AFTER (Book #3)

Chapter Five

"Go now!"

"Rodney, f*****g go!"

"Good luck!"

...

"Thank you."

...

Dawson continued to dangle the tips of her toes over the edge of the van bonnet, as close as she dared to the meat-grinding mouths of the swarming clickers. Every time a particularly hungry undead went in for the kill, she stooped and drove her knife deep into the top of their skull. Every time a few stragglers broke off to chase Rodney and George, she fired off a round of bullets into their backs with her spare hand.

She was like a deadly wind-up toy, switching from knife to gun expertly, like a circus clown keeping a seemingly impossible number of plates spinning simultaneously. Knife, gun, knife gun, knife, gun, until Rodney and George were completely out of sight, and safe in her mind.

Just as she dispatched her latest knife victim and turned to fire off a burst into the clickers on the far side of the van, her gun let out a desperate click, as if it was gasping for air after such a lengthy and brutal assault.

"s**t," Dawson seethed, throwing the empty rifle over her shoulder.

There was no time to change clip. By the time she had rustled through her bag and slotted in the new ammo, they would be on her from every angle.

Knife, knife, knife, knife...knife.....knife........knife

Dawson was growing weary, and the clickers were only growing in numbers, surrounding the van on every side, doing their best to clamber onto the bonnet beside her. The vehicle suddenly dipped and jolted, resting at a level slightly lower than before. Dawson looked over her shoulder just in time to see a clicker dive at her from the very top roof, mouth wide, and eyes piercingly red. She swivelled her body around to the left, shifting her weight just in time to grab the falling clicker and ease it over her head and into the crowd bellow.

The suspension dipped and jolted again, as more of the undead began to clamber up onto the van from its rear. Dawson hauled herself back onto the roof to meet them, surrendering the bonnet to the horde. Within seconds they had claimed it as their own, like bees swarming to protect the hive, the white paint was engulfed by flailing limbs.

Dawson planted her feet on the flattest, most stable part of metal she could find, as the clickers continued to climb up the warped roof at the back of the van. She kicked and jabbed with her knife to keep them at bay, but it was no use, they were closing in on her from more angles than she could defend.

With the high ground on her side, Dawson braved a quick ammo change, using the soles of her sturdy boots to protect her until then. She couldn't hear the noise of impact above the incessant clicking, but she could feel the vibrations through her foot, and all the way up her leg. The cracking of bone, teeth crunching out of place, flesh tearing under pressure.

She lifted her gun just in time to feel the excruciating pain of teeth tearing through her calf. She crashed down onto one knee, roaring out in sheer agony, as she thrust her knife through the eye socket of the clicker responsible. It immediately fell still, but the demonic red eyes remained wide open, and the teeth remained clamped around the flesh of her leg.

Dawson threw the lifeless body away from her skin, sending it tumbling down the windscreen and bonnet, taking several climbing clickers with it.

She quickly pulled the sleeve of her t-shirt as tight as she could, before slitting it at the shoulder, and tearing it from place. Looping the fabric around her leg, just under the knee, she pulled it as tight as possible, before tying it off at the end.

They had always been taught to treat a wound as quickly as possible in the army, no matter the location, or situation. It was still likely that she would succumb to the feeding clickers surrounding her, but if she left her wound open, she would bleed out; there was no question about that.

In the time that she had sacrificed to treating her injury, the clickers had taken every possible advantage. Multiple undead bodies had clambered up onto the roof with her, and the remaining edges were littered with hands and fingertips, ready to haul themselves up too.

Dawson send a barrage of bullets straight into the faces of the clicker's now on her level, before planting vicious stamp after stamp onto the hands of those trying to join them. But she wasn't winning. No matter how many she killed, more took their place, and in growing numbers, as if they were continuously replicating the more she dispatched them.

It felt like fighting an army of worms, for every one that she put an end to, two more took its place.

She was winning each and every battle, but Dawson was undoubtedly losing the war. For every minute that passed, they grew that inch closer, that one step closer to latching their teeth onto her flesh once more.

She knew she had to change something, try something different, or face accepting her inevitable gruesome fate.

Composing herself as best she could, Dawson turned to face the front of the van, spraying bullets down into the bonnet to clear a path. The pinging sound of metal against metal provided a welcomed respite from the far lower, empty clicks erupting out of the clickers' collective mouth.

Once the bonnet was somewhat clear, Dawson turned her fire to those on the ground, ignoring the first few rows of clickers attempting to take their place on the van-shaped podium, but instead concentrating her bullets on those at the very back. She continued to shoot at the most distant of her enemies until she finally ran out of ammo, at which point, she prepared herself to jump.

She didn't take a second to think about the situation, or the consequences of her decision, she knew better than that. They were precious seconds that she simply could not afford to waste. She had only bought herself so much time, and once the holes she had created were plugged again, it would all be for nothing.

Dawson through herself into the air, crushing down onto the bonnet with her left leg, before propelling herself from the vehicle with her stronger right. Like a champion triple jumper, she lifted her legs just out of reach of the clicker mosh pit beneath and soared over the crowd.

Despite her best efforts to clear out the clickers furthest from the van, Dawson came up a metre or so short, clattering down into an unsuspecting body at the back of the ground. As she slammed into the ground, Dawson's arm fell agonisingly into the clicker's face, propelling her brittle skin against the sharp snapping teeth.

Once again, she cried out, as the canines drove down into her arm, but she knew that she had little time to complain. Using the forward momentum that had carried her this far, Dawson wrenched her arm from the clickers' jaw and rolled free of its grasp.

The rest of the pack were already on her tail as Dawson hobbled away, wincing with every other step as her injured leg cried out under her weight. The clickers were gaining on her, and with a long stretch of open road ahead of her, Dawson knew that she stood little chance of escape.

She took the immediate decision to duck into the nearest shop, the little bell above the door dinging as she threw it open. Dawson shuffled over to the counter of what appeared to be a fast-food joint, lifting the hinged part of the top, before slamming it back down behind her.

She hoped and prayed for some kind of quick exit, but she could see nothing. No way out. No back door. No flashing green exit sign. Nothing. If there was another way out, she wasn't going to find it in time.

The only door she could see within her grasp was a bulking, metal fridge to her right. She heaved it open, tumbled inside, and pulled the door shut once more, as it sealed with a satisfying shhh.

The clickers were replaced with complete darkness, and before long, Dawson felt herself begin to pass out.