When There's No More room In Hell: A Zombie Novel by Luke Duffy Page A

woman, exhausted and on the verge of giving up, but still searching for a child that she had lost.
    Steve motioned for Sarah to stay where she was and he crept along the last couple of feet to the corner on his hands and knees. He glanced back at her, eyes bulging, and offered a smile of reassurance then peered around the corner.
    In the street he saw a crowd of about fifty people. All their attention was focused on a large detached house , roughly seventy metres along the row. They all seemed to want to get to the front, pushing, shoving and pulling at each other. There was no visible aggression within the crowd, just a clear determination from every one of them to get to the house.
    Their clothes hung from them as though they no longer fit, or had been worn for so long that they had become loose and shabby. Discoloured with dirt and blood and ripped and torn from a struggle.
    Flies swarmed around the mass. Already, their colour had begun to change. Many of them pale and grey looking with dried , encrusted, almost black blood on visible wounds. Some were naked, or close to it, with hideous gouges in their flesh and swollen limbs. Where the blood had coagulated, their skin turned purple and made them look even more grotesque. Others looked fresh, and other than their wounds, looked almost normal. But it could never be doubted for what they were; their gait was unmistakable, shuffling and staggering without regard for the path or objects in front of them.
    They were dead .
    The entire group seemed to focus on the house. Their heads held up, their eyes fixed on their goal , steadily shuffling against the body in front, no doubt causing the ones at the head of the group to be squashed against the walls of the house from the weight behind. Now and then an individual infected would stop, raise its hands and let out a longing moan, flexing its fingers in an attempt to reach the house or something unseen to the others, doubling its efforts to reach the building while dragging and shoving at the bodies in front.
    The banging, slapping and thumping continued. The wet slap as a bloodied palm or what was left of a mangled limb attempt ed to beat its way through the door. The thump as a body slammed against wood and the shuddering bang as hands smacked against windows.
    Steve pulled his head back. His vision blurred and he felt the bile rising in his throat. He had seen a couple of bodies before, but they were of friends or relatives , embalmed and laid out in the funeral home dressed in their Sunday best, or gruesome images he had seen on the internet. But he had never seen so many in one place. Never had he seen the discolouration and grisly wounds with his naked eye. Never had he smelt the pungent odour of dried blood and the initial onset of decaying flesh. And never had he seen them walking about.
    He looked at Sarah then quickly peeped around the corner again. Someone was in the house, he knew it. Maybe a family, maybe kids. His head swam. What was the right thing to do? He gripped his hammer and looked at it, hoping that the answer would come to him. Then he glanced back at Sarah and remembered, ‘we have to look after ourselves’ . With a sinking feeling of shame, he moved back to Sarah.
    “There’ s a load of bad people around the corner.” He waited for a sign of panic from her, but she just watched him. “They don’t seem to be interested in anything else except for a house further down, so when we move, move slowly and keep hold of my hand. Don't talk and don’t make any sudden movements.”
    Sarah nodded, tight -lipped and eyes-wide. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
    As they were about to stand, an inhuman screech erupted from the right , followed by the sounds of feet running and slapping against the tarmac. Steve froze and held a hand on Sarah, forcing her down to the pavement.
    Two infected, foaming at the mouth and arms raised out in front of them , were heading in their direction. Steve wanted to run, but