Beach Town: Apocalypse Ebook Reading

Beach Town: Apocalypse Ebook Reading

Copyright © 2020 by T Maxwell-Harrison
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the
products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system,
copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise
transmitted without written permission from the author and/or publisher. You must not circulate this book in
any format. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to
criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Produced in United Kingdom
Cover Design and Layout by SpiffingCovers
Smashwords Edition
CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Welcome To Beach Town
Chapter 2: Death for breakfast
Chapter 3: Sheila’s Proposition
Chapter 4: Lost in Transition
Chapter 5: No Way Out
Chapter 6: Fish Out of Water
Chapter 7: Blood Letting
Chapter 8: Revenge is sweet
Chapter 9: The Return To The Blood Room
Chapter 10: The Police Station
Chapter 11: Not Contained
Chapter 12: Deterioration of Beach Town
Chapter 13: Riots And Rations
Chapter 14: Brutus The Mutant
Chapter 15: Power
Chapter 16: Radio Apocalypse
Chapter 17: Nightmare
Chapter 18: Liar
Chapter 19: The Plan
Chapter 20: Others
Chapter 21: Times Change Quickly
Chapter 22: The Phone
Chapter 23: A Saviour
Chapter 24: Church Breach
Chapter 25: Disagreements
Chapter 26: The Run
Chapter 27: Hostage
Chapter 28: Negotiations
Chapter 29: Remnants
Chapter 30: The Revelation
Chapter 31: Crowded
Chapter 32: Evacuation
CHAPTER 1
Welcome To Beach Town
‘Morning, Miss, how many today?’ The clerk asked Sheila, who scoured a few
coins in her red leather purse. Earlier she thought she might try stealing the cigs,
you know, fuck it all and do it sort of thing. She found enough coins for two
single cigs, she wanted three. Two shoppers behind were gossiping and it caught
Sheila’s ear. Sheila swore one of them mentioned major rioting in the city, she
felt too low to ask.
‘Two, thank you,’ her voice soft with shame, barely enough money for
cigarettes, what was the town coming to. She slid the coins across the counter,
slipped the cigs into her cotton-lined jacket and stashed her purse, the purse
catching the pocket lining.
It was common for people to stick to themselves in town. Beach Town was
an isolated island fifty miles off the coast of England, frequented by tourists and
thunderstorms. The city which lay about six or seven miles away via bridge –
Sheila couldn’t remember how far; she hadn’t been out of town in over two
months because she couldn’t afford the petrol – was the closest and under UK
government control.
‘Damn,’ she mumbled as she tried to avoid eye contact with the other
shoppers. It was dim outside, dark clouds hung overhead and once she stepped
onto the beach path, she smelt it, the musky scent of a storm brewing. Surfers
rode the tides coming to a belly crawl and finally jumped to the sandy shore.
Sheila could barely make them out, the salty sea air stung her eyes and she could
taste it on her lips. Passers-by faded, and she dipped her head against the sand
flicked by the wind and took a slow pace back to the car park. Maybe today, she
thought, tugging at her coat for a single cig. It began raining, a saturating
hailstorm getting colder against her tights. The path was uneven, cracked
concrete, weeds sprouting through the gaps. Weather by thunderstorms and
uncared for, a bit like her last week. Nothing had changed her mind that nothing
was going to change her life. Being close to bankrupt, friendless, depressed and
worn out were taking a toll. All hope seemed lost. She accepted it and smoothed
a finger under her eye, brushing away a drip. Maybe it was rain, maybe not. She
found it hard to distinguish between anything now.
The path snaked around the beachfront stores, and Sheila scanned the cars,
trying to remember where she’d parked.
‘What the hell?!’ She gasped, spotting her car. ‘For God’s sake!’ She cried.
Two young men sped by on skateboards jeering and taunting Sheila. ‘Fuck
you slut!’ they yelled, rapidly rolling into the pissing rain. Skateboarding and
surfing were popular sports amongst locals, the reason was because it was free.
Sheila stood at five six and most young people towered over her. She hated them
now and forever. Sheila regarded them as antisocial and this proved her right.
The wheels of her car were completely flat. She approached the car. The
window was smashed, and the lighter inside had been dumped on the passenger
seat. She got in the car; the rain had soaked her jacket. Sheila slid her hand down
under the passenger seat and retrieved an envelope.
‘Thank god for that,’ She muttered, peeling it open carefully, holding it under
her coat like a baby. It was her only resume, and a damn good one too. Ten years
in customer services and twelve years in management positions, now the only
thing left to add was she had become another victim to the shit in Beach Town.
Nearly all houses in Beach Town were suburbanised two stories and two
tower blocks, the required amount of shops and the beachfront as the main
attraction. Increasing crime and rising unemployment meant residents suffered
break ins on a regular basis, Sheila saw the reports on tv a few weeks back. Even
the hospital struggled to cope, she had to go for a check-up – suspected anaemiamonths
ago and nurses and doctors complained about the lack of funding which
had caused staff to vacate to the city. Sheila was blonde back then, now her hair
was brunette, she believed a new identity might help her stand out. It didn’t.
A honk scared her out of the daze. She looked around, her hair drenched and
her eyes blank with despair. It was Dean. One of the police officers who went the
extra mile, Sheila admired that. Dean was honking and tilting his shaven head
from the white police cruiser. Sheila felt like getting out of her car and slapping
him for making her jump but restrained herself. She knew Dean lived alone and
suffered depression, after visiting on weekends in the past for drinks, they had
things in common. Scotch, chit chat and bettering themselves.
‘You ok Sheila? Hop in I’ll give you a lift,’ Dean sounded a million miles
away, the pounding rain now drowning out even the sounds of the engine.
Reluctantly she got out her car and entered the police cruiser, her legs
shivered. Anything was better than this. ‘Take me home,’ she replied, the tears
now rolling down her cheeks. But in the downpour Dean perhaps couldn’t tell
and that relieved her.
‘Sure. I’ll have your car towed, Sheila. You can’t leave it here,’ he said. The
rain came down harder and her butt felt cold and damp. Sheila stared into her
lap, lip trembling, and her hands together.
Dean flicked on the radio, a bit of Beach Town radio, courtesy of the college
students.
‘Never seen all tires flat at once.’ The cruiser pulled away, wipers on fast and
traffic speeding by. The song on the radio was some sad country ballad sung by
an old man. She turned it off with a huff and searched her pocket for the cigs.
When she pulled them out they were soaked, the last cigs she could probably
afford to buy was fucking ruined.
‘Fuck sake, what is wrong with this town?!’ She slammed the cigs onto the
dashboard, and they split open. The wet tobacco stuck to the black plastic like
glue.
‘Whoa, calm down, I told you - I’ll have the car towed, jeez,’ Dean
mumbled, not looking so happy as he cut up a blue Ford. The freeway was busy
for a Friday.
‘I can’t calm down, I’ve just lost my fucking job, and I just had my car
vandalised and I can’t even afford a packet of god damn cigarettes. What do
people do round here anyway? Hey, I’m from Beach Town and my life sucks.
Welcome to fucksville.’
‘Holy shit, I never thought I’d hear you snap like that, goddamn it’s good to
let it out sometimes,’ Dean said with a chuckle, enough to make Sheila force a
smile. The police radio crackled, inaudible voices at first. But then Sheila heard
a call about gunshots at a motel.
Luckily the journey was over, quicker than she expected. Dean pulled down
2nd street and came to a squeaky stop outside the apartments. The rain had
stopped now, and a blanket of fog hung over the street. April showers galore, she
thought. She checked her watch; it was just passing five in the evening. She was
bored with time, it meant nothing to her after passing forty.
‘Peculiar looking day too,’ Dean added, sticking his right hand down his
pants pocket and retrieving a ten. ‘Here, It’s better than nothing. Get yourself
some rest and I’ll see you soon. I have to deal with that motel again, take care,’
she thanked him, took the money hesitantly and clenched it in her fist along with
the damp resume. She stepped out, Dean waved and pulled off. His blue lights
flickered in the fog followed by the siren. The building had a glow, a new paint
job probably, she had seen job adverts for painter.
That was two weeks ago, since then her car was her bed as she job hunted.
She wished she could have stayed at home, but her spouse who she regretted
getting with, blamed her for losing her job as a manager. Sheila felt butterflies in
her stomach, it was her home to. Now the mission was simple, leave the town
and everything in it behind. Start a new life somewhere inland in the city, Sheila
had heard passively that the city was recruiting lots of new people, a fantastic
opportunity to get work. Sheila smiled. She walked to the front door and stepped
in, finally, she was home.
CHAPTER 2
Death for breakfast
The kettle rumbled before steam began shooting from the tip. Dean took the
black handle covered in condensation and poured the boiling water to an inch
from the top of his ‘officer of the day’ ceramic mug.
‘Day two begins,’ Dean sighed, referring to the hunt for the vandals of
Sheila’s car, and lifted the steaming black coffee to his mouth and took a sip. He
headed from his well-organised and clean kitchen to the living room and sat back
on the black and brown chequered sofa. In one corner, his television screen was
still on static. His way of clearing his mind, a good stare at nothingness. He put
down his steaming mug on the oak coffee table as his phone buzzed in his
trouser pocket.
‘What now?’ He grunted, seeing the number had no name. For a moment, he
thought about ignoring the call, possibly packing up and heading downtown for
a quick lunch at la Carta. The only place he knew in town that had a halfway
decent breakfast menu on Saturday. A call so early was not the usual, and Dean
suspected an office mishap rather than a crime, because he never dealt with
Saturday morning crimes anymore, not since his first days on the job.
He answered the old rectangular phone, tiny in rough large capable hands.
‘Hello?’
‘Dean, officer Ronald here, sorry to bother you so early, got a problem at the
hospital, I need your help,’ Ronald sounded concerned, Dean could not picture
Ronald as he hadn’t spoken to him in a long time. This must be serious.
‘I’ll be right there,’ Dean replied, about to hang up.
Dean felt the coffee still in his throat as he gulped. Had something happened
to Sheila, too damn proud to ask for help, she’s probably topped herself.
‘What’s the situation?’ Dean asked, and a sweat broke in his underarms.
Dean took a bigger gulp.
‘Two found dead outside the Rooster motel, hit and run. We have witnesses
at the station. Both bodies have green pus pouring from their torso. I suspect it’s
drug related but you need to come and see this yourself, something is not right
about the bodies.’ Dean listened intently, it sounded gruesome, fascinating him.
Was it too early to go corpse speculating? He downed the last of his hot coffee,
flicked the TV off and made his way through the narrow passageway to the front
door.
‘Fine, I’m on my way. I assume a doctor is present. Best to double check
Jamie is actually working.’
Dean hung up, stuck the tiny phone down his pants where his keys were
poking into his thigh. Doctor Jamie gave him insights into deaths or drugs use.
Jamie was the contact he had worked for in the hospital, a vital ally in the fight
against crime. Dean spent months trying to convince him to assist his enquiries,
once onboard Jamie soon began assisting with many problems Dean presented to
him. They were close and Dean revered the friendship.
He couldn’t tell whether the coffee had perked him up or whether it was the
grim prospect of seeing death before breakfast. A quick glance towards the
round wall clock placed perfectly in the hallway said ten to eight, but it felt like
five. His jacket was freshly washed, smelling of chemicals with a dash of
rosemary. He hunched it on and set out to his silver Honda Civic, gleaming
under the bright morning sky.
He approached the freeway, intersecting some slow old man in a beetle.
Momentarily the radio hissed, and voices yelled on it, but that quickly faded
back to a bluesy beat. Dean yanked the gear stick into fifth, pushing over seventy
down the empty carriageway. The carriageway intersected with a motorway
which led to the bridge to the city. Dean followed it, traffic was dense, three
hundred yards to the hospital turn off.
The hospital car park was packed when he pulled up to the ticket gate. Cars
had parked on the sidewalks, staff moved car to car jotting down details. Dean
had never seen anything like this before.
‘Jeez, happy holidays, what the hell is this?’ Dean muttered to himself
impatiently something he found himself doing more these days, especially after a
morning buzz.
‘What’s with the overload?’ he asked the ticket booth operator, who looked
pale and thinner than he remembered. When the operator answered, his voice
sounded on the edge of collapse, it was flat and quiet.
‘No idea sir, most of them came in at around sixish, I’m not sure what’s
going on.’ The gatekeeper passed a tacky yellow note to Dean, waving him
through with a lazy hand.
‘Yeah, take it easy,’ Dean said and pulled through the barrier, searching for
an empty parking space. He crept the Civic through almost impossible gaps,
avoiding the limp legs that hung from car doors. Some people coughed and
others stumbled with the aid of nurses towards the large glass Emergency Room
doors.
‘This is crazy, unbelievable,’ Dean said, as he stopped dead in the middle of
the road, switching the engine off and jumping out. The sun was beating down.
Dean saw looks of distress on people’s faces and felt sorry for them. Was this
related to an epidemic? He locked his car. The offshoot from the motorway was
becoming clogged up, horns were beeping and voices shouting profanities. The
hospital entrance was full of people as well. Dean walked cautiously; crime was
opportunistic in these kind of situations.
Inside, he was met by the young officer Ronald who had called him, and a
woman with blackened streaks down her cheeks, blobs of water dripping from
her nose.
‘Dean, follow me, the bodies of the hit and run are upstairs,’ Ronald said.
The waiting room ER was chaotic, almost like a pilgrimage of coughing and
shivering people. Ronald gestured a wave to follow him. The woman did so as
well, but Dean tried to refrain from asking the obvious. Ronald led the way,
heading right from the ER waiting room through a door which led to the main
hospital entrance, which was a large high ceiling white room, things were
quieter, but many people lay around with bored expressions. To the left some
elevators and to the right more people sprawled over cream waiting seats. Dean
noticed the receptionist directly in front being overwhelmed by people throwing
questions at her and he thought about calling for assistance in case a riot broke
out. The three of them trailed left across the brightly lit room to the elevators.
‘Why is it so busy, Ron? What in god’s name is going on?’ Dean locked on
to the woman again, then back to the desk clerk who was red as cherries,
flinging her arms left, right and centre with papers falling everywhere. Dean
considered calling for backup again, but his priority was somewhere upstairs.
‘Docs think there’s a superbug sweeping town, well, that’s what Jamie says.
Wait till you see these bodies, you’ll understand what he means,’ Ron swivelled
his belt a little, resting his hands-on hips and standing nervously like a newbie.
‘Superbug? I can’t afford to get sick this time of year Ron, you can’t either,
they’re making cuts to the station.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ His reply was shallow. The gathering masses were now being
seen to by hospital security as the elevator arrived.
Fifth room on the right of the third floor, the death floor as Jamie once told
Dean on a booze up, was where they found Jamie leaning against the wall just
outside. There was a nurse hurrying from a room further down to another, then a
patient appeared at the end of the dim corridor, underweight and holding a drip
stand slowly walking forward with a vacant face.
‘Dean, good morning, I’m glad you could come,’ Jamie greeted him with a
firm shake, his skin smooth from the conditioner he always put on.
‘No problem, when I heard you were here, I had to see the mess you created.’
Dean laughed, and Jamie winced, not something he usually did. Dean felt the air
solidify and the initial humour turn into a darker mood.
‘Wait here, make sure no one comes in.’ He told Ron, knowing Ronald had
done enough for now. The woman had cleared her eyes up slightly, but Dean
caught the random trickles of black liquid that fell still on her blouse. She was
waiting with Ron for now. It was her worst day, he felt that, he could even feel
her pain radiating, it was like iced water splashed against his spine.
Jamie closed the door and led Dean through the plastic strip curtains that
smelt of strong disinfectant. A light flickered, and another went out with a snap.
They walked down a sterile corridor to an open room tiled with white and five
metal top tables lit by harsh surgical lights. Each table had a corpse on it covered
with thick, green mucous. Dean felt nauseas as Jamie led them to the nearest
table.
‘We think this is some kind of superbug. The bug developed rapidly, maybe
over a day; it seems.’ Jamie lifted the left wrist of the body revealing a tatt. It
was purple and green, the first thought that popped into Dean’s head was that it
must have been sepsis. Jamie released the lifeless arm and it slumped onto the
table; the dull thud echoed in the silent room.
‘Sepsis I assume,’ Dean said boldly, feeling confident it was, because
otherwise this was a waste of official police time, also the stench of the mucous
was making him queasy.
‘Yes, but like the bug it developed rapidly, over the course of an hour, just
before she died. So why would being struck by a motor vehicle cause this?’
Jamie walked over to the sink and picked up a metal clamp, scissors and two
pairs of latex gloves. There was a cough sweet left on the side, he quickly
dropped it into his white lab coat. Dean covered his nose and mouth with his
hand, the stench was like stale milk and shit, and he gagged.
‘Put these on and hold this.’ Jamie passed him the surgical gloves and clamp
and proceeded to make a long incision down the length of the girl’s chest cavity,
gracefully slicing the greenish flesh and parting the flaps of skin. Dean put the
gloves on, and moved in for a closer look, still covering his mouth and nose.
Still, the stink stung his eyes.
Inside the girls dissected chest there was a collection of gelatinous black
fluid, it seemed to sac around the lungs, it wobbled, and it made Dean uneasy.
He leant on the table, clenched his eyes and tried not to breath the putrid air.
‘You okay?’ Jamie asked.
‘Yes, sorry,’ Dean said. ‘Carry on.’ The room was too bright, and Dean felt
lightheaded again. He wished Jamie would hurry up.
Jamie did so, pointing and talking but the information didn’t sink in, at one
point the lights in the room blurred into a massive static screen, then, Deans legs
buckled, and he slumped to the floor.
‘Dean, Dean wake up.’ Jamie had his arms around Dean’s shoulder and was
rubbing and patting his cheeks, squeezing them and trying to bring him back to
consciousness. Moments later light poured painfully into his eyes and the room
seemed like a nightmare, surreal and disconnected, silent as the grave and full of
death.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jamie said. ‘I didn’t expect you to last long. Don’t get up, so
I’ll give it to you straight.’ Jamie reached for the cough sweet and chomped it,
the menthol smell hit Dean waking his senses, easing the stress.
‘Yes, please do, because I can’t see how this contributes to a hit and run.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ Jamie said. ‘Being run over obviously doesn’t cause this.
Only a severe infection does, which means her cause of death was sepsis rather
than being hit by the vehicle. There isn’t any need to investigate, Dean, are you
relieved?’
Jamie smiled and pulled Dean up until he managed to push himself to his
feet. He was somewhat relieved but now needed a good reason not to give Jamie
a mouthful for wasting police time. Dean had missed breakfast for this.
‘Give me a reason not to be,’ he said, tearing the gloves off and tossing them
to the bin bag taped on the table leg. Let’s go somewhere else, he thought and
started to walk back through the corridor towards the plastic curtains, Jamie
followed. Ron now stood with his arm wrapped around the lady at the door,
comforting no doubt. Jamie put his hand on Dean’s shoulder.
‘It’s not all good news. You need to inform the CDC, I can but I need
someone of jurisdiction to back me up, politics you know?’
‘Right, so serious then?’ Dean asked, but Jamie returned to the room of death
without replying. It must have been serious, and if everyone in the lobby was in
the same condition, they could be on the brink of an epidemic.
‘Ron, we’re leaving, now.’ Dean hurried to the elevator and Ron quickly
followed behind. The woman stood next to Jamie who led her by the shoulders
into the death room, her sobs now obvious, until they broke into screams, just as
the elevator doors shut.
CHAPTER 3
Sheila’s Proposition
‘Harry, might you actually keep an eye on James for once.’ Molly pointed from
the sun-baked plastic chair across to the sandy beach where little James had
fallen. They were sat on the path under an awning from a shop, James ten or so
feet away on the beach. Behind in the small information shop a radio was
playing jazz songs and news reports. Molly to the left of Harry drinking bottled
fizzy water. Harry had a diet orange juice but hadn’t touched it.
Kids swarmed the sand playing with kites and building sandcastles. Parents
sat and drank and ate ice cream. The surfers were riding the waves. The day was
hot, Harry hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Molly insisted they saved
money, but Harry enjoyed seeing James play here, although today it was busy,
and passers-by obscured the view now and again.
‘Of course, I was seeing how he handled it,’ replied Harry, who planted his
orange on the table and made for the busy beach, cutting through the throng of
anxious parents, helicoptering around their children.
‘Okay little man?’ he asked, helping his son to his feet. Little James
Carrington had sand all over his shirt and on his face. Harry felt his pockets for a
tissue and luckily found one, quite a clean one too. ‘Hold still will you.’
James did as his father said and soon the tissue wiped the sand away and his
crumpled-up face broke into a broad smile.
It was always unusual weather on the island, being in the current of western
winds and southern heats. Saturday was always busy in town, Harry had to travel
through most of it to work at the opera.
‘Dad, can I have some more ice cream?’ he asked, using the old puppy eyes
trick to persuade, but Harry didn’t need persuading, the sun beating down was
making him crave one to, a mint chocolate single cone with flake and sprinkles.
‘Mint choc chip then?’ He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. The sun was
irritating his legs and if he stood any longer in the scolding sun it would start to
burn. The crowds of hatted families strolled by and waiting for a gap to cross
back to the table was a nightmare, even the animals seemed to get in the way or
the owner and the leash. The day trippers gathered wearing Hawaii shirts, shorts
and sun caps around the tourist information where Molly was sat at the table.
Looking further down the shopfront revealed empty seats nearer the beach
bandstand, Harry considered trying to get a seat, but he knew Molly enjoyed this
spot. Finally, after reaching the table, he took a gulp of the fizzy orange. His
forehead leaking sweat now, and the ground swayed. It wasn’t usual to feel like
this, he thought it must be because he’d drank orange rather than water all day.
‘Just going to get ice cream Molly, you want any?’ said Harry, keeping his
eyes shaded with a hand. Molly sat croslegged, her thighs reddening and her
toned arms looking like a soft cake. She nodded in agreement, quickly returning
her eyes to James, who appeared to be taunting some girls who were sunbathing.
Birds flocked overhead as the passers-by dropped some crisps. Harry saw the
crowds moving towards the bandstand.
Harry set off down the sidewalk, looking into the shops and restaurants,
smelling crispy fries, ketchup and burgers. He was keeping right next to them
under the shade and felt a few knocks and bumps of passers-by, some painful
accidents, others he wasn’t so sure. In front of the bandstand, the area was
packed with families on benches, drunk tourists and a few bikers with black
leather jackets drinking and jeering. Usually they kept the idiots under control,
but it seemed there was only two of them, for now at least. On stage the band
was setting up plugging guitars into amps and microphones into speakers.
The ice cream parlour overflowing with visitors. The queue extended across
the path and down onto the beach. Harry thought it inconsiderate to block the
path, so he made a point of pushing through to the bandstand. The teens at the
front draped in black with mascara were going wild with excitement. They
screamed and shouted, jumping around and smacking each other on the back in a
buddy way. Cans of half-drunk beer flew outwards, some towards Harry and
some towards the bikers, who responded with groans and then threw the cans
back, hitting the teens but not damping their excitement. Harry tiptoed to see the
action; a rapid drum beat that he could feel vibrating in his chest. It sounded like
a giant bongo on steroids. Then a guitar squealed, drowning out the screaming
teens. A man dressed in a white rob stepped up to the mike. Harry tried to see
but the crowd kept pushing him and the noise of screaming and rock was all to
invigorating, so he yelled, ‘Wahoo!’ accompanied by an air punch and
subsequent head bang. The men around, whoever they were, gave an approving
shove to which Harry pushed back. It was all going well, the music pounded,
and the guitar was off the rails with tons of hammer ons. The white gowned
singer held up a hand and the band went silent, the crowd also, and then he
whispered into the mike,
‘Pleased to be in Beach Town.’ Followed by a scream. ‘Deeeaaaddd
tooowwwnnn!’
The speakers shook the ground and the entire thing was overwhelming. Then
Harry felt his phone buzz, it was probably Molly checking he was okay. He
quickly shut the revelry out and the surrounding head bangers gave an aww as he
walked away. The screen on his phone said Sheila, and straight away the car
incident sprung to mind. Still he pushed back through the now smaller ice cream
queue and stood next to the building having to shield his remaining ear from the
music just to answer.
‘Sheila how are you?’ he answered cheerily, still feeling cocked and ten years
younger again. The line was quiet for a second, and then Sheila crackled into
audibility.
‘I’m good, Harry. I’m sorry to bother you but how do you fancy heading to a
job interview with me?’ She sounded hesitant about asking. It was never easy for
anyone round here to ask such favours, people kept to themselves.
‘I’m down at the beach right now,’ it was his turn to sound hesitant. ‘If you
want…you could err, come down here with us, you know, Molly and James are
here,’ he said, eager for her to say yes. He just hoped she wasn’t with Wendy if
she did. The uncaring partner he had once called her.
‘No, I’m afraid not, I have to prepare for this, it’s today and I kind of really
need a lift there.’
Harry smelt something funky in the air and left the side of the store, probably
drugs he thought. As he paced back thinking of a response, it seemed difficult
doing it today, the city was about three hours away after all.
‘Why didn’t you ask me before today, Sheila? I would love to help but this is
the only day I have free.’ As he approached Molly, she went from a smile to a
frown, noting the time on her watch with a tut. James was still out in the sand,
building a sandcastle with his hands. The teen girls were helping him, they
looked as excited as James. The sand was crumbling but James kept trying to
build it.
‘Queue is too big, better wait until later,’ he told Molly as he held the phone
to his chest, then returned to the call, sensing a night of guilt if he said no.
‘Are you there, hello?’ Sheila asked anxiously.
‘Yes Sheila, I’m sorry but it’s not possible, we could meet up tomorrow
though?’
‘No, Harry! Listen I haven’t got any money and you are the only person I
have in the whole fucking world at the moment.’ Her voice sounded shaky, like
it was breaking into a tearful one. The tone and timing of the call was one thing,
but the bad language, something like this from Sheila meant serious stuff. The
last time she blew the local drunk got a beating.
‘Okay, what time should I pick you up?’
‘Umm, I have to be there for five, so two is fine.’
‘Two? Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem, just bear in mind I don’t fancy
getting cancer from passive smoking.’ He gurgled a laugh to lighten the mood
but was met with silence.
‘No, I don’t expect you to,’ she retorted and hung up. Harry stuffed his phone
back in his pocket.
The day was still scorching. In the cloudless blue-sky flocks of seagulls were
circling overhead and the golden sand was looking mystical. The sound of the
waves rushing against the beach and the background noise of hundreds of
conversations was calming Harry.
‘Sorry Molly, I need to go help a friend out. I’ll catch up with you and James
later, okay?’ The water bottle he had previously bought still sat on the table, he
opened it and downed it, feeling the cold liquid soothe his throat.
‘I’ll miss you, Harry. Hurry back please,’ Molly said. Harry felt relieved that
he could get of town for some time, but he wanted to go with his family, not
Sheila. Behind on the radio in the shop, Harry overheard a report about a riot in
the city. He ignored it.
CHAPTER 4
Lost in Transition
The two-door silver hatchback came to a stop on the third lane of Beach Town’s
only motorway, which led over a sea bridge to the city. The traffic was at a
standstill. The turn off to the hospital was busy, but the cars were moving at
least. Harry and Sheila sat in dull silence, pondering their own thoughts, each in
their own world. Somehow the windowpane seemed more interesting than the
rumbling engines and miles of car roofs outside. Some kid, maybe a toddler was
crying in the distance, a car clanked into a hurricane of smoke and an ambulance
tried to pull right down the siding. Beach Town drivers used the right side of the
road. It was hectic beyond reason.
‘Anytime soon we’ll be skeletons,’ sighed Harry, who wound the window
halfway down, to be met with the smell of a cool breeze.
‘It’s not that bad, it’ll improve, just wait and see,’ Sheila said trying to ease
her own doubt. But the cars edged forward an inch or two, and then stopped
again. A man three cars down got out, shielding his eyes from the hazing
sunlight. Then a woman smartly dressed in a grey suit, climbed out her sparkling
two door Mercedes sport and the two-stood gazing into the distance. Less people
honked and more engines went quiet.
‘Might as well save fuel,’ Harry said, keying the ignition off. Sheila looked
in the rear-view mirror and saw some young men getting topless and jumping
onto their wagon roof. Harry knew she was attracted when she looked at them,
he didn’t blame her for looking because her girlfriend Wendy was dismissive and
argumentative since she lost her job.
‘So, this job then, what is it?’ Harry asked. Sheila swung her head from
looking at the men to Harry, who frowned stupidly. She cracked a knuckle and
felt her pants pocket just to be sure she had her resume with her.
‘Yes, it’s what I’ve always done, assistant managing, you know?’
Naturally her confidence shone through even though Harry knew she wasn’t
going to make it today, not a chance. Harry knew she was at the end of her career
as a manager, companies just didn’t have the work on the island anymore for
them and Sheila’s financial and criminal background now made her the less than
ideal candidate. On the other hand, Harry supposed someone would give her the
second chance she needed, the break everyone needs when they do something
wrong because they might feel sorry for her. They hadn’t even left Beach Town,
and even if they had they’d need to get up to at least eighty on the outskirts to
get there on time. Harry checked his watch, ten to twelve, just brilliant he
thought. He was rather looking forward to exploring the city and Sheila’s
potential office space that was probably littered with sticky notes and the desk
probably had chewing gum to the bottom, yuck. More the city, Harry had read
about some of the lavish shops along the city street, particularly mens clothing.
He pushed back into his cushioned seat, the sagging fabric pressing against
his back. ‘Damn, need to get this thing sorted.’
Sheila held a cute kitten type look of disappointment that he seemed more
interested in the seat than the job he just asked about. Harry knew he had a short
attention span and that Sheila knew it to. The car was fast becoming a hot box,
Harry fanned his face with his hand.
‘Why don’t we go to the cinema instead?’ Harry said. ‘You can call them and
let them know you can’t make it today.’ He pushed his back into the seat and
then rolled the window fully down, where a Smokey charcoal smell drafted in.
Most people were on the bonnets now, some did handstands and others smoked
and chatted. One woman was doing yoga in tight pants. She was sat on her roof,
her ass crack slightly showing, but she soon pinched it back up.
‘You’re probably right,’ Sheila said. ‘What was I thinking taking an
interview two hours out?’ Her sarcasm was followed with her rustling through
her bag.
‘No chance, get out if you want to smoke,’ Harry said. But Sheila ignored
him and pulled out her chap stick, opened and applied it with pouting pop.
‘Umm, cherry,’ she said, smiling to Harry. Harry saw Sheila glance to the
rear view again, the lads had their shirts on and drinking beer. By the looks of it,
the driver was too. Harry felt like joining them, even with the windows open it
wasn’t enough to cool the car.
‘Screw it, I’ll be back soon,’ she said, stashing her chappy in her bag and
dunking it to the back seat. Her succulently sexy black suit would have to win
these young men, and their inability to see the age difference.
‘Be careful, I’ll take a walk,’ Harry replied before grabbing the keys and they
both exited the baking vehicle.
It felt like a heat wave was passing over, but it was bearable with the salty
breeze of the sea. Harry walked slowly past each car. At first people seemed to
be having fun and chatting and smoking, but as he moved further up the
motorway, the people began to look more miserable and more of them were sat
head in hands with water bottles. Harry paused next to a red Jeep, he noticed the
man inside was asleep, or so he appeared to be. He considered the heat and
knocked on the window, the man was still. Harry peered in, using his hands to
see past the glare. The man wasn’t moving at all. The other folks around
unaware. Harry tried the door, but it was locked.
He knocked on the window. Nothing. He pulled the handle without success.
By now the obese man behind had notices and ambled over, much to Harrys
dissatisfaction. He probably suspected Harry of trying to rob something from the
car.
‘Oi, what are you doing?’ The fat man panted, his stubble greasy and his
shirt soaked with sweat.
‘He’s stuck in there,’ Harry replied, avoiding eye contact with the fat man’s
waist, which only just slid between the cars. The fat man wore oversized brown
laced trainers and his trousers were like girders.
‘Yeah?’ the fat man said. Harry felt uncomfortable, like the man was creating
a scene.
‘Yeah, see.’ Harry pointed to the unconscious man in the car. The fat man
peered in the window, lifting his sacking arms to cover the reflecting sunlight
and gasping for breath. Suddenly the overweight giant clenched his dripping
shirt with both hands and gasped like he just swallowed a bug.
‘Not now!’ Harry grunted. The giant fell to the sizzling motorway tarmac,
clenching his chest. Other people sat on the cars spotted the man fall and rushed
over, Harry knelt at his side. Harry could not comprehend the unfolding
situation; it was all happening to fast.
‘Help! Someone call an ambulance!’ Harry pleaded to the bystanders who
wore sunhats and shirts with gormless expressions. A middle-aged lady, in a pink
flower blouse pulled her phone out, then a smaller bearded man.
Harry felt helpless he could not help the man; the motorway was rammed
and the ambulance on the turnoff behind had gone. The people gathered in a
circle, none of them helping.
They were a turnoff to the hospital, if he wasn’t so fat, they could carry him.
The fat nameless man’s neck split into several folds as he seized, lashing his
arms and shaking his head uncontrollably, foaming at the mouth and clenching
his teeth. Harry stepped back, wary of the bystanders. The crowd began to step
back. A man and woman went to the aid of the fallen man, attempting to hold his
head still. His seizure hadn’t knocked him out cold, Harry felt relief the man was
still alive but the thought somebody might blame him for this was frightening.
He had been blamed for incidents before, a neighbour once accused him of
having an affair and his boss once had him monitored on suspicion of fraud.
Harry panicked at the thought, stood up and tried to catch Sheila’s attention a
few cars back. Harry remembered Sheila took a first aid course, but it seemed
improbably the man could be saved now. The fat man’s body was becoming
limper with each gasp. Sheila was drinking, laughing and getting touchy with the
lads. Harry felt happy for her. Sheila couldn’t see his waves, so he rushed to the
man’s side. The heat pounding down, the tarmac rippling like a desert and the
fumes foul.
Do something!’ a woman cried from behind Harry, startling him. An Asian
man beside Harry joined the chant and soon the mob pleaded, shouting for Harry
to help. Harry could not escape now, he had to defend himself.
‘I can’t help I am not a doctor!’ Harry said. ‘How long is the ambulance
going to take?!’
The woman beside the fat man answered, the fat man was as still as a rock
now. ‘They said they are busy responding to incidents in the city, they can’t give
an arrival time,’ her face chalk white as her lip trembled. Harry could see the fear
in the woman’s eyes as she held the fat man’s unconscious head. Then the fat
man in the beating sun opened his eyes for a few seconds, vomit squirted out
onto the ground, missing Harry but decorating the Asian man’s khaki shorts. The
crowd were becoming more distant, a couple walked away mumbling.
‘That’s no heart attack, that’s something else!’ said the Asian man next to
Harry. It was as if a bomb had exploded, everyone watching reacted with panic.
Smiles of the bystanders turned to worry and fear, a few of the onlookers
frantically jogged back to their cars, locking their doors.
‘It’s a virus, the terrorists are back!’ another man yelled, sending the
remaining bystanders into a primal panic. The people screamed, shouting ‘Get
back to your cars! There’s a virus outbreak!’ and ‘It’s the black death!’ One teen
behind Harry tripped over in the confusion and was trampled by a woman. The
woman supporting the fat man’s head stood and walked away further down the
motorway, vanishing between the sea of clogged cars.
‘Michael, Michael Hanson,’ said the now shaking Asian man kneeling next
to Harry, outstretching his hand. Harry hesitated, scanning the road, realising the
ridiculous sentiment of shaking someone’s hand while a man lay dying or dead
in front of them. Harry was grateful the car was shading them. Inside the other
unconscious man whom Harry found before, Harry had forgot about him. Harry
found the situation surreal. Him and Michael were exchanging pleasantries.
Harry shook Michael’s hand; it had a rubbery texture.
‘No time for chatting, any ideas, Michael?’ Harry shrugged unsure of what to
do, mindful of Sheila and the still unmoving traffic. Both men beaded sweat
from their foreheads.
‘No idea, I fancy a drink, do you?’ Michael’s withdrawal worried Harry. The
behaviour of the other motorists was diabolical, everyone ran off unwilling to
help because of fear. The ambulance was nowhere in sight either.
‘Hold in there.’ Harry reassured the unconscious fat man. He wondered if the
unconscious man could hear him. Unconscious but alive, Harry saw his neck
veins turn bluish green and his neck muscles stiffen. Just as they did, the fat man
ceased breathing. The fat man’s face turned blue as his mouth gushed with foam.
The arms flopped to the road surface.
‘Shit! He’s dead!’ Michael cried. Harry felt his heart skip a beat, a nagging
fear rose from his spine, his hairs were razors and he felt he had to leave the
area.
‘We need to get away from here,’ Harry said.
Other motorists and passengers returned to see the fat man who was now
blue skinned and lifeless.
‘Jesus! It’s a fucking virus of some kind!’ Some woman huddle in the crowd
shouted, her voice shrieking, to Harrys amazement he wondered why she came
back if she wasn’t helping.
‘No shit!’ A buffed-up camo pants man yelled, huffing at the shrieking
woman. The crowd bickered and the voices a razor pain in Harry’s ears. Michael
was looking uncomfortable.
‘Fuck off or help, stop causing a stir!’ Harry shouted. Some of them walked
away in silence. Harry felt ashamed, the fat man in front of him was cold dead
and not one person helped. Did they even phone an ambulance? Was the
ambulance coming?
Harry struggled to keep cool, birds were flocking overhead as the sun passed
into a cloud. The car’s metal buzzed with heat; the air conditioning of the
surrounding cars hummed tediously.
‘There’s someone in the car.’ Harry jumped up from the road and one
punched the car window in rage, people scorned at him in surprise. His fist stung
and trickled blood down his forearm.
‘Jeez,’ quipped Michael. ‘You’re gonna have to pay for that sunshine!’ Harry
smirked sadistically at him, the pain surged through his arm, pulsating with
every heartbeat. Harry put a finger to the man’s neck and couldn’t find a pulse.
He lifted the unconscious driver’s arm; it was colder than the neck. Harry
assumed the shade had cooled the body. There was no pulse.
‘Him too?’ Michael stepped over the broken glass peaking in the car window,
pointing to the bottle of water that had turned yellow in the cupholder.
‘I’m afraid so, no pulse.’ Harry released the corpses arm which slumped to
the bodies lap. This was making Harry faint. Michael breathing down his neck
didn’t help matters.
‘It’s the water,’ Michael whispered. Harry saw the bottle shaking his head in
disagreement. Seeing the demise of the fat man had eased this passing.
The air seemed to become like fog, like Harry was smelling the scent of
death. A look back through the crowds revealed that Sheila had now sat cross
legged on the roof with her knees to her shoulders. Harry could not see her
expression.
‘What can we do?’ Harry asked. ‘I have no idea how to deal with this, do
you?’ Michael put his arm around him, Harry was uncomfortable with a stranger
touching him but resisted the desire to shove Michael, hoping he didn’t want to
whisper to him again. This short Asian Michael was creepy but friendly, and
Harry had yet to determine whether he liked him or hated him.
‘I suggest we return to our cars, there’s nothing we can do,’ Michael said.
Michael turned and walked away towards Harry’s car.
Harry observed the scene, the fat man on the floor, the broken window,
which he would happily pay for, the body, touching it might not have been wise.
His fist was sore but had clotted, the blood had stained his arm. The clouds were
providing a well needed shade from the heat. The bystanders no longer watched,
the people on the surrounding vehicle now resumed gossiping.
No ambulance in sight, not even a medical chopper.
Harry stepped back, speechless. Two dead bodies left on the motorway in the
cars. Harry maneuverer over the fat man’s body. He contemplated covering him
but changed his mind. The gunk and green veins told Harry something terrible
could happen if he touched the body. If it was viral Harry could have it already.
