Year of the Zombie (Book 8): Scratch by David Moody Page A

moving.
    Unsteady, like a
new-born animal, it picked itself up and came at him. The dead swimmer stumbled
as if learning to walk for the first time, legs stiff and unresponsive,
uncoordinated. Its broken arm flapped uselessly at its side.
    The creature’s movements
were unnatural. All wrong. It was as if the body was leading the head, not the
other way around. It was bizarrely puppet-like in its behaviour. Stiff and
staccato. A strange approximation of a person. An imitation of normality which
looked the part but acted anything but.
    As Colin slowed down,
the dead man sped up.
    The infected figure came
at him with sudden, predatory speed, its good arm clawing through the air. It
was on him in seconds and though he was initially able to push it away, it came
at him again and again, relentless.
    Arnold scampered behind
Colin, barking furiously, and inadvertently tripped his owner up. Colin found
himself on his back in the wet sand with the corpse on top of him, pinning him
down. The lifeless swimmer dragged its numb fingers down his face, leaving a
series of deep and bloody diagonal grooves from the corner of his eye to the
corner of his mouth.
    And then it left him.
    Job done.
    It got up and staggered
away.
    The dog wasn’t barking
now, he was growling. And the object of his attention was no longer the dead
man, instead it was his owner. The attack may have been brief and deceptively
ineffective, but sufficient damage had been done.
    Colin wasn’t Colin
anymore now that there were things burrowing deep into his brain and flooding
his circulatory system. Multiplying. Consuming. Taking over. Controlling.
    ***
    Jody Phelps panicked in unfamiliar surroundings,
and when she found she couldn’t move, she panicked again. Cocooned in a
sleeping bag, wedged between two sleeping kids and fighting claustrophobia, she
screamed as hands clawed the outside of the tent, dragging the canvas down until
it was just inches from her face, fingers desperately scratching to find a way
inside.
    ‘Mum, where’s the zip
gone?’
    She relaxed when she
heard his voice. It was just Ben. ‘You’re at the wrong end of the tent, love,’
she told him. ‘Try the other end.’ Her heart thumped in her chest like crazy.
    Ben undid the zip,
filling the tent with dull morning light, then lifted the flap and crawled
inside. Jody propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he struggled to
shut it again.
    ‘Just leave it,’ she
said. ‘Where’ve you been?’
    ‘For a piss.’
    ‘Don’t use that word.’
    ‘Whatever. I hate this
tent. It’s stupid.’
    She lay back down again.
‘I know you hate it. You’ve told me about a hundred times since we got here.’
    ‘Why couldn’t we have
stayed in a hotel like last year?’
    ‘You know why.’
    ‘It’s not fair.’
    ‘Life’s not fair.’
    ‘Can I go out and play?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What are we going to do
today?’
    ‘Don’t know yet.’
    ‘It’s boring here.
There’s no pool. And I’m freezing.’
    ‘Get back into bed
then,’ she said, and she pulled her sleeping bag over her head and rolled over
to try and get back to sleep. She checked her phone under the covers, the
bright light hurting her eyes. Christ, it wasn’t even half-seven. It was early.
Too early.
    ***
    Jody managed to doze for a while longer, but it
was difficult to switch off fully with a head full of crap and a tent full of
bored kids. Jenny and Holly had been playing with their dolls at the end of her
sleeping bag, squashing her feet, and she’d heard Ben playing games on his
phone. She hadn’t wanted him to bring the phone because of who he might
contact, but she was glad she’d reneged because it was keeping him quiet. She
kept telling herself I should really get up and do something with them ,
but the longer she stayed wrapped up, the less she wanted to move.
    She must have clocked
out again, because when she woke up this time the tent was quiet. Ben was
outside, struggling to get back in again. Bloody kid.