shouted, pointing. Then louder. “ Sinner! ”
I was frozen, could do nothing. When he started screaming the word, I actually tried to shush him – but it was already too late. His Lord might not have answered his call, but the other Rotten had, and suddenly I was aware of figures all around, emerging from the shops that had looked so vacant from my place of safety. Just who was the hunter now? Whether intentionally or not, a trap had been set for me – this man of the cloth the bait. And suddenly I was surrounded by Rotten of every shape and size, all coming towards me.
I turned my gun on the nearest to my left, a man who was wearing what looked like underpants on his head – probably from the clothing shop he’d ventured out of. But as ridiculous as his appearance might be, his mannerisms were completely the opposite: fists raised and ready to pummel me into next week.
“Get back!” I warned, not really knowing why I was bothering. They didn’t – couldn’t – understand me anymore. Didn’t even care half the time if you hurt them, shot them. Not that it made it any easier for me to do.
I aimed downwards, shooting a kneecap out and watching him fall to the ground. Didn’t stop him, though, and he continued to crawl towards me, leaving a trail of blood behind him like the slime of a snail. Someone to my right now, hands grabbing my backpack; I whirled and fired again… A woman this time, maybe in her ‘30s, the top half of her dress torn away, flabby breasts exposed and covered in Rot. The bullet at that close range sent her reeling backwards and into two more of her kind.
As affected as he was, the priest had been right – I was a sinner. I was a murderer. But I’d been left very little choice. I fired a spray into the crowd that was massing, no time to aim now – no time to take the softly, softly approach.
One of the Rotten was charging towards me with his head down, like a human battering ram. I aimed the gun and pulled back on the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Whether I’d finally run out of bullets or the weapon had succumbed to the Rot, I had no way of knowing, but it left me defenceless in the moment. That guy’s head slammed into me, and the effect was like a bull charging, tossing its victims on its horns. My rifle went clattering off who knows where. When I landed, I saw stars – then immediately felt feet kicking me, as several of the Rotten crowded in. Shaking my head, I got up onto one elbow and managed to reach round to my belt for the hammer. Someone’s face loomed in, man or woman I couldn’t tell which, a cascade of saliva drooling down their chin, and I whacked them with my new weapon – not hard, certainly not hard enough to warrant what happened. The whole of their chin came away with the head of the hammer, leaving just a tongue to dart in and out. In their case, the Rot must have weakened the flesh and bone there to such an extent it was like the road, the buildings; the slightest knock and it turned to mulch.
Wasn’t so for the elbow which caught me a glancing blow to the temple – that was solid enough. I had to get out of there, before they started to pile in on top and crush me, but the Rotten weren’t allowing me enough room to move, let alone get up. I had to think, and think fast.
When you can’t go forward or back, then I guess the only thing to do is go sideways. So I began rolling; not easy when you have a backpack on, but actually that only helped to knock the feet out from under the Rotten. They started to go down like pins in a bowling alley, and by the time I came to a stop I’d made a channel in the crowd. Enough to scramble to my feet at least, drawing the small hatchet at the same time and planting that in the shoulder of the nearest Rotten figure. That guy tugged it away and out of my hands, so I lashed out at two more with the hammer.
Then I ran.
My dad taught me when I was little not to be afraid of bullies, that even if people were bigger and
I was frozen, could do nothing. When he started screaming the word, I actually tried to shush him – but it was already too late. His Lord might not have answered his call, but the other Rotten had, and suddenly I was aware of figures all around, emerging from the shops that had looked so vacant from my place of safety. Just who was the hunter now? Whether intentionally or not, a trap had been set for me – this man of the cloth the bait. And suddenly I was surrounded by Rotten of every shape and size, all coming towards me.
I turned my gun on the nearest to my left, a man who was wearing what looked like underpants on his head – probably from the clothing shop he’d ventured out of. But as ridiculous as his appearance might be, his mannerisms were completely the opposite: fists raised and ready to pummel me into next week.
“Get back!” I warned, not really knowing why I was bothering. They didn’t – couldn’t – understand me anymore. Didn’t even care half the time if you hurt them, shot them. Not that it made it any easier for me to do.
I aimed downwards, shooting a kneecap out and watching him fall to the ground. Didn’t stop him, though, and he continued to crawl towards me, leaving a trail of blood behind him like the slime of a snail. Someone to my right now, hands grabbing my backpack; I whirled and fired again… A woman this time, maybe in her ‘30s, the top half of her dress torn away, flabby breasts exposed and covered in Rot. The bullet at that close range sent her reeling backwards and into two more of her kind.
As affected as he was, the priest had been right – I was a sinner. I was a murderer. But I’d been left very little choice. I fired a spray into the crowd that was massing, no time to aim now – no time to take the softly, softly approach.
One of the Rotten was charging towards me with his head down, like a human battering ram. I aimed the gun and pulled back on the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Whether I’d finally run out of bullets or the weapon had succumbed to the Rot, I had no way of knowing, but it left me defenceless in the moment. That guy’s head slammed into me, and the effect was like a bull charging, tossing its victims on its horns. My rifle went clattering off who knows where. When I landed, I saw stars – then immediately felt feet kicking me, as several of the Rotten crowded in. Shaking my head, I got up onto one elbow and managed to reach round to my belt for the hammer. Someone’s face loomed in, man or woman I couldn’t tell which, a cascade of saliva drooling down their chin, and I whacked them with my new weapon – not hard, certainly not hard enough to warrant what happened. The whole of their chin came away with the head of the hammer, leaving just a tongue to dart in and out. In their case, the Rot must have weakened the flesh and bone there to such an extent it was like the road, the buildings; the slightest knock and it turned to mulch.
Wasn’t so for the elbow which caught me a glancing blow to the temple – that was solid enough. I had to get out of there, before they started to pile in on top and crush me, but the Rotten weren’t allowing me enough room to move, let alone get up. I had to think, and think fast.
When you can’t go forward or back, then I guess the only thing to do is go sideways. So I began rolling; not easy when you have a backpack on, but actually that only helped to knock the feet out from under the Rotten. They started to go down like pins in a bowling alley, and by the time I came to a stop I’d made a channel in the crowd. Enough to scramble to my feet at least, drawing the small hatchet at the same time and planting that in the shoulder of the nearest Rotten figure. That guy tugged it away and out of my hands, so I lashed out at two more with the hammer.
Then I ran.
My dad taught me when I was little not to be afraid of bullies, that even if people were bigger and
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