To Hell by John Bullock
The wood began to creak underfoot as Jen padded along the boarded rafters, causing her heart to skip a beat each time it did. The very thought of what was on the other side of those boards made her spine chill, but she pressed on; being paralysed by panic was a sure fire way to get killed lately. Her destination – a lone skylight – seemed infeasibly far away, as though it were moving away from her even as she was moving toward it. She tried to focus on the window and ignore the pain in her leg.The floor creaked again, more loudly this time.
Had they heard that? How quickly could they get up here? Were they already on their way? Jen shook her head clear, thoughts like that were no help. She reached the skylight after what felt like an eternity, and almost laughed out loud when she found it locked. Of course, she thought with the mental equivalent of throwing her hands up in frustration. She looked around frantically, but the only other way out of the attic was the staircase that she come by, and going back that way was not an option. The sound of scraping feet below seemed, in that moment, to get louder, and Jen found it hard to concentrate. The blood loss probably wasn't helping.
She risked a glance at her maimed leg, and immediately regretted it. She had not had time to tend to the wound during her escape, but now she saw that a wide lump of flesh was missing from her right thigh. Teeth marks were discernible along the edges, a the blood was only trickling, now.
A thought occurred to her, and she delved into her pockets, rummaging around urgently. With a look of relief, she pulled out a small penknife. It was the type of knife that was very small and had a key chain attached to it. It had been utterly useless since the world went to hell, but, now, its small size was just what she needed.
She fumbled at the knife attachment, opening it clumsily. With the blade extended, she began working it into the lock of the skylight. The window was very old, and the lock was large enough that the blade could fit inside, but Jen didn't know the first thing about lock picking and had no idea if what she was doing would have any affect. It did, and the lock clunked open. She twisted the stiff handle and pushed at the window, but it wouldn't budge! Judging by the frame, it probably hadn't been opened in years, and might even have been painted shut.
The sound of shuffling feet was suddenly punctuated by the thud of a falling body. They were coming up the stairs. Jen didn't know if they had heard her or they were just shambling around aimlessly, but it didn't matter; if she was still there by the time they reached the top of the stairs, she would be dead soon after.
She pushed at the skylight with renewed vigour, ignoring the stabbing pain in her leg and the wooziness from blood loss. Paint began to flake away from the edges as the frame started to give way with agonising slowness. A thousand scenarios ran through her mind, treacherously few of which had a positive outcome.
A face appeared in front of Jen with a suddenness that almost made her fall backwards. It took a moment for her mind to comprehend what she was seeing.
'Carl,' she breathed.
Carl looked back at her, his face full of concern, from the other side of the glass. He was holding a finger to his lips, urging Jen to be quiet. He began to pull at the skylight from the outside and Jen renewed her own effort from within. With a sound that, to Jen's ears, was as loud as thunder, the skylight ripped open, creaking at the hinges. There was no doubt that Jen's pursuers would have heard it this time.
As if on cue, a crimson stained scalp began to emerge from the stairs, quickly followed by a pair of cloudy eyes that fixed immediately on her. She let out an involuntary yelp and reached out desperately for Carl. He seemed a million miles away, and Jen wondered hysterically how she ever thought she could have got out through the skylight without any help.
Carl's hands clasped Jen's wrists with such pressure that she was sure they would bruise, but she paid little attention to it. Carl let out a primal roar as he pulled Jen up with all his strength. He was a strong man but he was not in an ideal position to be lifting. In Jen's mind, a dozen rotten mouths full of fresh blood were opening behind her, preparing to feast on her flesh.
Carl pulled her through the skylight and she hit the frame of the window with a jolt that drove all the air out of her lungs. She hung there for what seemed an eternity; her head in the sky, her legs in hell. It was barely a few seconds in reality, and Carl righted himself quickly to pull Jen the rest of the way. As he hooked his hands under her armpits, a cold, dead hand camped around her ankle and pulled, nearly dragging both Jen and Carl through the skylight. Carl managed to get a foot on the opposite side of the window, however, and somehow kept his balance. He heaved Jen upwards and she felt a fresh wave of pain wash over her as her ankle ripped free from the things hand.
*
Breathless and in agony, Jen rolled onto her front and peered into the church attic. There were perhaps fifteen corpses, all jostling to get to her, and more were clambering up the stairs. She felt Carl's hand close around hers.
'We're safe here,' he said softly, and then, 'for now.'
To Hell is a short story based in the same world as John Bullock's debut novel, The Returners. If you liked this story, why not give it a try. It's available through a number of channels in a variety of formats, and if you head to the author's website, free versions are available for download.