A few people approached crying and yelling, the hysterical woman was
amongst them, no longer hysterical but pulling on Harry’s heartstrings. They
gathered around the fat man no longer laughing or crying. One woman went pale
and vomited next to the body. Harry felt nauseas again, he had to get back to
Sheila. Whatever had killed that fat man was not normal. Harry knew a heart
attack didn’t cause green pus to pour from the victim’s mouth.
Harry reached his car after trying to avoid chit chat with nosy drivers who
attempted to talk to him on the short walk back. He felt stupid for leaving the car
window open, somebody could have taken the keys or Sheila’s handbag. Sheila
must be roasting in her interview attire.
Sheila was on the roof behind, drunk and unable to see if another motorist
stole her bag. It was there along with Harrys phone. Harry got in the door handle
burning his hand. The phone signal was one bar and the battery in the red.
Worryingly Harry had a text from Molly twenty minutes ago. He unlocked the
phone and read the message.
It read: “Harry, I’ve had to take James to the hospital, he is not very well at
all!!! Please phone me as soon as you get this!!!”
Harry pushed call button to contact Molly. Harry was impatient as it rang. It
buzzed some more before beeping three times and cutting out. Harry looked at
the phone screen again, the battery icon was flashing. The silence was deafening.
‘Bloody phone, never reliable!’ he shouted, seeing Sheila in the rear-view
mirror who heard him. Harry watched as Sheila slid down the bonnet and paced
towards the car waving goodbye to the sunbathing lads on the car. She put her
head in the window.
‘What’s wrong harry?’ she asked. Harry was relieved she was sober, he
couldn’t handle a drunk Sheila as well, not after all of today’s carnage. He had
dealt with her drunkenness before and it always ended in arguing.
‘It’s James, he’s sick apparently, I can’t get through to Molly!’ Harry gasped.
Sheila ran to the other side of the car and got in. She checked the passenger door
for her phone.
‘Full battery,’ Sheila said, and Harry perked up. ‘But no signal.’
She gave Harry the phone and he snatched it from her hand. She frowned at
him. He stashed his back in his trouser pocket.
‘Tell me what is wrong,’ she said. Sheila seemed genuinely frightened at
Harry’s behaviour. Before dialling, he paused, shook his head and explained
quietly.
‘There’s a man up ahead who’s just died of a possible heart attack, and
another dead in his car, probably from heat stroke.’
‘Oh, my god, Harry! Why hasn’t anyone phoned an ambulance?!’ she cried.
‘Shh, keep it down we don’t want to panic the entire motorway! Check what
the news says about this traffic as well!’ Harry became impatient and didn’t want
a crowd to gather around his car.
She did as he said turning the radio knob and it crackled to life. There was a
snap in the radio audio, then a pop and hiss. The radio hissed silent.
‘Wait, this can’t be right,’ Sheila said, growing concerned. ‘There’s nothing
coming through.’ As she turned the tuning knob, each frequency sounded like
bacon sizzling.
Harry tried to ring Molly from Sheila’s phone now he had a signal. The
phone rang, with each ring sweat poured from his underarms, the anticipation
and impatience were grinding him down.
‘Nothing, no answer! This is not normal,’ Harry blurted. ‘No radio, no
phone.’ Harry passed the phone back to Sheila, the signal bar at zero.
The motorway was a frying pan, the human’s eggs and bacon cooking until
they passed out. People were sprawled on the road now, hiding under cars,
spraying each other with sun block and water. They could not stay any longer,
the heat would become fatal.
‘We have to get somewhere sheltered. We’ll walk if we have to,’ Harry said.
Sheila wasn’t happy and removed her black jacket, her underarms drenched too.
Harry saw people jumping on cars in front, some fell over as they tried to run
down the narrow gap between cars. Something had triggered mass panic. Harry
felt his heart skip a beat. People were screaming. Sheila was trying to see what
was happening. People scrambled running over other people as they sprinted
down the motorway. Children were being carried by shocked parents and car
horns sounded.
The screams scraped Harry’s ears, making him angry that they wouldn’t shut
up. Harry covered his ears with his hands, but he could still hear the crying. It
was hysteria.
‘What the fucks going on up there?’ Sheila snapped.
‘I hope it’s not another heart attack,’ Harry replied. He got the impression
things were about to change to dangerous.
Harry got out the car and Sheila did so as well. The masses of panicked
people pushed one another to get away from the fat man, their faces pale with
fear. Sheila leant on the car; strangers piled past her. The fat man had become
violent attacking bystanders. People attacked one another. Harry could see them
punching the faces of one another. It was violence Harry had never seen before.
Something pulled Harry closer to the action.
‘I’m checking it out.’ Harry loosened his belt.
‘No, I’m coming with you,’ Sheila asserted. Walking round and standing at
Harry’s side.
‘No!’ Harry snapped. ‘Wait here.’ His face tingled red and his feet began to
drag as he walked towards the shouting.
He got a few cars back from the disturbance. People in cars were stricken
with fear. There was a moulding scent that carried in the wind. Harry gagged
into his hand before spitting a thick lump onto the road.
Birds squealed overhead and the surrounding cars were now being
abandoned. Harry wanted to drive on the other side of the bollards, where no
traffic had travelled for the last hour at least.
The fat man’s neck was puffing, oozing green hard sludge resembling lard.
The smell was intoxicating Harry, he had to cover his mouth with his hand. He
gagged at the sight up ahead. He was a good few cars away and whatever was
unfolding hadn’t notice him.
He took a few deep breaths scanning the deserted cars. Harry turned to walk
back to the car, Sheila next to him.
Michael the touchy Asian had vanished a while ago. Harry was annoyed. The
guy was friendly enough and may have been a counterweight to Sheila. Harry
had one thought now, his son and home. They continued past Harry’s car. Sheila
wound the car window up and left her handbag. Clouds were blocking the sun,
but it was still hot. The shouting and the crowd that remained around the fat
man’s car were acting weirder, shambling and groaning. Harry was nervous. He
hadn’t felt butterflies since college exams.
Harry turned to Sheila as they made there was back down the motorway
towards the turnoff, the cars empty abandoned. ‘We’re walking.’
CHAPTER 5
No Way Out
Harry and Sheila reached the turn off after walking through the traffic of
occupied cars, the drivers and passengers to far away from the attacks to see
what was happening. Some cars smoked from the overused clutch, bored
occupants smoke and sleep.
Behind, a few bored motorists had tagged along, carrying purses and bottles
of water. It felt sickening to be leading them to the hospital, knowing Harry
couldn’t provide an answer to the traffic or to the lack of emergency services.
The only motorway out of Beach Town was clogged full of cars. Harry was sure
they had blocked the bridge from the city, that would explain there being no cars
on the other side of the road. Harry figured the people were just as concerned as
he was.
Sheila needn’t squeeze through the gaps, her slim waist slipped elegantly
passed them. Harry found himself the victim of an ignorant red Ford driver who
opened his door to ask, ‘What’s going on up there?’ Harry replied quickly, he
didn’t want Sheila and him wasting time in a danger zone, ‘Collision.’
The hospital was secluded after the curved turn off which ramped down
directly into the carpark. The large hospital doors were open, the car park was
full of cars but no occupants.
The heat was burning a hole in Harry’s back and Sheila kept readjusting her
white blouse. The other motorists had stopped following once Sheila and Harry
headed towards the hospital waddling back to the packed motorway with coughs
and sighs.
‘Hold on,’ Sheila said, pausing to rub her eyes.
‘What the hell,’ Harry muffled.
They were nearing the car park entrance and free of the unbearably thick
smog.
‘What now?’
‘I need to find James,’ Harry said, gathering the little energy he had and
marching on. Sheila pulled her phone from her trousers but then she stashed the
phone to her pocket again. Her shirt was now wet, and she unbuttoned the top
two buttons, catching Harry’s ear.
‘You feel okay?’ he asked, stopping and admiring the bright white bra.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just a little hot.’ Sheila led the way to the car park
entrance, the ramp coming to an end. Harry removed his arms from his jacket
and chucked it over his shoulder.
They approached the car park gate; it was open but blocked a large jeep. The
guard box empty. The car park as empty as a ghost town too. Harry looked in the
guard’s boxes open window; it stank of hot plastic.
‘Anything?’ Sheila asked.
Before Harry had time to react, someone had smacked a heavy metal object
over his back, sending splinters of agony through his spine. His head lashed
backwards as he fell to the concrete. Sheila screamed, Harry turned and saw her
take a whack to the legs, from another figure.
Two men, dressed in leather jackets towered them, snarling at their faces.
They held large silver wrenches; the wrenches must have weighed five kilos
easy. A dull pain coursed through Harry’s back; he lay clenching his teeth. Sheila
appeared to be ok.
‘Alive?’ One of the men scorned at Sheila. The man’s brow thick and his
goatee unclean. Harry could see the jacket clearly now, it had an unflinching
logo of a skull with a dagger through it - the hells angels of Beach Town, as they
would say - Harry couldn’t recall much, his spine was in agony.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she yelled. The man got closer, the sun
revealing thick and black hair. His hands wrapped in leather; his boots glistened.
‘Holy ghost, they’re alive,’ he said to the other wrench wielder who
immediately helped Harry to his feet
‘Sheila, you okay?’ Harry asked. After being helped up he rushed to Sheila’s
aid. She had a red lump forming on her shin which she avoided looking at.
‘No, I’m clearly not okay Harry,’ she exclaimed.
The two bikers stood swinging their wrenches like shopping bags. The day
was getting more confusing, Harry didn’t know why the road was packed or the
men attacked them, it wasn’t a normal day.
‘Just who the hell are you? We came to the hospital and this happens!’ Harry
realised he’d lost his jacket in the ticket box, it was unimportant now. Harry
approached the black-haired man, not too close, as he towered over him at six
feet easily.
‘I’m sorry okay,’ he said to Harry. ‘We thought you were one of dangerous
ones, the names Charlie, Kale.’ The man outstretched his hairy arm to Harry,
which gave off a sickly scent of smoke, his skin tinged yellow. He was bearish,
which couldn’t be held against him, after he said sorry.
‘Next time try saying something first,’ Harry replied, shaking the hand
firmly, he had to wipe the sweat on his pants after.
‘In this situation, I doubt anyone will have time to speak,’ his partner replied.
‘Peter. I’m a close friend of Charlies, as you can tell.’ He went to give Harry a
handshake, but Sheila grabbed his hand and dug her nails into his skin, grinning
like a school kid.
‘Pleased to meet you, jackass,’ she tore her hand away.
‘Shit, take it easy, I’m sorry alright,’ Peter cried, his hand red.
‘Accepted,’ she replied.
Harry saw the biker’s rides near the main entrance doors.
‘My sons in there, I need to go find him,’ Harry explained. Charlie had a
look disapproving concern.
‘No chance,’ Charlie replied. ‘Wait until the police get here, then go in.’
‘I’ve been waiting on the highway for an ambulance, it didn’t show, then I
was told my son was brought to hospital, seriously ill, I’m not waiting.’ Harry
walked off across the car park with Sheila limping behind. There were a few cars
parked on curbs, everything appeared normal, Harry could not understand why
they hadn’t sent an ambulance.
‘Wait,’ Charlie called out, jogging his gladiator body over to them.
‘You aren’t going in alone, I’ll come with you. Peter, wait here for the police,
if anything happens just do what we said and run.’ Charlie led the way to the
entrance, Peter hopped on an old station wagon, holding the wrench behind his
head like a pillow.
‘So, what happened?’ Sheila’s voice trembled with pain as she walked.
Charlie shook his head frowning. Harry at his side worrying for James.
‘Can’t explain it. We came in, one of our friends fell off his bike, ran down a
girl. He came to the hospital, but when we came to visit him, he seemed…well,
he seemed to have some sort of goo pouring out of his mouth.’ Charlie shivered
a sigh.
They reached the open entrance doors; the lobby was empty with nothing but
the sound of the white wall clock ticking and the lights and check in computers
humming. A dreadful wave flooded over Harry. The receptionist desk ahead was
deserted.
‘Was it green?’ he asked. Charlie whipped around eyeballing Harry, it
unnerved him.
‘What? Have you seen this before?’ Charlie alleged.
‘Unfortunately, I have. Back there on the motorway, there were two dead
guys, they both had green goo,’ Harry explained. Charlie went silent. They
entered the hospital lobby area. Harry was nervous that it was empty, something
was seriously wrong.
Sheila was pale and sat on the red leather lobby sofas.
‘What is it?’ Harry followed up, holding his hands-on hips like a manager
interrogating his late employee. Charlie was swinging the wrench again. It must
have been his thinking tic, because it looked to Harry like a kid swinging a doll
or their parents’ arm.
‘I don’t know,’ Charlie said. ‘It might be an epidemic, you know?’
The lobby was unsettling because of the lack of people and the buzzing
lights. Sheila’s bag rattled and echoed through the room as she searched it.
Something was not right, and Harry sat next to Sheila.
‘I have no idea where James was taken, where do we start to look?’ Harry
asked Sheila, who pulled out a small red lip gloss, twisting the top and applying
it to her lips.
‘Third floor is the children’s admissions,’ she said, stashing her lip gloss
back into her handbag. Harry admired her blouse that was drying, it entertained
him to think she sweated as much as him. Harry got up and waved Charlie over.
‘Let’s go,’ Harry said.
The two men walked to the elevator left of the entrance doors. Harry
thumbed the fading button and it beeped. They stepped into the elevator. Charlie
went to push the first floor, but Harry pushed third floor before Charlie could
and he grunted.
‘Gotta find your son, I get it.’
The elevator reached the third floor. It was quiet as they stepped into the
eerie hallway. The elevator doors closed, and Harry felt left in the abyss.
‘Disturbing.’ Harry observed the shiny corridor that seemed a mile. Doors
lined the corridor and piercing lights lit the ward. The administration or nurses’
desk in front of them was empty.
Charlie walked to it and peered at the workstation before walking around the
side of it where he began routing through the loose paperwork. Harry joined
him. ‘Look for last name Carrington.’ Harry sat at the computer, but it was locked.
He tried the obvious password, password and then hospital children’s ward. The
computer flashed an error box with wrong password in red. Harry began routing
through the paperwork.
Gradually the paper began to have meaning. Charlie had ventured to the
front of the desk, leaning on it and shaking his head. Harry read through endless
medication lists and tons of names but couldn’t see James’s name.
Harry stopped routing, a second of waiting might help him refocus. It helped
to find his keys and his phone, so why not his son. Harry opened a draw; they
were packed with office equipment and some chewing gum. Looking through
the nurse’s station files was distressing him, nobody showed up yet.
‘Dammit, we totally missed this sucker,’ Charlie chuckled like a gorilla.
Charlie pointed his wrench at a white board on the wall next to the elevator door.
It listed patient names and bed numbers. Bed five it listed Carrington.
‘How the heck did we miss that, come on let’s go.’ Harry got up from the
swivel chair before beginning to walk off down the corridor. Charlie yanked his
collar before he could get to the first room. They were going left from the
elevator doors down.
‘Woah, what?’ Harry moaned. The yank made his back ache.
‘Be cautious, the hospital is empty, does this seem normal?’ Charlie set off in
front. None of the patient room doors were open. There was a beeping pulsating
from doors one, two and three. It sounded like the monitors had gone on
overdrive.
Harry walked to door number four. There had to be patients and staff. Maybe
the staff were on another ward. Harry investigated the window of room four, but
the room was empty.
‘Jeez,’ he said. On the floor was the green goo, it was encompassed in a red
slimy border resembling a giant cell.
‘Look at this!’ Harry said to Charlie who looked in horror.
‘What?’ Charlie replied.
‘This shits everywhere, don’t go in,’ Harry said. ‘We don’t know what is it.’
Charlie walked off down to room five.
Harry looked in number five. Seeing the monitors flashing. There was no
goo, so Harry gripped the cold door handle and stepped in. ‘Where is he, where
is James?’ he asked himself. ‘Nothing.’ Harry slapped the white wall with his
palm.
Charlie waited at the door but entered when Harry slapped the wall. Harry
was angered and ashamed that he didn’t know where his son was or what the hell
was going on. Hope drained from Harry. Replaced with the magnetic shudder of
fear. The feeling you get when on a high ledge.
‘We have to move out, this place isn’t gonna tell you anything, come on,’
Charlie said, opening the door for Harry.
They stepped into the breezy desolate hallway. The cries of children sent
chills down Harry’s arms. It was harmonic, there was a group of children
somewhere nearby.
‘Shit, they are here,’ Charlie cried. Like wild dogs hunting prey, they both
began to search for the cries.
They paced slowly down the empty corridor following the cries. The further
from the elevators they were made Harry nervous, they didn’t know what they
were against.
The crying overwhelmed Harry’s senses as they passed room eight. Charlie
gasped pointing into the window of room twelve where Harry jogged over to.
Charlie was white.
‘Damn, never been so nervous to find children,’ Charlie murmured.
Harry felt relief and without thinking opened the door.
The crying children stopped. The room had a stagnant odour of chemicals
and rusty copper. Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand, Charlie did the
same.
‘Why are they on the floor?’ Charlie asked.
The children turned, they were not children, they were adults. Hunched over
in a circle looking like dolls. Blood and chunks of flesh dripped from their noses
to their chins. On the floor in front of them lay a deceased boy. Mauled with his
face torn off and tendons and ligaments pulled out like spaghetti.
‘What the fuck, let’s go!’ Charlie yanked Harry by his fear frozen neck and
dragged him from the room. The adults screamed. The monsters drenched in
flesh had stood and began a sluggish chase after them. Harry picked up pace,
Charlie was ahead. They raced back to the elevator.
Harry hit the elevator button.
‘Shit, come on!’ Harry hammered the elevator button. The monsters coming
closer. Charlie stood in a defensive stance. The group of blood drenched adults
waddled along the corridor, blood dripped onto the floor and left a streak of red.
‘I told you this wasn’t a clever idea.’ Charlie leant down on one knee, as if in
prayer.
‘What the hell are they?’ Harry whimpered. His thumb sore from hammering
the elevator button. The beasts kept shambling closer. The elevator door opened.
Harry dived in. ‘Get in.’
One flesh chewing monster grabbed and hooked onto Charlie’s shoulder.
Charlie jumped skywards crashing the wrench down on the creature’s arm and
snapping it. Its cries were hawkish. The bones shattered like glass and the man
stumbled at Charlie again.
‘Fuck!’ Charlie lunged the wrench round. The blow knocked them back
which gave Charlie enough time to dive into the elevator before Harry pushed
the lobby button and Charlie fell to his knees.
Harry’s neck flamed a sweat rash and his arms felt a ton heavier. What the
hell had just happened? Harry felt panic.
‘They were eating that child god dammit,’ Harry whispered to himself. ‘The
children!’ Charlie wiped the wrench with a grey rag he pulled from his jacket
pocket.
‘Whatever I just saw, or you just saw, is for the police.’
‘What? You saw them eating that child,’ Harry said feeling lost.
‘You don’t get it; you saw me attack them.’ Charlie sounded anxious. Harry
was an abiding witness.
‘You think I care about that?’ Harry pronounced.
Charlie pocketed the rag, got up and heaved Harry against metallic backing
of the elevator and pushed the wrench to Harry’s neck.
‘Get off.’ Harry tried to push Charlie and his toy away, but Charlie
overpowered him.
‘Good, cos if I hear about you mentioning it, I’ll fucking break your neck.’
Charlie gritted his teeth a millimetre from Harry’s nose. His breath salty like sea
water.
‘Yes,’ Harry murmured as he felt his face lose blood.
‘Good.’ Charlie released Harry.
The elevator shuddered as it arrived at ground floor. Immediately Sheila
greeted them with a smile.
Harry hugged Sheila, a wet trickle rolled down his cheeks, a heavy weight
was lifted.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her. Afraid of the fate of his family. Afraid the
beasts upstairs had gotten to them. Over Sheila’s shoulder, he saw Charlie storm
outside and flick his head around. Charlie began smacking the wrench against
the concrete.
‘There’s someone stuck upstairs,’ Sheila said, pointing to the front desk.
Harry let go of her, the hug felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time Molly
hugged him.
‘Where?’ he enquired. His energy peaked.
‘On the screens, you know, the cctv. I think he’s a doctor, but he looks
injured.’
They both walked to the front desk scurrying round to see the computer
monitors. A set of keys with a plastic picture of a baby girl with bushy hair. That
was someone’s child too. Then Harry observed the screens as Sheila clicked the
mouse trying to bring up the ‘right’ monitor.
‘There.’ She showed Harry, who’s mouth dropped. He could see a doctor on
the monitor, his leg wounded, and the floor pooled in blood.
‘We have to help him,’ Harry said. Charlie startled them as he popped up
behind them.
‘Where’s Peter?’ Charlie demanded of Sheila. Harry knew he couldn’t
defend her, but he knew she could withstand the violence. Ten years with violent
partners toughened her, she told Harry on their drinking nights. Sheila never
complained about it.
‘He said he wanted to let the boys know what’s happening.’ Sheila’s sarcastic
tone lit Charlie’s face like a bonfire.
‘Bitch,’ he commented. Charlie then noticed the camera computer monitor.
‘Who’s that?’ Charlie’s voice softened.
‘Obviously a doctor,’ Sheila said.
‘Yes. An injured doctor,’ Harry added. ‘We should help him.’
Harry opened the draws which were filled with staples, tape and blue tac.
Harry hoped to find a torch, something was better than nothing if more of those
things turned up.
‘What happened up there?’ Sheila asked. Charlie sat on the desk, it creaked
under the weight of his buttocks. He tilted his wrench, so the light shone in her
eyes.
‘Watch it!’ she complained. Charlie rested the wrench on his lap.
‘I’ll tell you,’ Harry said taking Sheila’s hand. Their eyes met; Harry felt a
fire that had been suffocated.
‘A child was dead, and staff were attacking him.’ Harry waited for the
response; Sheila held eye contact. Harry felt sick to his stomach.
‘What the hell is going on here? Where are the police?’ she spluttered like a
weeping angel.
‘They aren’t coming,’ Harry sighed.
‘Everyone knows that. When things go downhill, they are the first to leave
town,’ Charlie remarked.
‘Nonsense,’ Sheila responded.
The computer monitors flickered. Harry grabbed the announcement mike.
‘We can help you,’ Harry spoke into the mike. His voice resonated
throughout the hospital and the doctor became distressed at the sound. Charlie
snatched the mike from Harry.
‘You idiot,’ Charlie snarled at Harry. ‘What if there are more of them
monsters here and they here that?’ Harry felt frustration, James could still be
here somewhere. Harry watched the screen and saw the doctor search his lab
coat. The doctor retrieved a pen and paper.
‘He’s gonna write something,’ Charlie said. The doctor wrote on the paper
and then stuffed them back in his pocket.
‘Can’t see,’ Sheila said. Harry redeemed himself by holding the computer
mouse and zooming in.
‘What the…’ Charlie murmured. Harry was stunned. It read like coal on
Christmas and a slap in the face;
GET OUT, NO WAY OUT
CHAPTER 6
Fish Out of Water
The hospital was opaque in the sunlight. A polluted undercurrent of car fumes
enveloped the neglected stone pavement of the ghostly car park. No sirens
sounded yet nor had any other motorist from the motorway decided to venture
away from their snacks as they sat and waited.
Crows circled the hospital diving into the thick surrounding brush for worms.
There was an iridescent heat pounding off the metallic coatings of the remaining
ambulances.
Charlie was leaning on the door of a jeep toking a roll up cig. The smoke
snaked around his ears and dissipated into the indistinguishable fume cloud
accumulating overhead.
The abandoned cars had a dead silence.
Charlie lifted his head back while holding the smoke in, before exhaling
rings. He became distracted by a metallic rustle. Charlie scanned the car park
with wide eyes. He choked spluttering on his hand and dropping and stomping
the cig into the concrete.
Inside the entrance behind the desk Sheila and Harry were observing the
wounded doctor still, the only other human they had seen in the hospital.
Charlie walked to investigate the sound, moving slowly towards the car park
barrier, keeping an eye on the motorway turn off. He headed past the ticket box
towards the motorway ramp. A metallic scraping scared Charlie and he jumped
back.
‘Come out,’ he demanded. The wind picked up. There was a shuffling that
made the crows overhead depart from the area.
Then a thousand footsteps pattered together, a herd of shambling green pus
riddled motorists shuffled from the motorway turnoff like a pack of wolves.
They horded together groaning and stumbling themselves.
‘Shit,’ Charlie said. Hastily Charlie began slogging it back through the
barriers and across the car park. He panted and sweat flicked from his brow. He
looked behind. The crowd was massive. Their bodies swaying as they continued
to the bottom of the turnoff. Charlie’s gasped, slowing his pace.
The motorists had the same lifeless stricken face as the nurses eating the
child. Charlie stumbled through the hospital entrance.
‘Get in the elevator,’ Charlie shouted.
Harry spotted the beasts in the car park and grabbed Sheila’s hand, yanking
her from the desk and across the room to the elevator. Sheila tripped as Harry
pulled her. Charlie pushed the elevator call button.
‘Hurry,’ Harry screamed. The hoard of pus and blood riddled monsters
shambled through the hospital doors smashing the glass. The elevator was taking
forever, Harry saw the stairs to the left of them, beginning his run towards them.
Charlie pushed Harry to mount the staircase first and his ribs ached from the
wrench attack. The heat made him nauseas. Sheila let go of Harry’s hand as they
ran up the stairs.
Harry saw a sign on the staircase reading first floor to palliative care.
Soon they reached the first floor and skidded across the gleaming speckled
hallway. Charlie ran to the nearest door and booted it open. The lifeless crowd
still pursued, Harry could hear the determined groans, like the staff upstairs.
Nobody was around, the ward was empty and cold from the breeze coming
through an open window further down.
‘Quick get in!’ Charlie held the door handle as Sheila and Harry darted in.
Charlie’s face pale and beading with sweat.
Charlie pulled the wood door shut. The pursuing crowd were not stupid, they
shambled onto the first floor until reaching the room and scratched at the door.
The nail scraping was deadly unnerving, claws and shuffles with no breath
from the monsters.
‘Where is that idiot Peter?’ Charlie grabbed Sheila by the shoulders. She
slapped his pale soaked face and he shunted her to the stone wall.
Harry investigated the dim storage room; one long light lit the room. It was
clinical, clean and smelt of plastic as expected for a hospital. Dust accumulated
around the corners of the room. Brown boxes with white labels stating ward
names were stacked against the right wall.
Harry opened the top box. He shivered as he looked inside. It was red sacs of
blood. If the monsters outside were like the staff upstairs they would want blood,
just as the staff wanted the child’s flesh.
‘I didn’t want to get locked in a storage room.’ Sheila got in Charlies face
and he stumbled onto the boxes near the door. Charlie gasped and clenched his
chest. Harry saw and felt a wave of dread. A repeat of the fat man’s fate.
‘I can’t breathe!’ Charlie gasped making his face sag. Harry returned to
looking in the box of blood donations. Sheila concerned knelt at Charlie’s side.
‘Breathe,’ she said. ‘It will pass, it’s just exhaustion.’ Sheila thumbed his
neck. Harry felt no emotions other than fear for his son and wife’s whereabouts.
He remembered at work having to check someone’s pulse after they downed a
few cappuccinos in one hour. He was confident Charlie was just unfit. Charlie
was probably coming close to forty or fifty.
‘I…I can’t…breathe.’ Charlie managed to gasp. Sheila looked around, there
was a water fountain at the rear of the room. The room was small, perhaps ten
feet long at most.
‘Harry,’ she called. Harry had pulled out two sacks of blood, feeling the
weight in his hands.
‘Yes,’ he said. Harry’s zoned-out face zombified.
‘Water quickly, Sheila said. Harry dropped the bags into the box.
The plastic cups towered above the fountain, Harry grabbed a cup and
thumbed the blue lever and out came some cloudy water, aging and unchanged.
The cup filled and he returned across to Charlie. Charlie’s eyes were sunken and
his mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
‘On his face, he can’t drink it,’ Sheila commanded Harry. Harry threw the
cup of water at Charlie’s face. Charlie jumped to his feet. Harry tossed the cup
on the floor and returned to the stack of boxes on the left, a big red cross over
the stickers which read: surgery.
‘Feeling better?’ Sheila asked. Charlie began breathing normally again.
‘Okay,’ Charlie said. ‘Get me more.’ Charlie leant against the wall next to the
door, the scratches continued.
Sheila went to get some more water.
The groans and clawing were annoying, becoming more prominent. It
seemed the crowd were enraged because they couldn’t perform a simple task like
opening a door.
The blood bags had significance not for patients, but Harry. A potential
distraction if they indeed craved blood. Harry squeezed the blood bags and
placed them onto a brown box. Rummaging through more boxes, Harry pulled
out two more blood bags that were coagulated like ice cream. Harry was pale
and gagged.
The lights shimmered, Harry’s head piercing. He held a blood bag to his
forehead. The cool bags soothed his brow. Another problem in a terrible day.
This must have been Harry’s punishment for choosing Sheila over his family or
choosing the city over the town.
‘I wanted to move,’ Harry said, his thoughts coming aloud. Sheila couldn’t
hear him, she would say something if she did, sometimes she was overbearing.
He shook his negativity to positivity hoping the moral of being stuck in the
dimly lit room would improve. ‘Right.’
Harry threw the blood bags to the floor and the bags jiggled, sliding across to
the door. Harry pulled out the normal uncoagulated blood bags from the stack of
boxes behind him, gripping the bags with the hope that they would distract the
beasts. He walked to Sheila.
‘These will help,’ Harry said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Charlie looked confused. ‘Hold on,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m not bleeding out.’
Sheila giggled to Harry’s dismay, the laugh was painful and made his headache
worse.
‘No, this isn’t for you,’ Harry explained. ‘These bags will distract those
people, monsters, from attacking us.’
‘Genius.’ Harry ignored Sheila’s snarky remark. The plan energised Charlie
and he crushed the plastic Sippy cup and tossed it to the floor.
‘What makes you think they want blood?’ Charlie questioned Harry. Harry
didn’t have the motivation to answer questions. He just knew that somehow, this
would work. It was like being born recognising your parents. Harry instinctually
recognised the answer was the blood bags. Albeit it had laid dormant through his
life. Harry felt confident in his plan.
‘Think about it, those k... people upstairs, they were soaked with it.’ Harry
avoided describing the victim as a child, the staff eating the child continued to
weigh heavily upon his mind.
‘Yeah well fuck it if it doesn’t work. I can’t stay in this room any longer with
the buzzing lights, I’d rather stick my head in a beehive.’ Charlie hit the nail on
the head. None of them wanted to be cramped up in a storage room. Harry just
needed to find James and Molly. Surviving was essential.
‘Damn right and we need to find that injured doctor to, he needs our help.’
Sheila trying to sound concerned came out condescending.
‘Honestly, he’s a doctor and he has the skills to save himself,’ Harry said,
realising the doctor wasn’t the priority anymore but their lives were. ‘It can’t be
about other people now, not when we are stuck in a room that smells like
copper.’ Harry flicked his eyes, not to woo Sheila but to convince the determined
broad to side with him. Sheila was a force to be reckoned with when she made a
decision.
‘What happened to being human?’ Sheila said. ‘That man can’t call for help,
he’s locked in a room just like us. How can you expect him to help himself?’ The
room was too silent. The awkwardness faded. The shuffling corpses outside the
door had stopped amidst the heated discussion. As if the hoard of corpses had
listened to the drama.
‘I don’t know,’ Charlie said. ‘He might have answers.’ Sheila’s looked to
Charlie with surprise. Harry supposed Charlie was rattled from nearly having a
heart attack. Death had rattled his unfit cage.
‘Fine,’ Harry grunted. ‘But we can’t be running around. It’s obvious that the
hospital has been evacuated. I say we get the doctor then make for the roof.’
Harry wanted to leave the building, but he also wanted answers. ‘There might be
a window cleaning lift we can escape to ground level with.’ Harry glared around
the musky storage room. It felt supernatural, unreal.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ Charlie asked. Charlie used Sheila’s shoulders as a
crutch. She wobbled as Charlie latched his capable hands onto her white office
shirt. Charlie appeared intimidating as he did in the car park. His wrench was on
the floor next to the door. Harry wanted to grab the wrench and hit Charlie over
the back for payback. Harry clenched the blood bags facing the door. The
deranged creatures clawed at the wooden door.
CHAPTER 7
Blood Letting
The room lacked adequate ventilation, there was no window. The stench of the
horde was vomit inducing and the smell wafted ungraciously under the gap at
the bottom of the door.
Sheila put a hand to her mouth gagging. Charlie took small breaths.
‘Ready?’ Harry prompted both Sheila and Charlie. He couldn’t cover his
nose while holding the blood bags. Harry stood at the silent door. Sounds of
rustling clothes could be heard. Harry dared not listen to closely. God forbid they
get in the room. They would tear them to shreds and then what? His wife and
son would be doomed to endless struggles.
‘No Harry,’ Sheila said, standing behind Harry. ‘We can’t do anything until
they go, can we?’ Charlie stood next to Harry at the door. The overhead lights
revealed Charlie’s ghost face.
‘Sarcasm won’t help you now,’ Harry said. Sheila prodded his back.
Sheila had walked further into the storage room and retrieved a plastic Sippy
cup and filled it with the lukewarm water rather than cold. She downed it and
discarded the cup to the stack of boxes.
Too much was going on.
‘Calm down, Harry,’ Charlie laughed. ‘You might give yourself a headache.’
Before Harry could reply, Sheila made a wall between them.
‘Quit it. The room stinks and I can’t think,’ Sheila moaned. ‘You two make
this more depressing than winter.’ Sheila got on her hands and knees. Placing her
head on the concrete floor and looking through the gap under the door.
Uncoordinated feet shambling around told Harry they were brain dead.
Harry and Charlie admired the view of Sheila’s behind. Her body tight in her
black suit pants. Harry felt aroused and unsteady. Sheila turned and saw Harry
looking.
‘Give it a fucking rest!’ Sheila jumped to her feet and slapped Harry’s chest.
Charlie chuckled which angered Harry more. Charlie was just the third wheel in
this trip, why couldn’t he just throw Charlie out the door?
‘How many?’ Harry enquired. He dreaded Sheila would say too many. They
could be trapped in this room some time.
‘Too many for us. Unless we run for it,’ she replied.
‘I wouldn’t risk it. They are mean killing machines. Who knows what or
where this comes from or how it affects people?’ Charlie said, sliding down the
wall to the floor.
A small stack of boxes to Harry’s right fell, they were labelled emergency
use only.
‘Are you an expert?’ Sheila mocked Charlie. She crossed her arms and leant
her back to the wall next to the door.
Harry walked to the door and put his ear against it. It was depressing having
to listen their way out of that stinking box. Charlie ran his palm over his cheek
and sighed.
‘Sheila give it a rest. We’re all tired.’ Charlie sounded sleepy.
Harry glared at Charlie. He knew such comments resulted in poor outcomes
when Sheila was pissed off. Luckily for Harry she refrained from arguing.
A fly buzzed past Harry. It was quick and too aggressive for Harry’s liking.
The plan was going to work he was certain.
Harry stepped to the door. Charlie had his eyes closed and Sheila stood
behind looking unnerved.
‘This will work,’ Harry said. ‘You are going to have to trust me.’ Harry
gestured towards the door. He knew Sheila liked dominance from him.
‘I’m,’ Sheila hesitated. ‘I’m with you.’ Sheila confirmed. She brushed her
hair back and stepped to the door.
‘Err, give me a minute I’ll be right with you.’ Charlie groaned rubbing his
eyes. Simultaneously the groaning monsters outside started banging on the door
again.
Each bang brought Harry close to insanity. The bluebottle buzzed past Harry
enraging him.
‘Whatever, Charlie.’
Harry tore a small opening in the blood bag, blood seeped out onto his hand.
Disgusting.
‘Open that door when I say. Then slam it shut,’ Harry said. ‘Slam it shut
immediately after I throw this Sheila, don’t hesitate, no matter what you see.’
‘Right, Harry. ‘I hope this works.’
‘Me too. Okay, get ready.’ Harry was determined, adrenaline coursed his
body. Sheila gripped the door handle.
‘On three, okay?’ Harry’s forehead was sticky from sweat. The fly buzzed
past and his temples throbbed.
‘One…two…three!’
Sheila pulled the door open. Harry threw the blood bags out into the air.
There was a horde of bloodied faces trying to munch their way in. Blood trickled
from their green mottled skin and their eyes bloodshot with blackened veins.
Sheila squealed. The blood bag seeped out over the grotesque faces.
Sheila rammed the door shut. Harry dived to the door to help. The beasts
clawed at them. Scratching into the room, they had a dead foothold. Harry felt
his feet slipping as they tried to keep them from breaking in the room.
A painful scream shattered their ears. The bloodied faces and hands moved
away, and they shut the door. A man was screaming. Then Harry heard a snap
and the man sounded like he was chocking and coughing.
‘Someone’s out there, now’s our chance!’ Harry yelled. Harry was pumped
and didn’t want to waste the opportunity. He pulled the door open.
The beasts had swarmed around a bleeding man who lay covered in blood
and whose eyes were sockets. The man’s torso looked like a salami filled bread
roll, with ketchup. The blood bag had splattered on him. He must have tried to
sneak past.
‘Shit that was an accident,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t know he was there.’ Harry
ran into the corridor past the feasting crowd. Sheila ran behind.
The hallway was covered in a trail of intestines and organs. Harry stood on
the intestine and it squished under his shoes. Sheila wobbled and vomited onto
the guts and flesh.
‘To the doctor,’ she cried. She pointed to the staircase further down the
corridor. The horde was fixated on the body just as Harry suspected, they craved
flesh and blood. Harry slowed as they reached the end of the corridor and
reached the bottom of the stairs. Harry’s legs burned and he was hungry. Other
rooms appeared empty.
Harry investigated the window of the room next to the stairs. People inside
gnawed with bloodshot eyes. Harry was sick to his stomach and became
lightheaded. His heart pounded and everything was tinged grey.
‘Sheila,’ Harry called. Sheila grabbed Harrys’ arms and pulled him up the
staircase. She gasped for breath, holding the staircase railing with her free hand.
The staircase lights went out plunging them into darkness. Harry was dizzy from
going in circles.
Sheila let go as they reached the fifth floor. Harry fell to the floor exhausted.
Fresh air was coming in from a window further down the corridor. It rejuvenated
his senses, but the stench of chlorine overwhelmed him. The floor seemed
normal.
‘The monitor said floor five,’ Sheila said. ‘Come on.’ They crouched from
the staircase into the sparkling hallway taking a right.
The howling breeze from the open window echoed along the hallway. This
floor had less rooms. Harry soon tired from crouching, his calves cramping.
They were near the end of the corridor, at the end a small unoccupied desk.
Harry looked at the door on his right.
‘There’s a good chance he’s in there,’ Harry whispered. His eyes darted from
door to door, wiping the sweat from his face. They had to be quiet. Sheila looked
at the door.
It read;
J. McCormack MST, PHD, BIONEURO
‘Big title, I hope he can help shed some light on this.’ Harry crouched
towards the door. He hesitated, fearing the doctor was dead. Harry looked at
Sheila.
‘That was an accident back there,’ he said. Sheila placed a finger to his lips.
‘I get it, survival,’ she replied. ‘It was a shot in the dark.’ Sheila gazed into
his eyes. The hospital hallway transformed. The howling wind drowned out by
moans.
‘Shit they must have followed us,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s get inside. I’ve had
enough of bloodletting for today.’
Sheila giggled and it irritated Harry. Harry opened the doctor’s office door,
they both slipped in and he closed it behind.
