They walked in single file. Harry attempted to lead them in a relatively straight line through the unending muck, but it was next to impossible given what they were trying to walk through. Michael brought up the rear, the gruesome mire making his stomach churn. It was ankle-deep now, and there were more recognisable remains around them: a half-buried corpse still trying to crawl, another stood upright with its foot stuck, unable to get free, another lying flat on its back, spindly arms occasionally thrashing like a drowning swimmer. Teir boots snapped bones like twigs, and whenever Michael lifted a foot and looked down, he saw teeming movement where his boot had just been. The viscous sludge was alive with worms, maggots, and all manner of other creatures which gorged themselves on this proliferation of putrefying flesh. He was thankful it had hardly rained over the last few days. A couple of heavy downpours was all it would have taken to turn this place into an impassable quagmire.
Progress was slow, their footing constantly unsteady. Obstructions had been hidden by the blanket of decay. Walls, fences, streams … everything remained invisible until they were virtually on top of them. Up ahead now was a dark, featureless mound—it looked like a glistening heap of rot—and for a time the men were unable to work out what it was or why it was there.
“It’s a car,” Harte said. “Fuck me, look at that.”
He took another sliding step closer, then gingerly grabbed a cadaver’s shoulder with one gloved hand. He tried to pull the corpse away, but its level of decay was severe and where he expected the whole body to move away, instead its legs remained fused. He pulled it harder still and it snapped, folding back on itself near the base of its spine. The creature’s head was now upside down, its skull almost touching the back of its heels, and as he stared into its disease-ravaged face, he thought he saw its mouth move.
Harte moved another corpse to try and uncover more. He was right, it was definitely a car, and he pushed several bodies away to reveal almost the full width of its windshield. The make, model, even the color of the vehicle was impossible to make out such was the amount of rot piled up all over it, but he could see that the dead driver remained behind the wheel, held in position by his safety belt. Preserved by the relatively dry air inside the car, the corpse was less decayed than most others. As they watched, it lifted its head to look at them, then raised a single bony hand and slapped it against the window. Harte jumped back with surprise. To Michael’s right, another body tried to lift itself up and separate itself from the rest of the upright mass it was glued to. Even now after months of decay and all that it had been through, the creature still seemed to immediately identify Michael and the others as a threat and tried to attack.
“Keep moving,” he said. “Try not to look and just keep moving.”
* * *
The gruesome, sticky sea through which they were still slipping (and frequently wading now) seemed to constantly be changing in texture and depth. Knee-deep in some places, shallow in others, every single footstep was unpredictable. They’d been walking for what felt like an eternity. Harry estimated they’d crossed almost a mile of dead-packed land, but it was virtually impossible in the low night light to see how far they still had to go. While more bodies remained upright the deeper the three men went, the constant shifting and grinding of so many of them in such close proximity for so long meant there was little more left than bone. Occasionally one still had enough muscle and nerve remaining to manage a clumsy swipe at the men as they trudged past, but such attacks were easily avoided.
“Cut right,” Harry said suddenly. Harte moved too far too soon and took a misstep, one of his boots crunching through exposed rib cage of a creature which lay on the ground with its back arched. Michael steadied him as he shook himself free.
“Fucking things,” he complained pointlessly as he shook all manner of foul gunk off his shoe.
Harry continued to walk forward, and he suddenly began to sink. For a moment he panicked, terrified that he was about to be sucked down into a foul quicksand-like pit of decay. He fought against his instincts and did all he could to remain calm and not thrash wildly, and his feet eventually made contact with solid ground again.
“It’s okay,” he said, feeling his way forward. “Some kind of furrow, I think. Maybe what’s left of the moat.”
Michael and Harte followed cautiously, matching his footsteps and speed as best they could. Michael continued to sink—the mire reaching his thighs, then almost up to his belt—and he found himself gripping onto the remains of occasional corpses stranded upright so that he could keep his balance. Harte gagged when he slipped and found his face just inches away from the slurry, and his retching and dry heaves made Michael taste bile too. Christ, he hoped this was going to work. He didn’t think he could face the prospect of having to walk back the same way if they couldn’t get into the castle. He glanced down when he almost lost his footing, but when he saw an ear floating on top of the slop, then the fingers of a hand, then half a face, he made himself look anywhere else. He breathed hard, each time taking in a lungful of germ-filled, foul-smelling air, but it was either that or he’d vomit and he didn’t want to lose control. With his head spinning and his entire body drenched in a cold, sticky sweat, he made himself look dead ahead and focus on Harry’s back. And then, finally, he saw that the other man was climbing again. Harry changed direction slightly to avoid another corpse—he couldn’t see its face, but he could swear it had started turning towards him—then led the three of them toward clearer ground. Before long they’d made it through the slurry and away from the last of the corpses.
Despite now climbing a steep and steady rise up toward the base of the castle walls, Harry didn’t let his pace drop. He only dared stop when he’d reached the very top and could stand with his back up against the ancient masonry, safe in the knowledge no one inside the castle could see him from here.
Michael reached the top of the climb about thirty seconds later, Harte another minute after that.
“You both okay?” Harry asked.
“Think so,” Michael said. Harte just nodded, too tired to answer. Michael took his rucksack off his shoulders and emptied it. There were three smaller bags of clean clothing inside, one each. The men took their allotted bags and began to change, peeling off their sodden, stinking gear and dumping it. Harte passed around towels and they cleaned themselves up as best they could. It was bitterly cold, but each of them preferred to freeze than to keep wearing their soiled clothes. The rot had even seeped through to their underwear. Michael’s inner trousers, long johns, and boxers all had to be discarded.
It took an age for them to change, but eventually they stood together in the shadows of the castle wall, numb with cold.
“What do you think then, Harte?” Harry asked. “Is this the right spot?”
Harte looked up and down the length of the massive, gently curving wall.