Free Purification by David Moody Page B

were going, each one of them wracked with an uncomfortably familiar sense of disorientation and hopeless fear.
    Several metres behind the truck Donna groaned with effort as she struggled to keep control of the motorhome. It was an old, overused and unresponsive vehicle which gave a rough ride on level road at the best of times, never mind in these treacherous conditions. Inside the vehicle was deathly silent. A far more ordinary machine than the other two vehicles in front, its wide windows afforded those survivors crammed in the back a clear view of the dead world around them. It was a view which many of them would have preferred not to have seen. Now more than a mile from the military bunker, there were still vast crowds of bodies swarming across the land. Donna forced herself to keep looking forward and to concentrate on driving. She did the best she could but the motorhome was not built to move through thick, churned mud and over sudden, uneven dips and climbs. The steering was slow and heavy and the vehicle’s rear end constantly threatened to slip and slide out of control. In the back no-one dared speak for fear of distracting their nervous driver.
    Emma glanced up and noticed the dark silhouette of a house nestled amongst the trees on the brow of a low hill.
    At first she was reminded of Penn Farm and in her frightened state she didn’t stop to think that where there was a building, there would almost certainly be a road, track or some other means of access. It was only when Donna slammed the brakes on that realisation dawned.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, immediately concerned that they had stopped. Donna nodded her head in the direction of the two vehicles ahead. Emma peered into the darkness and saw that Cooper had climbed out of the personnel carrier. He was untying the frayed rope that was keeping a wide metal gate closed and in place. The headlamps of the three vehicles illuminated a steady stream of unsteady bodies which crisscrossed the scene randomly and began to collide with the transports. They watched as Cooper swung the gate open, kicked away the nearest corpse, and then ran back to his vehicle.
    ‘Should be easier from here,’ Donna said quietly, tired resignation very evident in her voice. ‘I don’t think we’ll…’
    Her words were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a withered cadaver which stumbled haphazardly out of the darkness towards them and slammed into the front of the motorhome. She jumped back with surprise and then leant forward and peered down at the pathetic shell which was pointlessly battering the front of the vehicle with clumsy, barely-coordinated hands. It was an appalling sight. In the time that the survivors had been underground the condition of the bodies had continued to deteriorate. This creature, judging by the length of its lank, shoulder-length hair and the remains of its ragged clothes, had once been female.
    The features of the lower part of its face were virtually indistinguishable. The hole where its mouth should have been was double normal size. Its jawbone hung down, looking as if it had been ripped away from one side of its head. The corpse’s dark, empty eyes stared unblinking into the headlights of the motorhome.
    ‘They’re moving,’ whispered Emma, forcing herself to look anywhere but directly at the body in front of them.
    Donna looked up and then gently accelerated, hoping that the movement of the motorhome might be enough to dislodge the body and push it to one side. When after a couple of seconds it hadn’t moved, she simply pressed her foot down hard and crushed the obnoxious, disease-ridden thing beneath the wheels of her vehicle.
    Following the prison truck and the personnel carrier, Donna carefully steered the motorhome through the gate and turned right onto a narrow tarmac track.
    9
    The convoy pushed on through the early evening and into the night, following the twisting road through the endless darkness, not knowing where it