They stood up. A weak grumble halted Harry. A hysterical laugh unnerved
him, like a maniacal clown. Harry walked further into the well-lit room. A face
emerged from behind the grey filing cabinet to the left of the desk. A shaking
man appeared with a scalpel in hand. He was thin and dressed in a hospital gown
with five hospital admission bracelets. The man’s face was dirty. His thick
brown hair knotted. Harry pulled Sheila close to him. Harry saw the injured
doctor in the left corner of the room behind the desk. He was shaking. Gripping
his bleeding right leg.
The gowned man stepped forward, slicing a small wound into his forehead,
blood trickled down his eyes and cheeks. He was hunching over like a gargoyle.
His bony shoulders protruding disturbingly.
‘Welcome to my house,’ the disturbed man said. ‘We’re gonna have a party
now.’
‘Oh no,’ Harry muttered. Sheila’s palm slipping from Harry’s. Harry was
angry he let Sheila talk him into this.
‘We can run for it,’ she whispered from the corner of her mouth. It dawned
on Harry how messed up this situation was becoming. Harry also realised
something else that might come back to haunt him.
‘We left Charlie behind.’
CHAPTER 8
Revenge is sweet
Charlie awoke. Smelling the air. His chest was burning. His legs shook to life,
blood rushing back to the feet. The storage room was empty. Harry and Sheila
were gone.
Silence filled the room. The moans had stopped. The room door was open.
His right boot had thick coagulated red gunk over it. Charlie sat writhing his
back. He grabbed the wrench at his side. His eyes adjusted to the light. He had
an overwhelming urge to slap the wall. He cracked his neck.
‘Shit,’ Charlie mumbled. He pushed himself up against the wall. His feet
aching. He leant against the wall. The wrench was blood-stained.
‘Harry,’ he whispered.’ ‘Are you there? Sheila are you there?’ He licked his
lips.
He recalled the plan to help the doctor, maybe they had gone to find him. He
was overdue a check-up. He remembered that chicken bastard Peter, Peter
skidded off. Either to main street or worse, the motel. If Peter had sense, he
would vanish out of town.
Charlie feared going back to the motel, and what the others would think of
him. Trying to clean the mess to cover his mistake. The mess here would distract
them. Knocking up a hooker was seriously frowned upon in the club.
The door creaked. Charlie was still, beads of sweat trickled down his neck.
He looked around the door and saw the dismembered corpse. Trails of guts
plateaued across the floor. Charlie saw the trainers, there was no other way to tell
it was a man.
The hallway was clear and breezy. Further down the hallway echoed groans
of nonhuman origin. The elevator was opposite, the disembowelled corpse
blocking the floor.
Charlie walked into the corridor scanning the area, holding the wrench to his
chest.
Something glistened as he stepped over the body.
He bent down, covering his mouth from the throat grinding smell. Green pus
emanated from the exposed black lungs. There was an identification card poking
out from the guts. Charlie pinched it with his finger and thumb. Sliding the
badge from the green goo and wiping it on his jeans before putting it in his jean
pocket. It read: janitor. It may help him get through a locked door when the time
called for it.
Moans rumbled louder and Charlie stood and thumbed the elevator, it opened
immediately, and Charlie stepped in and wiped his forehead. He pushed the fifth
floor, where he had seen the injured doctor on the computer monitor. Charlie
held the wrench up across his chest ready to defend himself when the elevator
doors opened.
He crossed his chest, praying it was clear.
The elevator door opened. Charlie felt the icy cool Antarctic air blow across
his face. It was empty. Charlie stepped into the corridor and shuffled along the
wall. Further down, two doors caught his eye. There were people talking
somewhere.
The door on his left read J. McCormack, the door on his right read doctor’s
office.
McCormack could be one of the dead now. Charlie walked to the doctor’s
office door.
Screams pierced through the wind. Charlie turned to the left, at the end of the
corridor was a smashed window. A bed had been wheeled next to it. The bed was
covered in blood. An IV drip on the floor on its side. Charlie turned his attention
back to the door.
He pushed the door to a quiet dark office. He jumped as the door slammed
behind him. Light came through a small open window at the back. Charlie still
could not see.
From the darkness an elderly man darted, lunging a pocketknife at Charlie.
Charlie dived out the way. The man wore spectacles and a woolly jumper, the
name tag was still attached to the collar. The old man tried to hook the knife in
Charlie. The knife skimmed over Charlie’s jacket. Charlie lifted the wrench and
hit him on the head and then jabbed the wrench into his stomach.
Charlie heard a crack. The old man fell backwards into the doctor’s desk
knocking the laptop off and the screen smashed. He dropped the knife and it
clinked on the floor. Charlie bent down to pick the knife up and pocketed it in
his leather jacket.
‘Stop,’ the old man pleaded with a dry throat. His glasses had fallen off when
Charlie hit him over the head. Charlie turned and bent down to pick the glasses
up. The old man pushed Charlie.
‘Stop,’ Charlie shouted. ‘I’m leaving,’ Charlie muttered and began to walk to
the door.
‘Wait,’ the old man cried. Charlie stopped and turned around; he could not
see the old man’s face in the dark office.
‘What do you want from me?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’m waiting for the doctor,’ the man said. ‘Where is he?’ He was confused or
unaware of the situation. Charlie was wide eyed. Blood trickled from the old
man’s hairless crown down to his ear.
Maybe the wrench disorientated the old man. He could be bleeding
internally. A slow death meaning eventual prison for Charlie.
Charlie needed to take him to the injured doctor. Whatever was happening in
the hospital was unexplainable, but would the authorities see this as justified,
Charlie doubted it. Charlie did not want to go to prison over this. The police
knew him and his band of merry bikers very well.
‘I am the doctor, follow me and keep quiet,’ Charlie said. ‘Other patients are
sleeping.’ The old man stared at Charlie blankly. It was uncomfortable not
knowing names. ‘What’s your name?’ Charlie asked. The man gazed at the floor
before looking at Charlie. The wrinkles heavily formed under his eyes.
‘Jack Stenton,’ the old man Jack replied. ‘I want to speak to a nurse or
doctor. I have been waiting for over two hours.’ Jack coughed harshly.
‘I am the doctor, follow me.’
‘I’m not stupid,’ Jack said. ‘You’re trying to send me back to the
motorhomes, aren’t you? Where is the doctor? You are trying to take me
somewhere I don’t want to go.’
Charlie huffed and lifted the wrench above a petrified Jack. Charlie lobbed
Jack over the head again and Jack fell unconscious. Charlie turned and opened
the door back into the empty corridor.
He turned left to enter the other doctor office.
Dark shapes danced off the walls at the far end of the corridor. Then the
corpses shambled from a room into the corridor, unaware of Charlie’s presence.
Charlie pushed his way into the McCormack office. The refreshing breeze began
to waft the stench of the corpses into the hallway.
Charlie shut the door carefully behind him, not to alert the beasts. He was
met with a smack in the face and collapsed.
‘Charlie,’ Harry said aiding Charlie back to his feet. Charlie responded and
punched Harry’s in the stomach. Harry grabbed his stomach wheezing. Sheila
stepped to Charlie, ending the altercation by slapping Charlie in the face. Charlie
felt blood ooze from his nose and wiped it on his jacket.
‘Bitch,’ Charlie grunted. Charlie was unaware of the situation and raised his
hand to slap Sheila but dropped his hand. ‘Lucky this time,’ Charlie added.
The man in the hospital gown crept forward. Jamie pushed himself back
against the wall, his leg leaving a trail of blood as he slid across the floor. The
unstable man walked to Charlie who looked unimpressed. Instinctually Charlie
threw a fist at the gowned man, but he dodged the fist.
‘Trying to attack Shane?’ Shane, the deranged patient shouted.
Shane walked backwards towards the desk. Charlie watched in awe. Shane
pulled open a draw and pulled out a blue stapler and then pressed it against his
left cheek.
‘Don’t do it Shane,’ Jamie pleaded, trying to push himself to his feet using
the wall but sliding down in pain.
Charlie held the bloodied wrench up hoping to deter Shane. Shane ignored
him letting out a shriek as he stapled his cheek. The stapler clicked a few times
and blood dripped down onto Shane’s mouth and gown.
Shane gritted his teeth and tossed the stapler to the floor and it broke. Shane
screamed out like a wailing woman.
Harry stumbled forward as the door pushed against his back. The corridor
was filled with shuffling and hands began to reach around the wooden door.
‘Shit,’ Harry said. ‘There here!’ Sheila and Harry jumped to the door,
pushing against it as bloody fingers wrapped around the frame.
‘Dammit lock it,’ Charlie yelled. Charlie turned, Harry was weak and
couldn’t do this. He pushed the door like you would push a lawnmower.
Shane walked to the injured doctor and put the knife to his throat. Shane’s
veins rippled and bulged as he grasped Jamie around the neck.
‘Don’t Shane,’ Harry yelled. ‘Don’t do it.’ Harry was ignorant and moved
from the door.
Harry walked towards Shane holding his hands up like an idiot.
‘Put it down, we’re all dead now,’ Harry said. Shane grinned and waved the
knife around in front of the Jamie’s face.
‘We’re all dead because of you,’ Shane screeched. The creatures outside
groaned and clawed to get in. Charlie saw the tiny fingers of a child reach round.
It was disturbing.
‘Harry fucking get back here,’ Sheila shouted.
Charlie left Sheila alone to hold the door. She pressed her back pressed
against the door.
Charlie shunted Harry to the left out of the way and walked to the desk and
picked up the desk phone. Shane jumped up and lunged at Charlie and they both
went for each other.
Shane held the knife up and Charlie held his wrench to his side and the desk
phone in the air. Charlie swung the plastic phone and Shane went to grab it
before Charlie surprised Shane by walloping his testicles with the wrench. Shane
sliced through the air with the knife simultaneously, successfully slashing
Charlie at the throat. Charlie rag dolled to the floor, dropping the wrench which
made a metallic ding, the phone went flying across the back of the room.
Charlie clasped desperately at his spurting neck veins, if it was an artery, he
didn’t have long.
‘Shit, Charlie,’ Harry said. Jumping to Charlie’s side.
‘Pressure to the wound,’ Jamie shouted. ‘Do it now.’ Shane paced to Jamie
and punched him in the face.
‘Keep it quiet, your next,’ Shane snarled.
Charlie panted and tried to talk. Blood spluttered on his leather jacket. Harry
couldn’t comprehend it.
Everything was blurred and Charlie struggled to grip his throat.
***
Charlie’s neck spurted through his unconscious fingers onto Harry’s shirt,
squirting onto his face.
Sheila continued to struggle to keep the door shut, she managed to hold them
off. Sheila had her back to the door and her eyes were closed as she panted
through her nose, and out through her mouth.
‘I can’t stop the bleeding,’ Harry said, feeling too responsible for Charlie
after he offered to help look for James.
Harry’s fingers slipped as blood pooled over his hands.
‘Doc,’ Harry called. ‘Pass me something.’ The doctor tried to move but
Shane booted his back. The doctor curled up into a foetal ball, shielding himself.
Shane walked to Harry and held the knife to his throat.
‘Let go,’ Shane said. Harry’s pulse quickened. Shane pressed the bloody
blade to Harry’s throat. Any moment Shane could cut through and he would
never see his family again. Harry had to let go of Charlie’s neck, the blood was
coagulating but not quick enough to stop the bleeding. Charlie would have to
understand, even if Harry had to make it up to him in the next life.
‘Fine,’ he replied, and a tear ran down his cheek. Shane kept the blade to
Harry’s neck as he stood up. Behind, Harry saw the doctor crawling through his
own blood towards them.
‘I have to find my son, please let me go.’ Harry wept now; the tears streamed
down his face.
Blood had encapsulated the floor around Charlie’s body. The beasts would
want it, Sheila had almost closed the door.
Harry peered down at his blood-soaked trousers. Shane’s blade digging into
his throat.
Shane lowered the knife to his side. Jamie’s face appeared behind Shane, he
held the broken laptop in his hands and lifted it above Shane’s unaware head.
Harry stepped back and Jamie smashed the laptop over Shane’s head and Shane
dropped unconscious. Jamie booted Shane in the back a few times before
commenting in an unfamiliar language, maybe Latin.
‘Damn,’ Sheila said. Harry turned to look. Her eyes now black from fatigue.
What had just happened to Harry was surreal and even more the reason to
figure out what the fuck was happening.
Charlie appeared lifeless. Harry assisted Jamie to Charlie’s body.
Jamie checked the pulse and began applying pressure to Charlie’s neck and
pointed to the desk. Harry quickly walked over to the desk and opened the
drawers. The bottom draw had a packet of cigarettes and a cloth. Harry pulled
out the cloth.
‘Here.’ Harry tossed it to Jamie who pushed it to Charlie’s wound. Harry
reached back in the draw and picked up the packet of cigs and pocketed them.
Smoking was the least of his worries now. When things didn’t work out, he used
to have the occasional cigar. Sheila knew his little secret and would probably kill
him for this packet.
Sheila wreathed against the door and was struggling to hold it.
Harry ran around the desk and round Jamie and Charlie and jumped at the
door. Harry pushed as hard as he could.
‘What’s his name again?’ Jamie enquired as he held his ear to Charlie’s nose.
‘It’s Charlie. Doc we have bigger problems. Those things out there are
dangerous. Can you be quicker?’ said Harry. Sheila and he had just about shut
the door and Sheila clicked the lock on.
‘The bleeding is stable, but he might have lost to much blood to make it, if
we had access to an IV drip and some blood, I could save him, otherwise he will
go into coma and die if he hasn’t already.’
They had just escaped from bloody blood storage room too, what a fucking
nightmare. Harry tensed.
‘We just came from the blood room, I’m not going back,’ Sheila said. Jamie
shook his head.
‘This man will die otherwise, I need to get my leg sorted, otherwise I’d go’ It
became a bitter decision, Harry decided regrettably. Sheila would have to be
patient.
‘Sheila, we have to help. You wanted to help the doctor, so we need to help
Charlie, the truth is, without him I could be staring at the roof of a coffin,’ Harry
said. Sheila better be onboard because otherwise he wouldn’t give her a lift
anywhere again. Choosing to take her to the city had landed him here. At least if
he stayed with Molly and James, he wouldn’t be looking for them.
‘I’ve made up my mind Harry,’ Sheila said. ‘Be thankful I haven’t left you
here, I could be at my interview if it wasn’t for this shit.’ Harry now noticed the
smell of sweat from Sheila’s underarms. That ever so special friendship had hit
another speed bump. It hurt Harry, it was if Sheila had forgotten he left his
family to help her and that his family weren’t where they said they were.
‘Sheila come on. We need to work together.’
‘Yes, I’ll wait here,’ Sheila huffed. ‘You go and save the day and come
fucking back.’ Harry hated Sheila when she was like this.
‘Go Harry. This man doesn’t have long. I think at a guess less than ten
minutes before he either bleeds out or goes into a coma,’ Jamie said. Sheila
shook her head.
‘How do we know his blood type? This is not worth the effort, if he lives that
is fate. If he dies that is fate. Let fate take its fucking course for once,’ Sheila
shouted.
‘She’s right what blood type?’ Harry said scratching his head.
Shane groaned and they all froze, then Shane went silent again.
‘It won’t be long until Shane wakes up either. I’m too pressed to be cautious,
get O type blood, it’s the only one that doesn’t contain the A and B antigens.’
Jamie crawled back to his desk. Retrieving a small click torch from the bottom
draw and another cloth. ‘Damn, the only time I need a cigarette and they’ve
gone.’ Jamie crawled back to Charlie.
Harry felt the pack of cigs in his pocket. The felt squashed but hopefully
smokable. Harry walked and picked up Charlie’s wrench. It was heavy and
rough to the touch like sandpaper.
‘I’ll push through, they’ll follow me, then try and push that desk against the
door.’ A lump rose in Harry’s throat. His grip on the bloodied wrench loosened
as he held it in his sweaty hands.
‘Good luck,’ Sheila said. Harry held the door handle and hesitated. Perhaps
Sheila was right, let fate take its course. Her voice made him weak at the knees.
It was never intentional.
Harry turned the handle. ‘I’ll be back, don’t worry.’
CHAPTER 9
The Return To The Blood Room
Harry grasped wrench in his sweaty palms like a baseball player.
Outside the corpses had splashed blood over the office door while trying to
get in. They reached out for Harry’s neck and he swung the cold steel wrench
into the gormless crowd of nurses and patients and visitors. Harry shunted them
backwards further into the hallway, giving him enough space to run. The
creatures were vicious. Children clawed viciously at his tired legs. Harry lunged
forward knocking the children to the floor.
Harry kicked the door shut. Green veined arms grabbed at him. He was
overwhelmed and underprepared. This was a bad idea. Harry choked at the
stench of the green pus pouring from the patients’ mouths. It stunk as if he had
walked into a gas cloud of sewage and gas.
Harry swung the wrench knocking two nurses over, their aprons coveted in
pus. The kids had begun to pull on his torso. They were heavy, a deadweight. He
was being pulled to the floor and had to escape. The beasts tried to bite him on
his thighs, his trousers shielding him.
Harry panicked; his brain zapped into overdrive as he was pulled to the floor
struggling for breath. Harry shunted the little kids – regrettably, he had no choice
- in their blood smudged faces. A skull cracked; the others gargled. His forearms
burnt as they ran out of juice.
Behind in the office he could hear the desk scraping along the floor, banging
against the door. Harry slid on his stomach to escape.
He crawled through the crowd, far enough that he could jump up. Harry
glanced to the elevator, only a fool would wait. He ran for the staircase, but
instinct said look back.
An elderly man stood confused with a cut on his head. He stood holding the
doctor office door open, the room he hadn’t checked. Harry’s instinct changed;
he should run for it. The dead were coming for him. The man whispered
inaudibly; his free hand tremored. Harry’s heart telling him to help.
‘Shit,’ Harry shouted. Harry darted past the creatures, they reached for his
shirt. Harry reached the office door unscathed and pushed the man back inside
the room. Harry speedily shut the door and locked it.
Harry fell against the wooden door. His back burning from swinging the
wrench around. His slid to his ass, the concrete floor was uncomfortable. He slid
the wrench across the floor, the metal wrench screeching as it moved.
The old man walked to Harry and leant near Harry’s face in admiration. The
blood on the old man’s forehead was dry. Harry prayed to be out of the hospital
soon, he didn’t like the fact he might meet new people, that would slow him
from reaching James and surviving this mess.
‘Are you the doctor?’ the man asked. Harry felt seduced into fatigue. For the
first time in ten years his thighs ached from stress. Just as they did when he used
to get overworked at the beach when he tried to save bad swimmers from
drowning. Harry wished he had remained a lifeguard, he would still be fit if he
was. The office was darker than Jamie’s. Jamie was a real doctor who depended
on him, just like Charlie.
‘I’m Harry. We have to go.’
‘Go?’ the man retreated further into the black room and rustled onto a dimly
lit office chair. Behind, the door bangs began and the scratching of nails on the
wooden door.
‘Jack Stenton and I want to make a complaint. Do you know who I am? I am
Jack…Stenton.’ Jack spoke down to Harry, it was condescending as if he thought
Harry was stupid. The wound on Jack’s head could explain the confusion.
Maybe this is how the creature thing starts. Harry was losing his patience.
‘Jack, pleased to meet you,’ Harry said. ‘Would you like to follow me to the
doctor?’
‘Doctor?’
Harry walked to and sat on the desk. Harry was concerned and tried to look
at the wound. As Harry leans in Jack kicks his shin.
‘Shit,’ Harry yelled.
The creatures at the door persevered. One ward of people fallen victim to the
illness. God knows how many people have been affected by the disease in the
hospital. The diseased people prevented his escape, prevented the night he had
planned and prevented a lovely stress-free life.
‘Don’t touch me then, I have rights,’ Jack responded. He tugged at his
sagging neck. Harry routed through the desk draws for some identification that
would convince the senile man. There was no ID, but there was a little brown
bottle with a white cap. Harry checked the label: codeine.
‘Thank god for that.’ Harry opened it, it was a push and screw bottle, there
were a handful of pills left. Harry took two pills out and put the bottle in his
pants pocket. Jack wasn’t paying attention. Harry sat in the doctor’s chair behind
the desk. Time was running out for Charlie.
‘So, Mr Stenton is it? Should I call you Jack?’ Harry rubbed his chin and
cracked his knuckles. Jack stood up using significant effort and walked behind
the desk to Harry. Harry pulled a sheet from the top desk draw and slid it shut.
‘Doctor I’ve been waiting for hours, what kind of service is this?’
Harry eyed the sheet which was a checklist for some disease that he couldn’t
pronounce. He placed the paper writing down on the desk.
‘So sorry Jack, we have been rather busy. How are you and what can I help
you with?’ Harry falsified his grin. Jack started reaching into his pocket. Harry
was nervous because the wrench was at the door. Jack might knife him like
Shane, he had to squelch his paranoia.
‘I was told to come here before my surgery, I’m due an operation on my
prostate you know?’
What had Harry got himself into. Honestly ten minutes must have passed
since leaving the other room. Charlie was probably knocking at hells door and
being refused no doubt.
‘Interesting Jack,’ Harry said, trying to keep things flowing smoothly. ‘We
should look at doing the operation another day. Now you need to take these for
any pain.’ Harry passed two codeine pills. Harry wanted them for his back pain.
He did have the entire bottle. Letting two go to sedate the man wasn’t going to
matter.
‘Good,’ Jack said. He snatched the pills from Harry’s hand and swallowed
them dry. ‘I am not happy doctor,’ Jack groaned. ‘I want a refund.’
Harry was certain this was a free healthcare facility. Jack’s confusion was
apparent. Harry had doubts about the codeine, it wasn’t a promising idea. Harry
had to decide to either leave Jack wounded and confused or escort him to the
other room and risk being killed. Harry jumped as a thump rattled the office
door.
‘Are you coming with me?’
‘Are you taking me to the complaints department?’ Jack replied. Jack’s
memory of complaining wasn’t failing, so he might not forget to follow Harry. If
Jack lost his way, then it would be sayonara amigo. Harry couldn’t save
everyone. There was a glimmer of hope in trying to save people, but how many
people could be saved? How far did this disease go? The motorway, the hospital,
the town? Where were the police? Harry was battered with stress and tension in
his shoulders. He had a deceptive idea.
‘Carry the wrench Jack.’ Harry was suspicious that Jack’s confusion meant
he would easily attack people. He had tried to go assault Harry earlier. Jack
could beat the shambling beasts, fighting them back whilst Harry collected the
blood. It wasn’t perfect, it was a substantial risk.
Jack walked over to the door and picked up the wrench. Harry walked next
to Jack. It was a bizarre situation. Harry felt shameful, torn between good and
evil. Jack could die trying to get there, Harry accepted the possibility.
‘Ready?’ Harry asked. They stood at the door.
‘Yes,’ Jack replied. Harry unlocked the door, taking deep breaths. He
pictured a variety of situations occurring. He saw James’ face as he closed his
eyes and James turned into a scrounging attacker. Harry jumped. Then Molly’s
face appeared, she was alive and trapped. Harry’s mind cut to James and Molly
being chased along the roof of the hospital, forced to jump to their deaths. Harry
shuddered.
Harry turned the handle. The gnawing bloody mouths began to rush for him.
Harry thumped them as hard as he could. He punched the unrecognisable faces
whilst avoiding touching the mouths. Harry kicked out and walloped a few back.
He shoved and kicked. Harry tried to grab and throw a nurse, but the nurses top
ripped off and revealed green veined breasts. Harry zoned out staring at the
breasts, the left one had a nipple piercing.
Jack began to swing and yell as the beasts grabbed his shoulders. Harry
continued to fight.
‘Doctor these bastards have gone crazy.’ Jack smacked the corpses on the
heads and fought valiantly.
Harry kicked them and a small circle had formed with a gap to the staircase.
The child patients continued to crawl and eat Harry’s feet. The topless nurse
swayed in the crowd.
Jack jogged out of the circle, turned and faced the crowd whilst Harry
pushed the male patients back. They were stiff, their necks cocked. A man
wearing a blue golf shirt shuffled forward and his golf hat fell to the floor. Harry
launched a boxing jab at the golfer. The black-eyed golfer grabbed Harry’s arm.
Jack was being encircled by the pus ridden corpses. Jack hit them hard with a
scowl, he smashed a nurse to the floor and brought the wrench down on her
head. Her head split in two and green blood spilled onto the corridor floor along
with chunks brain matter.
‘Help Jack,’ Harry cried. Harry felt helpless, the golfer was strong. Harry
fought to keep the golfer’s mouth from his shoulder. Jack pushed through the
shamblers and swung the wrench at the golfer. Jack’s face was covered with
blood.
Harry rolled onto the floor. The concrete made his back hurt from Charlie’s
inconsiderate attack. Harry crawled to his feet and ran to Jamie’s office. The
crowd had thinned, a mess of bodied lay on the corridor floor coveted in green
pus and blood. Jack slaughtered the remaining two.
‘Sheila it’s Harry,’ he shouted. ‘Open the door.’ Harry was nervous and
didn’t expect the bodies to pile up so quickly. Jack was breaking their skulls with
the wrench like an executioner. Jack attacked the last corpse. A man in his
thirties wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Jack punched the wrench into the man’s face
and the creature sagged to the floor. It was a blood bath of disintegrated brains.
The corridor was not sparkling anymore. It was vomit inducing and dull. The
floor painted in red, blood was splattered on the elevator doors and the walls.
The open window at the end of the corridor, the one with the bed and IV stand
blew the stench further down the ward.
‘Harry hold on,’ Sheila replied. Jack walked to Harry and handed the
dripping wrench to him. Harry was in awe; Jack was a ferocious warrior and had
saved his life. Jack was a hero. Charlie was still dying; Harry was running out of
time and patience. He didn’t know anyone except Sheila. In life and death
situations people only cared about themselves, but not Harry and it annoyed him
that he couldn’t leave people in harm’s way.
‘This is going on the complaint,’ Jack said. ‘That nurse had no top on.’ Harry
chuckled. Sheila opened the office door; Harry pulled Jack inside and closed the
door behind him. Sheila was pale.
‘Is he still breathing?’ Harry asked Sheila.
Jamie was at his desk, waiting for Harry. Shane was still unconscious, now
propped up against the left wall. Charlie wasn’t moving yet.
‘Faintly, have you got it?’ Sheila asked.
‘I need more time,’ Harry said. He turned and opened the office door, exiting
to the carnage in the corridor. He felt no fear, only motivation. There was no
time to be afraid, because he had wasted too much time with strangers instead of
looking for his son. He jogged to the staircase, heading down the steps one floor
to the storage room. All was quiet. He held the rails for momentum.
Harry jogged to the deserted ward. The blood room door was open. The body
was lying in the corridor. Harry froze, his mind flashbacked to the screams of the
man as he had been ripped apart. A horrific reminder of his mistake. Harry held
the wall, lightheaded. He gathered the strength to carry on. He walked around
the body to the blood storage room. Coagulated blood fell off his shoes in
chunks as he walked.
Harry pushed the door to the wall, it was empty. The storage room reeked of
body odour.
‘Which blood type?’ Harry asked himself. The brown boxes had tumbled to
the floor. Harry walked to them, the white labels read A, then B, then AB and
finally O. ‘That’s it.’
It was distinctive, a man’s life hung in the balance, he couldn’t afford to
make a mistake. He felt obliged to save Charlie. Charlie was a rough man but
had helped him into the hospital in the first place.
Harry pulled out two blood bags labelled O type. Having no spare pockets,
he tucked one bag down his pants and carried the other bag. He had the wrench
in his left hand.
Harry paced back up the stairs and to the doctor’s office. Sheila stood
waiting.
‘Harry, get that IV.’ It was extremely lucky that the IV was at the end of the
corridor.
Harry handed the blood bags to Sheila who darted back inside. Harry ran
over the wrangled bodies down the corridor to the IV. He wrapped the tube and
needle up carefully. Harry looked out of the window. Beach town, the motel
visible about a mile away. The dirt road was a quiet unused path from main
street reserved for emergency use when carriageway was busy. Harry spotted
movement along the dirt road. He squinted. Perhaps he was cracking up or
stressed to madness. Two police cars were speeding down the dirt road, kicking
up a dust hurricane around the vehicles. They were followed by a black van.
Harry watched, relieved, some hope had arrived. The police cars rolled into
the car park below. Harry saw officer’s hop out the cars and a four-man swat
team jump from the rear of the black van. Harry couldn’t hear what was being
said as the police huddled into a circle. Harry saw they were armed, the police
had pistols and the swat had assault rifles. One officer wearing a cap made hand
gestures, Harry could tell he was in charge.
Harry yelled out of joy. The police couldn’t hear him If they were as useful
as everyone says they are, they can clear this mess up and restore the hospital
and save them. Harry turned and carried the IV drip back to the office. Sheila
shut the door behind him.
Harry looked at the people before him. Survivors. They would need
counselling to recover from what they had seen. Except Jack who needed more
substantial psychomotor help. Shane needed a fucking lobotomy. Charlie needed
a rehabilitation order.
‘Get it done.’ Sheila took the IV from Harry. Jamie was waiting on the floor
next to Charlie. Harry felt his pocket for the codeine pills. They were still there.
Jamie could use some. Harry looked at Jack sitting against the wall on the right.
Harry changed his mind; the pills were sparse and unprescribed.
The police had arrived, and Harry didn’t know if theft of prescription
medication was a priority for them.
‘Well done Harry,’ Jamie complimented Harry and he felt good. Jamie
started to insert the needle into Charlie’s left arm. Attaching the blood bag to the
other end of the tube.
‘Sheila,’ Jamie said. ‘Hold the bag in the air it needs gravity.’ Sheila came to
Jamie and knelt beside Charlie. She took the blood bag and held it in the air.
Sheila stroked Charlie’s cheek with her free hand. Harry noticed and a flare
ignited and niggled at his stomach, why was she stroking that criminal? Harry
walked past Charlie’s body with clenched fists and sat on the desk.
‘Doctor when can I make a complaint,’ Jack said. Jamie had crawled back to
the desk and pulled himself onto his desk chair. He looked at Harry with concern
and the silence gave Harry knots in his belly.
‘He’s confused Jamie,’ Harry said. ‘I had to help.’ Harry wasn’t sure why he
was trying to win the moral approval of a doctor. To Harry’s pleasure Jamie
cracked a smile.
‘Harry, saving that man is a good thing,’ Jamie said. ‘You may have saved
two people today.’
‘It was life or death,’ Harry explained. ‘Jack could have died. I defeated them
monsters out there to get him to safety.’ Jack walked over to the desk.
‘I saved myself,’ Jack said. ‘You were cowering.’
‘A liar? How nice,’ Jamie sniggered. Harry couldn’t tell whether he was
being serious or sarcastic. Harry didn’t care. Jamie would forget about him soon
and they would be evacuated by the police. If the police made it here alive.
‘Okay Jack, you were the fighter,’ Harry replied.
‘You bet,’ Jack said. ‘Twelve, no, thirteen years in the military, shooting
those goddamn communist bastards.’ Jack saluted with an enthusiastic approach
to storytelling which Harry couldn’t help but smile at.
‘By the way,’ Harry said. ‘The police are here, they have guns, rifles. I
believe they will get us out.’ Sheila looked to Harry; he could see desperation in
her eyes.
‘Police? Is Dean with them?’ Sheila’s nagging annoyed Harry, he didn’t
know everything.
‘Calm down. I couldn’t see who it was. They couldn’t hear me, I tried to call
for help if you were wondering.’ The wrench was heavy, so Harry placed it on
the desk. The metal had cut into his hands, they were superficial wounds. The
cuts were minor, the backache however felt like a lifelong problem and it only
happened earlier.
‘We’ll have to wait and hope for the best. I don’t know what created these
creatures or how to deal with them, they are clearly dangerous.’ Jamie said. He
swivelled around in his leather desk chair. When it spun the mechanism broke
and Jamie was left facing the rear wall. He rotated back to face the room. Jack
slid down the wall next to Shane. Sheila switched to holding the blood bag with
the other arm. The bag was emptying quickly.
‘Yeah this is more than dangerous, this is pandemonium,’ Harry said. ‘I can’t
understand how this started, what would cause people to eat each other? People
who look dead?’ Harry crossed his arms.
‘I was investigating a new bacterium before this occurred. But I can’t see
how that would lead to people eating each other.’ Jamie rested his elbows on the
desk and closed his eyes. Harry prayed the police would escort them back to
safety, that they would help find James and Molly.
Sheila waved Harry over. Like a lonely puppy Harry walked over to her and
knelt beside her. They both had bad body odour. They needed fresh new clothes
and coffee. Harry wanted a pizza with donuts for dessert. Harry remembered he
hadn’t bought an ice cream for James. The queue had been too long. It was
minty chocolate chip and strawberry with a chocolate flake and rainbow
sprinkles.
‘Harry,’ Sheila said gazing into Harry’s tired eyes. ‘When we get out, I don’t
want things to change.’ The blood bag was three quarters empty.
‘Jack come and help,’ Harry said, Jack waddled over.
Jack stood over Harry. ‘What?’
‘Hold this up please.’ Harry took the bag from Sheila and passed it to Jack.
Jack held it high, pinching the hole where it hangs on the stand. Harry returned
to Sheila’s eyes.
‘How so?’ Harry asked. Sheila twiddle her thumbs. They sat on the floor like
teenagers. Harry smelt Sheila’s breath and could taste the alcohol she drank on
the motorway. They both sat in dried blood.
‘I wanted you to come to the interview with me. Then this happened and we
ended up here. I got you to come with me when your family needed you most,
that’s why.’ Sheila wiped tears from her cheeks. Harry wrapped his arm around
her.
‘Not at all, friends are friends, it’s not like we knew this would happen is it? I
wouldn’t worry if I was you, if anything, coming along helped, it’s brought me
closer to you.’ Harry smiled and rubbed her shoulder. He was felt as if he were
lying. But it was true that their friendship was far reaching. This merely built
new bridges.
‘Thanks Harry that means a lot.’ Sheila pecked his cheek. Sheila was
vulnerable and if he continued to gaze into her deep emerald eyes, he might end
up initiating something.
Charlie began to move his arms. Jamie scrambled from the desk chair and
crawled over to Charlie. Jack dropped the bag and walked off to the wall and sat
down. Jamie placed his index finger over Charlie’s carotid artery and waved a
fist in celebration.
‘Yes,’ Jamie exclaimed. ‘We did it he’s alive. Harry, you are a lifesaver.’
‘I’ll add it to my resume,’ Harry replied. Sheila giggled.
The lifted spirits were dashed as the sound of boots marched around the
corridor. Orders were being shouted. They all looked to the door. Harry heard
someone give the order to breach the room.
The door smashed open and police stormed the room and aimed their pistols
at them. The police held flashlights that blinded Harry. Behind the police were
the black uniform swat officers all geared up. The swat team were aiming into
the corridor.
‘What in the hell happened in this place?’ an officer said. Harry couldn’t see
his face through the flashlight. ‘There’s an emergency and I’m afraid I can’t
explain everything. The hospital is now a quarantine zone and we’ve been
ordered to extract any remaining survivors.’ The officer lowered his flashlight
and pistol, the two officer’s behind him did the same.
‘Dean,’ Sheila cried. She jumped to her feet and ran at him and hugged him.
‘Sheila, what are you doing here? Thank goodness you’re alive. I thought
you had to head out of town to that interview, I assumed the worst.’ Dean
squeezed Sheila and the let go and bent down to examine Charlie and Shane.
‘Is that Charlie?’ Dean said. ‘My god he is in a state.’
‘Thank goodness you are here. This man has had major blood loss and needs
immediate help. I’ve injured my leg but it’s minor,’ Jamie said.
‘That’s Jack, he’s senile and this gowned fellow is Shane, a dangerous man.
He slit Charlie’s throat,’ Harry explained. Harry just wanted rest.
‘I’m not senile, I came in for a prostate surgery, then that man hit me on the
head.’ Jack pointed to Charlie.
‘We’ll deal with the law you just be thankful to be alive Jack,’ Dean said.
‘Listen carefully. The CDC have faxed over emergency quarantine instructions
along with government procedures that are to be enforced immediately. Because
the hospital is no longer safe, we have had to set up a field medic behind the
station. We’ll take you all there,’ Dean said. The two officer’s behind Dean
holstered their pistols, walked to Charlie and lifted him out of the room.
‘They got my observations?’ Jamie asked.
‘No, Jamie. The CDC claim they never received a report,’ Dean replied.
‘Right, well when I go down there they’ll listen,’ Jamie snapped.
‘Slow down, you lot are not going anywhere, your all going to the station,
the CDC procedures state we, and the doctors, have examinations to conduct.’
Dean chuckled a belly laugh. Sheila was distraught with tears running down onto
her white office shirt. Harry felt shitty hearing Dean say that. Harry stood and
stepped next to Dean.
‘Where are my wife and son, Dean?’
‘Probably at home, that isn’t my problem, you lot are. You are the living
normal people we have found so far.’ Dean turned and walked out of the room.
Dean began to give inaudible instructions to the swat officers.
Two of the swat officer stepped in and one aided Jamie to his feet and
escorted him out the room, Jack followed them. Harry lifted Sheila to her feet
and the pair were escorted out by the other swat officer. Harry waited with Sheila
at the elevator. The swat officer’s black bullet proof vest had blood on it.
Harry turned and saw Dean re-enter the doctor’s office. Again. Another
police office followed him and shut the door. The elevator arrived. A gunshot
went off. Shane had just been executed. Harry was sure of it.
CHAPTER 10
The Police Station
Beach town police department is situated in the centre of main street. Worn
untended brown brick exterior, four stories. A UK flag was housed into a
suspended pole overlooking the centre of the building. The police station
windows sparkling clean.
The entrance to the police station, two solid wood doors up six steps. Two
armed police officers with belted pistols stood silent at the front doors. It wasn’t
regularly guarded but new rules were in play.
Cars drove slowly down main street, the occupants going about their day,
unaware of the horror that had taken place at the motorway and hospital.
Opposite the police station, the street was lined with two clothing shops at
the left end of the road. Next to the clothes shops an Italian restaurant, a western
style pub, a post office, an independent bank –Independent Finances Co. Beach
Town Daily newspaper sat directly opposite the police station and housed the
town radio on the first floor. Next to the paper radio shop was a fish and chip
shop, a cafe and Harry’s workplace the opera house which sat next to a large
supermarket at the right end of the road. The pavements were lined with strips of
grass that separated the road from the path.
The street was bustling with shop goers and parents and children. They
dressed in dresses and shorts and hats. Heat waves rippled from the road surface.
Shop goers chatted to one another and laughed. Kids ate ice creams with
rainbow sprinkles as they waited for their gossiping parents. Beach Town’s
postmen were striking outside the post office, eight people held and waved signs
reading “more pay”. A yellow vested traffic warden was writing a ticket for a
poorly parked Ford outside the bank. Residents were going about their lives,
there was no sign of a pandemic.
Behind the police station in the car park, police cars were parked against the
bushes and a white tent was erected in the centre of the parking lot. People
dressed in hazard suits tend to people inside the tent. They take blood samples
from the visitors. Five officers patrolled the police car park whilst drinking
coffee and smoking. Police radios were irregularly quiet. A call came in for a
social disturbance at the beach front, they ignored it.
Inside the police station, things were different. Officers wore casual clothes
and paced through the offices; tension was high as if they all had a strict
deadline. The officers didn’t talk to one another. If they did it was to ask for
paperwork or spare pens.
The police station entrance opened to a large rectangular marble floored
reception area. A bearded whistling janitor mopped the entrance. The
receptionist’s desk was directly in front of the entrance, twenty paces. The desk
was occupied by an officer filling out paperwork. Other plain clothed officers
loitered in the main entrance frustratingly trying to use their phones. They could
not call because there was no signal.
