Death After Death (Book #2)

Chapter Three

The twenty or so clickers were closing in on the pub fast, leaving Max little time to work out his game plan. The group in the pub were fleeing from the back, so logic dictated that he should lead the undead in the opposite direction. Max took a few seconds to ready himself, now cursing himself for pouring that beer away, before he got to work.

"Come on then! Over here! All eyes on me! Walking dinner over here," Max called out to the approaching horde, banging the two empty bottles together as he did so.

The high-pitched clinks rang around the street, as the clickers' heads snapped towards Max, their hungry eyes already picturing his warm flesh.

"This is such a bad idea," he mumbled.

As the undead stumbled within a few metres of him, Max slipped past the first few, in order to lead them back the way they came. Darting round the side and zig-zagging through the gaps between the corpses, he made it about half way before he ran into trouble.

The clickers towards the back of the group broke ranks, determined to cut Max off and be the first to tear into the fresh meal. He held off the first few, pushing them back with a powerful barge from his fore arm, but before long, the wall of bodies began closing in.

"Shit."

Max was only a few clickers from the back of the group, but they had encircled him far faster than he'd anticipated. It was almost as if they were growing more organised by the day.

Max continued to drive forward, careful not to let any clicker within biting distance. He lifted one of the bottles high above his head, before sending it crashing down onto a head immediately in front of him.

The end of the bottle smashed, imbedding small pieces of glass into the skull of his adversary. Without a second's though, Max instinctively drove the remained of the bottle straight into the clicker's face. The glass squelched on impact, easing its way into the flesh as Max forced it forward. He kept pushing until even the neck of the bottle was wedged into the skull.

The clicker wailed as the razor-sharp glass tore into its brain, and as it fell to the ground, Max lashed out with a powerful boot in order to clear his path.

Another clicker approached from his left, but he swatted it away with one swift strike from his remaining bottle. He now understood why drunk thugs used these weapons in bar riots; they were lethal.

Yet again he was left with the smashed remains of his weapon, which he used efficiently, pushing it through the forehead of his next victim. One of the shards pierced the clicker's right eye ball on the way through and it let out a sickening pop as Max thrust the glass as far into the skull as he could.

There was still one clicker between Max and freedom, but his bottles were gone, and his weapons were stashed away in his bag.

He ducked his head down and spread out his arms, driving forward and rugby tackling the last body. It tumbled to the ground, with Max pinning it down. He jumped to his feet, worried that the chasing clickers would bundle on top of him before he could finish it off. Checking over his shoulder, he had just enough time to bend his knees and jump high into the air, bringing the soles of two size ten boots down on the clicker's face.

The skull collapsed in on itself, with blood and brains spurting in all directions. The unmistakeable c***k of bone filled the night sky.

"For f**k's sake," Max moaned as he clocked the state of his favourite shoes.

Shaking the excess goo from his boots as he went, Max jogged a few metres ahead of the clickers, before turning around to lure them away properly.

They looked like the most dysfunctional army regiment ever.

"Repeat after me!" Max hawked sarcastically. "I don't know what I've been told..."

Click, click, click.

"What a sorry bunch," he chuckled to himself.

Max withdrew his machete, and continued to lead the rotting lot of corpses away from the pub, banging his blade against a lamppost every now and then to keep their attention.

He scanned the crowd in front of him, before his eyes settled on a teenage girl in the middle of the pack. He knew it wasn't Lizzie, but it looked enough like her to make him think.

It has been a month or so since Max's visit to Katherine's grave, and even now he was amazed he'd made it this long. For weeks he was inconsolable, drifting from bar to bar to drown his sorrows. He'd blamed himself for her death, Katherine's too, and had come within an inch of taking his life, just to be with them again.

The it occurred to him. That wasn't what they would have wanted at all. They were both so full of life, so strong and proud and funny; they would have been disappointed if he'd just given up.

He decided he had to carry on. For Lizzie, for Katherine, John, Mona and all the prisoners at the pit. He owed it to them to survive; not only that, to live too.

They had all had their lives cut so short, it was his responsibility to live them on their behalf now. He intended to see as much as he could see, help as many people as he could, and to enjoy himself along the way. That was the most important thing, he thought, they would want him to be happy.

Lizzie had finally given him a reason for living, for the first time in years, and he didn't intend to throw that away.

However, there was one thing he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted his family and friends to be proud of him, but at the same time, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't watch Joey die slowly by his own hands.

He wanted to watch the pain on his face. He wanted to see the same fear Lizzie must have felt in her final moments. He would treasure that look on Joey's smug face for the rest of his days.

It was just something he had to do.

By this point Max had led the clicker's several streets away, and decided to quickly duck inside a house, exit through a window and leave them behind in a confused mess.

"I think I've earned that drink," Max muttered to himself as he walked back down the road.

He was careful not to lure any new clickers back with him, but once he was confident the coast was clear, he jogged round the last corner towards the pub.

"At last! Took your time," a voice called out from up ahead.

JJ had a cheeky smirk on his face, as he took another sip from his champagne, which apparently, he wasn't sharing.

"I thought I told you guys to get out of here?" Max smiled.

"Yeah well, it seemed rude to leave without saying thank you," Dawson said, handing Max his beer.