
The mask darted through a door, Jon just about caught on to his surroundings before they ran clear though the large factory warehouse and straight out of another door.
Jon felt like they were running forever, room after room, alley after alley. How much distance had they put between them and the scene they had left? "I can't go on" Jon was truly out of steam. "We are nearly there". A mans voice.
They arrived soon after. A house, very unassuming. They went through the back door. In through the lounge, up the stairs. The mask pulled the attic steps down. He led the way and held his hand down for Jon to follow.
Darkness, some musty attic somewhere. Why had he come here, he almost had his senses back. He felt fear again. Where was he? And who had led him here?
A flicker of light comes from the corner of the room. A candle beams into life. The mask in all its grotesque patriotism comes into view. That British flag plastered across a mocking clown face, madness.
"Who are you?" Jon demanded
Silence. It just stood there, staring.
"I said who the fuck are you?" Jon took a step forward, he had left his crowbar behind, and he was no longer in control, if he ever was to begin with.
"Shhhhh, you'll bring them to us"
That voice...
He pulled his hands up, and slowly removed the mask. It took A few seconds to refocus on his face.
"Where are Mike and Liv?" He said
"Tim..." Jon whispered.