A two-in-one coffee water machine was to the right of the check in desk. To
the right was a railed stone staircase which led to the first floor. Staff could only
gain access to the first floor through the staircase. Contractors had failed to
install an elevator stop because of “structural limitations”. The first floor housed
the evidence room and three offices. The evidence room full of confiscated
marijuana and knives. Beach Town was low on crime. Major crimes were rare
with an occasional murder and criminals appeared to prefer drowning their
victims. Dean was forced to discover more than six people along the island coast
during his employment. There was an elevator to the right of the reception desk
and left of a canteen. Four officers sat at the metal tables eating handmade
butties. The microwave had broken.
In the cellar of the police station were the cells, stone slabs and cold. Three
people awaited sentencing or release. Two interview rooms were on the second
floor and the third floor was weapons storage. The third floor had offices each
with a coffee machine and an in house first aid room. Officers preferred working
on the third floor. The heating worked on the third floor. There was also a radio
player screwed onto a desk in the hallway. Officers weren’t allowed to move it.
Sat in interview room number one on the second floor was Harry. An officer
had asked him a set of questions about the situation and left with his notes.
Silence surrounded him. The room was dim and dirty. It was unpleasantly
spacious. Harry sat on a silver steel chair and leant against the wall. A steel table
in front of him. On the table was a black recorder box and its red light hummed
like a bee. Harry looked behind him out the window. Seagulls circled overhead
amidst the clear skies. The interview room door opened, and a casual clothed
officer entered followed by Dean. Harry had known Dean through Sheila and
met him years ago, but they never spoke until now.
‘Officer P. Smith has just entered the room along with detective Dean
Harrison.’ Officer Smith waited at the door after announcing their arrival. Dean
sat opposite Harry and his chair screeched on the stone.
Harry’s was next to a hot radiator and still felt cold. Officer Smith looked
laid back as did Dean. Harry assumed they were both detectives as they never
wore uniform in tv shows. Only a bullet proof vest and badge at most.
Harry was relaxed yet the perplexing situation was difficult to comprehend.
Dean handled a brown file, Harry failed to notice the file as Dean entered. Dean
ran his index finger along the file and opened it. Dean then pulled a black
ballpoint from his trousers and began to write in the file. Harry could see his
name inside the file and suspected he would be sworn to silence.
‘Harry, Harry Carrington?’ Dean said, straightening his name tag. Dean held
the file up to Harry. Harry’s back ached against the metal chair and he bit his
tongue in frustration. Finding his family were the priority, not sitting in a police
station. If his family had been hurt at the hospital, Harry could never live with
himself. ‘Confirm your name and your address and date of birth for the
recording, please.’ Harry crossed his arms.
‘Harry Carrington, Leaf Drive,’ Harry said. ‘Born nineteenth of the sixth,
nineteen eighty-four. Thirty-four years old. Staff manager for the opera house.
Enough?’ Harry grinned obnoxiously and Dean was un-humoured.
‘This isn’t the time for jokes. We have a serious epidemic on our hands and
have been given government guidelines to follow. You are aware you need your
medical examination.’
Dean glared into Harry’s eyes; frowning. Harry thought Dean talked too
much and never enjoyed his company. Sheila liked Dean but Harry never
understood why.
Harry felt his trouser pocket. The cig packet was still crumpled. Harry
wanted to get rid of them, he wasn’t in the mood for tobacco. Harry wanted to
give them to Sheila, but she was taken for her medical examination. Harry didn’t
want a medical examination but if he was at risk of contracting the disease,
getting checked would reassure him. Sheila was distraught at the hospital and
hadn’t mentioned Wendy her partner. Harry disliked Wendy’s attitude towards
him but Sheila should have notified Wendy. Harry’s neck muscles tensed, his
scalp was prickling, and pain resonated over his head.
‘Epidemic?’ Harry yelped. Dean ticked something on the file. Harry couldn’t
see what. Officer Smith held his hand over his pistol, a threat. Harry was fearful.
‘What is this? I’m not dangerous.’ Harry worried the law had gone rogue,
somebody had shot that crazy bastard Shane and they might do the same to him.
‘We’re following government procedures to establish whether you are in fact
a threat,’ Dean said and ticked something on the sheet. Harry lifted his head to
see.
‘Why?’ Harry quickly responded.
‘Because that is how this procedural checklist goes,’ Dean said. ‘If you are so
concerned, it’s the checklist for Z C dash one eight, eight, nine, dash zero. See.’
Dean briefly showed Harry the checklist. The file had an official address and
logo of the dispensing CDC centre. Harry saw a section labelled informal
observations with tick boxes. Dean continued to ask questions.
***
An hour after bickering and two interruptions, the checklist was complete. Dean
escorted Harry out the interview room. Harry saw a water machine but there was
no time to stop. They took the stairs as the elevator was out of service.
Outside the police station main entrance, it was dusk. Main street was quiet,
and shopkeepers were closing for the night. They walked around the side of the
police station to the rear car park. Dean led Harry to the white medical tent and
returned to the station through a rear entrance.
‘Harry,’ Sheila cried. Sheila jumped up from a plastic chair and hugged him.
She looked ragged.
‘Jeez,’ Harry said. ‘Have you been here the whole time?’ Two doctors in
white hazard suits were busy with vials of blood and microscopes.
‘Yes, I have,’ Sheila said. ‘I’ve given blood and I’ve had to give oral swabs;
they swabbed my woo-hoo too.’ Sheila blushed. The doctors tended to a table in
the centre of the tent with files. One doctor approached Harry. The doctor
breathed as if through a gas mask.
‘Lay down sir, we need a blood test, we won’t be long.’ Harry complied and
walked to the bed on the left. Sheila held his hand as he lay down. Harry
assumed they would immunise him.
‘Done,’ the doctor said. Harry felt a pinch he assumed was from Sheila
joking. Harry felt woozy. Time was precious. The sun was low, and an icy breeze
whistled through the tent. Harry shuddered.
‘Can we go?’ Harry asked. He let go of Sheila’s hand and watched the doctor
examine the blood sample. The doc placed the blood in a glass machine that
spun and then used a small glass tube to place a drop on a slide of glass before
placing it under the microscope.
‘Sixty seconds sir.’
‘What’s happened to the hospital, what about those people, what happened to
them?’ Harry asked. The other doctor was attending to a man with an oxygen
mask.
‘The police have orders to quarantine the hospital,’ the doc said. The other
man was attached to a heart monitor machine. It skipped a beep. Harry thought
nothing of it.
‘My family were there, what will happen if they are still there?’ Harry was
afraid his family were shambling through the hospital as one of the creatures. He
got off the bed.
‘Sir, step back,’ the doctor said. His raised voice attracted the attention of the
two officers outside the tent. The officers stepped in and drew their pistols.
‘Step back,’ one officer said pointing his pistol at Harry’s chest. ‘Back away
from the doctor.’ The officer was unshaven and bag eyed. Harry stepped back.
The doctor turned to face Harry. Harry could not see his face through the plastic
window.
‘Clear,’ the doc said. ‘You’re free to go. A curfews in place now, I suggest
you adhere to it.’ The doctor walked to his colleague next to the man on the other
bed. Harry saw the frail man’s eyes had gone black. The officer lowered his gun
and led Harry and Sheila out of the tent into the darkness while the other
remained inside.
‘Curfew?’ Sheila asked. They headed back down the side of the police
station.
‘First I’ve heard of it. I need to go home,’ Harry said. ‘My family might be
there, and they are the only thing I care about now.’ They stood at the foot of the
police station steps. The pub opposite was closed. This was serious and getting
worse. The opera house was closed, and Harry didn’t know when anything
would be open again, if ever. Harry hugged Sheila and departed. The night air
soothed his pulsing temples. Would the town survive the night or would the
disease sweep through town and kill everyone? Harry knew one thing; he was
alive and not infected.
CHAPTER 11
Not Contained
Harry was awoken by the plastic blue alarm clock ringing on the bedside
cabinet. He thumbed it quiet. He had survived the night.
It was seven. On a normal day, James, Molly and he would prepare to go to
church. Harry was depressed that he was unable to contact his wife. The signals
died yesterday long with Harry’s spring spirit.
His head still hurt. The dark room was lifeless. Today would be worse, the
search for his family would continue. Tiredness last night ran him into the
ground otherwise he would have scoured every square inch of the town.
The red bedsheet thick with soft feathers. The texture calmed Harry. He felt
as if he were on a cloud, content to peruse the days plan.
Harry could not smell syrup pancakes or black tea and he couldn’t hear
James playing Lego at the end of the bed. Something he enjoyed. Everything
was strange and unfamiliar. Harry had checked the landline last night. The phone
was reading out a pre-recorded message: “Due to a recent curfew you are not
permitted to use a mobile phone or landline. We hope to have the problem fixed
soon.”
The curfew was a ghost rule, rules Harry considered useless. Harry thought
they may be announcing it on the radio or tv.
Harry gathered the strength to push the quilt off and slide his legs out of bed.
He was fully clothed after returning home too stressed to undress. The shoes had
left mud under the sheet. He pulled his shirt off and patches of dried sweat
decorated the underarms. He kicked his shoes off and took his trousers and socks
off. Harry turned and walked into his en-suite bathroom. The cabinet neatly
arranged, and the shower head glistened under the automatic lights. He grabbed
his razor from the sink and had a shave before brushing his teeth.
The house was modern. A one story detached with a large rear garden. The
interior was featureless in Harry’s eyes. The walls cream with a red flowered
feature wall in the living room. Two bathrooms and two bedroom.
Harry paced back into the bedroom and retrieved some clothes from the
built-in sliding door wardrobe. Harry looked at Molly’s clothes neatly stacked
next to his, her shoes lined up on the floor. Harry noticed the watch he bought
her just months ago. He slid the wardrobe door shut.
Harry walked down the cream carpeted stairs and took a left down the
laminate floor hallway to an open plan kitchen. He opened the fridge. Checking
the curfew seemed more important than food. Harry walked into a large sitting
area and sat on the sofa. He found the remote under the cushion and changed his
mind again. He got up and walked back to the kitchen where a radio sat on the
white marble countertop. Harry clicked the radio on, the button was sticky and
reminded Harry of cake icing. The radio crackled and after some silence an
announcement came through.
“It’s just turned half seven, we have plenty of fine tunes coming your way
right after a brief news report,’ the reporter sounded cheery. ‘Beach town police
department have issued an official curfew, the first in over thirty years.”
Harry turned the volume knob.
“All residents are ordered to stay inside their homes between the hours of
eight pm and nine am until further notice. Residents are also advised that
communication via mobile, landline and post will remain unavailable until
further notice and the towns WIFI has been disabled. Anyone attempting to
leave town will be arrested. What is this Mike?”
Harry had felt the same as the reporter when he saw the nurses devouring the
child.
“And if that isn’t enough it seems the government have issued emergency
vaccines to doctor’s surgery’s, with flu jabs being given near Haker Street
Medical. Suspicious behaviour should be reported to the police immediately and
all residents are warned against going to the hospital. Avoid travelling alone.
Okay folks, I think that does it, oh wait, hold on, there’s something else. Well the
police are going to need to explain this to us, they are setting up regular foot
patrols around the town, all officers will be armed and are instructed to shoot
anyone posing a threat to others and to the town hall or surrounding buildings.
Whew that was a lot to take in folks, so I guess we’ll be together till nine am, so
stick around for more banging tunes.” The presenter put a song on, Harry didn’t
recognise the tune. He leant on the counter staring at the radio, stunned.
‘Fucking hell,’ Harry said. Harry turned back to the fridge and opened it. He
scanned the shelves and pulled a carton of orange and some bacon and brown
sauce.
Harry ate some fried bacon with sliced bread and drank a few glasses of the
orange juice.
Harry walked back into the living room and slumped onto the sofa. Harry
dreaded what news reporters would say. Harry didn’t like the news but, in a
crisis, it might come in handy. Harry’s ass was aching, and his spine sore with
bruises after the wrench attack. The firm sofa cushions did little to help. Harry
clicked the forty-inch plasma on, and channel hopped until he found the
international news channel. He bit his lips with impatience.
The road outside was quiet. There were no cars or dog walkers, joggers or
postmen. Nothing. The news repeated the weather for several minutes before
cutting to a suited lady, a government representative. She sounded bleak giving
vague details about people killing other people in mass groups and eating them.
Harry’s ears perked up. She said the attackers had come back to life from the
dead. Harry’s mouth dribbled and he wiped it on his arm. Unbelievable.
Unbelievable. Harry was not prepared for such news. The people who he had
narrowly escaped from at the hospital were in fact, dead. The crisis became real
now. The woman was shaking as she held the microphone. Swat officers
appeared into view behind her. Police joined the tv swat.
The camera didn’t show the soldiers, but Harry heard military orders. It was
getting stranger. Then the tanks rolled by in the background. Soldiers escorted
the tanks carrying assault rifles. Irrelevant details passed over Harry.
Harry snapped out of his gaze. A woman cried outside. Harry leapt to his
feet, his heart pounding. Was it his imagination running away? Harry stepped to
the windows and looked at the street. Someone was crying loudly, then another
cry. Harry darted to the hallway and grabbed his black waterproof jacket.
The curfew made Harry stop with his hand on the front door handle. He
waited for another scream. He pulled the handle expecting the beasts to be
swarming the street. It was clear. Harry walked down the garden path and
scanned the road. To his shock a neighbour was screaming for help further down
the street. She was surrounded by the creatures. Her house was mobbed by at
least five of the dead. She was trying to run out of her front porch, but they
attacked.
Harry panicked. Should he go back inside and phone for the police? Of
course not, because the government had cut all communication. Yet the police
demanded we call them when exactly this happened, idiots Harry thought.
Harry watched in awe as a patrolling officer ran to aid the woman with his
pistol drawn. Harry leant on the picket fence. The officer gasped and let off two
rounds.
‘Get inside sir,’ he yelled. The woman could not get back inside, she was
trapped. The officer kept aim at the monsters. The dead wore patient gowns and
had nurses’ uniforms on, some wore shorts and t-shirts. Harry suspected the
police were able to properly quarantine the hospital, but the dead had escaped
before their arrival.
‘Call for backup,’ Harry shouted through his hands. Teamwork was critical,
Harry watched as the officer took out another with a headshot. Harry wanted a
gun, wanted to run and take a few out himself.
The officer fired round after round to no avail. The woman was being eaten
alive by the mob. Harry saw a man leaning out from a window upstairs, he
tossed some glass bottles, but they did nothing. The dead swarmed the officer as
he tried to reload. Harry saw him using his chest radio. The officer slipped a clip
in and Harry could not see him as the dead had surrounded him. Five gunshots
echoed through the street, two more popped and the dead dropped around the
office as he reloaded again. Harry squeezed the fence, the officer was brave, he
was doing well, and Harry hoped backup would arrive to help him. Otherwise
the disease would-be all-over town in a short while.
A black swat van zoomed past Harry startling him. The van drove into the
crowd of dead people. Their heads were mashed under the tires. Four swat
officers pushed open the rear door and jumped out. Automatic rifles went off.
The swat team fired relentlessly into the dead. The valiant patrol officer was
crouching at the rear of the van. He glanced at Harry. Harry saw the fear in his
face.
Instinctively Harry crouched back to the safety of his house. Locking the
front door behind him. He ran back into the sitting area to get an unobstructed
view of the danger. The radio in the kitchen was announcing the incident and
Harry figured the radio station had access police frequencies to keep people
informed. The announcer said to stay inside and lock doors.
‘Shit,’ Harry said. ‘This is not contained.’ Harry could see other neighbours
peeking from windows and hanging out of upstairs windows.
The patrol officer had begun to walk down the street, seemingly unscathed.
The gunfire had ceased. The woman had been killed. The swat officers swiftly
piled the bodies into a pile. One of them retrieved a large gasoline canister from
the van. Then he poured the fuel onto the bodies. Another officer stepped
forward, lit and tossed a match to the deceased.
The smoke was black. Harry could not believe how diabolical the situation
was. The police burning the diseased bodies in the street rather than taking them
away was stupid. Harry saw the incident unfold and it wasn’t a mild problem, it
was potentially lethal to the entire town. If more of the dead wander into the
streets people will be killed.
In the house on the opposite side of the street, in the living room window
Harry could see a man vomiting. Harry was blocked up and couldn’t smell
anything. The couple there had been caring to Harry and his family. Harry
wondered if he should go and ask about James and Molly. They should be in
town somewhere; Harry knew in his heart they could not be at the hospital. It
was deserted and the ward with James’s name had given him hope he had been
discharged or Molly took him to her parents.
The reality sunk in; the radio continued to play tunes as he sat there watching
the news for another hour. Harry turned the tv and radio off at nine. At least
news channels were reporting something. But the details didn’t say anything
specific such as how it started or where, or even what caused it.
Harry stepped onto the pavement and the street had come alive. Neighbours
packed luggage into their cars whilst crying. They hurried their children into the
backseats. To the right of Harry, a young woman was loading a baby into an Alfa
Romeo, she was sobbing. Harry knew the bridge was clogged up and the
families could not leave. Survival instinct told Harry that trying to escape to the
city was a bad idea. Judging by the traffic jam, Harry presumed the bridge toll
booths had been shut, that would explain no traffic coming the other way.
At this point, it was safer to stay inside.
CHAPTER 12
Deterioration of Beach Town
Main street shops opened as usual on Sunday. Until the local radio started
announcing the curfew forcing residents to stay at home and businesses to close
early. Harry walked down main street toward the police station. He looked down
the side of the police station to the rear carpark. A queue of people lined up
waiting to enter the tent and be tested.
Main street was unfunctional. The café remained open, police would need to
buy refreshments and lunch from somewhere. Harry saw people wander in and
out of the café. The blissfully hopeful people who think it won’t get worse and
the police can handle it.
Harry was lucky to be alive. There were a handful of others who knew the
reality that you can’t contain something so ghastly. He walked up the police
station steps past the guarding officers and pushed his way into the entrance hall.
The reception desk was empty.
Harry waited for the desk clerk to arrive. He wondered where Doctor Jamie
was. Was Jamie one of the hazmat guys or had he gone home. Harry was
confident there were enough doctors living in town to treat everyone. Even if
they set up more tents. The lack of officers walking around the station told Harry
that at least a third would be keeping the hospital in lockdown.
After some five minutes a woman in her thirties with an athletic build and
blonde locks stepped forward from a door behind the desk. A fruity
overpowering fragrance hit Harry and he accidentally ingested the scent.
‘I’m here to report two missing people,’ Harry said. ‘They were at the
hospital last…’ Harry realised his keys were at home and the house was
unlocked. His wallet was on the bedroom cabinet. He’d forgotten his wallet
when he took Sheila to the interview. With the current situation people would be
tempted to steal from others. Harry shook at the thought.
‘Okay,’ the clerk said. ‘Can you fill out this form with their names and dates
of birth.’ She picked a yellow tinted sheet up from the desk along with a black
ballpoint chained to the desk and passed them to Harry. Harry filled the details as
quickly as he could. One question that stumped him was the last known location.
Harry saw his family at the beachfront. Molly said they went to hospital, the
ward sign confirmed it.
‘Hospital,’ he muttered. The clerk opened a drawer and flicked through some
papers. ‘Here.’ Harry passed the form back and the clerk scanned over the
document.
‘Okay we’ll investigate sir,’ she said. ‘As you know there is a government
curfew in place, and we are extremely overworked. I don’t want to give sad
news…’ Harry interrupted her.
‘It’s okay I was there, I’ve seen them.’ The clerk’s mouth dropped. Harry
started to walk towards the entrance doors. He may have said something he
shouldn’t.
Outside the station, the occasional car drove past and some folks were
bickering outside the café.
Harry’s looked at the opera house, it looked open. He should have been at
work but continuing life after losing contact with his family was overwhelming
and the incident at the hospital had frightened him. Residents went about their
lives and two or three businesses were open. Harry had to return to normalcy.
Too much alienation and he would lose motivation altogether. If people saw the
monsters roaming the hospital, they would change their mind about keeping
calm. As the residents on his street had panicked, so would the town.
Harry stepped down the police station steps to the pavement. The pub had a
few drunk punters outside. Harry wanted some alcohol, but he didn’t have his
wallet or the patience. A drink would calm the anxiety rising in him.
Losing his family was too much and it was destroying him. Harry couldn’t
keep it together. His thoughts were astray. A gunshot abruptly boomed through
the street, people screamed, and the café goers ducked. Harry ran around to the
side of the police station. Officers had shot a man who lay bleeding out. It wasn’t
clear why. Harry assumed it was another infected who had escaped the hospital.
Harry realised the motorway was not being watched and the queue had gone on
for miles. If the disease had spread the entire length of the bridge then the batch
that had wandered in from the motorway turn-off was the least of the towns
worries. The entire fucking city could be overrun. Harry left the scene and
walked down main street to the opera house.
The opera was locked. Harry looked inside the glass doors, the entrance was
polished, and a red rope hung from two golden posts, blocking entry to the
venue.
A mob of drunk pub goers began shout, taunting the police outside the
station.
‘What’s this curfew about then? I’ll go out and go anywhere I want to,’ one
man shouted. Another lugged a stone narrowly missing the police. The police
were unmoved. A mother shielded her son outside the café and rushed him
inside. A couple walking past the bank turned around and headed the opposite
way. Anyone who walked onto main street hid around building corners. Harry
saw a man spying from behind the pub.
The drunken men continued to yell insults. Harry decided it was time to visit
Sheila. Molly may have taken James there; it was a long shot. Harry needed to
see Sheila regardless.
Four officers exited the police station and stood in the street in a stand-off
against the punters. The drunks shouted racial insults at a black officer and threw
stones at him. A woman came from the pub and taunted the police with the
birdie. The officers were holding their ground. Harry recalled the radio, if
anyone posed a threat to the police station or town hall then lethal force would
be used.
Harry was about to walk away, but an officer equipped his pistol and aimed
at a man who stumbled and vomited. The crowd of drunks turned to him. Harry
ducked down behind the black bin outside the opera house. The vomiting drunk
was hacking all over the road on his hands and knees. The crowd had taken a
step back from the vomiting man. An officer stepped forward aiming at the man
on the floor. The drunks went in to help the sick man, but the police yelled to
stay away and pointed their guns at the crowd. ‘Move back.’
Harry looked at the police station. Dean was looking out of a top floor
window. Dean was pointing and explaining something to another officer next to
him. The sick man dropped to his stomach and black goop poured from his mouth
and nose. The crowd were aghast. The sick man began to groan. The gargling
took Harry’s mind back to the hospital. Being trapped in that blood storage room
surrounded by the dead. Harry wondered who the man was whom he
accidentally threw the blood over. It didn’t matter now.
‘Get back,’ Harry shouted from behind the bin. ‘Listen to them.’ The crowd
ignored Harry. The corpse rose to its feet, as the news had said, and the drunk
was now dribbling green and black pus, his eyes streaking in tar gunk. Harry saw
Dean open the station window.
‘Fire,’ Dean shouted. The officers began to fire round after round. A barrage
of lead struck the diseased man in the head and torso. Blood sprayed amongst
the tarmac road. The drunks dispersed, running frantically back to the pub. Harry
looked to Dean who spotted him. He waved to Dean, but Dean ignored him and
shut the window.
‘Fuck you,’ Harry grumbled. His leg’s stiff from crouching and his spine
solidifying from the lack of movement. Harry watched as the officers returned to
the station carrying the body to the rear. It was surreal the drama had come and
gone all in the space of five minutes. The drunks were probably in the pub
shaking and getting afraid. It was time they did, it was time the town did. Harry
knew Beach Town was not prepared for this.
Harry stood and began to walk down main street. To Sheila’s to try and
formulate a plan. An evacuation from Beach Town was needed. But not without
his family.
CHAPTER 13
Riots And Rations
The walk from main street to Sheila’s was ten minutes. Harry took a right at the
end of main street down and headed down a residential road towards Firtree
park. Sheila flat was in a tower block at the end of the park.
Firtree park was full of gossiping parents. Harry walked slowly to try and
catch a conversation about the situation. They chatted about their lives,
seemingly oblivious to the outbreak. Dog walkers jogged around along the path
past Harry. Kids played on the swings and roundabout. School must have been
shut as precaution.
Harry saw two officers patrolling the perimeter of the park. The thick brush
and various trees were beginning to flower an assortment of colours. Harry lost
sight of them. Harry hadn’t seen any ticket wardens today. He hadn’t seen
postmen or milkmen. The unusual was the new normal.
Harry approached Green Life elementary school. James was a pupil there.
Harry investigated the deserted classrooms as he walked towards Sheila’s. At the
front of the building the front door was covered in police notices. Harry stopped
to read one. “The education of pupils is important. Due to a government notice
we have been closed down until further notice.” Harry wasn’t surprised
anymore. He continued towards the block of flats. Its exterior clean white. The
doors shone in the midday sun.
Harry reached the door and pushed the intercom to Sheila’s flat; number one,
one five, tenth floor.
‘Who is it?’ Sheila answered quickly. The dirtied speaker hissed as usual.
‘Harry.’ Sheila buzzed him in instantly.
The tower guard sat at the elevator looking sombrous. Hunched over reading
last week’s newspaper. Harry was annoyed the local paper had been cancelled
due to financial reasons. Beach Town Daily had ceased trading about five days
ago. Harry thought it might be connected to the outbreak but that was too
farfetched.
Harry stepped into the gloomy hallway of the tenth floor. Neighbours radios
and tv’s were blurting the news out. Harry knew people would be too interested
not to find out the truth. Harry knocked on Sheila’s door. He heard some
furniture being moved and then the door opened.
‘Finally,’ Harry said and stepped inside. He walked over to her sofa and
planted his backside down. Sheila was still limping, but she moved about ok. ‘It
that necessary?’ Harry added. Sheila struggled to push the bookshelf back
against the door. The kettle was boiling in the kitchen. Harry’s legs melted into
the purple fur blanket covering the sofa.
‘Yes, after the hospital do you really think anywhere is safe. I tried calling,
nothing.’ Sheila struggled with the bookshelf, so Harry go up and pushed it the
rest of the way.
Sheila walked into the open plan kitchen and brewed two cups of coffee
bringing them back into the living room. The smell of black coffee and her
flowery perfume was a little sickening. Harry took his cup from Sheila. This was
what he would do if he fell out with Molly. Molly and he wouldn’t talk for a day
or two, but things always got better. At Sheila’s he’d have to endure Wendy.
Wendy governed the Town Hall planning department, according to some people
she did a decent job. All Wendy would do is bicker about Harry’s lack of moral
compass and lack of work variety. She always urged him to consider applying to
have the theatre seating area extended to bring in more cash, but what did she
know about money and business, nothing.
‘I still can’t find Molly or James,’ Harry said. ‘I went to the police station. I
even considered going to my parents, but it’s unlikely they went there it’s too far.
It just gets worse Sheila, seriously.’ Harry sipped his coffee and picked a few
sugar cubes up from the table and waited for the sugar to dissolve before
gulping. Sheila reached for the tv remote on the table and turned the tv volume
down. It was showing a program on nature and animals.
‘Is Wendy here?’ Sheila sat back and crossed her legs, her skirt lifted
revealing her knickers. Harry ignored it.
‘I don’t know where they can be other than the hospital, you said they were
going there didn’t you?’ Sheila huffed. ‘Wendy, don’t mention her to me yet.’
Harry tensed his shoulders and sank further into the sofa. He was thinking of all
the locations they could be. This was all a wasted journey. He would have been
better driving around, but he couldn’t because his car was lodged on the
motorway.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked. Sheila shuffled next to him. They both
watched the television whilst drinking coffee and talking. Something they were
accustomed to.
‘She’s a little annoyed about the car, that’s all, I can’t seem to convince her
to buy a bike instead, she always runs.’
‘She’ll get over it,’ Harry replied. ‘Trust me.’ Harry took the remote from
Sheila and flicked through the channels until the news came on. Harry placed the
cup on the glass.
Images of Buckingham Palace flashed onto the screen before cutting to
Westminster, London. A man in a black raincoat stood with police behind him
reporting the armies’ deployment to protect her majesty. The news cut back to
Buckingham Palace gates. A young female presenter wearing a bullet proof vest
over a yellow blouse stood outside the gates. Tanks resided inside Buckingham
Palace’s perimeter. Soldiers patrolled the area and a helicopter sat directly
behind the reporter. Harry was in awe. This was frightening, everything was
changing fast and Harry didn’t like it. The reporter described a very serious
threat to national security that was beginning to overwhelm the countries
defences.
‘This is why I’m glad I don’t live on the mainland, or the city for that
matter,’ Harry commented. His body sank further into the sofa, his palms sweaty.
Sheila wept.
‘How bad does this need to get?’ Sheila was crying. ‘They can’t contain the
hospital, can they? What happens if they come from overseas?’ Sheila struggled
to get her words out.
‘Hold on…’ Harry turned the tv volume up. The camera cut back to
Westminster. The man was pale. Behind him the soldiers stood in rows with their
rifles to their chests. The camera cut back to Buckingham palace. Red palace
guards stood on the roof and marched the grounds. Harry wanted information
and fast. If London was falling, the whole country might fall.
“Westminster has issued an international cry for help to the United States and
Russian governments for military assistance. It is believed the crisis has
originated somewhere in western Europe and prime minister Carl Longwood
states the crisis may have completely overwhelmed Europe. The United
Kingdom is still fighting, and the prime minister has issued emergency warnings
to all citizens, stay away and inside from the threat.”
‘What the fuck,’ Sheila said. Harry could not believe it.
‘It’s more than a threat. It’s a plague of psycho’s and monsters is what it is, if
the governments can’t contain it, nobody can,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got to find my
family. Please tell Molly and James to come home if you see them.’
‘Harry, look at the front door I’m not going out,’ Sheila said. ‘When this
thing gets worse, I’ll be safe inside.’ Harry could see the fear on Sheila’s face.
‘Please, if you see them out of the window in the park or anywhere, try to
shout them in at least.’
‘Okay, but I’m not risking going out,’ Sheila replied. ‘I don’t fancy getting
attacked again.’
Harry smiled and stood and walked to the blocked front door. He struggled to
slide the bookshelves out of the way. Sheila continued to sip her coffee and
watch the news. She didn’t offer Harry a biscuit this time. They had to ration
now, with Britain falling the commodities wouldn’t be imported to Beach Town.
Harry wondered if people would forget about them.
***
Harry had to walk back past main street to get home. The post office strikers had
gone. Harry walked slowly past the supermarket; a large crowd had gathered
outside. The talking was like a seashore wave. Men and women complained to
each other. Scared kids held each other’s hands whilst their parents chanted for
food. Three officers stood at the supermarket entrance attempting to calm
people. Harry walked towards the police station. Three officers now stood at the
station entrance. At the town hall building to the right of the police station, two
swat officers stood guard. Thing had changed. The security was increased. Harry
feared it was too late. The disease would spread. The diseased would travel and
kill everybody unless they could escape, he was sure.
Harry turned back to the crowd outside the supermarket. One man caught
Harry’s eye. He recognised the short black hair. Harry jogged back over, keen to
dig deeper.
‘Jamie?’ Harry asked the man, patting his shoulder. The man turned; it was
Jamie.
‘Harry, nice to see you again,’ Jamie said. ‘This is the hospital that’s
triggered all this, guarantee it.’ Jamie put Harry at ease, it was nice to speak to
another survivor. The hospital had formed an invisible bond between them. But
Jamie seemed to be unaware of the bigger picture, London was falling, it wasn’t
just the hospital that was responsible. Harry had an unobstructed view of the
supermarket doors.
‘What’s this for?’ he asked Jamie. Jamie cupped his ear with his hand. ‘What
happened? Is it open?’ Harry shouted. Jamie nodded folding his arms. Jamie
leant closer to Harry.
‘Yeah, we’re waiting for our rations,’ Jamie shouted. ‘New curfew rules by
the town hall. Apparently, there are enough food boxes for everyone, although I
can’t see those arriving tomorrow getting the same things.’ Jamie grinned. The
bickering got quieter.
‘I haven’t heard about this, when did it happen?’ Harry asked. Jamie shook
his head.
‘Just half hour ago, the radio announced it.’ Jamie lifted his sleeve and
checked his watch.
‘How long until they let them in?’ Harry asked.
‘Not sure, they said we could get our stuff ten minutes ago,’ Jamie replied.
Harry patted Jamie’s shoulder and walked back towards the police station. The
crowd were pale, worn out and fearful.
He had to go to the town hall to find out about evacuations. Harry stopped
his stroll as chorused shouts rattled his ears. He turned to look at the crowd. Men
had grappled the officers and were attacking them. The crowd shunted the
supermarket doors and booted the glass. The glass cracked scaring a flock of
birds from the supermarket roof. Harry watched as five officers came running
from behind the police station.
‘Stop now, we have orders to shoot, one officer shouted. They equipped their
pistols. Harry ran to the alley at the side of the town hall. The men continued to
smash through the doors, and they swung open in pieces. The mob of ranting
people stormed through.
‘Stop, take your children to safety if you want them to live,’ another officer
shouted and fired a gunshot in the air. People trampled over each other. The
angry town goers forced themselves through the doors, trampling over broken
window glass.
Women picked up their children, holding them to their chests and moving to
safety. A bloody faced man got up from the stampede and limped towards the
bar, where pub goers were watching from the Victorian windows. The officer
fired another two shots in the air. Another officer shot a man running out of the
supermarket with a bag of unpaid goods. The bullet impacted his chest sending
to him to the concrete. He dropped the bag, fruit and tins rolled onto the
pavement. The police moved into the supermarket where the crowd were
looting. A few people lay in the doorway crying in pain from being stood on.
One policeman came back outside and used his radio. Then the other police
joined him. Harry ducked down, afraid of the consequences of the death of the
man. The police stood in a row aiming their pistols into the supermarket. One
officer fired another shot into the air. Harry watched as people began to run
towards the supermarket doors. The police opened fire, spraying the crowd with
bullets, it was a massacre.
CHAPTER 14
Brutus The Mutant
Charlie awoke in a strange room on a bed of thin sheets. He could see through
some iron bars. An officer sat reading an outdated newspaper with a picture of
the town hall on the front page.
Charlie’s hands, feet, face, bones and ligature were aching. Not fatigued, but
sorely exhausted. The last he remembers is talking, voices that hadn’t previously
made sense, but those voices had returned, it might have been his cell mates
sharing the lower floor of the station with him. He wriggled but it was too
difficult to get out of bed. All he could do was flick his eyes. He tried speaking
but only mumbled sounds came out.
Beating down was a brilliant white light. Needles migrated through his
pupils. The cell walls blurred and clouded. Charlie held a hand over his eyes. All
fathomable energy was spent, he believed he was dead. The officer placed his
newspaper on the floor and approached the cell bars. Charlie heard the radio
bleep and fizzle. Time distorted. Charlie could feel a pin prick on his left arm
like a bee sting. He shut his eyes. His chest tightened at the sounds of gunshots.
The guard panicked and Charlie opened his eyes. The officer entered the single
elevator. Any hope of Charlie getting answers was gone.
‘You awake?’ a deep voiced man called, tapping a pot or can on the bars of
his cell. Charlie could not tolerate the rattling; nor could he shout a reply, his
lungs rippled with tension.
‘Yes,’ Charlie said. It felt like an iron blanket was placed on his head and
face. All he wanted to do was sleep. More gunshots came from above the stone
cellar. Charlie looked at the needle prickling his skin. Whatever it was pumping
was making him feel woozy. He hadn’t the energy to take the needle out yet, so
he tried to kick his leg.
‘Charlie it’s Peter, what happened to you the other day?’ Peter clung to the
bars; Charlie could hear the rasp of his knuckles against the iron. Charlie heard
the faint whispers. Charlie sensed the drug euphoria fade and elation left him.
Peter’s voice made him tighten his jaw; he felt betrayed.
‘You been to the motel?’ Charlie asked trying to lift his IV arm to rip the
needle out, but his arm flopped lifelessly onto the bed. Charlie heard Peter slip
away from the bars and begin to pace.
‘Yeah, err no,’ Peter trembled. ‘I kind of let everyone else deal with it, you
know?’ Charlie could feel a fire rising in his stomach. Peter had deserted him.
‘Anyone coming for us?’ Charlie said. Anger fuelled his mouth. An invisible
scorpion stung his muscles into action. Charlie reached for the needle and tore it
out. He was lightheaded and thumbed over the injection site. The stone walls
swayed and the ground shook as he pulled himself onto the edge of the bed.
Silver specks dotted his sight and shimmied out of sight. His body rocked as if
on a carousel.
‘Yeah, I told them anything happens to us, come get us, that was when I got
my free call. The police aren’t too happy with you though, I heard them talking
and they said you have to submit to blood tests once you wake up, they been
sedating you since you got here, after the blood transfusion that is.’ Charlie heard
Peter jump on his squeaking bed.
‘No chance, we’re getting out,’ Charlie said. ‘And we’re gonna clean the
mess at the motel.’ Charlie stood up.
The floor was stained in dust. The walls decaying and cracked. A mirror sat
above a sink that was rancid with blood.
Charlie stumbled towards the cell bars and grasped them. He looked at his
arm. It was a mess. Plasters were half pulled off the left arm. He tore the plasters
off, they stung as it ripped hairs out. He tossed the plaster to the guard’s drink
next to the chair. ‘Enjoy that.’
‘What we gonna do?’ Peter asked. Charlie didn’t have a plan yet. The
grooves of Charlie’s brain were lacerated with endorphins. His hands shook in
sweat.
‘I’m not staying. You should have stayed at the hospital. That place is gonna
be the end of this town, full of monsters.’
‘Yeah. I saw them on the news the night I got brought in, something about
the fall of Britain. You can’t take it too seriously, can you?’
‘Peter, if you had had the guts to stay at the hospital, you would see this isn’t
worth shaking off.’ The elevator beeped and the doors opened. Charlie’s eyes
darted at the officer who stepped out. He carried a steaming cup in one hand and
a piece of paper in the other. The officer glared at Charlie.
‘You need that medicine, why did you take it off? If you’re that keen, we’ll
take you to quarantine now.’ The officer stood out of reach. Charlie’s ribs hurting
on the bars.
‘I can’t hear you,’ Charlie replied. The officer stepped towards the bars.
‘I said…’ The officer didn’t have time to finish, Charlie reached his right
hook through the bars and wrapped it around the officer’s neck, he dropped the
coffee on himself, Charlie muffled the scream with his other hand. The panicked
officer reached for his gun, but Charlie gripped tighter then cracked the officer’s
neck sideways. His neck snapped instantly, and the officer rag dolled to the
coffee covered floor. He had his hand on his pistol with his head cocked to the
left.
Charlie bent down and pulled the officer’s body closer. He grabbed the keys
out the policeman’s trouser pocket.
Charlie keyed the cell bars open and stepped out. Stepping over the officer
and walking right, passing an empty cell before reaching Peter’s. Peter was alone
just as Charlie wanted him.
‘We’ll bring a whole lot of shit to this precinct after, I’m right with you,’
Peter said clutching the holding cell bars. Charlie turned from Peter and walked
back towards the elevator.
‘Fuck you Peter, you are a backstabbing chicken.’ Charlie thumbed the
elevator and the doors opened. Peter mumbled.
‘Fuck you for leaving me here, I’ll fucking tell them about the motel, you
knock up whores,’ Peter shouted.
The words pierced Charlie. Charlie walked back to Peter’s cell. It was time
to cut Peter loose.
‘Nobody is saying anything about the motel.’ Charlie reached through the
cell bars and grabbed Peter’s hands and pulled him towards him. Charlie was in
a daze from the sedative. Charlie pulled Peter’s arms harder and held the
officer’s keys above Peter’s head.
Charlie keyed Peter in the right eye and it popped. Blood poured onto Peter’s
jacket and he screamed and thrashed as if he was a fish. Charlie twisted the key;
Peter kicked his body about crying out.
