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John approached the bus at a canter, slipping inside and sighing in relief when he saw the keys dangling from the ignition. He dearly wanted to test the engine, and ensure they weren't all about to die because of a flat battery, but he didn't dare risk the noise. Against his better judgment, he was going to have to roll the dice. He grimaced.
"In the bus," he whispered, and waited until the others had filed silently into the vehicle before speaking again.
"Rachel," he said finally, "I want this bus ready to move, okay? The minute you see my signal, get that engine running and go. Don't stop for anything."
Rachel nodded firmly.
"What's the signal?"
"Fire," John said through gritted teeth. In the distance, he heard the approaching hum of the Infected. Time was slipping away far too quickly.
He leapt from the bus, pausing outside.
"This isn't just about drawing them away from Caernarfon. We have to cut this herd down as much as possible, and that means waiting until the last minute. Everyone stays quiet until the signal. No matter what."
He turned away, jogging lightly around the front of the bus and onto the petrol station's small forecourt. There were a couple of cars near the pumps, abandoned much like the bus. John checked quickly to make sure neither vehicle held any unpleasant surprises for him, and turned to the pumps, lifting the nozzle from its cradle on the nearest of them. He figured it wouldn't take much: a quick spray of petrol around the forecourt, and as long as he left the nozzle resting on the ground the fire would do the rest.
He squeezed the pump's trigger, and heard a dull click and...nothing.
For a moment John stared at the nozzle, dimly wondering how the petrol station could possibly have run out of fuel. He squeezed the trigger again, and again got a click by way of response. No fuel.
Oh shit, John thought as realisation dawned on him. The pumps needed electricity to haul the fuel up from the underground tanks, and electricity had gone the way of the dinosaurs.
He dropped the nozzle to the ground, and began to frantically search the petrol station, hoping desperately to find a container of fuel that he could use to soak the pumps.
Nothing.
The humming was closer now, shaking the air. It sounded like the Infected were right on top of the village. Leaning out onto the street, John peered down the road, but couldn't see any movement. Not that it mattered: the blind corner in the road might spit an army of the Infected up at any moment without warning.
Think.
The answer arrived slowly, sinking into his consciousness, and then he was running, pulling out a knife and slicing through the rubber hose that provided a jet-wash facility for the cars that carried the dirt of the coastal road with them. He cut a length of the hose that measured about three feet, and sprinted back to the first of the two abandoned cars.
Locked.
Who locks an abandoned car?
John felt like screaming, and the urge only increased when he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. The blind corner had become a terrible pun: Infected filled the width of it, marching straight at him.
As John's heart began to pound out a dreadful rhythm, he scurried to the second car, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door popped open easily. For a frantic moment he scrabbled under the driver's seat, searching for the lever that would release the fuel cap and came up empty. For a horrifying second he thought the car might be one of the older models that needed a key to get at the petrol tank, but then his fingers found the lever and he clenched and pulled.
The fuel cap opened with a soft pop.
He slipped the hose into the fuel tank even as the first of the Infected appeared in his line of sight. Panic swelled in his mind, and he fought hard against the instinct to run for safety.
There is no safety now. Not even the castle. If this herd gets through, everyone dies.
John sucked at the end of the makeshift hose, gagging on the foul taste of the air in the petrol tank. For several long seconds nothing happened, and John's mind sagged under the notion that the car had no fuel whatsoever.
That's why it's at a petrol station, you fool.
The petrol surged into his mouth without warning, and it was all he could do to suppress the urge to cough. He badly wanted to spit the fuel out, but even that minimum of noise concerned him, so he let it leak slowly from his lips. Placing the hose on the ground so the fuel pouring from it would remain silent, John stood.
And saw Infected everywhere.
"In the bus," he whispered, and waited until the others had filed silently into the vehicle before speaking again.
"Rachel," he said finally, "I want this bus ready to move, okay? The minute you see my signal, get that engine running and go. Don't stop for anything."
Rachel nodded firmly.
"What's the signal?"
"Fire," John said through gritted teeth. In the distance, he heard the approaching hum of the Infected. Time was slipping away far too quickly.
He leapt from the bus, pausing outside.
"This isn't just about drawing them away from Caernarfon. We have to cut this herd down as much as possible, and that means waiting until the last minute. Everyone stays quiet until the signal. No matter what."
He turned away, jogging lightly around the front of the bus and onto the petrol station's small forecourt. There were a couple of cars near the pumps, abandoned much like the bus. John checked quickly to make sure neither vehicle held any unpleasant surprises for him, and turned to the pumps, lifting the nozzle from its cradle on the nearest of them. He figured it wouldn't take much: a quick spray of petrol around the forecourt, and as long as he left the nozzle resting on the ground the fire would do the rest.
He squeezed the pump's trigger, and heard a dull click and...nothing.
For a moment John stared at the nozzle, dimly wondering how the petrol station could possibly have run out of fuel. He squeezed the trigger again, and again got a click by way of response. No fuel.
Oh shit, John thought as realisation dawned on him. The pumps needed electricity to haul the fuel up from the underground tanks, and electricity had gone the way of the dinosaurs.
He dropped the nozzle to the ground, and began to frantically search the petrol station, hoping desperately to find a container of fuel that he could use to soak the pumps.
Nothing.
The humming was closer now, shaking the air. It sounded like the Infected were right on top of the village. Leaning out onto the street, John peered down the road, but couldn't see any movement. Not that it mattered: the blind corner in the road might spit an army of the Infected up at any moment without warning.
Think.
The answer arrived slowly, sinking into his consciousness, and then he was running, pulling out a knife and slicing through the rubber hose that provided a jet-wash facility for the cars that carried the dirt of the coastal road with them. He cut a length of the hose that measured about three feet, and sprinted back to the first of the two abandoned cars.
Locked.
Who locks an abandoned car?
John felt like screaming, and the urge only increased when he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. The blind corner had become a terrible pun: Infected filled the width of it, marching straight at him.
As John's heart began to pound out a dreadful rhythm, he scurried to the second car, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door popped open easily. For a frantic moment he scrabbled under the driver's seat, searching for the lever that would release the fuel cap and came up empty. For a horrifying second he thought the car might be one of the older models that needed a key to get at the petrol tank, but then his fingers found the lever and he clenched and pulled.
The fuel cap opened with a soft pop.
He slipped the hose into the fuel tank even as the first of the Infected appeared in his line of sight. Panic swelled in his mind, and he fought hard against the instinct to run for safety.
There is no safety now. Not even the castle. If this herd gets through, everyone dies.
John sucked at the end of the makeshift hose, gagging on the foul taste of the air in the petrol tank. For several long seconds nothing happened, and John's mind sagged under the notion that the car had no fuel whatsoever.
That's why it's at a petrol station, you fool.
The petrol surged into his mouth without warning, and it was all he could do to suppress the urge to cough. He badly wanted to spit the fuel out, but even that minimum of noise concerned him, so he let it leak slowly from his lips. Placing the hose on the ground so the fuel pouring from it would remain silent, John stood.
And saw Infected everywhere.