Charlie yanked the key out. Holding Peter’s arm, he put his foot on the bars
for momentum and pulled hard. A hollow pop sounded, and Peter’s arm went
limp. Charlie released Peter who slumped against the bars in a pool of blood.
Charlie walked back to the elevator whistling. Charlie waved goodbye but
Peter had lost consciousness. Charlie pocketed the bloody keys. More gunshots
sounded overhead. Charlie stepped into the elevator.
***
Amidst the supermarket chaos Harry hadn’t seen Charlie leave the police station.
The officers hadn’t either. The receptionist was too busy shuffling papers and the
police were occupied with the supermarket.
Harry could see through the row of officers that at least twenty people were
shot. People lay injured and bleeding to death. Blood spurted from a man’s neck
and a woman lay bleeding from her thigh. Four people were dead, and the kill
count was rising to seven once the other victims bled out.
Harry crouched back into the alley. Flies and unmoved trash bags lay
untended. Shoppers began to surrender. The shoppers with brains. The looting
continued.
The officers moved into the store again. They reloaded their pistols. Harry
heard gunshots followed by screams. A barrage of bangs and snaps filled the
street. Food was being thrown around; meat tossed towards the exit.
Those who surrendered gathered around the bleeding victims. They were
bleeding to death. It had been shoot to kill orders. Not shoot to wound or deter.
Harry crept further down the alleyway; the red stone walls became tighter.
Sunlight was being blocked. Harry crouched to the rear of the town hall carpark.
Harry saw the white tent in the police station car park. Harry stood oblivious and
realised he was stood in a car park filled with body bags. It was a betraying
sight.
‘Oh no,’ he gasped. His breath was shallow. Harry clenched his shaking fists.
The carpark was devoid of cars. The black body bags were around six-foot long.
Harry needn’t count, there was over thirty at a glance.
The gunshots stopped. He heard officer’s barking orders and looters begging
for mercy.
The bags were laid in rows with tags with names written on them. Harry
looked at the closest tag. It was blank.
A rustling caught him off-guard, a squeaking and shuffling. Harry froze, one
of the black bags was moving. Harry walked over to the bag out of fear. As he
got closer, he heard groaning. Then the other body bags began to rustle. The
deceased were back. Harry watched the mass of body bags twitch and shake.
Harry knelt next to an unmoving bag; the tag was blank. It was possible his
family were here, but something told him they weren’t.
Police were approaching, their heavy-footed belt clinking alerted him, radio
static filled the air agitating the corpses more. Harry dived behind a dumpster.
The police emerged from the alleyway. Both stood in awe.
‘Look at this, their moving,’ one officer said. The other officer bent down
next to one of the body bags and then kicked it. It didn’t move like the other
bags.
‘What is this? Get Dean on the radio,’ he said. ‘Town hall to Dean, over.’
They waited and paced through the walkways between the bodies. The officers
neared Harry’s position. Running to the rear entrance of the town hall was too
risky. The officers might shoot him or mistake him for a criminal. Harry stayed
put, he wasn’t risking anything.
The officer’s radio hissed.
‘This is Dean, what’s wrong.’ The officer held his walkie as if eating a
hotdog. The other officer mazing around the corpses, he stopped at a bag. Harry
watched closely. His partner was occupied with the radio. The officer bent down
to the black bag, reaching for the zip. No, idiot, Harry thought. Harry couldn’t let
the officer open the bag. Harry searched the floor for a stone and tossed it at the
town hall. The stone made a knock on the concrete wall. The officer jumped to
his feet. His partner was still on the radio.
‘What was that?’ The officer looked around. Harry hid further behind the
dumpster. Harry heard Dean’s voice; he was in the carpark somewhere.
‘See.’
‘This is very bad. Get rid of them immediately, whatever you do don’t open
them.’ Harry heard the officer reload their pistols, a metallic slide and click, then
a snap.
Harry peered around the dumpster; Dean was gone. Harry saw the police
pistols in hand, hesitating.
‘Take them out,’ one said. They watched the bodies moving.
They lifted their pistols and opened fire. The bullets impacted the wriggling
corpse and it went still. They let off a round in each body bag. Harry saw a
chance and ran for the rear door of the town hall, opening it and slipping inside.
CHAPTER 15
Power
A crew of police had been assigned to patrol the hospital twenty-four seven. Two
police cars were parked in the hospital car park. Seven officers patrolled the
perimeter and watched the hospital entrance. The door had been barricaded using
the waiting room chairs and biohazard tape stuck across them. Two snipers were
stationed on the motorway turnoff.
The police were drinking bottled lime juice and eating peanuts and dried fruit
for snacks. Taken from the station canteen. They had been accustomed to having
their lunches brought to them.
Two officers stood at the main entrance chatting. Another four officers
circled the hospital perimeter in pairs, complaining of the moisture air. One
officer sat on a plastic white chair on the motorway turn-off chatting to the
snipers. One of the snipers interrupted the mundane conversation on energy
saving light bulbs so he could announce his kill shot. He believed he found a
survivor, but it turned out to be another monster.
The officers had been instructed to report each kill back to the police station,
so they had an official body count for military arrival. Corpses raggedly
straggled across the corridors briefly in view through the windows. When they
shambled into sight it was difficult to get a clear shot. Using the rifles scope
didn’t make it any easier. The scope lens glared in the sunlight, making any shot
tedious. One sniper lay on the bonnet of the police car resting his eyes. Rifle by
his side, waiting to take his position when the other rotated. They had
successfully picked off the few corpses in the car park before barricading the
front doors.
At the rear of the hospital the officers were under attack. The other police,
and snipers lay oblivious to the threat. A breach had occurred. Two officers were
tackled by the beasts as they fell from a broken first-floor window. The corpses
smashed through the day previous unknown to the police. They toppled over the
shards of glass poking from the window frame, guts split and fell onto the
concrete. The beasts munched at the officer’s necks.
One officer grabbed his pistol and let a shot off. The beasts were relentless
and crazy. He accidentally shot his leg amidst the struggle. They continued to
topple out. At first ten or twelve, but fifty zombies had poured out from the
hospital window. The patrolling officers were shredded to pieces.
Another window further along smashed. This time the officers at the main
entrance heard and radioed the patrols at the back. They were met with death
like screams dissipating into static. The sniper on the motorway turn-off ordered
a round up at the main entrance.
The shambling blood drenched monsters hobbled, limped and stiffly
marched on with broken bones protruding from the fall.
The recently deceased officers were amongst the horde as it wandered
around the hospital towards the car park. The sniper panicked and struggled to
cock his rifle. Then a crowd groaned behind him and tore into his arms gnawing
at the flesh, tearing his ligaments. They ripped the intestines from the sniper
laying on the police car and gouged the officer on the now red chair.
The four officers at the hospital entrance were swarmed. They open fired.
Firing shot after shot into the undead, but they kept coming. The dead huddled
round the officers and swamped three of them. It was a thunderstorm of killing.
The guts of the officer squished under their limp feet. One officer made a run for
it, to the rear dirt road of the hospital. There was no time for cars, the hospital
and motorway were overrun. The officer tried to radio the station. There was no
answer. The officer stopped and took off his bullet proof vest and tossed it to the
dirt road. He set off running, back into town, the longest route.
***
On main street the remaining civilians had fled. The supermarket doors had been
pulled shut, but they were broken and wouldn’t lock. The dead bodies had been
removed. Those that were shot dead were now being covered by shamed
officers.
Dean had decided to dump the bodies with the others in the town hall car
park until they could be buried. They were dumped there without care and the
officers returned to being order abiding robots.
A few pub goers shouted from the windows, taunting the police were corrupt.
It was true, they were rogue.
Dean watched from the top floor of the station. He had seen people escape
with hands full of things that would last two days at most. Food distribution was
a big problem along with medicine. Dean’s friend Jamie lay in the carpark, dead.
Jamie hadn’t intentionally gone into the supermarket; he was pushed by the mob.
Dean had to watch as his friend had been trampled to death. Dean shed a tear
and was interrupted by a radio call from the carpark.
He was back at that desk with neatly stacked paperwork and a stapler aligned
with the corner of the table. His mug cold and adjacent to the papers. Dean
adjusted the clock; somebody must have changed its position because it had to
tilt to allow the small hand to tick.
Dean knew the mayor was asking for trouble. The mayor hadn’t done
anything useful other than taking people’s liberty. Dean believed he could do
better. He had to convince the current mayor to step down. If he resisted,
something would change his mind like bribery, threats or a good old-fashioned
coup. If the mayor had seen the hospital, he would be shitting his pants. Dean
sighed and walked to the office door and left for the town hall.
Dean met the mayor with a flimsy handshake, a shake of the level of respect
he had for him, quickly wiping it down his trousers. The mayor’s cocky smirk
whipped Dean like ice.
‘I’ll get to the point, we need to start distributing food,’ Dean said. ‘My men
have had to kill innocent people today, people who have no idea what is going
on and are trying to get basic resources, how can you possibly expect us to
suppress this any longer? They aren’t the threat, trust me.’ Dean slammed his fist
to the wood table, knocking a statue of big ben over. The mayor looked fraught,
glaring at Dean. The mayor cricked his neck and fiddled with his pen. He sighed
at Dean.
‘Dean, Dean, Dean, why do you insist on coming here to tell me this? I have
had contact with London. It’s over, there’s no hope, there’s no scientists or cures
or anything coming to save us from it, we are one of the few remaining islands
to survive this thing. I think we should very much be concerned with the food
supply, because once it’s gone, we’ll have to start growing crops. It’s over, this is
the end, Dean.’ The mayor had jotted a few notes. The mayor had an extremely
irritating rung out voice. He sounded dry. Dean spotted a half full whisky bottle
on the shelf to the left.
‘I don’t believe it, the end of what? Your sanity?’ Dean snapped and grabbed
the whisky bottle from the shelf showing it to the mayor. ‘Drinking on the job?
What happened to you?’ Dean added. Dean launched the bottle across the office
at the door. It smashed and glass and whisky decorated the walls and floor.
Jimmy the mayor jumped up off his seat. Dean approached him and grappled
his shirt, shunting him against the window behind the desk, hard enough to make
it crack.
‘Let go Dean, I’m not kidding, I’ll have you scratched from the force. It’s
over, what more can I say, we need to pull together, not apart,’ Jimmy conveyed.
Dean shoved him to the floor and Jimmy stumbled back up. ‘I’m in charge now,
go home. If this is the end for us, then we need to start building the future today.
I’m ordering police escorted food and medicine distribution of at least two
weeks to every house in the town.’
Dean wrinkled his nose and walked to the office door. His feet crunched on
the broken bottle glass and he left the office. Outside the office Dean gritted his
teeth; it was the end. Dean marched back through the door.
Jimmy was sat down at his oak desk and held a large knife. Dean froze.
Jimmy sobbed and stood up. Dean walked forward. Jimmy the mayor gave a
final salute to Dean and slit his throat, ear to ear.
CHAPTER 16
Radio Apocalypse
The lone police officer gasped for breath on his run down the dirt road, he was
nearing the motel. It was over a mile from the hospital already and a mile more
to main street.
The officer stopped and equipped his pistol and then carried on running
whilst spraying single shots into two oncoming undead. They fell in a
synchronistical shamble. He unloaded bullets into the pursuing horde until his
gun clicked empty.
He was out of bullets and he tossed the pistol to the dirt and continued to run.
The horde stumbled over the corpses he had shot.
The officer only had one weapon now, it was a taser strapped to his leg. The
officer limped and was nearing the motel and petrol station. The boulders to the
right prevented him from cutting across to main street. The dirt road turned into
concrete as he neared safety.
The petrol station was clogged with empty cars. The officer waved at the
motel trying to catch someone’s attention. The creeps gained ground, nearing the
officer almost within an arm’s reach of him.
The officer was reduced to a snail jog and almost tripped as he equipped his
taser from his leg, it was black and yellow and loaded. There was a man stood
outside the petrol station, but he soon turned and ran back inside at the sight of
the horde.
The officer panted then stopped in a puddle. He turned, taser aimed. He shot
the first one coming at him and it fell into the puddle where he stood. The
electric taser surged through the water and through the officer. Their bodies
buzzed until their skin burnt and they fried in the water. Other beasts clambered
down onto the officer and ripped at his skin and face.
Charlie sat on the bed in the motel room talking to Delila, the prostitute he
knocked up. She cradled a baby who was suckling on his milk bottle when the
horde alerted Charlie.
Charlie walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, his razor was on
the tiled floor. He’d pick it up another time. He lifted his chin and examined the
stitches in his neck. The stiches were rough and bloodied. He couldn’t remember
anything after Sheila slapped him.
Charlie walked back to Delila. She had placed the baby in his chaffed pram,
the corners of the pull-down hood dog eared and ripped.
‘You can’t keep avoiding this,’ Delila pleaded. ‘He is your son, accept it.’
She sat with her petite pale hands between her jeans.
Charlie gazed out of the window. He saw the horde of beasts approaching.
His muscles tightening in his face with sweat. The hospital was getting to him
now. He must have been imagining the crowd and shut the curtains. He turned
around and backhanded Delila’s face. She whimpered and covered her face with
her hand.
‘How many people have you been with? I was with you a few times, god
dammit there is no way this is happening,’ Charlie shouted. His voice startled the
little baby boy who let out a cry. Charlie could unwittingly attract the munching
creatures if they were real. Charlie was pacing the small room.
‘He is your son, I promise. Just accept it and we can move on.’ Delila
carefully picked the baby up and held him to her chest. Delila took the formula
bottle and hand fed him.
Charlie admired the tiny grips, one day they would be like his. He walked
back to the curtained window and pulled the curtain out of the way. Charlie
jumped back. A group of bloodied gnawing corpses clawed at the motel walls.
The horde shambled moronically into each other. Charlie closed the curtains. He
turned back to Delila, she had calmed the baby and placed him back into the
pram. She sat wiping her tears with used tissues.
‘No one can know,’ Charlie grunted. ‘No one can know how I’ve knocked up
a whore.’ He slid down against the door. He was close enough to realise the
groans were real.
Hands scratched at the plaster walls. Other rooms were breached, Charlie
heard windows being smashed followed by screams.
Delila looked startled and the baby began its painful cry. She couldn’t calm
him. The more he cried the more they tried to find him. The more they groaned,
the more Charlie sweated, the room looked like a pixelated video mirage.
‘Shush, it’s okay, shush.’ Delila calmed the baby to a snooze. Delila rocked
the pram back and forth.
‘They won’t find out, I promise,’ she replied. She smiled at Charlie. Charlie
was unimpressed, giving the thousand-yard stare with a grunt.
‘Look outside now.’ Delila walked to the window and looked outside. She
gasped and retreated to the back of the room.
‘What the fuck are they Charlie,’ she shouted, the baby didn’t wake up.
‘The same things I saw at the hospital, now do you believe me?’ Charlie felt
the weight of the beasts behind the door. It was thick wood and bolted and chain
locked. The room was kitted out with hundreds of stolen cigarettes. They were
no use unless Charlie set the place alight.
‘They can’t get little Samuel, they can’t,’ Delila cried to Charlie’s dismay.
Charlie crawled under the window and watched the corpses attempt to climb
the boulders that separated the motel from main street. The wall that separated
the rich from the poor.
‘They won’t get in. If they do then I won’t be waiting for you,’ Charlie said.
Charlie looked out the window and the corpses had wandered off. Charlie
watched as Douglas; the petrol station attendant ran across the road for the
boulders. Charlie remembered him, he was a good kid and a budding candidate
for the club. Douglas was scrawny and into video games as he told Charlie. He
ran for the rocks and mounted them. Charlie watched through the motel window.
The dead were surrounding him and reaching for the kid’s arms. Douglas
vanished into the sea of freaks. But he emerged from the crowd and clambered
up the rocks to the top. Charlie grinned. Douglas was a survivor and someone
Charlie might need in the future. Douglas looked to the motel and Charlie stood
up. Douglas gave a sympathetic wave to Charlie who scorned and then Douglas
disappeared behind the rock wall.
***
It was night and darkness filled main street. Harry managed to sneak up to the
mayor’s office, determined to find an answer.
The building was empty, Harry had to sneak past a suited woman in the main
hall but that was all. He had reached the mayor’s office without detection. He
knocked on the mayor’s door and waited for an answer. Nobody answered and
he pushed the office door open. It was hard to see, the window let in enough
light for Harry to see the mayor’s body slumped on the desk chair.
Harry walked over the broken glass; the crunch surprised him. As he got
closer to the mayor, he began to see blood dripping down the mayor’s shirt.
Harry saw a large knife on the floor. The mayor was wheezing, and black gunk
foamed in his mouth. Harry looked around for a weapon. The mayor stood up
and straggled around the desk. Harry knew what had become of the mayor.
The creature dived for Harry. He dodged and lunged to the desk. A clear oval
paperweight filled with bubbles caught Harry’s eye. He picked the paperweight
up; it was the size of his fist.
As the dead mayor grabbed at Harry, he smacked him across the head with
the paperweight. The mayor’s face caved in. A few teeth fell to the floor. Harry
kicked its stomach and black pus poured from its mouth. It reached out for
Harry.
Harry whacked the mayor in the forehead and dented the skull. Brain fluid
oozed through the cracks in the skull. The paperweight was slippery in Harry’s
hand from the blood.
It dived again. Harry threw the weight at its face and it impacted the head.
The skull collapsed and brain matter mushed out onto to the carpet. Harry
jumped back and struggled to see the beast in the darkness.
Harry booted the mayor’s ribs. The mayor stumbled back towards the
window. Harry pushed the dead mayor, the window smashed, and the mayor was
impaled on the window frame.
Harry tried to push the legs over the frame, but its body was impaled at the
waist. The stomach began to tear open. Harry heaved and threw up over the
carpet. The mayor’s stomach ripped open and his top half fell out the window to
the car park below whilst the lower half remained impacted on the broken
window.
Harry stepped back towards the office door. He daren’t look out the window.
An acidic bile rose in his throat and he vomited again, this time on a bookshelf
to the side of the room. The disease was rancid and stung his nose with each
breath.
On the way out of the mayor’s office Harry overhead a radio that had been
left on in another office. He waited and listened to it. Dean’s voice announcing
the curfew. Getting to the radio station was his next destination. He carried on
out of the town hall; there was nothing else to find here.
Harry walked across main street; it was deserted. Streetlamps were working,
but for how long would the power grid stay on. Harry walked into the radio
station, they had left the doors unlocked, not a wise decision.
Harry paced through the hall to the stairs and made for the broadcast studio.
Upstairs Dean had indeed hijacked the microphone. The radio presenter sat with
him looked unamused. Harry kept low and hid behind some seats to the left of
the studio. Harry could see through the plexiglass and could hear them chatting,
they must be broadcasting to the whole building as well. Not wise if the disease
had spread to main street.
‘You’ll broadcast the curfew daily, twelve till two, along with your normal
schedule, until the electric goes out, okay?’ Dean said. The host didn’t look
impressed, but he nodded in compliance.
‘Residents of Beach Town,’ Dean announced leaning into a microphone.
‘Men, women and children and to anyone who is tuned in, this is now radio
apocalypse. Spread the word because the radio offers the only way for
authorities to contact you with vital information. For that reason, you need to
tune in everyday from twelve noon till two past midday. Anyone not tuning in
will not be able to receive information and it’s very, very important to be in the
know, trust me. New curfew rules are in effect, and just so there is no ambiguity
in it, it has been labelled aptly, the apocalypse curfew. All residents are to stay
inside their homes at all times, no exceptions. Food will be distributed by our
officers to every citizen daily for two weeks or until the food runs out. All cars
are hereby banned, we need to save our fuel for the generators. Oh, I forgot to
mention that medicines such as paracetamol, aspirin, codeine and basic
antibiotics will also be included with the food, and will be delivered weekly,
provided we have the resources. Switch it to music or something.’ Dean finished
and the radio presenter switched a song on.
‘That just about does it, we’ll have to see how many people actually abide by
these rules. Shit. I forgot to mention about church, there’ll be police attending
for an hour on Sunday for anyone who wants to attend.’ Dean was getting
frustrated with being unable to work the mike. The host flicked the song off.
‘This is the new mayor. I forgot to mention that church will be open for an
hour on Sunday. Police will be attending for your safety. Don’t worry we don’t
want to interfere we just want to make sure it’s safe. You’ll be much safer now
I’m in charge, don’t worry.’ Dean chuckled.
Harry snuck through the dark studio to the plexiglass and stood at the
studio’s door. Dean jumped as Harry peered through the doorway. Dean left his
seat in the studio’s booth.
‘How did you get in?’ Dean said. ‘Wasn’t there an officer at the door?’ There
was no officer at the door and Harry suspected he had gone home to be with his
family. Dean was losing it, there was no need to incite panic on the airwaves.
‘Found my family yet?’ Harry asked. Harry tried to get into the studio, but
Dean held his arm across the doorway. The studio lights were fuzzy and dim.
The presenter sat with his headphones on and ignored Harry.
‘This isn’t time to go looking for missing people. The curfew was brought
into effect to prevent exactly this from happening.’
‘They went missing after this started. My wife and son were at the hospital.
Now they’re nowhere to be found,’ Harry said.
‘I remember you now, you came from that mess with Sheila. Think about it,
be straight with yourself, there unlikely to have survived, they won’t be coming
back, I’m sorry.’ Dean patted Harry’s shoulder. Harry prayed to god they weren’t
dead. They were missing.
‘They aren’t dead Dean,’ Harry shouted. ‘They’re missing.’ Dean shoved
Harry back and Harry wanted to punch him.
Harry took a breath. He hadn’t felt this angry before, maybe it was denial.
Harry heard groaning and ducked down. Dean chuckled and left the radio
broadcast room. Harry stood back up and waved goodbye to the presenter. Harry
walked over to the windows where he could see main street. He looked to the
clock on the wall, it was eleven. He needed to go home and recuperate. Dean
was trying to help but making things more complicated. Maybe he should let
them do their jobs, they could keep them safe. Harry had a tough time accepting
it. It was safe enough to walk around so it must be safe enough for now. The
hospital was in lockdown and government would devise a plan.
He walked to the exit and began the journey home.
CHAPTER 17
Nightmare
His eyes stung and his belly rumbled. He didn’t want to eat what little food they
had left.
Harry had placed the radio in the en-suite before slouching into bed fully
clothed.
The glow in the dark clock beside his bed said three in the morning. He
rolled around the bedsheets unable to sleep; too energised from the supermarket
riot.
He slipped his feet onto the floor and got out of bed. Harry walked across the
dark bedroom to the bathroom. The en-suit light wasn’t working. He flicked the
light switch twice for good measure.
The radio was bright and clear to see in the dark. It was positioned on a table
next to the bath. Harry unzipped his trousers before realising he was about to
urinate in the bath. He shuffled left to the toilet.
A pot smashed and Harry jumped. He reckoned it was the neighbour’s cat
breaking a plant pot. There had been strange cat noises emanating from outside
all night. The cats had been restless lately, Harry believed it was because of the
lack of food. Harry zipped and walked back into the bedroom. The moonlight
crept through the window and illuminated him.
The radio was turned low and continued to play songs throughout the night.
The presenter made an occasional announcement about the curfew. Harry
remembered the look on the radio hosts face; it was a look of helplessness. The
presenter must have been sleeping in the broadcast studio.
Harry routed through the built-in wardrobe next to the en-suit for a new shirt.
It was too dark; he couldn’t see anything. He reached into the wardrobe and tried
to feel for his clothes.
The noises were muffled. Harry’s attention was drawn to a thump
downstairs. Harry walked to the bedroom door. Something was on the staircase.
It could be a burglar trying to take advantage of the crisis or it could be his
family. Harry put his ear to the cold door.
He couldn’t hear anything. He got on his knees, accidentally clipping his
elbow on the bedside draws and knocking a bottle of perfume off. Something
grunted in the stairway. Harry daren’t turn the bedroom light on. He pulled the
bedroom door open. His throat tightened and he jumped back petrified.
The beasts were in his house shuddering up the stairs. The corpses wheezed.
‘Damn,’ he muttered. He had moments to find shelter, safety. He couldn’t see
the bathroom anymore. He looked to the built-in wardrobe; it would have to do.
He scuffled over the carpet to the wardrobe. Groans filled the bedroom and
the door creaked open. He shuffled into the tight space, clothes draped over his
shoulders and shoes dug into his back. The wardrobe door was open.
Black swaying figures walked into the bedroom. Harry heard screaming and
shouting from outside. Car engines fired and metallic crashes and bangs filled
the air. The dead had overrun the neighbourhood.
Harry attempted to pull the wardrobe door shut. One of the dead stopped
grunting and more entered. Harry counted six. He was trapped in a
claustrophobic box. A prisoner to undead shadow figures. Sweat trickled down
his torso, his palms shook.
He wiped the sweat from his eyes and pinched his forearm and prayed.
He closed his eyes. This was it; the end.
Harry held the wardrobe door.
The skin on his hands chafed as he clasped them on the wooden frame. His
knees were in his chest. His breathing contained.
Some of the dead shambled into the bathroom and knocked the radio off the
stand. It smashed on the tiles and went silent. With every bump his heart
thumped faster. Any minute now and he would drop dead from fear. His
forearms ached from holding the wardrobe door shut. He let go and shuffled
further into the clothes.
He looked on the floor but could not see. Molly had a torch for reading that
she kept stored in the wardrobe. Harry couldn’t feel it.
A mental light lifted his spirits. If the light was gone then Molly could have
taken it. If she was smart enough to escape the hospital. She was probably smart
enough to leave town and head to a military checkpoint, wherever that was. It
was speculation but better than giving up hope. James hadn’t taken any Lego
from his room. Harry’s attention was drawn to the groans as they waddled
around the room. It was if they were searching for Harry.
He rummaged around the floor. He could feel the edge of indistinguishable
objects and shoe boxes. He put his hand on a soft patch before realising it was
socks. Harry saw shadows cast on the walls through the cracks in the wardrobe
door. The dead knocked a mirror off and then Molly’s perfume from her bedside
cabinet.
One of them had fallen face first on the bed and couldn’t get off. It groaned
into the sheet and gnawed at the fabric. Harry had little hope, he would have to
wait for rescue or sunset, whichever came first, if rescue was coming.
His senses electrified. Had he dozed off or passed out? Time was missing; it
was hunger. The dead shuffled to the closet and clawed at the door. He scuffled
further into the closet. His back ached as he slid against a pointed object. They
could smell or hear him. Something drawing them to his presence.
Harry pushed what felt like soft squishy socks and pants out of the way.
Then his hand met a hard-oblong object. It could be useful. He picked it up. It
was rubbery but he couldn’t see it in the dark. He squeezed it. It was robust and
it would suffice for now.
The wardrobe doors were beginning to open from the dead clawing at them.
Harry stood and banged his head forgetting how small the closet was. He had
no time to count how many beasts there were. They were scattered, the one on
the bed had struggled over to the window. Harry prepared himself for the escape;
it was better than waiting in a closet all night. The dead has given up trying to
get into the wardrobe and wandered around the bedroom. Now was his chance
for escape.
Harry rammed the wardrobe door open. Then the vibrating began in his
hand. Harry held the object up in the moonlight. The beasts made towards him.
Harry hit them in the head, but the vibrating rubber wasn’t strong as he hoped.
He smacked a beast on the head and the rubber bounced off its heads with each
hit. They were grabbing for him, four of them clawing for his blood.
He dived for the bedroom door. The undead reached out for him. He turned
and booted one, he had no shoes on and his toes crunched. Harry jumped out the
bedroom door and landing hallway was clear. He made for the stairs.
Harry tripped down two stairs and took a break figuring out the escape. The
front door was wide open, and it was heaving with rain. He looked at the rubber
thing in his hand; Molly’s vibrator, disgusting. He tossed is back upstairs, it was
still vibrating. Harry continued down the stairs. He turned and ran for the
kitchen, more dead shambled around the countertops. Harry could outrun
them…for now he darted back towards the hallway and out the front door. He
saw the carnage unfolding like a scene from a cannibal’s orgy.
It was raining, rain that washed away the blood of the neighbours as they
yelled for help. He had no coat and would become hypothermic quickly if he
didn’t find safe shelter.
He didn’t know what to do. The dead scrambled along the street. They raided
and destroyed the house windows and doors. They attacked everyone and a
group was coming for him.
The dead stumbled towards him. Harry’s instincts said run but instead he
turned to the left where an alley led to the rear garden. He ran to the alley, clear,
and ran through to the garden. The dead pursued. Harry saw the trampoline and
mounted it. It was about a foot from the house. He could make it, he had to make
the jump to the roof.
The dead swarmed round the alley; Harry could see the dead in his kitchen
trying to claw their way through the glass doors. He began to bounce, until
gaining enough height to jump. Harry leaped mid-air onto the roof tiles, his ribs
crunched as he impaled the wet roof. His feet dangled as he scrambled to climb
up.
The creatures gathered around attempting to pull his legs, but Harry kicked
them off. One of them tried to bite his feet, but he footed its face, cracking its
jaw. He pulled himself up onto the roof. It was wet, slippery and risky. He was
stranded and exhausted. He carefully manoeuvred across the wet roof to the
chimney and wrapped his arm around the stone. Looking around revealed the
extent of the outbreak, it had ravaged the street.
Harry waved his free hand at people trying to cram their frightened children
into cars. The families were trapped by the hordes and brutally ripped inside out.
Neighbours were bitten and torn apart. Harry watched as they rose back to
their feet and joined the ranks of the dead. Corpses invaded gardens and houses
and they clawed at the windows of the unaware. Harry saw in the distant streets
the spreading fear. The town was being overwhelmed and was in downfall. They
were all doomed.
A man began to shout and run through the street. A portion of the horde
scrambled after him.
The dead continued to feast on dismembered citizens in the road. Some
houses were untouched, the dead waiting outside for the unsuspecting occupants.
Harry could see a car creeping forward. In the back seats two children sat
crying. The car was slowed by the dead bodies in the road. It stopped and it was
breached by the undead. They smashed their diseased hands through the car
windows. The occupants were killed, bitten to death as the beasts piled into the
car. Harry saw a man further down the street, he was stood on his porch
whacking them with a bat. Harry watched helplessly; he could see a corpse
sneaking round the man’s garden in the bushes. The man turned as the beast
dived him and he lodged a meat tenderiser into its skull.
‘Hey, up here!’ Harry cried. The man became distracted by Harry’s shouting
and had to vault across his garden fence to escape them. The courageous
neighbour weaved through the crowds, soaring across the road. They were
dangerous, but they were slow.
He reached Harry’s back garden after batting them out of the way in the
alley. The man swung and chopped at the horde in the garden. They fell to the
grass but continued to outstretch their arms, clawing at the man.
Harry slid down the roof to help him climb up. The guy was breathless and
was wearing his pyjamas. He jumped to the trampoline and pounced onto the
roof ledge.
Harry held his weight by placing his bare feet into the damp guttering. He
reached for the man who tossed his wooden tenderiser to the roof. Harry
squeezed his hands, but he was too heavy. Harry looked into his eyes as he
began crying out. They were biting his legs and starting to devour him. Harry
saw the beasts bite into the calf muscle, and he heard the bone snap. Blood
spurted onto the corpses faces; the dead were loving it. Harry let go, his hands
shaking. Harry picked up the meat tenderiser. Immediately he retreated up the
wet roof to the chimney. It was increasingly cold, and it heaved with rain.
He watched the beasts tear the man’s thigh apart. The man began to groan as
he lay bleeding on the grass. He rose to his undead feet. His eyes opaque black.
The leg muscles like straw as the corpse limped to join the others.
***
Dean had managed to run down into the garage where he changed into his day
clothes.
He had a spare pistol stored in the garage with old tools, hammers he’d once
used for his car, and a clip of ammunition.
The dead had swamped the house when Dean was sleeping. They attacked
the garage door, he was stuck, no heater.
Dean holstered his gun in his pants and searched for his spare walkie talkie
radio. He had to get through to the station and call for backup. He had to warn
any patrols, if they were still alive, that they need to deploy now, no exceptions.
The church was a few houses away. It should be secure enough. The church
had large wooden doors that could be fortified, and stone walls made it
weatherproof. It should have a radio to. There was no time to drive it, it’d be
quicker running. He couldn’t drive, the dead would clog the road and block him
and then tear him to pieces. Dean gave up trying to find his radio, he gazed at the
garage walls and his car. Life as he knew it was gone.
Dean walked to the garage doors and prepared to push the garage door
button on the wall. The garage lights hummed. The dead groaned; their undead
nails scraped along the metal door. Dean thumbed the button. The aluminium
door jolted and slowly lifted open. Dean equipped his pistol and cocked it. He
aimed at the feet that appeared in the rain. The garage door rose higher, the dead
were preventing it from opening, then it finally lifted knocking the beasts down.
He shot a round off, a headshot, the corpse fell face first into the concrete
drive. Dean fired, the surrounding dead fell and tripped a few others. The rain
was washing the blood down into street drains. About six dead neighbours began
to close in and Dean dashed for the road. His heart thumped and his fingers
pulsed on the trigger. They were slow and gormless, but Dean didn’t want to
wait to find out if he could take them all on. He weaved through the attackers
down the road. He had run out of ammo and had to tuck the gun back in his
pants. He sprinted to the church.
The dead were scattered all over the street, slow but aggressive. They were
breaking into house windows and front doors. Those who hadn’t bothered to
lock their doors were probably dead. Dean hadn’t locked his, and in hindsight it
was foolish.
As he ran his lungs burned and the humidity stuck to his neck like bee nectar.
Survivors were piling into the church; he could see people pushing each other
out of the way to get inside. Dean slowed to a jog; the dead pursued from all
sides. Dean reached the church, the hanging lights beaming through into the dark
street. Faces of fear and confusion looked to him. He began to push to the doors
to get inside. The crowd was fierce. Behind, the dead were approaching. The
panicked neighbours slipped on the cobblestone path as they ran inside. Dean
slipped in along with four others. The masses gathered on the benches and the
ceiling lights illuminated a sea of pyjamas and fear. Kids cried. Dean prepared to
shut the doors and stood next to them; bloody black-eyed faces shambled
towards the church.
‘Get inside, come on,’ Dean yelled as two more survivors ran inside, their
dressing gowns drenched. They fell to the floor as they entered, the woman
whimpered, her husband comforted her. Dean waited for survivors, two more
were running through the street naked, the dead grabbed and circled them.
A woman shouted, ‘close the doors.’ A wave of people rushed towards Dean
to close the doors. At least ten survivors pushed the doors shut. Hands soon
clawed on the thick wood.
‘Lock it,’ a man shouted into Dean’s ear. Dean shunted the man aside.
Another man picked up a wooden beam and carried it to the door. Dean placed
the wooden beam over the steel holders. It was secure, for now.
Survivors sat on benches panting and crying, parents tried to comfort and
calm their screaming kids. The response had been worse than Dean anticipated.
Things could turn barbaric. The government had failed to respond to the threat in
time. Wherever it started and whatever caused it was old news. It was a new
world now and Dean felt it resonate within, an horrific apocalypse. Safety was
out there, not in London, but somewhere. Throughout history countries had
fought and come together to help one another, this was no exception. Dean was
certain a resolution would be found.
The hall was bickering unintelligibly. Dean looked around the church, the
walls and windows reached at least thirty feet and there was scaffolding up near
the organs. Dean felt for his pistol and was relieved it was still in his pants.
Relieved that others had the same idea to come to the church. It was safety. The
scaffolding reached towards the top stained-glass windows with a stack of metal
poles and planks leading up to the bell tower, which was about thirty feet above
the vicar’s stage.
This was how people lived before this, it was no surprise that they now
returned seeking solitude and comfort, answers and salvation from a place that
once brought them peace. Dean remembered that he too felt the peace a long
time ago. Not as a true Christian, but as a believer in a higher authority. That
changed now. The beasts outside rising after being attacked, that was not peace.
Most survivors wore pyjamas and dressing gowns. A few were fully dressed.
They sought rest on the wooden benches. Dean scanned the hall for a fellow
officer. Nothing, no backup. It was time to take charge and lead these scared
survivors to a comfortable mindset. Evacuation to a more secure site was
improbable. The dead banged faintly on the doors. The worried cries and
bickering had quietened.
Dean spotted the priest or vicar, he wasn’t sure what the official title was,
coming from a back room to the left. The priest always lived in the church; it
was a requirement of the job. The priest was dressed in a black top and jogging
bottoms. He was frail, his face thin with strands of grey hair. Dean walked
through the crowd of survivors, kids were sleeping on the benches and men and
women huddled and prayed. Nobody noticed the priest; they were too occupied.
A handful of kids played tag and had forgot what they just saw, or perhaps didn’t
want to remember.
‘What is this?’ the priest asked as Dean stepped towards him. Dean gestured
to people with waterfall tears flooding their nightgowns. Some kids now sat on
their mum or dad’s laps, others cried, asking for food or bed.
‘A nightmare is what this is,’ Dean said. ‘I’m afraid we’ll need the church for
safety until we can find refuge for these people.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’ the priest enquired. A woman stepped out of the
back room towards them. Her eyes bagged and she rubbed them. Dean saw the
wedding rings on their fingers. She stood and held her husband’s arm. They were
easy on the eyes.
‘I’m afraid there’s been a dangerous epidemic. I can’t explain because I don’t
know all the facts. These people have been forced from their homes and need
shelter.’ Dean scanned the room of survivors, at least twenty. He saw someone
who worked at the station offices, no frontline.
The priest comforted his wife. They held each other. She kissed her husband
on the cheek and walked off to the children playing on the front row of benches.
Their parents tried to smile. She knelt next to them and assured them they could
stay for a sleepover.
‘We have sheltered the homeless in the past and we will shelter these people.
This is a house of the lord and all are welcome. We have food supplies and bunk
beds in the basement, in case of hurricanes and earthquakes. It’s secure and
warmer than this hall,’ the priest said.
Dean was relieved. He thought he’d be stuck trying to calm the crowd down.
At least there was food and beds, something to keep them quiet until he could
figure out what to do.
‘We need to keep those front doors closed at all times. The threat is high. Do
not open them for any reason. I assume you have an emergency radio as well?’
Dean replied, folding his arms.
‘We do, it’s in my study,’ the priest said. ‘We had to move it because we
couldn’t plug it in downstairs.’ The priest began to walk to the back room. Dean
looked around.
‘Hold on,’ Dean said, the priest walked back to Dean and leant on his
pedestal. People rested on benches or the floor. A small group huddled in the
middle walkway. Cuddling each other.
Rain pattered on the stain-glass windows. The hall lights flickered.
‘Okay listen up. It seems our officers have been unable to contain the threat.
So, from now on everyone stays here until I’ve established had bad the situation
is.’ Dean halted; a crack of lightning whipped through the sky; the windows
flashed. Kids snuggled closer to their parents and one man fell to the bench in
shock. Lightning lit the church. Dean knew it was a matter of time before the
power cut out. He looked to the priest. ‘Do you have a generator?’
Thunder boomed through the hall, lightning flashed, and the wind and rain
lashed against the windows. The dead pounded relentlessly against the doors.
Wind howled through the hall. Dean felt the floor rumble beneath his feet.
‘Err, I think so…ah yes, I remember they installed one last Easter because
we were having electrical shortages.’ Brilliant Dean thought, a lifesaver too good
to be true. The church was a sanctuary.
‘Brilliant,’ Dean muttered. ‘Okay this place has food, beds and electric, so
you are all going to be staying here until proper accommodation can be
established. Try not to worry. Please understand that this situation is unlike
anything we’ve dealt with before, it’s new and it’s intimidating, I get it. But
please be patient.’ Dean turned and began to walk to the back room.
‘There eating people, what the hell is this?’ Dean turned to face the woman.
She stood gazing harshly, her retinas piercing Dean.
‘That’s why we need to stay calm and not frighten our children anymore by
shouting things like that. Everyone rest and try to sleep, don’t worry,’ Dean
replied.
Sleet hailed down on the windows like popcorn in the microwave. Thunder
rumbled overhead, it drowned out the moans of the undead.
‘This is stupid, is this what the curfew was supposed to be stopping. Useless
town hall,’ a man yelled. Dean tried to walk away but the abuse continued, and
the shouting got louder. Dean felt halted.
The thunder and shouting rattled the building, the scaffolding shook. Dean
heard the metal clang. Thunder and lightning were coming constantly
alternating.
The priest leant on his pulpit. A figure of Jesus was hung to the back wall
bearing his look upon the church.
The scaffolding swayed. Dean heard the planks crack but without notice the
scaffold fractured around the bell tower. Thunder shook the building and a
lightning bolt shot through the top stained-glass window striking the bell.
‘Move,’ Dean cried, diving out of the way. The bell jolted from its hook and
came crashing through the scaffold tower, the planks splintering as the bell
smashed down onto the priest. The priest was crushed. It wasn’t over. Planks fell
and poles clanged to the ground. Survivors scattered to the sides of the hall.
Dean saw the priest legs visible from one side of the bell. Amputated,
trailing blood and shattered bone. A metal pole bounced from the stone floor and
speared through the air, striking a man in the face, impaling and pinning him
against the stone wall. His body slumped unable to fall flat. The pole scraped
down the wall to the floor and his head slid down the pole until it hit the floor.
The pole held upright by his skull.
Dean gagged. People screamed and hid under benches. The thunderstorm
was in full swing. The scaffolding dropped a few more planks near the bell.
The priest’s wife ran to the bell and got on her hands and knees sobbing
intensely.
Dean couldn’t tolerate it and he walked to the back room. The distressing
cries was too intense, headache inducing. He stepped in and closed the door
from which the now deceased priest came from and locked it.
CHAPTER 18
Liar
Harry spotted the little boy in the window of the house on the other side of the
street. At first, he felt empathetic and then angry that he couldn’t find James.
Harry saw the child alone and afraid. But he didn’t feel the hero in him now.
Harry realised he might have to get to the child and save him if his parents
were dead. He couldn’t leave him, it wasn’t human. Surviving the thunderstorm
wasn’t human; Harry was lucky to be alive, if the lightning had struck him, he
would be dead. The rain was pounding down, but the thunderstorm had settled.
The child could barely see over the window frame. Harry had his sights on
the boy.
If he dwelled on the infinite possibilities of where Molly was, he would
freeze to death, zoned out in anger. He’d end up hurting Molly if he did find her.
Hospital? Harry gripped the chimney harder and stone chipped off and slid down
the roof. She could have found shelter in a broom closet; she could have taken
James home. She had vanished and taken their son with her; it was selfish. The
dead broke Harry’s train of thought.
The corpses continued attempting to climb up to the roof. One corpse
accidentally pulled the guttering onto itself. Harry turned his attention back to
the child. The street was swarming with diseased dead.
The child had disappeared from sight. The garden was infested with the
undead. The door was shut but the downstairs windows were broken, and
zombies clambered through the window. That’s what they were; zombies. Harry
didn’t want to believe it but there was no other word to describe them anymore.
Harry scanned the road and tried to plan a route through the zombies. Mr
Brown wandered in the middle of the road wearing green joggers, his fat belly
exposed and torn, intestines trailed behind him. Harry heard a cry; it could be the
child. Harry wanted to get there and save the kid; it was a stupid shot at
redemption for losing his own child.
Panic spread across his chest; his glutes tightened. He struggled to breath in
the humid air. He let go of the chimney and slid down the roof to the front
garden, scraping his ribs along the tiles. He landed on the concrete and jumped
to his bare feet.
The zombies were hidden beneath the roof out of sight and latched onto him,
Harry punched them away and his knuckles cracked. Harry went primal and
twisted one’s neck until it snapped. Harry felt no fear. The adrenaline kicked in
and his skin tingled. He kicked three of them back and shook them off. His
hands pulsed and his legs cramped.
Harry ran from the house into the road swerving past Mr Brown. More
zombies tried to grab him and missed. Harry was fast approaching the
neighbour’s house and he lunged onto the garden path. On final leg to
touchdown, Harry kicked open the front door, it smashed against the wall and a
shard of glass shot into Harry’s hand. He pushed the door shut and hopped up the
staircase. The kid was crying.
‘Help me mummy,’ the kid screamed. Harry encountered the neighbour at the
top of the stairs coming out from the bathroom. She was dead, her eyes black
pus. Miss Penny tried to bite Harry. She had been kind towards him and his
family. She must have forgot because she grappled Harry’s shoulders trying to
eat his face.
Her overweight boyfriend exited from a bedroom to the left. He was a
zombie and clawed at Harry who stepped out of the way and the man fell down
the staircase.
A bookshelf was behind Harry and he grabbed the thickest hardback and
smashed Miss Penny’s face until the teeth caved in and she fell dead to the
bathroom floor. Harry turned, the boyfriend was laying dead at the bottom of the
stairs and the kid cried from a room to Harry’s left. Harry opened the door and
stepped in. He had to stop his hand bleeding. It was warmer in this house and
Harry was glad he came to help.
The boy stood in a puddle of urine clutching a teddy bear. He wore frog
pattern pyjamas. ‘I’m her to help,’ Harry said, closing the bedroom door and
getting closer to the child. People would judge Harry, no doubt about it because
he was in a neighbour’s house trying to help a kid he only briefly knew after
James had him over for tea a couple of times.
It would have been nice if the neighbourhood wasn’t so reclusive. The days
of Beach Town barbeques and picnics were long gone.
The kid screamed. Sweet mother, Harry thought. He attempted to pat the kids
shoulder but the boy was afraid and stepped back. The kid stopped crying and bit
the arm of the teddy in comfort. Harry then recognised the teddy bear. It was
James’s, and he always had it with him. Harry checked the tag, it read James
Carrington. Hallelujah. Harry smiled; this was a successful rescue mission. A
teddy was better than nothing.
‘Where did you get that?’ he asked. The kid pointed to the wardrobe behind
him. Harry’s heart sank. Could it be that James was already dead in the
wardrobe, or had James given him the teddy bear? Harry walked towards the
wardrobe.
There was a shuffling in the closet. Harry dropped to his knees. A tear
trickled down his cheek. The pain in his hand subsided. There was no noise.
Harry braced himself and opened the wardrobe doors.
The wooden doors slid open and a little boy jumped out. Harry grabbed
James as hard as he could and sobbed into James’s shoulders. It was his son,
alive in the neighbour’s house. It was a miracle, a true miracle.
James held a kitten and it sniffed Harry. Harry let go and kept hold of
James’s hand, he wouldn’t let go of him again.
The dead banged on the front door. A car screeched followed by a metallic
bang and a flash of light pulsed through the window to Harry’s right.
‘James?’ Harry asked. He hugged James again, it reminded him of the day he
was born. He would never let him out of his sight again. Little James pushed his
dad back and stroked the kitten’s head.
‘Careful you’ll hurt the kitten,’ James said. The kitten was cute fresh with
glistening eyes and groomed brown fur. Harry wept tears of joy. James had
found life and happiness in all this death. James was young and appeared
unfazed by the reality of the situation.
‘James, where is mummy?’ Harry asked. He had forgotten about his hand
bleeding and grabbed the bed sheet to clean the blood. He picked James up and
placed him on the mattress.
The other boy was distant, and he fondled with the pillows. James held both
palms up with his lower lips extended, he didn’t know. Molly had been selfish
leaving James here. Harry squeezed his hand, the stinging wound stopped
bleeding. A white light of satisfaction grew inside that his genes, flesh and blood
was alive.
‘Where did you see her last?’ Harry asked. He was interrogating his own son
over his mother’s incompetence. The marriage had gotten a bit worse over the
last year, but to abandon James, that was petty. Unless she did him the favour of
topping herself, he wanted to feel her beg for life in that moment. That WAS
THE RAGE again. He took a deep breath and sat on the bed next to James. His
buttocks sank into the star covered quilt.
Little James held a finger to his lips, using every bit of strength that he had to
figure out where mummy was.
‘She went to grandpa’s,’ James cheered, smiling in victory. Harry felt like
everyone was against him now. His son abandoned amid an epidemic. Was she at
the hospital before or after he was? When he finds out they better answer for
this.
The only things that mattered now were the kid’s lives and finding secure
shelter. The church was a street away and the fire station adjacent.
Once he visited the fire station for fire extinguisher training for his
workplace. The station housed a padlocked room containing emergency supplies
for earthquakes, but so did the church. It was difficult to conclude. The other
option was the police station. The three of them couldn’t stay huddled in the
cupboard all night. It felt strange caring for a stranger’s child. The child was
Harry’s responsibility now and he would protect both children.
The dead had broken into the house and shambled upstairs. They clawed at
the bedroom door. Harry had locked it and returned to the window. He counted
thirty zombies wandering the street. To the left on a dresser, a note caught his
eye.
It had Harry’s name on it. Harry picked it up. The reverse side read: “Miss
Penny for Harry Carrington”. The note was a red flag. Harry examined the note
before opening it, the paper was dog eared and stained. The town was a cake,
and this note the icing. Harry opened and read the letter. His heart fluttered.
Harry could see the dead invading his porchway.
He tried to let the words sink in. Obviously, the neighbours had slept in the
spare room and let the boys share. Why not take James to her dads? Why not let
Harry take care of James rather than fobbing him off with the neighbours?
Molly’s dad lived so far North he might as well live in the sea.
Miss Penny had a profound drinking habit as evidenced by the empty bottle
of vodka in the trash can next to the dresser. The bloke, Harry wasn’t sure of, but
a stranger and probably not police vetted. The note had read a solemnly
goodbye, akin to a suicide, but Harry would have preferred her death to this;
For Harry,
I have been with you now for some time, and every day I remember when we
got on the road and began our journey into love. That was then, and this is now.
Things change, and people change. All I can think of is James and so I’ve had to
break our hearts as they beat as one. They used to be one and now they are
nothing, you don’t feel the same and I don’t either. We cannot pretend forever,
even for James sake.
You’ll probably wonder why I didn’t tell you to your face, but it isn’t like that.
I wanted to, and I was GOING to. When I told you, James was at the hospital, it
was a minor cut that needed stiches, and that was when I wanted to do it, so that
you could take James home and be angry as you should be. So that I could have
some time to get over it too. I am angry as I write this, because I couldn’t do it
and I felt ashamed afterwards. So, I left James in the care of our neighbours,
Margaret Penny and her boyfriend Henry. After I said my goodbye and wrote
this, I departed town and made for my mother’s house, where I will be staying
until you come to terms with this. By the time you get this letter, you can forget
about trying to amend anything, and to just move on.
I know about you and Sheila, and how your life would be better with her and
Wendy sucking on your dick, you can have that now, so enjoy it. I won’t leave
this letter bitter because I have too much self-respect. I’ll have to go to a
solicitor about the custody of James so make the most now while you still have
access.
I was always faithful, loyal and caring and loving and you threw it back at
me and I’ve had enough.
Molly x
The letter ended with a dark kiss, the real heartbreaker of it all. Perhaps being
eaten was the only redemption left in this sin ridden world.
Her mother lives near the docks on the North West part of the island. Like
her father, it was at least ten miles out. There is a road that leads off from the
beachfront to the Northern part of the island. It is rarely used as the dock’s
community is self-sufficient and receive goods from freight ships. The entirety
of the Northern community could be safe.
James and the shy kid were playing with the kitten on the bed. Harry was
zoned out. The dead on the landing had quietened, they didn’t scratch at the
door. What he couldn’t understand was why she would lie about James. That
grinded him. He massaged his cheeks. If she had told him it was easily
remedied, he could have avoided the hospital and avoided having his back
impaled and bruised by Charlie. He could have avoided the dreary hours in that
doctor’s office saving lives. Oh boy, she better have a good solicitor, because
there was only one way this could go, his way.
Harry walked to the bed. ‘Kid, what’s your name?’ Moonlight shone onto
Harry’s face; tears streaked his cheeks. The corners of his mouth were dry. The
boy looked in awe. He smelt of urine and needed some new clothes, but Harry
didn’t know where the clothes were. He didn’t know if this was Miss Penny’s
son or someone else she looked after.
‘Sam,’ he said. Sam cried the mucous in his eyes dry. That was something
they all needed, water. Harry reached for James, lifted his shirt and examined the
bandage on his shoulder. The bandage was well covered, it shouldn’t be a
problem. The pyjamas could be a problem if the rain didn’t let up. They were
silk black long sleeves, a size too big. The neighbours must have given him
them. Another point for the lawyers, Molly couldn’t be bothered to bring fresh
clothes before leaving.
‘Nice to meet you Sam,’ Harry smiled reluctantly. He was drained. He used
tampons left on the table to wrap around his hand.
They had to evacuate off the island. There had been no news of any
government safe zones or quarantine zones on the radio.
The church was the safer option with its big doors and high windows. It was
a haven during earthquakes. An earthquake had struck a few months ago, it was
big enough to destroy the church gates and dislodge the bricks around the bell
tower. If one happened now it would be a blessing. The earthquake would knock
the dead over and give them a chance to escape. God, if you are listening, send
me, James and Sam an earthquake. Harry felt selfish for meddling with such
thoughts. Wait no, don’t do that, just help us.
His thoughts were out of focus, he was dumbfounded, why say a prayer to
god? Harry didn’t believe in him. Only when his family were gone did he truly
want to believe. It was faith or adrenaline or a primal thing. Yes, a primal urge
for survival integrated in his DNA.
Deciding where to escape to weighed on Harry’s mind. It was more difficult
than deciding whether to buy Coke or Diet Coke. It was more difficult than
deciding whether he should watch another episode of a tv program, than tea or
coffee, than bare or bareback.
He had to let the children of tomorrow, future leaders, start to choose.
Because eventually they’ll have to decide the fate of their own family’s lives.
‘Kids let’s play a game. James, let the kitten go,’ Harry said. James released
the kitten and it skirted under the bed and peeked out. Harry knelt on the floor
beside the bed. The dead in the house had returned to the bedroom door. Time
was short. Both kids sat on the edge of the bed in awe. Sam urgently needed
clean trousers, otherwise he’d end up with a rash from the urine.
‘Church or fire station?’ Harry asked. They looked at each other and giggled.
Sam was becoming more open with Harry and was acting normally. Harry was
unsure how to deal with a kid with learning disabilities. He had nothing against
them, but he knew they could be difficult to manage. James held his hand up to
Harry. Harry jumped.
One of the dead had fallen down the staircase. Waves of groans carried
through the street. It was unnerving.
‘James, go ahead.’
‘Fire, fire struck,’ James said, bearing a wide grin. One of his teeth was
stained. Sam please concur.
‘Sam.’ Sam shuffled closer to James. The kitten happily bounced around
Harry’s legs and then pounced to the bed and clawed at the string on their
pyjama bottoms. ‘Your turn.’ Sam shook his head. Please answer kid your life
may depend on it.
He felt sorry for Sam. Why was he so shy? Were his parents abusive? Who
the heck were his parents?
Harry was thinking when a stone hit the window. He quickly walked to the
window and a face popped up and startled him. The kids jumped back. Little
James slid onto the floor and under the bed with the kitten meowing as he
followed. Sam did the same.
The lady was pale and young. She must have climbed the gutter to the
window frame. Harry pushed the window open, after assessing her on his life
scale, she was alive.
The young girl rolled through the window. Her clothes and backpack wet as
she rustled onto the floor. Harry looked outside, a group of undead eyes gazed
back, they had gathered around the front garden. He shut the window.
The weather had deteriorated to post thunderstorm rain. It wasn’t unusual for
the island.
The girl panted and lay on the carpet. Harry knelt next to her patted her
shoulder. She didn’t mind. She rubbed her ribs; it was probably bruising from the
window frame because Harry couldn’t see blood.
‘Fire station,’ Sam shouted peering from under the bed. James and the kitten
shuffled out from under the bed frame, the quilt hung over them. Harry heard
and nodded to Sam with a relief grin. That was a load off. No more decisions
until rescue arrived.
The lady was dressed in cross country hiking gear with a small backpack.
Her boots looked new. She had her eyes shut and took slow breaths.
‘Where did you come from?’ Harry asked. He looked into her thick hazel
eyes, her skin was velvet, youthful. It was a vulnerable time for Harry. He
wondered if it was safe to be around a female. Even with the dead roaming the
streets, Harry wanted to lock the kids in the closet and fuck the lasses brains out.
Maybe even use Molly’s sex toy on her for revenge. The fantasy was becoming
too real and Harry refocused.
‘I live next door and I heard a kid screaming. I had to help. Have you seen
what’s going on outside?’ she said smiling. Harry returned the smile. He had
seen this from the start, the motorway and the hospital. He admired her courage
and patted her again in appreciation.
She shot him down with a stern look that said don’t look at me like that. He
stepped back to the bed, mindful not to stand on the kids or kitten. She stood up
unsteadily. She was fit and his height. Her breasts were plump and…Harry
refocused.
‘We’re heading to the fire station,’ Harry said. ‘We’ve voted and it’s the
safest place for us. I saw this days ago at the hospital before the police and the
town hall covered it up. They can’t control this it’s everywhere. Not just in
Beach Town. It’s London and Europe, they’re falling to the undead.’
She sat on the side of the bed and unclipped the backpack and placed it
down. Sam had crawled out from under the bed and retreated to the closet.
The dead weren’t banging on the bedroom door anymore.
‘You voted with children? The fire station isn’t safe,’ she said. ‘The church
or the police station will be. If this is an international crisis what can we do? she
said. Harry didn’t have a response formulated. She crossed her arms. Twenties,
no wrinkles or decayed teeth yet.
‘It’s the plan and it’s final, you can join us or stay here and wait for rescue,’
Harry said, she blushed. ‘How come I’ve never seen you if you live on this
street?’
The kitten bounced around her feet, playing with strands of cotton from the
bed sheet. She looked down at it pitifully. He could see her holding onto an
invisible coil of sanity.
‘If you think so, I’m with you.’ Harry was surprised. Two was company and
three a crowd. A crowd that he felt obligated to protect, a group he didn’t want to
get killed.
‘Good, how can we get to the fire station? he asked. He hadn’t a clue how
they were all going to sneak through back gardens.
She slipped off the bed and walked over to the window. She pointed and
Harry walked over to look. She pointed towards the silver Toyota Yaris outside.
‘That’s mine,’ she said. ‘I have the keys. We can use it.’
‘We can’t drive through them,’ Harry said. His hand stung and he clenched
the wound.
‘I’ve got a windup car that makes noise, when I wind it up and throw it they
follow it. That was at home. If I throw it away from the house, we can get to the
car and escape.’
‘Fool proof,’ Harry said. It was ridiculously simple, Harry hoped it worked.
‘You want my help? I can’t sleep here with them things trying to get in and
you and two kids I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We do it and we have a chance to
survive till the sun rises.’ She was firm, the children watched in amazement.
James probably wondered why a strange lady was telling his daddy what to do.
Molly never did. Maybe that was one of the problem with the marriage, Harry
had been too hard on her.
‘Let’s get ready,’ Harry told her and returned to the bed. First things first,
change Sam’s clothes, there had to be something they could wear lying about.
Fear might stop Harry on his journey, ‘kids, get ready for a game.’
That’s what it was for them now, a game of hide and seek, of run or die For
Harry, a horror game.
CHAPTER 19
The Plan
The strange woman who struggled in the window hadn’t introduced herself yet.
She hadn’t shown caring love to the children either or taken a liking to the kitten.
Every time the kitten meowed she shoved it away with her foot and it would be
jumping and scratching at loose fabric or anything it could get its paws on.
Poor James looked depressed. Sam, whoever’s kid he was, he didn’t look
like miss Penny, but he did have the crooked nose of Henry, looked down in the
dumps.
Harry had no idea if taking the kitten would get them all killed. To break the
news to James that he couldn’t take it would break his heart. Harry hadn’t seen
him bond with an animal before. He should have bought a kitten for James to
grow up with. Kids with pets appeared robust and mind strong, leaders by the
age of ten and in government by twenty, according to the ‘benefits of animals on
humans’, a study he read a while back. The kitten could stay if James held him
close. Harry would have to find a bag to put the cat in. He was carrying James
out of there himself. Sam too.
Harry had managed to find some spare clothes for the kids, and he let the girl
change Sam whilst he changed James. He found them in the corner in a bag.
Molly had brought spare clothes and shoes, but it didn’t get her off easily.
The woman rooted through her bag and pulled out the wind-up car she
mentioned. The kids waited to be picked up. Harry was ready. He had put the
kitten in the bag the clothes were in. He secretly named the kitten cinnamon,
after his favourite cake topping. What he wouldn’t give for a few cinnamon
biscuits dipped in hot cacao and steaming with whipped cream. Perfect weather
for it too. Wrap up warm with James and Molly on the sofa and watch a movie.
Complain ab…. his thought was interrupted.
‘Ready, let’s go,’ she said standing at the bedroom door. She had her
backpack on, the toy in one hand and the door handle in the other. Harry looked
around the bedroom. Nothing important left. He picked James up who held the
bag tight and then Sam who was a little heavier, his shoulders tensed under them.
His hand wound stung.
It sounded like a lone zombie roamed the landing. He had left the note from
Molly. He dumped the note into the trash after reading it. He was glad to see the
crumpled words go where they belonged.
‘Shut your eyes kids,’ Harry said. ‘James keep hold of that cat and don’t let
go. If you let go we can’t go back for him.’ James sighed in agreement and they
closed their eyes. The adrenaline coursed through his body. He was a warrior,
there was no danger.
‘What’s your name? I don’t want to do this not knowing who helped me save
my son,’ he asked. She looked into his eyes but remained silent. She turned the
door handle and opened the door. The zombie dived in for her and she booted it
back. The beast stumbled backwards through the banister before crashing down
the staircase. It was dark and the house eerie.
The kids cried. The kitten meowed. The danger was real.
‘Keep your eyes closed,’ James told the kitten. Harry waited for the girl to
lead the way.
She took the lead down the landing and the staircase. There was no light and
it sounded clear. Harry was close behind. If she turned around he’d be hit
accidentally. She wound up the toy car and approached the front door. She
looked back to Harry and nodded before opening the front door. Two large
zombies waited at the porch; she tossed the toy far into the darkness. Moments
passed before it rang out.
Sam cried. Harry couldn’t help, his hands were tied.
She shunted the dead back and they turned and headed for the ringing toy.
Harry saw the street of the undead surrounding the toy car. She led them into the
night and down the garden to the pavement.
An explosion rippled through the street; flames erupted from Harry’s nextdoor
neighbour. Flames extended to the electric lines and the streetlamps went
out. The house began to crumble, the roof caved in and the zombies nearest set
alight.
Shambling corpses vanished into the dark. The moon was obscured by
clouds.
Harry looked to the car; she was already opening the doors, but more dead
wandered their way.
A man ran out from the burning building, he was on fire and screamed before
running into the dead and disappearing into the black road. Harry didn’t see
them eat him and he didn’t want to.
She kicked a zombie back and shoved her backpack in the car.
Harry walked to the car. He was grabbed from behind and he dropped the
kids. James dropped the kitten.
If Harry was to die like this he had to give the kid something to love after
he’s gone. Harry tossed the terrorised kitten to his son. The woman ran to the
kids as Harry fought off the beast. She took them to the car and locked them
inside.
The dead swarmed Harry and encircled him. He couldn’t fight them all off
bare handed. One scratched his thigh, Harry heard a chattering mouth and
watched as a crawling zombie bit into his calf. The girl appeared like
superwoman and booted the zombies back.
Harry could feel the heat from the house fire. He fell to the floor.
Harry came to, his mind whirly and disorientated.
She shoved the zombies back. The toy was no longer ringing, and Harry saw
shadows approaching from all directions. It was like a nightmare, she was the
saviour, an angel.
The world was sharp contrast and time froze. Harry looked to James who
watched from the car window. James was safe, Harry could die now.
Harry felt the wound bleeding. Inner flesh was exposed. The zombies
ignored him and tried to claw at the girl. He crawled along the wet pavement
towards the car. The gravel stung his hand wound.
Harry opened the car door and pulled himself into the driver’s seat. The kids
were distraught. He closed the door; the keys were on the passenger seat. In the
side mirror Harry saw smouldering corpses falling from the windows of the
burning house.
The dead hadn’t followed him. They hadn’t attempted to enter the car. It was
harsh but the children were more important. Not a nameless woman. Harry
grabbed the keys and start the car. Blood pooled around the pedals. Harry’s head
was fuzzy.
Harry regained consciousness again. The girl jumped in the passenger seat;
blood splattered over her dark green waterproof coat.
He was losing blood too fast. Something dark and inhuman was happening in
the world. Harry didn’t know why he wanted to leave her; he just did.
Harry hit the accelerator and the car moved slowly down the road. The closer
to the junction they got the less zombies there were. Harry turned left, the
pavements crawling with the undead. They passed the first street on the left; they
passed the church and zombies were attempting to get in the doors. Harry
clicked the fog lights on. The fire station was in the distance on the right
surrounded by fields. Lights were on inside. Harry increased speed and drove
around two zombies in the road.
The mysterious young woman wasn’t talkative. The kids checked on the
kitten.
Harry saw the fire station on the right and pulled the car into the car park,
there was one car parked up. The station entrance was clear. In the rear-view
Harry watched the night carnage. Zombies were unaware of them.
He panicked; the disease could take him any minute. It wasn’t safe to be
around the kids.
‘Let’s get inside quickly,’ she said. She got out and got the kids out. Harry
turned the car off and pocketed the keys before limping from the driver’s seat to
the concrete.
They had little time to discuss anything. The pain was like bee stings. He
limped to the station entrance, a big sign above the door read: Beach Town Fire
Department. They were waiting in the entrance. An empty receptionist desk,
waiting seats and an empty water fountain were the only things there. There
were two doors, one behind the desk and one to the right. The floor was shining,
the janitor must have been here as recently as last night. The stone walls were
decorated with health and safety signs and pictures of Beach Town and fire
chiefs. A gold-plated plaque was placed above the doorway behind the desk. It
read: changing room.
Harry saw no other option; his leg was becoming heavier by the minute. The
other door to the right had a glass window and Harry could see it led to the fire
truck bay. There was one fire truck and it was on mounts with paint cans
scattered around it along with cleaning canisters.
‘To the changing room,’ Harry said. He limply led the way through the door.
The girl pulled James and Sam along. She was rough.
The door led to a long narrow corridor with rooms on either side. They
walked down the hallway, Harry looking for the changing room. At the end of
the corridor was a door to the staircase.
‘Wait, here,’ the girl said. Her brunette hair swayed around her shoulders.
Harry saw a tattoo of a lily pad on her neck.
She opened a door to the right. Harry had missed it. James stayed close to
Harry and Sam leapt forward to the girl. She took Sam’s hand to Harry’s
surprise.
This was surreal. She looked in the room and without hesitation flicked the
wall light on. She had good instincts. Harry closed the door behind them.
The room was small. Two bunkbeds were placed against the far wall. They
were neatly made, and Harry could smell the detergent. There was a sink with a
mirror above it in the left corner. But no toilet. It made sense to keep the latrines
and showers separate. They didn’t want to see or smell that while sleeping.
Harry walked to the bunkbed, he had to lay down. The itching wound was
unbearable hot. The room was spinning. It had to be mild shock; the infection
couldn’t have taken hold that quick. He rolled onto the bottom bunk bed.
‘You need to get out, or get rid of your leg,’ she said. She dropped her bag on
the floor. Harry’s worries were just beginning. She knelt, unzipped the bag and
pulled out a seven-inch carving knife. Harry gulped. James and Sam were
preoccupied with the kitten.
She approached the bed and he held his arms up.
Moments or hours could have passed when he woke up. The bitten leg was
no longer in pain, it was agonisingly tight as if someone had wrapped a
compressor around it and sucked the air out. Harry’s forearms bulged as he
grabbed at his calf.
James and Sam were nowhere to be seen. Good god what had she done to
them. The girl knelt looking at Harry. The bloodied blade on the floor.
‘What have you done, where are the kids? Nothing made sense. Fire station
was all he recalled and everything else literally shimmered. She was moving her
lips. Her hands planted firmly on his shoulder now. She looked very graceful.
Sound popped back into his ears.
‘I saw them die and turn after being bitten,’ she said, looking at the wound.
Harry could feel a sheet bandaged around his calf; it was tight. ‘I’ve had to use
the spare bed sheet, there was one under the bunk. I’ve got painkillers, there
should be more in the station somewhere. Don’t worry,’ she comforted his
shoulder, but he shook it off and pushed her away. Whatever she’s done, she’s
going to get it.
Whatever had happened at the hospital was behind him. Charlie was a noshit-
kind-of-guy. Charlie would have her by the throat. But not Harry. He
wouldn’t and couldn’t, it wasn’t in him.
He tried to move his leg, but it was stiff. ‘Painkillers now,’ he said. ‘Right
now. What did you do?’ he asked but she didn’t answer. She just pulled a small
brown screw cap bottle from her bag along with a flask. Harry took it
immediately and drank. The cool water flushed his throat. She snatched it back.
‘Save that, it could be the last fresh water in town. Just take two of these,’
she said. She placed two large red and white multicolour capsules into his palm
which he willingly threw back in his throat. He was about to swallow dry when
he realised the pills could be anything. Poison, ecstasy, painkillers so strong he
would overdose. Before he could panic and protest she pushed the bottle on his
lips, and he swigged them. It’s too late now. He needed to trust her more and
stop worrying about mundane things.
The painkillers were fast acting and kicked in moments later, placebo effect
and a good one. An empty stomach and little water didn’t help.
The girl walked to the door and opened it, James and Sam stepped in with
the kitten. Harry was angered she left them outside, but it was for their safety.
She walked back to Harry looking down at him.
‘I cut away the bite wound so you won’t be able to walk properly for a while.
Maybe a few hours or days, I’m not sure. I’ve never done this before,’ she said.
She grabbed her bag and sat on the bunk parallel to Harry. Harry heard her unzip
the bag and gathered the mental energy to lift himself up. He leant on the back
wall. He could see her writing in a notepad. Her pen had a pink feather on the
end. The kids played in the corner next to the sink.
The room was dazzlingly bright. Harry had a bout of vertigo. He leaned over
the bunk to check the wound. She had wrapped and knotted it extremely tight.
But it covered the mess he didn’t want to see. Whoever she was, she was smart.
She had cut away the infection, she had saved him, but Harry had a suspicion
something inhuman lurked within her. She continually kicked the kitten away
and the way she dragged the kids in the building earlier was uncalled for. She
could have carried them or told them to run.
There was little chance of getting to the North of the island and zero chance
of escaping via the motorway bridge. The town was overrun, the city was
overrun, and London was falling. The fire station would suffice for now.
‘Do you think I would have become one of those creatures,’ he said. She was
lost in her notepad and then he added, ‘do you?’
‘I was up reading when they invaded the street, I tried calling the police but
there was no answer,’ she said. Typical crisis response. Harry knew cutting the
phone signals was ridiculous, there was no way they were planning to help
people after disconnecting them. The government could have at least left the
WIFI on, but nothing. It could only mean one thing. The news was correct, and
London and Europe were falling to the dead. Harry wasn’t sure about the rest of
the world, but he prayed United Nations or NATO would get involved and save
them all. Considering how quick the superpowers are at responding, the fact they
hadn’t was terrifying, this could be global. ‘Yes, I do.’
She flicked through the pages of her notebook. It had a brown leather cover
and sealed with a magnet lock that popped over the edge.
‘How did you know that cutting the bite would help?’ Harry asked. She
shrugged. She rustled her hair with her hand. Her locks swaying. She unbuttoned
the top of her jacket and it revealed a blue shirt.
After reading the letter from Molly he had no time to process his feelings.
The attraction to the girl was uncanny. Was it the lack of sex? He remembered all
the sleepless nights and early awakenings where nothing occurred. How long
had that gone on for? Years.
‘I was on the motorway a few days ago, I think that’s when this thing
started,’ she said. ‘They died and came back. The dead people came back to life
and attacked the living, they bit them and then they rose and then it happened all
over again and again and again…’ she burst into tears and wiped the tears away
with her finger.
Harry could see her pain. It was hard to interpret before but now it was clear.
She was on the motorway and he had no doubt they were there on the same day.
She may have been closer to town. She sobbed. The kids looked. Harry didn’t
want them to see anymore distress.
‘You’ll survive, Harry said. ‘We’ll be able to get through today and find
someone who can tell us what to do, we can escape this nightmare.’
She placed the notepad on the bed. Harry saw it was full of writing, probably
a diary. Harry pushed himself onto the stone floor and slid across to her. His leg
burned.
‘Calm down. We’re the adults here and we need to stay strong for the
children, please,’ he said. She stopped sobbing.
The kids were teasing the kitten’s tail.
She reached into her bag and pulled out some tissues. Harry wanted to search
the bag and find out what the tablets were, because although they looked official
it seemed they had done nothing for the pain. There was a possible infection to
worry about. If he had a doctor’s degree the whole situation would be easier.
Heck a psychologist degree would better help him understand the woman.
He was a good man and good to his son. But Molly? Was he really that
emotionally unavailable as to not understand her feelings? This is deep stuff. He
understood not everything could be rationale or blamed on him.
‘You’d be upset if you saw what I saw. People, parents being ripped to shreds
and then coming after you,’ she sobbed but managed to keep it decent.
He couldn’t protect James, and he supposed Sam, forever. Eventually they
would know of the harsh reality of the world. James would have no choice; he
would have to grow up in this horrible new world. Harry still had to tell him
about his mother. Before the dead began to rise needing a solicitor applied, but
not now, not at least for a while. Molly was probably dead. If London was going
down then Molly’s mother’s house wasn’t safe, they were close to the docks.
Ships frequented the docks from London.
It wasn’t upsetting coming to accept Molly may be dead. What was upsetting
was the note about her leaving. Death could be mourned, and he could move on.
But relationships couldn’t without some decent whiskey. If she had become a
flesh-eating ghoul, he’d have payback to exact, if not, he’d exact a mouthful of
shit at her. He inhaled and his heartrate slowed.
‘Did they get your parents?’ Harry asked. She obviously lived at home. She
was youthful wearing a sci-fi shirt. The thought he fancied her sickened him, if
she was a teenager. He was twenty years older at least.
She took another tissue from the pack and wiped her cheeks before suckling
on the water bottle. Harry watched it drain past two hundred millilitre’s and held
his hand to stop her. ‘Like you said, best save it.’ She laughed and put the bottle
and tissues back in the backpack.
‘I was reading when they came down the street. I had my bag packed after
seeing the news about the city,’ she said. Harry hadn’t given much thought to
preparing. ‘I prepared and I went downstairs while my parents were asleep. I
grabbed the biggest knife I could find, that thing,’ she gasped, pointing to the
large bloody knife on the floor. Harry turned and picked the knife up and slid it
under the bunk, he didn’t want the children playing with it. ‘I didn’t have time to
wake them. They broke in the house before I could, so I ran back upstairs and
climbed out of my window. They were everywhere. I jumped up onto the roof, it
was soaking, and I jumped onto the neighbour’s roof where I heard the crying. I
saw them crazy people everywhere and waited to see what I could do. I thought
they spotted me, so I laid down. It was pitch black on that roof, even the birds
scared me. Then I saw you, on your roof. I waved but you couldn’t see me. Then
when you jumped down and ran across the road I thought you were coming to
help me. I prayed that you would help me. You didn’t help me. My parents were
dead, and I was alone, so I decided to climb to the window and help, otherwise I
would still be stuck there,’ she panted and picked the notebook up and began
reading it.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you, I was afraid,’ Harry consoled. The moment was
descending rapidly into depressing silence that went on, and on.
The kids giggled and the kitten was clawing at the oversized pants James
wore. He had no clue what to say to her. Was this it for him? Dumped from a
marriage and stuck to an awkward twenty something.
‘How old are you?’ he asked. The answer surprised him.
‘Nineteen, and yes I know I still live with my parents but I’m going to move
out soon’, she said, emphasizing the yes. Wow what a relief. She’s of adult age.
Harry was blushing and pulled himself back onto his bottom bunk. The leg pain
was subsiding.
He didn’t care that she still lived with her parents, he had until he was
twenty, in his youth living with parents at eighteen was considered loitering and
for bottom feeders.
‘What’s your name? I need to know your name if you’re going to be near me
and James,’ he said. Looking into her eyes. She lifted her head; her cheeks were
stained from mascara.
‘What’s yours?’ she quipped. Harry laughed.
‘Harry, I practically live on the opposite side of the road, but I’ve never seen
you.’ He smiled at her and hoped it wasn’t inappropriate. He wasn’t sure how
this would work. A teen and a stranger’s child, this was more like a commercial
advert that advertises coffee with the world’s most perfectly unfitting family.
Those adverts were blatantly all smoke and mirrors. That was television though.
This was real and needed to be better than it was. It was going to be better, it had
to be.
‘Meghan, my friends call me Meg,’ she said and returned the smile. The
conversation was going well until the little kitten ran to her leg and she booted it
back. The kitten ran back to James after it shrieked.
That was a nasty move but given the circumstances and her losses it wasn’t
unreasonable considering he wanted to kill Molly earlier.
Progress was being made with Meg. Communication was key to survival.
The circle of survivors in the bunkroom were in for a hell of a journey and they
needed a new plan.
No fire crew had shown up yet. They’d probably went home after the phone
lines were cut. If anyone had a fire, they’d have to use extinguishers and pots of
water.
Society wasn’t completely ruined because there were still human beings
wandering the earth. Humans had survived for millennium; survival was
integrated into people.
Existence would boil down to food, water, medicine, homes, heating,
cigarettes, flashlights, batteries, oil…the list goes on, a headache of worry to
come.
‘Meg we’re going to need a new plan,’ Harry said, leaning back on the stone
wall. ‘I think we should stay here and check the building in the morning. We’ll
worry about everything else at dawn.’ He hoped to bounce ideas around but had
no energy.
‘We need to formulate a plan now, before daylight. You can’t check the
building. This rooms safe enough for now, the door is heavy,’ she responded
firmly.
‘I say we hold off here until the Government do something,’ Harry replied.
‘It wasn’t meant to be permanent when we voted to come here. It was out of
desperation, having a second chance I would have said the church, there would
have been people there,’ he added. His calf had numbed.
The room didn’t have air conditioning, it was hot and made his underarms
clammy.
‘And after?’ Meg queried. He wasn’t sure and shrugged. The town hall was
an option; it had heavy doors.
‘Town hall?’ he said hesitantly. Meg placed the notepad back into the
backpack and tilted her head at Harry. Sleep was tugging at him.
James and Sam had fallen asleep on the floor, the kitten was curled up on
James’s stomach. It didn’t look comfortable, but Harry didn’t want to wake
them.
‘We stay here till sunrise and then we’ll escape. We’re going to have to go
somewhere with police. So yeah, I guess the town hall will do,’ Meg said and
laid down on the bunk. Harry did the same. The mattress was firm.
Meg was hesitant and Harry wasn’t convinced she was on-board with the
plan. It was a matter for the morning. The bright lights annoyed him, but he
covered his face with his hands and sunk into the sheets.
CHAPTER 20
Others
Harry woke up unwillingly. A hand shook in front of his face.
He barely slept two hours.
The lights beamed bright; his senses reoriented after scanning the room.
Meg was rubbing his shoulder frantically, she was startled.
Harry smelt the familiar copper odour; groans of the dead cloaked the
silence. The dead were outside the fire station. The groans reminded Harry of
football chants and drunk fans swaying, spilling beer in blissful ignorance.
Only time would tell how long the door would last. Coming here now
seemed like a terrible idea. They should have fortified the neighbour’s house,
maybe the attic. Harry recalled his dream. The dead were slow in his dream. He
had run across the beach, weaving through a horde, when he understood his
lucid state he had suddenly broke to a walk and he escaped. That was their
weakness, their slow pace. In numbers the dead were strong. If Harry was smart
during the run then he could get James, Sam and Meg to the town hall safely.
‘Harry, wake up,’ Meg said prodding his shoulder. ‘Did you get up last
night?’ Harry attempted to push her away, but he noticed knew stains of blood on
the floor in the shape of feet. He sat up; his leg was no longer in agonising pain.
‘Where are the kids?’ he asked. She pointed to the top bunk. Thankfully they
were sleeping. James and Sam needed new clothes. The kitten was meowing at
the foot of the bed, rubbing its back on the metal frame. They all needed food
and water.
‘Was it you who did that?’ she asked and pointed to the blood feet on the
floor. He hadn’t gotten out of bed all night. Unless he was sleep walking, which
was unlikely. Harry leant his elbows on his knees. Meg reached for the flask of
water on the other bunk and passed it to Harry. It had a mouthful left at most.
‘Has James had any, what about Sam?’ he asked. He handed the flask back to
Meg and she scorned, Harry did not like it one bit.
‘I tried to give them some when they woke up earlier, they sipped some and
said it was horrid, so I left them,’ her voice shaky. Harry took the flask back and
licked a few drops from the bottle. The kids had to be first to get rations to keep
their strength.
‘They’re always first,’ Harry said pointing to the bunk above and handing the
bottle back to Meg, she stored it in the backpack on her bunk. ‘We’re stronger,
besides we have running water don’t we?’ Harry said. Meg walked to the sink
and turned the tap, nothing came out.
The kitten had pissed on the floor and it mixed with the bloody boot stain.
Then it ran and pounced at Meg’s bunk and clawed at her backpack. Harry
expected her to throw it off. She walked to the kitten and picked it up and
stroked it. She was becoming more tolerant. Meg trotted across the wet floor,
opened the door and tossed the kitten out of the room. No, she wasn’t.
The kitten scratched to get back in for a minute. It would attract the dead
right to them. The kitten was another mouth to feed. There was no running water
and electricity wouldn’t last much long before the government shut the power
grid off. Still, cinnamon could have been like the toy car.
‘You need to calm down Meg,’ Harry said. ‘That cats going to attract more
undead. We’re fucked already, so try not to make it worse.’ Harry reached for the
bunkbed frame and lifted himself to his feet. The ground rocked. Harry looked
down at his bare feet. He should have scavenged for a pair of shoes. His feet
were filthy.
‘It can’t get worse than this, we’re in an empty fire station with a creepy
stalker watching us, what is wrong with you?’ Meg yelled. It reminded Harry of
Molly. Meg sat down on her bunk and pulled out the notebook again. Harry
could find some shoes whilst the kids slept.
‘Let’s just find a radio, clothes and water. Surely there’s a kitchen in here
somewhere and a control room,’ Harry limped across the floor avoiding the
blood. He opened the door, Cinnamon had gone. The kitten could have been a
food detector. At home he could go to the fridge and take out chicken slices and
then make a chicken mayonnaise sandwich.
‘Where are you going?’ Meg asked. He scanned the corridor. It was empty.
‘Radio, food, water and clothes,’ he said. ‘If you’re coming hurry up
otherwise we’re fucked staying in here.’ Meg was testing his patience.
Fortunately, the hallway was well lit. He let go of the door, held the wall for
support and began to walk back towards the receptionist room.
He walked past a white wall clock, it read eight am. Cinnamon was gone for
now. Harry couldn’t see any blood trail. As he walked closer to front office he
spotted the bloody boot trail. The bloody footprints were close to the wall, as if
who-ever-it-was had tried to sneak. They could have been evading the dead.
Harry peered through the glass frame into the office, it was empty, the front
doors were closed.
He turned back and headed back to the bunkroom and heard footsteps in the
distance.
A shadow was cast on the wall in the distance.
‘Stop, who are you,’ he shouted and paced along close to the wall. Meg
peered from the bunkroom door and Harry carried on down the corridor.
He should have brought the knife for protection. He reached the end of the
hallway, in front a door led to the staircase and to the right another corridor. He
turned right and saw the sign on the wall for canteen. He chased the elusive
shadow, it appeared again at the end of the hallway. Every room he passed
contained useful items, but no people.
This mysterious figure was an annoyance. He didn’t have time to chase it.
He stopped and leant against the wall. The door in front had gold letters in a
black border engraved in the wood. It read: Chief Fire Inspector. Below that:
Ronald McCormack. The name sounded familiar, but he struggled to recall
where he heard it.
The doctor’s office flashed into his retina like a bad nightmare. An image of
a silent hallway crumbled in his mind. The hospital flashed before him. Jamie
and the others huddled around Charlie’s body. He couldn’t escape the visions. A
mirage of trauma. A sea of dead faces was talking. A woman asked if he was
okay, he jumped, Sheila’s face was decaying, blood poured from her eyes. He
was paralysed. A snake latched onto his leg and the fire station came into view.
‘Shit,’ he cried. It was the kitten, clawing at his leg, meowing repeatedly for
food. He sighed and petted it, Cinnamon purred. Footsteps distracted him; a
large shadow was cast on the wall further down the hallway.
He picked up Cinnamon and pushed into the fire chief’s office. The room
smelt of vanilla. Papers were stacked neatly on the desk. The floor was covered
in boxes of paperwork and shards of glass were scattered beneath them.
He knelt on his good knee. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching. He
put Cinnamon under his arm to keep it quiet, but she clawed into his bicep. The
footsteps stopped outside the office door. Harry crawled over to the desk and hid
behind it.
The door opened. Harry saw the blood-stained boots enter the room, then the
black trousers and a well-built torso in a yellow shirt. The guy wielded a
bloodied fire axe. The stranger crunched on the glass. Harry wasn’t going to
leave that office alone.
‘Come out from there, before I splat your head on the desk and wear your
eyes for medals,’ the man said. His voice was coarse. Harry shuffled to his feet
and stepped out from behind the desk.
The man had black hair and was rugged. He bore a frown, that looked
permanent.
Harry released the kitten and she jumped to the desk and clawed at the
paperwork. Hiding made Harry look like a wimp. A man with a kitten under a
desk. Not cool.
‘I’m alive,’ Harry said. ‘Who are you?’ The man lowered the axe to the floor
and leant on it like a cane.
‘The fire chief. You though, are here without good reason, it doesn’t matter
what’s happening outside, you shouldn’t be here,’ the chief said. Harry couldn’t
be bothered to question his title.
‘Ronald,’ Harry replied. ‘As you know I have children and we aren’t safe out
there, or in our homes. We needed, and I emphasise needed, to come to a
building secure enough to hold out in, if you have a problem with that then go
fuck yourself,’ Harry instantly regretted saying it, but the pain had returned.
The chief didn’t own the building, it was public owned. Everyone knew it.
Ronald didn’t look too pleased and then approached Harry. Ronald was Harry’s
height. Ronald’s muscles were larger than Harry’s. Like Charlie, Ronald could
defeat him.
‘Can’t argue with that, you need to keep you kids safe, I respect that. But you
have twenty-four hours left here, then I’m kicking you out, this is my place, I’m
the Chief and I run it, so what I say goes,’ Chief said. He walked backward to the
office door, opened it and left. Harry’s spine tingled and his legs went weak. He
sat on the table.
Harry was lost. Staying long enough to formulate a plan wasn’t going to
happen, because with Chief Ronald wielding that axe, they weren’t safe.
Twenty-four hours, not generous. They’d all have to leave the station by eight
am. He hoped Meg could fit any scavenged food in her backpack. He was
hungry and his belly rumbled. The kids were too. Twenty-four hours.
They bagged up the blankets into Megs rucksack before heading to the
canteen.
They found bread, butter, milk, tea, coffee and an assortment of biscuits and
cakes stuffed in little oval tins in the cupboards.
Harry drank two black coffees and ate three digestive biscuits within half
hour. Meg ate toast. Sam and James ate toast at Harry’s insistence, they needed
real food before indulging in soft mini chocolate cakes. It would suffice for now.
Meg had put a full pack of digestives and tea bags into her backpack. Harry gave
Cinnamon a bowl of milk. Cinnamon quit meowing after drinking it. The Chief
hadn’t returned to them. Thankfully.
The canteen was large, four stainless steel tables were plotted around the
room covered in a polystyrene white sheet. The countertops were covered in
crumbs after their preparations. There were windows behind them looking out to
a grassy yard.
Morning dew lingered on the weeds. The dead swayed past occasionally
unaware of their presence. Harry was facing the windows. He could see more
zombies in the distance. The glass was thick enough to block out sound. They
couldn’t hear the kids playing or hear the kettle boil. The kettle was already full
when they arrived.
There was a bitter bottle of water in the fridge. Harry discarded it after trying
to drink it. Luck and miracle were keeping him, his son, and Sam and Meghan
alive. They weren’t the only survivors. There would be others. Evidenced by
Chief’s existence. There would be many more survivors scattered through the
remains of Beach Town. A once thriving populace.
The town was decimated, over the year’s numbers had dwindled and
businesses had struggled. Harry feared he would lose his job before the outbreak.
Business was dying in the opera house. Shops had frequent sales to pull
customers in. Many stores on the beach front had gone bust and were boarded
up. The town was dying from a poor economy. Now it was dead.
Having Sheila’s girlfriend Wendy as house planner probably contributed.
Wendy used to rant on about being keen to replace parks with houses. Ugly
council houses. The cheap brick. Unattractive and uneconomical. The dead
rising could be the boost that Beach Town needs. It would make a funny
museum. Harry laughed.
Harry had found stronger painkillers in the cupboards – ibuprofen and
aspirin – they relieved his leg pain. The coffee and biscuits energised him.
Watching the dead walk past as he ate biscuits was unreal.
‘Did he say anything else?’ Meg asked. She was munching on burnt toast
crusts. Meg was unaware she had a splodge of butter on her lip.
‘No not one word, but he said something about a nuclear meltdown,’ Harry
joked. Meg spluttered her toast out with a gasp.
‘What the hell,’ she yelled. She shuffled the chair across to Harry.
‘Calm down I was joking,’ he replied.
James named the kitten fire cat much to Harry’s disappointment, Harry
preferred Cinnamon. The kids desperately needed clothes and Harry needed
shoes.
‘Chief didn’t say anything else,’ Harry said. ‘We’ve got a while though
before we have to go, so don’t worry.’ Harry grabbed a gluten free biscuit from
the plate of biscuits on the table. He preferred chocolate digestives. He was
unpleasantly surprised at how disgusting it was. It was tasteless. ‘Probably best
to find some clothes and water, we need to stay fresh as long as we can.’
The dead walked to the window. Harry froze mid bite and placed the cream
biscuit on the plate.
Meg laughed at something. The dead gazed in watching them. Their black
eyes unnerving Harry. They needed to get out of there. The bloody faces swayed,
not attempting to break the window.
‘Kids stop now,’ Harry whispered. The dead were taunting Harry. Fresh flesh
dangled form their mouths as they gnawed into the air.
Meg turned around.
The corpses were covered in mildew like the grass. A few dead children
wore ripped pyjamas amongst the crowd. A woman with no ear shambled into a
man with no cheeks. The zombies began to hit the glass.
The canteen door bust open and they all jumped. Meg dived to the floor.
Harry had a shockwave of low blood pressure. It was Chief, he was pale and
stuttered his breathing.
‘We have to go, now, they got in,’ Chief panted.
Harry speedily stood up ignoring his stinging wound pain. He marched to
Ronald glaring for an explanation. The Chief was sweating, thick beads trickled
down his face onto his shirt. He looked like he had killed someone and run a
thousand miles. His hair was drenched with sweat.
‘Where?’ Harry’s asked, concerned for the safety of the kids. Chief watched
the dead at the window. Chief walked to the canteen door then stopped and
turned around. The axe was slipping through his fingers.
‘No time, let’s go,’ Chief said standing at the door. Meg grabbed the
backpack and slung it over her shoulders. She grabbed James and Sam’s hands.
The zombies broke through the canteen window. The dead clambered over
the broken glass. Harry went and grabbed James’s hand and swung him onto his
back. James held the kittens fur letting her swing like a cuddly bear.
The zombies fell across the broken window. Limbs ripped on the glass and
black goo dripped onto the stone floor. Chief waited patiently for Harry and Meg
to get the kids.
Harry saw a dead police officer rise from the ground.
Chief Ronald escorted them right from the canteen back through to the main
corridor. Chief headed directly for a fire exit in front. Chief opened the fire exit
and the zombies dived forward. Harry held James tight. Meg had Sam in
between her knees whilst scanning the corridor.
‘Kill it’, Meg yelled.
Ronald swung the axe. Harry had to jump back. The axe spun around and
decapitated three corpses, their heads rolled from their shoulders and their bodies
dropped to floor.
James and Sam cried. It was disgusting. Harry hurled up biscuits and coffee
onto the stone wall. Chief swung his axe again. It latched onto another zombie’s
neck. Blood spurted onto Chief’s shirt and face. The corpses head was half
ripped off its shoulders and Chief raised the axe and split the zombies head into
two. Chief kicked the heads outside and slammed the fire exit door shut.
Harry saw the beasts infiltrating the corridor, pouring from the canteen.
Chief opened the door on the right, the stairs. Harry ran through the door, then
Meg followed by Chief. They climbed the staircase one level. Harry was
exhausted.
Sam was being dragged by Meg, she failed to realise when the bone in Sam’s
wrist snapped and he screamed. There was no time to stop. Chief darted in front
and opened the door to a brown carpeted hallway. Paintings of Beach Town and
landscapes were placed along the corridor. They marched forward. A painting
caught Harry’s eye. A stencil outline of the opera house in black and white. The
walked past two doors until Chief opened a third door on the right.
‘Through here, hurry,’ Ron said. He held the door open.
Inside wooden benches lines the side of the room, a metallic fireman pole
was going through a hole in the floor in the right corner. Hooks were covered in
large yellow fire man jackets and hefty steel cap boots were under the benches.
Harry could take a pair.
Harry placed James down on the right bench. James cried and Harry hugged
him, James smiled but looked exhausted. Meg sat on the left bench. Chief leant
his stained axe against the door. Harry looked for Sam, he wasn’t here. Harry
hobbled over to Meg who was routing through her backpack.
‘Where’s Sam?’ Harry asked. Meg ignored him and continued to search the
backpack. Meg had snapped Sam’s wrist. Harry hoped to get him painkillers.
Chief looked to Harry and then looked around the room, but he didn’t say
anything. ‘He’s out there,’ Harry said. James looked to Harry and the Chief
stepped to the door and opened it.
‘Get out there quick,’ Chief said. Harry moved to the door and into the
hallway. Harry saw Sam crying on the floor near the staircase door.
Harry headed for Sam; the Chief followed. The dead burst through the
staircase door. The sheer weight of the horde had bust the door handle.
‘Run,’ Harry cried. Sam struggled to get up, his left wrist was limp. It was
too late.
Harry couldn’t watch. The dead piled onto Sam. Harry rushed forward, but
Chief grabbed his shoulder’s. The zombies tore into Sam as he lay in his wet
pyjamas, Sam cried for mummy. Harry wailed.
‘We have to help him,’ Harry blubbered. Chief pulled Harry by the arms
back into the changing room. Harry watched the zombies knock the opera house
picture to the floor where the dead trampled it. The Chief shoved Harry in the
room and walked off to the crowd of undead.
Harry slumped against down the wall next to the door. His forearms ached.
His face was sticky, and he needed water.
Harry watched in shock, Meg was calm, legs crossed reading the notebook
on the bench. The kitten was sleeping on James’s lap and he was stroking it,
smiling. James would be heartbroken when he found out Sam was dead.
Chief shunted the door open. Immediately Harry spotted an inch-deep bite
wound to his battle-scarred forearm.
CHAPTER 21
Times Change Quickly
It could have been anyone one of them. If it was Meg, they would fight to
retrieve her from the dead.
Meg hadn’t moved and continued to read her notebook. Probably
unintelligible rantings of a teenager.
Harry sat on the bench next to Ronald. Harry took slow breaths to calm
down. Meg was a malicious and deliberately selfish teen. Harry could see clearly
now. Chief grunted occasionally as he tried to stop the wound bleeding.
‘We need to cut the wound-out Meghan, get your knife out,’ Harry said. Meg
took one look at the bite and shook her head in disapproval.
‘What do you mean?’ Chief asked, gripping his wound.
‘I was bitten on my leg,’ Harry said. ‘Meghan cut the wound clean out, a
rather smart move.’ Harry sharpened his words like razors. Sarcastically
mocking Meg. Chief rolled his eyes in disbelief.
‘Forget it, we’ll use bandages,’ Chief argued. Harry was edgy, his son’s life
was at stake if Chief wasn’t taken care of.
Bringing the kitten was the best idea since portable games. James hadn’t
stopped playing with her. They hid under large fireproof jackets, James teasing
Fire Cat’s tail.
Harry wanted to take Chief out to protect James.
Harry lunged for the axe after Chief shut his eyes. Harry wielded the axe, it
was heavy. He carefully stepped next to the Chief. The pole hole was to the right
of Chief, he could kick him down there if need be. Chief was a good guy, but
survival was survival. Chief opened his eyes. Harry held the axe against Chief’s
chest.
‘Let’s talk about this,’ Chief pleaded. ‘I need my arm more than you know
it,’ Chiefs pleads fell on empty ears. ‘Meghan, please, stop this,’ Chief grunted.
‘Meghan,’ Harry quipped. She looked at him. ‘Stop reading that fucking
book and cover James’s eyes and ears. Do it now or you’ll be next.’ Meg did as
he said. Harry used the flow of energy from his chakras to gather the courage to
perform the act.
Meghan reluctantly walked over and covered James’s face. Meg whimpered
and Harry had no pity or sympathy anymore. She killed Sam through her
selfishness. Chief raised his arms his arms and Harry lifted the axe above Chief.
‘Sorry,’ Harry said. The axe fell just as a blade on a beheading. Chief
screamed as the axe sliced through the elbow cutting the forearm clean off.
Chief’s went white and blood pooled over him. The forearm lay on the ground,
fingers were twitching. Harry jumped up, placed the axe against the door and
then returned and kicked the wriggling forearm down the pole hole.
Harry watched the arm fall. The dead swarmed around it. Naked residents
and a mailmen and policeman amongst the dead. A sickening sight to behold.
Harry vomited onto the heads of the crowd below. Harry had lost a ton of water
from vomit. He was woozy, the coffee hadn’t helped.
Harry waved to Meg who removed her hands from her face. Chief was
unconscious bleeding to death. Harry didn’t want another situation like the
hospital. There were no blood bags here. Chief could die but he wouldn’t return,
the disease was removed from his body.
Harry was going to ask Meg for help but had no patience for her. He grabbed
a fire jacket and rolled the thick sleeves up. He knelt next to Chief and wrapped
the coat around his arm, tying the sleeves around the stump. Harry looked at
Chief’s other arm, it had a bite wound as well. Harry was gutted.
‘This is bad,’ Harry murmured. Meg stepped next to Harry. Her hair brushed
on his shoulder. She was stood in blood. She could have been deliberately
rubbing her breasts on him to make amends. The cushion of her flesh was
disarming.
Harry lifted Chief’s arm up to examine the bite wound. It was a deep wound
that ran from the thumb to little finger. Black pus had begun to multiply in the
hand. Harry watched the goo physically changing into spirals and expanding.
Meghan examined Chief’s pockets and pulled something out from them.
‘What is it?’ Harry asked. She held up a small black box. It looked like a
wedding ring box. ‘Well, open it then,’ Harry pressured. Meghan opened the
box, inside a piece of paper. Harry remembered the sorrowful goodbye from his
wife. Harry hobbled over to the bench and searched the bag for the knife.
‘Stay away from that hole,’ Harry said to James. James was smart but Harry
wasn’t taking risks. James cautiously pulled Fire Cat to his lap and dropped a
jacket arm on her head before grabbing at her tail. She hissed. Harry laughed. He
returned to Chief.
‘Step aside,’ Harry said. Meg did so.
‘What are you doing, you can’t leave him with no hands,’ Meg exclaimed.
Her opinion carried no weight with Harry anymore.
Harry wiped the blade on Chief’s shirt before proceeding. He pointed the
knife like a screwdriver and began to make incisions in Chief’s hand. Blood
spurted on Harry’s shirt. black goo seeped from the wound. They needed face
masks; the disease was best not ingested accidentally. Harry held his elbow
across his mouth.
Harry cut the wound out and the flesh slipped out onto the floor. He dropped
the knife and it clinked as it hit the floor.
The corpses who had feasted on poor Sam were thudding to get in the door.
Each thud shook the walls.
Harry picked the flesh off the floor with his index and thumb. The skin was
white and flesh black. He tossed it into the pole hole. He could hear the zombies
feasting on it.
Chief opened his eyes. Chief shouted in Harry’s face. Harry jumped up.
‘What the hell have you done?’ Chief gasped. Chief’s eyes stigmatised.
‘You had two bite wounds, another on the hand and I cut it out,’ Harry said.
Chief flipped Harry the bird. Blood dripped from his hand.
Chief reached for another jacket and wrapped it around his hand. His arm
was still bleeding heavily. Chief’s head hit the wall; he was unconscious again.
Meg had to drop her precious book as she darted for the door, nearly tripping
over the jackets. The door was buckling. The dead were opening the door. There
was one option left, down the hole or die.
‘James get Fire cat now,’ Harry shouted and lunged at the door shunting it.
Torn hands strung in red tubes reached around the doorframe. A hand grabbed
Meg’s hair and she cried out. Mere seconds until they had to flee. The dead
groaned as they attempted to grab Harry.
A screech echoed through the corridor; the eye jelly of Harry’s pupils
trembled. The screech was sharp, cutting rusty slices down into his torso. It
reverberates in his chest.
‘I can’t hold it, we need to get out of here before they get in,’ Meg yelled.
Harry struggled to hear here over the zombies. The dead pushed the door further
open. Harry saw James holding Fire Cat waiting next to the pole hole.
‘We have a few seconds at most, so we need to get down there, no stopping
now.’
The hands grabbed her hair again. The bloody fingers tore her brown locks
that once swayed elegantly. Harry watched the dead tear her hair off with a rip
reminiscent of Velcro. Harry pushed as hard as he could, but the horde was
stronger. Meg cried out.
The screech returned. It was close. Whatever it was, it was debilitatingly
frightening.
The dead were bricks pushing down on butter. They had to go now or die.
Harry’s brain was ablaze with lethargy. The stench of the dead was stomach
curdling.
Dead arms reached around the door, they were almost in. Rotting faces
munched at Harry and Meg as they pushed inwards.
‘We go now, or we die,’ Harry said. He let go. One wrong move and he was
dead. He stumbled backwards onto the floor next to James, his leg throbbed.
Meg finally let go. The axe was next to him, illuminated in the heap of
blood.
Harry reached for the axe and Meg dived for the kitchen knife. She picked
the knife up and began to stab skulls. Harry stood to his feet and began to swing.
Harry swung the axe into a zombie’s jaw, slicing its head in half. He kept his
mouth closed tightly, so he didn’t inhale the blood. The smell made him gag.
Meg jabbed at their faces and held the knife like a sword. They were both
covered in blood. Harry swung the axe round like the Chief had done, imitating a
baseball swing he cut the arms of another zombie and it fell to the floor. He
lifted the heavy axe and brought it down on it’s neck. Their mini battle
accumulated corpses and limbs next to the door.
Four zombies remained in the corridor. Harry ran and shut the door. He
stared into the blackened eyes of a middle-aged woman outside the door. Meg
drove the knife into a zombie that continued to wriggle on the floor. The floor
was a mess of battered bodies and limbs.
Meg tossed the bent blade to the pile of zombies. She slid against the wall
and wiped the blood from her face. She was hyperventilating, panicking. Her
tears helped wash away the blood. Harry tossed the rough-edged axe to the pile
of bodies and returned to James. James shook with fear and stood wrapped in a
fire man jacket on the bench with Fire Cat.
Harry lifted the jacket, James was crying heavily and struggled to catch his
breath. Harry slid the fire jacket off James hugged him. Wary not to put his
bloody face near James’s face.
Harry looked at the pile of bodies. Nine bodies in total. The plan to survive
was disintegrating. The fire station was unsafe. Chief was bleeding to death and
Harry doubted he’d survive without a transfusion or proper medical treatment.
Harry waited for the energy to do something other than hold James. His arms
ached and he was fuzzy. Meg was holding her head in her hands.
‘We need to move, there’s no way we can stay here or go through that hole,
that idiot has gotten us into a right mess,’ Harry said pointing to Chief.
Meg walked to her backpack and placed the Chief’s black box in it, which
Harry couldn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the act he just committed.
The hospital, the supermarket, the fire station. There would be other incidences.
This was a brutal axe happy slaughter. The decapitations were soul wrenching.
Harry couldn’t concentrate through his pain.
‘Stop telling me what to do, I have my own mind and I can think and decide
for myself what’s best for myself,’ Meg moaned. Meg’s words were empty and
dull. Harry wanted to give her a mouthful. She pierced him with enigmatic eyes,
a soul emerged in front of him. He was confused and betrayed. ‘You can’t blame
him for this mess, you said fire station, you said come here it’s safe, so you take
the responsibility you moron, try learning about people before commanding
them like some army general,’ she yelled. Harry wanted to offer an apology. He
sincerely wanted to but then that evaporated. ‘And if you want to leave this
room, then leave, because you seem to be under the impression that I’m with
you.’ Harry and James watched in awe. Meg’s face looked sobering and fraught.
Harry believed she was with him. She climbed onto the neighbour’s roof to help
the children. She must have wanted to find help. It had been for her survival,
nothing more.
Chief shuffled towards Meg interrupting her disenchanted rambling. Harry
saw Chief’s milky eyes, resembling dirty fish water. Chief stumbled to Meg. The
coat fell off Chief’s stump revealing green and black gunk. Harry wanted to try
and save her, but it was his chance to escape. The dead Chief grabbed her, she
cried as Chief started to bite into her arms and then he bit into her eye. Harry
vomited down the pole hole.
Harry lifted James and grabbed the backpack, flinging it over his shoulder.
Harry did a double take on the axe and decided to take it. Harry walked to the
door; Chief ignored him as he munched on Meg’s stomach. The dead had given
him a wide berth since he was bitten.
Meg sat up groaning. Harry opened the door; the dead had shambled back
towards the staircase. He walked into the hallway carrying James and the axe
and shut the door, locking Meg and Chief away forever.
CHAPTER 22
The Phone
The chances of getting out of the fire station alive were now slim. Once Harry
had managed to get into the hallway, he realised the staircase was the only exit to
the ground floor.
He’d carried James two doors from the pole hole room into a room with a
first aid sign on the door.
The room was distastefully small. It was an office with white walls and four
desks in rows of two.
James sat on a foam cushioned desk chair and placed Fire Cat on the table.
The only desk with a computer. Fire Cat played with the computer wires. Harry
pulled her off before she electrocuted herself.
Harry couldn’t believe that it had been a day since escaping from his house
to the neighbours and then the fire station. It was taking a lifetime to get out.
The dead were already banging at the door. Their fingers scratching at the
black lined glass.
Harry picked a sheet of plain paper up off the desk along with some cello
tape and walked over to the door and stuck it over the glass so they couldn’t see
them.
James had a confused expression when he looked at the dead. Harry noticed
on the run from the canteen. James hadn’t asked about Sam yet, but should he be
told? It was best to avoid telling him until he asks.
It was sad when Meg went out. There was no proof she let go of Sam
deliberately. It was nonetheless heartless of her not to ask for help.
Harry walked to the far desk next to the window and slumped on the chair. A
breeze blew in from the open window, it was refreshing. The loss of fluid was
nauseating. Plan A was fucked. Was it worth attempting an escape or waiting?
Chief had the strength and courage Harry needed. Harry felt hopelessness.
Harry wasn’t the bravest man left alive. He had saved Charlie’s life at the
hospital because he went out of his way. It wasn’t brave. It was adrenaline.
He’d been bitten and now the wound was pulsating. Harry grabbed the desk
phone. He looked out of the window, staring at the dead shambling down the
road. In the distant intersecting street roads, more dead people. Not enough time.
He placed the phone to his ear.
The phone buzzed sonorously. It was a miracle. He put his elbows on the
wooden desk. Why had they left the fire station phones working? He couldn’t
understand the logic. Maybe the entire town had the phone lines restored. Harry
wondered if any fire crew were lurking in the station somewhere, too afraid to
come out. If they were as helpful as the Chief, it could have been worth
searching, but the time had passed for that.
James was pulling strips of ripped paper along the floor for Fire cat. She was
stalking, waiting to pounce.
The plastic phone stuck to his sweaty cheek. Harry used his index to
carefully dial Sheila’s number. He changed his mind and thumbed the disconnect
button. The dial pad had a button covered in red tape that read: emergency.
Harry thumbed it. It rang.
‘I’m hungry,’ James said. James was used to having a filling breakfast, not
toast and cheap butter. They were both used to having a large bowl of oats with
raspberries or blueberries. Then Molly would serve up delicious syrup covered
pancakes. Harry’s stomach rumbled. Molly did the best pancakes. His father
once said, “those are better than the entire towns, I know, because I’ve tasted
them all”. Harry couldn’t argue at the time, they were first class.
His father had gained weight after developing severe depression. He would
wander the streets like a lost dog, and scout through every café in town. He had
been prescribed pills, according to the doctor he would feel better in a few
weeks. Harry suffered from depression but not to the extent of his father.
Harry reminisced; it wasn’t going to help now. He found solace in those
memories.
The phone clicked. ‘Hello, anybody there?’ Harry said, freezing with
anticipation.
It was a soul crushing pre-recorded message.
‘This is a pre-recorded message from the Beach Town Police Department,
we are sorry we cannot answer the phone right now, please leave a message for
us after the tone.’ Harry prepared to speak but the message continued. ‘If you are
calling about general enquiries, then please contact your local neighbourhood
safety team, if you are calling with an emergency and cannot get through…’
Harry was in an emergency and couldn’t contact the police. ‘Then please phone
for the fire department, and press two, thank you and have a good day.’ The
voicemail beeped. Harry investigated the little holes in the speaker end of the
phone, the holes were clotted with grease and grime.
‘We are at the fire station, we are all fucked,’ he was sombrous. He placed
the phone back on the dial pad and spun the office chair towards the window so
James wouldn’t see the tears streak down his cheeks.
The sky was decimated with scattered clouds interweaved with tangerine and
pink streaks. A lovely sight. The birds whistled and chirped. The moans of the
dead carried in the wind.
James walked over to Harry and grabbed his hand, startling him. James
passed Fire Cat to Harry. He wanted to speed throw it out the window. The
kitten’s glistening eyes disarmed him. He held her up like a baby. She meowed,
blinking tirelessly.
‘Cute isn’t he, he needs a proper name though, Fire Cat is a bit pretend isn’t
it?’ Harry said and cuddled the kitten in his lap, stroking the fluffy fur over its
spine, it raised its back end in agreeability.
‘Yes,’ James said, holding his thinking finger to his lips. The paper on the
door fell off, and Harry was unpleasantly greeted by a gawping bloody face.
‘Sam,’ James said and began to stroke the kitten harshly.
It was a saddening name to choose, but honourable. James must have known
Sam was dead. Harry was relieved he didn’t have to explain it to James. It was a
gruesome death Sam had died. He wouldn’t be coming back; he was shredded to
pieces.
Another lesson learnt. A small victory. Everything mattered. These dead
mattered despite his best intention not to care. First he learnt they were slow and
dangerous in crowds. Harry now knew that not everybody returned. Was it a
lesson or was a connection not worth making? Some people were so badly eaten
that coming back was impossible. It wasn’t immunity. It could have been god
calling us to hell. Harry scratched his head. More god questions popping up.
He was an intruder in his own mind when he pondered the big questions.
They were too big for him to ever understand. That was the key to human nature,
he could not fight it. Humans were built to acquire knowledge. They were also
built annoyingly with the desire, the obsession to find the answer to everything.
‘Sam, that is a delightful name,’ Harry said. ‘Should Sam be our scout
leader?’
‘Yes,’ James said, no hesitation. Harry grinned.
The phone that Harry believed held no salvation, rang. Harry, James, and
Sam the cat, froze. They looked at the phone. Sam jumped to the desk purring.
James ran over to another desk and began to mess around with a stack of
printing paper.
The phone rang again. He hesitated and then picked the phone up.
CHAPTER 23
A Saviour
The church goers had gathered in the church basement. The survivors sat on
beds that lined the stone floor in rows with walkways between the beds.
Bedsheets were thin.
Candles were propped up on warping wooden tables. The ceiling lights
didn’t work.
Dean had brought the group to the basement after sitting on a bed in regret
and despair for a while.
Dean had walked back to the main hall and told them all how he secured the
area for their safety. Dean’s creaking mattress annoyed him; he wanted a
refreshing drink.
The room was cold, dim and had a musky aroma. The room was poorly
ventilated. There was one window at the rear of the cellar, about two feet wide
and rotting from the damp. Fallen branches littered the lawn outside the window.
The ventilation was adequate for now, Dean had opened the window and gave
orders not to close it.
The chaos from last night had rattled everyone, especially the priest’s wife.
Dean had awoken this morning and given a speech about rationing and how it
could save lives, and how cooperation could rebuild them. The crates of tinned
food, and twenty-five litre water bottles, could not sustain them.
He’d rounded up a few do-gooders and told them to hand out the daily
portion. The survivors had a positive attitude most of the time. Kids had calmed
after digesting breakfast.
Dean could envision his temporary police force forming out of the group.
Now though, they would follow Dean’s orders, otherwise Dean might have to
get deadly serious with his pistol. Even an empty pistol could coerce people,
nobody would question him when looking down the barrel.
It was live or die. The hard choices had already been made.
Dean sat on the bed scanning the basement bunks. People rustled on their
blankets, rolling uncomfortably, trying to sleep the day away. Metal food can
keys, gulps and slurps of bottled water pierced the silence.
The people were pale, ghoulish. The survivors nearest the window were lit
up from the sunlight beaming through the window. They crammed next to the
rotting frame trying to inhale air.
Dean stood off the bed. He forewent the water ration, the kids needed it
more. He didn’t want old water that had sat in the dark for months, that could be
contaminated. Nobody had turned ravenous or crazy yet. That was a relief. His
palms had accumulated a glue like sweat.
Dean scanned the room hoping to see a familiar face. Hoping to see one of
his few friends, Jamie. His deceased friend. He would struggle to forget what he
witnessed at the supermarket. Was it preventable? His forehead stung as beads of
sweat trickled down his brow. They needed air conditioning. The officers had
opened fire, government orders, save the food and ration. Jamie was trampled as
an innocent man looking to survive, not to loot. The image burned into Dean’s
head; his eyes pulsed. If he could go back in time, he’d keep Jamie in that station
as an on-call emergency doctor. Jamie had been forced to cooperate with the
processing of people. That wasn’t his fault, neither was being trapped in the
hospital.
Then, another totally irrelevant thought crossed his mind. Dean saw the
image of a lady holding her little boys’ hand, speaking softly to him. Their eyes
met, she smiled at him and the little boy smiled back. Dean’s mind was in a dark
place. He had tried to forget many years ago, his dearest friend of twenty-seven
years, Marcy. She had been his rock, a partner, that was a long time ago. The
candles flickered as a gush of breath blew over them by passers-by and a
mystical daze overcast his flickering consciousness.
Marcy had wanted to move to the city to find a better home, to live the city
life dream. “It’s more money”, she told Dean. “Better career”, and “more
stimulating.” They discussed it regularly when they frequented the pub together.
She had returned after a dreary goodbye some months later. Her news hit Dean
first, he was first to know, even before family.
Dean felt a pin prick scrape his spine; the memory flooded over him. She had
returned to tell him she was moving back to Beach Town. Her house hadn’t sold
and that was the good news. Dean crustily remembered the sad news. She had
little to no time left to live, maybe months. The city doctors told her. That day
his emotions had plummeted beyond the core of the earth. The whole church
shook with a malevolent howling wind that penetrated the cracks in the walls.
The cool breeze snaked past Dean’s feet. Tears falling uncontrollably down his
cheeks. Dean watched the room of survivors, teary eyed, smiling. Dean
remembered the final days he spent with his former friend. The image of the
mother and son faded away.
He could not stop the disease that had killed her, but he could help prevent
the deaths of the people in the church. They were lost and scared. Only one
person could give them guidance – Dean – and he revelled at his position.
He would help them. The dead were trying to break into the temple, and they
needed to fortify the doors.
CHAPTER 24
Church Breach
Dean was out of breath standing on the stone staircase leading back up the main
hall.
He had to get things locked down before taking official charge, he’d have to
barricade the church and then find a way to communicate with the station. That
was the goal. Dean hoped the station was holding out. The town hall and police
station were the only buildings capable of receiving the government orders.
Dean stepped through the door into the main hall.
He scanned the empty hall and recalled a hostage situation two years ago. A
gang had taken the church goers hostage and wanted a ridiculous sum in return
for their release. Swat had a tough time breaching the building, but they
succeeded in the end. Now all that mattered was getting the benches flipped
upside down and pushed against the door. If he was lucky (he considered it
unlikely), he could go back to the police station and leave someone in charge of
the church, a deputy sheriff.
He was mayor, albeit battle trained and dangerous when desired.
He needed a shower and more ammunition. The outbreak was more of a pain
in the ass than he expected.
The hall reeked of foul flesh. The air had thickened. Wind blew through the
gaps in the stone, and morning dew was settled on the stain glass windows.
Dean crept forward, the floorboards let out a shrilling creak and clank. Dean
glanced to the bell, the priest’s legs in a pool of coagulated blood.
He stepped down the stone path in the middle of the benches. The front
doors were very dangerous, the banging hadn’t subsided.
He glanced at the man impaled by the scaffolding pole. He had reanimated,
clawing in the air, unable to get up. Its eyes were black, and green goo seeped
down the metallic pole. Its ribs clanked on the metal sending a razor down
Dean’s neck.
Dean stood next to the church doors.
He placed his palm on the wooden door, and then his ear. Moans and
scratching radiated through the wood; Dean pulled away. The chants of groans
were like a gust of wind. It was no wind. The sun beat through the stain glassed
windows. It was them and him.
The wooden doors shook as the dead pushed against it. Dean stumbled back,
the church doors were rocking back and forth. The wood creaked and cracked.
Pushing and chanting corpses.
Dean wanted to call for help. The shaking doors reverberated along the stone
walls. Adrenaline surged through his chest.
A beast screamed as sharp as barb wire wrapping around Dean’s face. It
channelled through the building. The floors seemingly rumbled.
Dean frozen like a mannequin. His legs were facing the opposite way to his
body. A creature screeched again. The window’s rattled. Dean’s breath was
shallow, his nose dripping. The screech was a rancid sting, an electric airwave
speared into every crevice of his being. Dean had never experienced anything
like it, it was haunting, petrifying.
Dean quickly headed – avoiding the poles and planks from the scaffold, to
the cellar door. The refugee camp door.
A stain glass window above him smashed, a rainbow of glass shards fell onto
him. Dean had seconds to escape. He shook the shards of glass of. A piece had cut
through his neck. A million pieces had left a thousand cuts over his forearms.
His forearms stung and he ran tripping and crunching on the glass as he hit the
floor. Dean gazed around the hall. It was empty. He lifted his head to see what had
smashed the window. The creature he saw made his eyes bubble dry and his
lungs incinerate.
Blood dripped from his forearms and neck. He pulled himself to the bench,
staying low. Dean crouched to the wooden platform past the bell. Whatever
creature was in the window, it did not see him moving.
Dean kept looking over his shoulder as he hurriedly lunged for the basement
door. Dean watched from the door. The beast leapt into the air, screeching as it did
so. The noise was brain sizzling. It came crashing to the stone floor and a crack
rippled through the stone floor to Dean’s feet. Stone and dust spat into the air
sporadically. The dust settled; the creature had formed a hole in the floor. The
creature was at least eight feet tall. Thick fangs protruded from the mouth and it
had an overcoat of thick black sludge.
Dean slammed the basement door shut and bolted it. He hurried down the
steps. His heart pumped steel ants around his body.
He had to stop, he had to admit, he was fucking petrified beyond belief.
He had to shake the fear off, he realised he was the saviour of the people in
the basement. He needed to look strong for them, especially the children. A
scared officer didn’t look good any day of the week. He should have taken
backup to fortify the door.
They needed to get to the North of the island. It had a small community.
Hope was better than fear.
CHAPTER 25
Disagreements
Dean entered the basement and was met with a sea of desperate eyes. Unique
souls watching him pant and fall onto the nearest bed. It was occupied by a
woman. Dean recalled her face; he’d seen her in the main street café. The times
when he had no choice but to go there after the station coffee machine conked
out and all officers were stupefied by it. She got off the mattress and scoffed at
him and sat on another bed.
Dean wiped his forehead with his hand and dried them on the bedsheet. He
tried to rub his palms dry. His hands were clammy, like the cheeks of survivors
who couldn’t come to terms with the situation. The people sat in silence laying
and glaring to the darkened ceiling.
Some children mocked one another whilst others nagged their parent’s with
grumpy moans, they wanted more food. It was tough, they couldn’t have it yet.
Dean’s gut churned.
He thought it was a case of the heebie-jeebies, however it had a new and
bitter meaning now. It didn’t dissipate, like death had transcended upon his
neurons, destining him to the grave.
Screeches couldn’t be heard between the stone walls.
Dean stood off the bed and faced the people. ‘Plans screwed,’ Dean said.
Everyone looked to him. ‘We need get everyone out of the church and to a safe,
secure location. Bef…’
Dean was cut off by a man wearing an American flag t-shirt and black
joggers. The man’s eyes were red from lack of sleep. The man shot Dean a stern
scowl, he appeared fed up.
‘This is safe, this is secure, we can’t move now we have to make do, you
should know that by now,’ the man shouted, more people began to stand up and
approach them. Kids stopped bickering; the vicar’s wife sat holding her
rosemary beads.
The crowd had encircled Dean and the man, like a school yard fight. An
unbearably ideocratic action. It would only go Dean’s way or no way. He was
the official leader for now. Throwing them a few big words should help.
A petite woman with thick lips and moisturised skin stepped into the circle
wearing a purple night gown. She was quick to speak.
‘I agree, we need to go, there’s hardly any food here at all,’ she said, pointing
to her son, who lay curled on a bed, pale. Dean concurred; the food situation was
dreadful. The vicar was mistaken, supplies hadn’t been stocked in a long time.
There was enough food for another two days at a stretch.
Everyone had already eaten their daily protein bars and drank the instantcoffee.
That was over half of the rations. This place wasn’t viable.
The tired man turned to the gowned woman and gobbed off into her face,
right in front of everyone. Dean watched, amazed at the audacity of the man.
‘What are you siding with him for? Are you the useless police too? We stay
and we wait for help, this is safe and this is secure, we do not need to go out
there with those things, whatever they are, we need to stay and fortify, the only
logical thing that buffoon has suggested,’ he shouted, teeth gritted. Dean grabbed
the man’s shoulder with a firm grip, some of the crowd huffed non-agreeably
and others nodded in agreement. Idiots.
‘Calm down, keep calm and nobody has to spend their time chained to a bed,
okay?’ Dean smiled, trying to diffuse the situation. Perpetrators were hard and
intimidating. Today this man was as frightening as a kitten.
The man swung his left fist at Dean. Dean stumbled back, gripping the man’s
shoulders. The crowd stepped back, nobody intervened.
Dean swung his right fist and the man dodged and returned an uppercut to
Dean’s stomach.
A lump propelled with unimaginable nausea into his chest. He hadn’t been
hit like that for a long time. He was unaccustomed and fell back onto a bed
spluttering.
Dean held one palm up to the disgruntled man. He didn’t take kindly to the
hand and Dean was unprepared as the man grabbed his shoulders and kneed him
in the chest. An atomic bomb of stomach acid galloped to his tongue. Dean was
overwhelmed by the nausea, but he wasn’t ready to give up.
Dean grabbed the man’s arms and threw him across the bed. The man rolled
across the mattress to the floor on the other side. He quickly jumped to his feet,
agile and unaffected.
Dean stood up; his ribs ached. Dean held his fists up. The man copied Dean.
People lined the walls; the makeshift boxing ring was the size of the room.
Some people had gone to lay down near the window. Parent’s pulled their kids
close to them.
‘Stay back,’ Dean shouted. ‘Someone help me take this psycho down.’ The
survivors watched, too afraid to help. Dean waited for someone to step forward
and was caught off guard.
A steel boned fist impacted his right cheek. The bones cracked and blood
shot from his mouth. His tongue cut on a broken tooth. This guy was strong,
Dean was dizzy and wanted to use the gun, but he didn’t have the gun anymore.
It might be excessive force anyway.
Dean lunged forward and rugby tackled the man’s waist. Dean had tackled
him onto the bed and onto the floor. Dean managed to pin the man under his
legs. Dean punched left-right on the man’s face, uncontrollably.
The man was weakened and tried to push Dean off. It was hard to tell if he
had lost consciousness, his face was mashed in, bleeding. Dean stopped
punching him.
The man was unrecognisable, purple veins bulged from his eyes. Black
bruises formed over his face. A red river flowed and seeped at the embankments
of his ears down onto his cheeks. Five teeth had fallen out onto the floor. His
forehead lacerated with deep cuts. Dean thumbed his carotid artery for a pulse.
He was breathing, he was alive, and he knew who was in charge.
Dean stood up, muscles aching. A pitiful snake bit into his oesophagus, the
stinging nettles of a thorn bush wrapped around his body. Dean’s belly a lead
pie. He had won, no doubt about it. There was no sign of a struggle. Dean
laughed.
People began to approach, and a few assisted the man on the floor. The
crowd was white, shocked, speechless with gaping mouths.
‘You needed to take care of that, and you did, thank you,’ a woman said,
standing behind Dean, placing a meaty hand on his tingling shoulder.
Dean waddled back and sat on the bed. He turned his bloodied face to her,
his ribs cricked as he turned.
‘Yes, I did, and you know what?’ Dean said, grinning but his lips stung.
‘There was no sign of a struggle, ma’am.’ He wiped blood from his tongue onto
his sleeve.
They needed to evacuate now and use anything in sight for a weapon, they
could go through the rear window onto the lawn. It would be a slow crawl
through back gardens.
Dean was horrified when thumping began on the cellar door. A screech
pierced the cellar. It was like a demon choir, screaming to get into heaven, pissed
at god. Everyone felt it, it rattled the candle holders. A candle fell to the floor
and was extinguished by a man.
Dean stood up, his hips were rusting and unoiled. He needed some tasty food
and fresh water.
It was now aware of their location. The window was the only escape option.
CHAPTER 26
The Run
Harry gripped the plastic, desperate for an answer. It was nerves wracking. His
heart and breath silhouetted.
A crackled and distorted remnant of words was transmitted. Nothing human,
nothing that could help. If he had put the phone down he would have missed the
vital information. It was only spoken once, quaintly.
The office room had a glow, a migraineurs aura shimmered around the
window ledges. Fizzy static lines danced around the corners of the desk. Harry
would have a throbbing headache soon. Dehydration didn’t help.
The anticipation made his hairs stand on an electric edge, hungry for
information, he persevered.
‘Hello, please, who is this?’ He spoke with a loose tongue, each word fed
with trepidation, frustration. His elbows were sore from the desk. His nether was
soaked from the trickling sweat. A singular presence rose in his spine to his
neck. A reply.
‘Code…emergency…transmit to…. niner,’ a man said. The cackling
subsided. Harry clasped the phone, James watched, smiling. Harry saw the dead
outside the door becoming more erratic. He turned to face the lawn. ‘Niner,
echo, niner, echo, foxtrot.’ The dead horde shambled across the lawn to the
station.
Harry quickly grabbed Meg’s backpack, unzipped it and searched for the pad
and pulled it out along with the pen. He jotted the message in the notepad..
He had a lot of questions. Why are they phoning the fire station? Is this being
transmitted to all emergency services? Why by phone? Why hadn’t they
transmitted via the radio or television before it went out? Harry tore the page out
and stashed it into his trouser pocket, and then put the pen and notebook back
into the backpack. The information was safe. It sounded important.
Hopefully it was the national army, or international corps, deployed at full
force. He had to take control of his breathing. The lack of water and light from
the sky outside – cumulous clouds, blue sky– rattled his brain.
James was occupied with Sam, hiding under the desks as the cat tried to claw
his hands.
A scream shattered the glass in the door.
The scream radiated through Harry. James froze and cried, Sam pounced
onto his lap, hiding.
Harry’s heart pounded. His palms sticky. The room was like a sauna.
The glass shattered into a million pieces onto the office floor.
The room shook, a thundering vibration emanated from corridor. The screech
was so loud that Harry’s ear cooled. He felt his ear, blood trickled down his
cheek.
He stood up and staggered to the door. He daren’t look away from the door.
A ghastly creature came into sight.
The flesh was inhuman, it was oiled in a thick coating of black tar. The arms
thin. The fingers, twigs.
The scream had disabled – that was the only word he could think of – the
other zombies. The corpses had fallen face first onto the floor, squirming as they
tried to stand up. Harry was sympathetic. They had been people at one point.
Now they couldn’t even walk straight.
Harry ducked behind a desk. James and Sam were cuddled together under
the phone desk near the window. Time warped, Harry was anxious. It was if his
neurons gave up halfway to their destination. His hands and legs were shaking
with lactic acid. He clambered across the floor to James. James’s body took on a
thick black outline. What was happening?
It wasn’t migraine, which had sought to destroy him since he entered the
damn room. A sharp sting snaked through his chest around his neck. A pop
echoed in Harry’s skull; he was disorientated. James began to cry.
Nothing was right, forwards felt like backwards and arms heaved as rocks. A
disturbingly strong sensation of thirst and hunger washed over him. He wanted
to feast upon the flesh before him, and the cat too. They were appealing, very
much ready for consumption. Their fear odourised his buzzing brain, he
scrambled like a tiger towards James.
‘No!’ James cried, pushing himself backwards with his legs, hugging Sam
tight. The dead resumed their moaning, the room took on a strong stench – a
freshly cut grass aroma. Harry wretched from the pain in his calf. Was it time for
him to find shelter for his son, and go to die somewhere alone? He didn’t want to
give up yet.
Harry pushed himself to his feet. The office door creaked and cracked, as if it
were about to break open. He approached James. James retreated under the desk,
afraid. Harry looked to James’s teary eyes. His son was afraid of him. It couldn’t
end like this. Harry could turn into one of them or worse, die.
‘Sorry,’ Harry said. ‘I can’t stay strong forever, but I will fight it until you are
safe, whether it takes weeks or months, I will not rest.’ Harry gulped his words;
it could be months before salvation arrived, if it were coming. It could be months
before they find safety. Harry reached his tired arms out to James who grabbed
them.
The window shone with hope. The drop was worth the risk. It was better than
becoming torn spaghetti guts that would satisfy some sick diseased bastard.
Harry reached for the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. James held his
fathers’ hand, and Sam was nestled under his right arm.
The window was open, and a desk slid against the wall below it. Harry
assisted James onto the desk before climbing on himself. They peered out at the
lawn. It was eerily quiet. The office door cracked, the wood splintered, and the
door smashed open, the hinges were bust. The screaming black tar beast
stumbled in, followed by a bloody mouthed mob of the dead. Each zombie with
a blank stare limping towards them.
White clouds cumulated overhead; a rung-out sun now heated the earth. The
heat could be a killer. Sweltering heat was not uncommon on the island, and with
a lack of water it wouldn’t be long before he experienced seizures or heatstroke.
There was absolutely no time to ponder. The dead fast approached the desk,
the jump looked higher now, and Harry had butterflies. The worry James or him
would be injured conjured up images of becoming crippled after the jump and
becoming grass and meat pies if the zombies jumped after them. Harry grabbed
James’s shoulder and they both jumped out.
They landed hard on the grass. James whimpered and Harry grunted as his
throbbing legs gave way. The bag had banged against his spine and the bruised
ribs. Harry flicked his neck round to look at the window, his spine cracked.
Groans whistled with the breeze. A wild-eyed zombie leant out of the window -
a woman, wearing only white pyjama bottoms with purple blotched skin – fell
forward.
Harry pushed James out the way and got to his feet. He grabbed James’s
hand and began a fast limp back towards the front of the building.
Harry looked back, the dead fell one after another out of the window, on top
of each other. Bones snapped and the dead struggled to get up. They were not
free yet.
Harry pulled James along and he dropped Sam.
‘Wait,’ James cried tiredly. Harry halted to let the extremely lucky cat be
retrieved. There was no way the cat would survive this; Sam was a big
hindrance.
Harry watched the zombies begin to pursue, their broken arms swinging like
dolls. They continued towards the front of the building.
Harry couldn’t hear or see the screaming beast anymore. His ear stung from
an aching eardrum, it was burst, he couldn’t hear anything out of it.
As they reached the front of the building, more dead shambled from the
right. Harry slowed.
The church stood out, a hundred or so zombies lined the streets. The dead
turned, they began to walk towards them, some fell over in the excitement.
Another wall was coming to block Harry. Harry could feel the sharp dread
creeping up his arms and snaking around his pelvis and spine.
‘To the church James,’ Harry gasped, before leading his son over the
muddying terrain towards safety. The muddy grass clogged his stride and then he
stepped onto the concrete. They were close, they could do this.
More zombies trailed after them, undead neighbours poured from the houses.
Harry couldn’t tell who was alive anymore, if anyone. The road was covered in
blood and Harry heard distant screams. Harry turned around; the dead had
gained on him.
Harry couldn’t react, the pursuing dead with their excitable hunger latched
onto his shoulder. Harry pushed James forward out the way. The dead swarmed
him. James sprinted off towards the church with Sam. Harry could see a figure,
possibly cannibalistic, waiting.
Harry had a feeling they were both about to die. Time slowed, and the sky lit
up bright pink and orange, his vision began to sink into darkness and scratching
began to surround his head. He shoved and kicked. The dead were strong. He
understood this was it, this was the only chance he had, this life was the only life
he had and dying was not an option.
He swung his left arm and walloped a zombie in the face, its cheek cracked,
and black pus squirted onto Harry’s filthy clothes. Harry saw James had reached
the distant figure, safe.
Harry felt his arms go limp and he collapsed onto the road. An oblivion of
fuzzy warmth encompassed his skull. The clattering of devilish teeth and a
dozen hungry mouths were chattering around him, the stank of guts was vomitinducing.
Harry was conscious, and even though his eyes were closed, he could see.
His vision was cloudy, he was looking through his eyelids. Dean appeared,
holding Sam’s hand. Two other men and a woman accompanied him.
Harry was silent, unable to move, but able to see the dead dropped to their
knees. Their heads bobbed around his body, they were smelling his flesh, they
might claw at his stomach.
Dean was keeping an eye on the situation while simultaneously gripping
James’s hand. The zombies had a good smell and examination of Harry’s
unconscious body. Then they rose and filtered away from him. They were
disinterested, their sights now set on Dean and his companions. James’s face
teared and little Sam meowed. Harry was hopeless to do anything.
The zombies were stumbling around him, their ghastly bloodied faces
pursued Dean instead. Dean seemed reluctant to run, instead looking to Harry.
Whatever Harry had Dean clearly wanted. Harry listened, and he could hear the
Sedan doors open.
‘Get in and keep him inside,’ Dean shouted. Harry hoped Dean would come
back, help him.
A scream echoed from the church. The dead stopped and then continued as if
they were being called forth. The cries of men and women and children came
from the church, probably being ripped to shreds. Whoever was in the church, it
was too late to save them now. Only a Deus ex Machina could save them now.
Harry watched through closed eyes as Dean limply jogged towards Harry’s
body. He was weaving round the dead, ducking and diving as the dead tried to
grab him.
Harry watched; a gunshot rung out. Dean stopped and searched his person,
probably for a gun. It wasn’t surprising that people would take up arms, however
limited. Two more shots went off, closer. The birds overhead scattered with a
squawk. A few zombies fell to the ground. Harry watched Dean get closer.
Dean crouched; he was being grabbed at like items in a black Friday sale.
One of the zombie bastards had ripped through his shirt.
A gunshot deafened Harry. A corpse fell beside Dean. Whoever was behind
Dean held a gun and was approaching fast. Harry heard the group in the car
shouting for Dean to turn around. Dean did so.
A gunshot fired point blank into Dean’s skull. His body limply fell and rolled
over onto the patch of grass next to Harry.
A bulky man wearing leather stood over Dean, shotgun in one hand, knife in
the other. His eyes were red, and he growled as he stood over the body.
Dean’s blood stained the wet green grass brown. The killer laughed before
driving the tainted steel bowie knife sideways into an incoming corpses head.
The killer’s hands bulged.
The shotgun smoked from the barrel. He shot more zombies, but they
continued to come, oblivious to their fate.
He chuckled as he blasted the crowd of undead. The shotgun clicked empty.
The man approached Harry and knelt next to him. The man’s face was clear.
Charlie had found him again.
CHAPTER 27
Hostage
The main street of Beach Town had once thrived with shoppers, parents and
toddlers alike. They would swing bags merrily and weave around the vine laden
cracks in the sidewalk before basking under the sun.
Main street was now laden with bodies of dead families. Previous neighbours
who had fought each other to get into the supermarket, only to be shot.
The police stood guard at the doors of the police station, picking off the dead
who would stumble by now and again. Many of them had washed further into
the urbanised area, main street was a post-war zone.
The armed police officers waited for orders, orders that would not come.
Medical personnel had been placed inside the station due to unexpected
problems with the temporary tent out in the rear car park.
Very few survivors remained, none of which were particularly talkative. Who
would be? The docs had to continue to collect blood samples and the officers
had to scour the corridors, their boots grimy. The officers were determined to
detain the man still broadcasting from the radio station. Beach Town was being
fed a bogus broadcast, a seriously uncontrolled version of events. It had to be
stopped.
Pink cumulous clouds were scattered through the sky, the rain droplets
spitting like ice stones as they hit the pavement with a clink.
The scene outside the supermarket was uncleared, a half-eaten mess. The
dead had had a buffet on their way into town.
The motorway was now going darker under the pink evening sky. The
highway was the only viable way out. Not one officer or doctor or survivor could
have known the true extent of the situation. The bridge was blown to bits, the
concrete destroyed, flung to the shoreline below. An oil tanker had rested
underneath the bridge, and now it had sunk into the sea as waves crashed against
the blackened rocks of the shoreline, black with oil which leeched to the sands.
Three military tanks were stagnant, the olive-green camo was barely visible
in the dusk light. Soldiers surrounded the tanks, there was a commandeering
chief giving orders, and a man with a radio on top of one tank, his broadcast
short and repetitive, his shallow nod not reassuring the other soldiers.
Harry and James were caught by Charlie. Sheila was boarded up in her flat,
arrogant to any help. Many residents were at home unaffected, unaware of the
shear reach of the dead.
***
Charlie had driven as quietly as he could through the dead from the fire station
lawn, but not before leaving the two men whom Dean had brought along and
duck taping the woman’s mouth shut. He had no need to tie her hands, the
shotgun deterred her.
Blood trickled down Harry’s forehead. His son was next to him, trying to
wake him by prodding his ribs.
The car had rolled through the built-up area and approached the beginning of
main street. Charlie investigated the rear-view mirror, the houses in the distance
were alight. Houses were on fire, not from the zombies emotionally attacking the
décor or wooden porches, but because many houses had been out of gas for a
few days without realising it. The boilers had run dry and then sparked. Charlie
knew the fires would die down in a few hours, then chuckled, to which James
and Sam watched in awe.
Charlie turned right down main street. He could see police officers outside
the station and wished he had gone the other way. There was a dirt road that led
from the back of the estates to the motel. That would have been better. He had
gotten what he needed.
A couple of cars blocked the road. Abandoned-doors-open style, the radio
station drowned the silence with a monotone voice, a pre-recorded message.
Charlie couldn’t believe the radio hadn’t attracted the zombies. But right on cue,
he saw a few corpses pop up from the bar, the officers tiptoed down the station
steps, equipped their guns and knelt. They fired their guns, three or four bullets
pierced through the crowd of dead drunks. The stragglers were down before the
officers retreated up to the door where they holstered their guns.
‘Smart’, Charlie remarked, noting the silencers attached to their guns. He
eyed his shotgun; the brown barrel was cracked, and the grip worn down. He
needed something bigger and silent.
The car rolled forward, the fuel light was lit. The stench of possible sewerage
engulfed their noses. The cat meowed loudly and jumped down under the seat.
Charlie unintentionally ran over a few zombies who hadn’t seen the car
coming. After it ran over a second body, it conked out and stopped, no fuel.
‘Shit,’ Charlie groaned, scanning the street trying to determine a safe route
around the police station. Or a safe route into the station. It was too risky going
back to the motel, once was enough.
The women wriggled, muffling and whimpering for help. Charlie had
forgotten about her and dug his elbow into her ribs. Her tears began to loosen the
tape. Charlie knew he’d be able to use her as bait if needed. The kid was a
problem. Charlie was sick of children; he should have left the kid back at the fire
station.
‘I’ll deal with you very soon,’ he told her.
Charlie grabbed his bloody blade from the dashboard. He twisted the blade
in his hand and brought the steel close to his face. Charlie inhaled and let out a
sigh before dropping the blade, it clanked down onto his shotgun in his lap.
Harry was still unconscious; Charlie couldn’t hear him, that was good. Harry
had gotten on his nerves at the hospital. But this kid, he continued to prod and to
entertain the kitten.
‘Name?’ Charlie asked the woman, using his index and thumb to peel back
the tape from her mouth.
‘None of your business.’ Charlie roughly dug his thumb into her cheek and
the tape stuck again.
It was a literal nightmare of a decision. Police would not sit idly, and watch
Charlie carry Harry’s body around and with a noisy cat and gagged woman. The
only other option as Charlie saw, was to get into the radio station and call for
help. The car conked out two shops from the radio station building on the left,
another building or two to the police station on the right.
Thick coagulated fog and mist whipped and snaked over the dead bodies
lying in the street and around the building, a sackcloth of ashlar. A mysterious
silence drumming the air, piercing Charlie’s brain.
The car seat was uncomfortable, and Charlie shuffled his sore glutes to a
better position. His ass scratches itchy. It would not be safe for long, sitting
vulnerable in the car in a haze. The creatures would surely wobble back to main
street at the first smell of flesh.
‘Your time is here, so be useful,’ Charlie leant over the woman and ripped
the tape from the lady’s face, she whelped and curled into a ball. Her body small,
her clothes skimpy tight. Charlie crumbled the tape in his hand and pushed
opened her door.
The creaking passenger door attracted the attention of the police officers.
They were looking, Charlie froze and then shoved the woman to the damp road
surface. The woman would allow enough time to get the kid and Harry out and
to the radio station. Charlie could then radio for help, possibly going back to the
motel, he wasn’t keen on the idea the kid was his, he probably wasn’t.
She groaned and clawed at the floor before dragging herself into the sheet of
fog and out of sight. Charlie had only glimpsed a wound in her leg, perhaps a
bite.
Charlie carefully opened his door and swung his legs onto the concrete
before stepping out.
Everything sounded crystal. The wind slipping around his ears. The smell of
the salty sea air invigorated him. Charlie was tiresome trying to move, his
stitched throat giving him sharp needles from the icy breeze. The sedative
lingered, Charlie had a moment of clarity, but it faded, and moans of the beasts
started to echo down the street. Adrenaline buzzed through him; his sense of
survival heightened. He turned and opened the rear car door.
Inside the rear passenger seats, nothing. The boy and the cat were gone.
Charlie quickly scanned the area; the kid and kitten were escaping from the front
passenger door.
‘God damn it!’ Charlie shouted, about to pursue, when a wave of fear
trickled over him. The beasts appeared through the thick smog, surrounding him,
five or six of the bastards. Charlie went for the gun and knife he had left on the
driver’s seat.
The corpses were translucent, their face ghostly in the condensation. Half
torn hands, spaghettis of ligaments, boned fingers began to claw at his jacket.
Bastards were tearing into the leather.
Charlie’s adrenaline gushed into his heart, he darted into the driver’s door,
reaching in, grabbing the knife and turning and jabbing it rapidly into the dead’s
afflicted skulls. The beast’s oncoming in numbers unseen. More and more, a sea
of unchartered proportions.
Charlie was primal, a beastly presence took over him, he would not go down
without a fight to the death, not now, not ever. Fucking kids. Harry was still
unconscious in the backseat.
Charlie battled throwing fists and knife jabs in an ever-thickening smog. The
darkness of night settling over the town and where the mist met the night sky a
thin blue line of hope faded.
The woman had crawled through to the police officers and before she could
speak, they had shot her dead. Their silencers leaving the dead and Charlie
unaware of their actions. The police officers now sneaked side by side, crouched,
into the street where the light of the open car door revealed dancing shadows that
were falling fast. It was Charlie, the police had locked on and kept their eyes
down the sights and fired.
Charlie was caught on the leg by a weight, a heavy clay of dead bodies fell
as they were shot by the police. Charlie fell to his stomach, his ribs cracked, and
his spine stiffened. It was increasingly painful on the tarmac ground as the beasts
piled upon Charlie and within thirty seconds the recognisable faint whips of air
of the silent pistols went dead themselves.
Charlie struggling to move or breathe, bodies were crushing his spine, some
of the bodies barely clothed, some of the creatures’ guts were spilling onto his
jacket and pants. The stench was foul even by Charlie’s standards.
Charlie heard the officer’s approach, their boots clip clopping on the road.
They were unaware of him; god help him if they saw him move and decided to
drop a slug or two into his skull. One of the officers knelt next to the bodies and
rooted through the corpse’s pockets. Charlie had one eye on him, dirty copper,
killing and stealing. The officer retrieved a pack of cigarettes from a dressing
gown of a man and a pack of tic tacs from a woman’s jeans. The other officer
was peered into the car door, his gun clanked against the metal door. Charlie
knew they might be tempted to take the shotgun. More groans echoed through
the foggy mains street. The officer had found Harry, as he stepped next to
Charlie’s face to look in the rear passenger door.
‘Looks like this one might be alright, slightly bruised but nonetheless looks
human,’ the officer said, reaching in and grabbing Harry’s body.
‘Hurry,’ the other officer said, ‘they are coming.’ Both the officers went in to
grab Harry. They both stowed their pistols and cradled Harry’s arms over their
shoulders. Charlie watched in anger, desperately trying to retrieve some grip.
They slung Harry into a supported position over their shoulders and walked off
into the fog. Charlie’s eyes burned from trying to watch everything. The blood
pooled into the forehead; rage coursed his arms, but he was taken back. Charlie
could see footsteps emerge from under the bonnet and there he was trailing after
the police and Harry, the kid carrying that kitten.
Charlie sensed fresh beasts closing in, the stragglers -unaware of his
presence – coldly encircling the car.
CHAPTER 28
Negotiations
Sheila had resorted herself to the only act she was comfortable with, the only
foreseeable way to spend the end of days, drinking jasmine tea and hanging on
to the hope that rescue might be coming.
She had pushed her furniture, the cracking coffee table and her smaller twoseat
sofa against her bolted flat door.
The entire floor must be vacant, Sheila had not heard a whisper from the
neighbouring flats. People she never knew personally, they were distant
memories of a life now stolen from her. The dead has fucked her plans.
She had watched as residents had evacuated from the lower levels en-mass.
It was depressing to see them leave, but Sheila was certain others had stayed,
noises and bangs had echoed from below. A sure sign that someone was still in
there.
Sheila gazed out of the flat window, dreaming of that interview, of the city.
Creatures that had tormented and destroyed people’s lives at the hospital were
now invading the entire town. The corpses mere shadows spread across the
grass. The corpses were clumsy, they fell over inanimate objects like the bins
and benches and tripped over each other’s feet.
Last night was one of the worst she had come through. Cold and lonely. This
night was darker in every sense of the word. The streetlamps had dimmed and
gone out about three hours ago. She kept the clock next to her on the window
ledge. 2am, but she doubted it was correct, it never was. It had caused many late
awakenings with its faulty hour arm.
Drinking tea was becoming repetitive, a naïve attempt to escape boredom.
Outside her flat door, someone must have been wandering the corridors
because someone began to bang and dig their nails into the wood. Not friendly.
Sheila jolted and her tea spilt over her lap. It was cold and she frowned.
Spilling tea didn’t matter anymore, so she tossed the cup at the door and it
shattered, the ceramic pieces spearing onto the sofa she had pushed against the
door. She scowled with a savagely shaking upper lip. Whoever it was stopped
immediately.
Her desire to escape had risen, and the rage was more than she could handle.
Her choices for escape, and where to escape to, were slim. Attempt to go down
the stairs and hope last night hadn’t given rise to a break in. Gangs rendering the
hallways free of corpses with shivs and 3inch blades, or stay and die of
starvation, thirst, or hypothermia, because this apartment was freezing without
heating.
Sheila leant on the window frame. Her books propped up on the ledge, a
selection of old and new interests. Through her haze of uncertainty, fear, she
spotted a text on languages, specifically Spanish, to which she had become
accustomed to some years ago. It had been useful on holiday and family
holidays, but those days are gone, like the heartbeat from most of the towns
people. The thought made her chuckle. A memory, albeit temporarily retrieved in
time to save her from jumping. She also spotted a small, rough-edged box of
matches wedged in the middle of another two books, and a bent cigarette beside
the matchbox.
She plucked the matchbox from between the books and examined the damp
corners. Sheila held the matches and gazed into the night sky, a sea of stars
shone brighter than she ever recalled, she had no memories of this, or a time
when she had pondered the universe or life’s big questions. She picked the
cigarette up and straightened it out. She opened the matchbox, and there was at
least five or six left. She stuck the match and lit the cigarette.
The first inhalation was foul, and the taste made her gag. She tossed it to the
floor and stomped it out.
She examined the matchbox again. It was dampened from the condensation,
but the italic black lettering was visible. It read ‘Harry’s matchbox’, at first sight
it seemed mundane, but Sheila was overcome with tears and she wished she had
stuck with Harry. To think she declined to go with him after he specifically came
back for her was a terrible mistake, an utter fuck up.
The plastic window frame was chipped along the bottom and the corners
were damp. Sheila lifted herself higher, she had to stand up, her legs were
beginning to lose circulation. She lit a match, and then another before lighting
the matchbox on fire and throwing it onto the sofa that was pushed against the
door. The sofa was the most flammable thing she could see in the flat. It was
rapidly alight, and a blazing flame tore through the fabric. Her mind was
whirling, the flame was hot and that relieved her.
A few days ago, she was on her way to an interview, on her way out of
Beach Town. Now she was staring into fighting blue and red flames and cackling
as the plastic buttons of the sofa melted. She did wonder in that moment,
whether she might have got the interview.
*
The main reception hall of the police station was housing a half dozen officers,
equipped with assault rifles and pistols. The receptionist was miraculously still
alive, but she was not an officer in the modern-day sense, her role consisted of
strictly paperwork.
Dean had given her a day worth of firing training on a field range. Dean was
no longer alive, and he would not be coming back, not even as one of the
undead. The officers awaited obliviously for Dean to return. In the centre of the
entrance hall, now candle lit as the station didn’t have generators, sat a metallic
table from one of the interview rooms. On top of the table a matte-black portable
wireless two-way radio.
Harry had been placed in the corner on a makeshift bed – consisting of
nothing more than emergency blankets and a spare pillow from the cells – he
was showing signs of life which was promising. James and Sam slept soundly
next to him.
When the officers had realised James was in pursuit as they had carried
Harry into the station, they could not shoot him down, physically they couldn’t
grab their guns to do so.
Emerging from the darkness of the staircase were the only two doctors on
hand to help with anything. Since the dead were in no way treatable, they
became mere assistance to the officers rather than the objective givers. They
carried first aid bags and one of them also held a briefcase with the red cross
symbol.
The officers gave them a wide birth, as one doctor headed straight to the
officer with the radio and began talking to him about awaiting a response. The
other heavy footed it to Harry and James, kneeling on the emergency blanket and
feeling Harry’s wrist.
‘Weak pulse,’ he muttered, leaning his ear to Harry’s mouth. The doctor
shook his head and opened his briefcase - a leather brown, number lock case –
retrieving a needle and bottle. The doctor examined Harry’s arms, the veins were
evident, not for the right reasons. Harry had a black streak running along his
right arm and the doctor rubbed the vein and inserted the needle. The blood did
not flow smoothly, it spurted into the sample bottle, the blood was cherry red.
‘Bridge evacuation…to disease...control, police station… emergency
services, anyone,’ a man’s voice shoddily echoed through the radio, interrupted
by heavy hissing. Everyone in the room went silent as they listened to the radio,
and an officer darted to the centre room table, to the radio. The doctor attending
to Harry paused, noting the chaos, and quickly finished withdrawing blood
before sneakily tucking the blood sample into his right trouser pocket. After
which he returned to the centre table, and the strange man’s voice came through
again.
‘Evacuation to emergency services, please reply, contact mandatory, over.’ It
was crystal clear now, like magic. Everyone stood up, some of the officers were
sweating heavily and loosened their shirts and one officer dropped his gun on the
floor and sobbed as he fell to his knees. They all looked exhausted gazing in
stupor at each other. The eldest officer, Paul it said on his nametag, took the
radio and clicked the talk button.
‘Police services to evacuation, we’re here and waiting for orders. I say again,
we are here and we all here you loud and clear,’ he coughed. ‘We are so happy
you’re out there, evac, over.’ Officer Paul trembled towards the end and cheered.
All the officer began patting each other’s backs whilst awaiting the response.
The doctors gave a yawping hooray to the ceiling.
‘Okay officers, we read you loud and clear too, but I’m afraid there is some
sad news.’ The radio went silent again and officer Paul went white, sweating
heavily from his brow.
‘Come on what sad news?’ officer Paul yelled. Everyone else looked
melancholy.
The doctor who had taken Harry’s blood, peered towards Harry, James and
Sam, they were all asleep still. He scanned the room, and nobody was paying
attention to him. The doctor calmly placed his stethoscope onto the table and
began to pace backwards before turning around and walking to the front door.
The sample was still in his trouser pocket.
The radio crackled static and beeped, ‘Officers, evacuation is off the table for
now, we have blown the only way out of Town for your own safety and to try
and prevent the threat from growing,’ the man said. ‘Western planet earth is a
thing of the past, welcome to the apocalypse brothers. I think you may need
some time to digest this, so please stay calm and maintain law and order, and
rescue as many civilians as you can. Avoid the North of the island, its swamped.
We can arrange a pickup further down the line when we have a safe outpost to
evac to, that might be your best bet, alpha evac out.’ It was a long, uninterrupted
broadcast that left a shadow of fear overhanging the officers. The radio hissed
before transitioning into a constant monotone beep. Officer Paul turned the radio
off and put it onto the table..
‘I’ll be fucking damned, civilisation gone,’ officer Paul paused and rubbed
the sweat from his cheeks, his face whiter than his shirt. ‘I expected it to be
controllable,’ officer Paul laughed hysterically, his wrinkled neck tightened, and
he swiftly reached for his holstered pistol, pointing it at his forehead before
anyone could react and squeezing the trigger.
The gunshot rang out and blood spurted from the officer’s head as he fell
motionless to the freshly bloodied stone floor. Everyone panicked, the officers
jumped backwards, sinking their heads into their hands whilst some slid down
walls wailing and moaning.
At the front door of the police station was the doctor who hadn’t even made
it two steps, he was screwed. An angry Charlie met him with a red eyed grin and
stature that stood over the doc. The doctor gasped to plead.
The doctor received the full force of Charlie’s vengeful punch. Charlie’s
knuckle cracked as he broke doctor’s nose and blood trickled down the doc’s
face. Charlie was savage, his veins bulged, and his teeth snarled. The moonlight
shone on them both and Charlie grabbed the doctor and decided to snap his neck.
He dragged the body to the side of the staircase and propped him up against the
sidewall.
The shotgun was hidden down Charlies pants and his knife firmly in his
trouser pocket, a knife that could stab a hole big enough for a gold ball.
He would have gone straight in. But it was better to lure them out then raid
the station.
Charlie knelt and routed through the doctor’s trousers. He pulled out the vial
of blood, the blood now black and Charlie puked to the side.
Main street was silent and empty for now. The fog had cleared, and the street
was a clear wreck. Dead bodies outside the supermarket, bullet holes in the pub
windows and a few crashed cars ditched in the middle of the road.
‘Interesting, what were you trying to do with this?’ Charlie murmured and
put the blood sample into his trouser pocket. He began to climb the police station
steps.
CHAPTER 29
Remnants
The motel was desolated, four or five zombies wandered the car park. The only
occupants of the motel – Charlies newborn child and prostitute fling – sat in the
candle lit room. Luckily for Delila, Samuel was calm and had slept non-stop
since Charlie left.
The zombies outside were unaware of their presence. Delila was sat on the
bed looking out of the dirty motel window when a figure emerged from the
darkness rapidly heading towards the room. Delila carefully placed Samuel into
the pram, the cushions rustled as he lay down.
The thumps on the motel room door rattled the chain lock. Delila stood next
to the window to see through the glass, the curtain wrapped around her body.
Another thump on the wood, Samuel slept through it, for now. Moans rippled
through the motel. Delila turned her head to see where it was coming from, the
dead were shambling from the neighbouring rooms. Delila hesitated and
reluctantly went to the door peephole. She could see the young man outside,
cherry faced. She gripped the handle and unlocked the door chain and opened
the door.
Douglas, the petrol station attendant who had made his escape over the
bouldering side bank. Douglas had snuck himself into a ditch and hid until he
could move, that was hours ago when it was daylight. Charlie had climbed over
the boulders unaware of Douglas hiding in the ditch on the other side. Douglas
had a purple bruise along his right forearm and a cut on his left hand.
‘Stand in the corner over there, away from the pram,’ Delila pushed the door
shut, careful not to slam it and wake Samuel. She pointed to the corner, her eyes
piercing Douglas who was panting, he wiped his brow. The carpet had become
wet from Douglas’s shoes and muddy footprints now stained the carpet. He
stood in the furthest corner next to the bathroom door. The wallpaper was
peeling as he leant against the wall.
Both eyed each other cautiously moving with precision. Douglas looked at
the pram and the sleeping baby, Delila quickly stood in front of the pram,
blocking his view.
‘I’m Douglas,’ he said. Delila was inattentive and Douglas twitched uneasily
as the silence expanded.
‘Delila,’ she smiled and instantly both their shoulders relaxed, and they were
more flexible. Douglas sunk to the floor, accidently peeling the wallpaper off
with his shirt. He was younger than Delila, her face was bearing undereye bags
and his eyes were still fresh. ‘Meet Samuel, he’s not too talkative right now,’
Delila quipped and rested her forearms on the pram, baby Samuel no longer
suckling on the milk bottle he had been sleeping with. Douglas laughed. It
seemed to be going well. Douglas had a strip of wallpaper over his shoulder, and
his legs quivered. The room was dimly lit. It was too dark for him to fully realise
Delila’s bruises.
‘Where’s the man that was here?’ Douglas enquired; his crescent smile
turned to a frown of empathy. Delila cried and a few tears dripped onto her
forearm. Douglas tried to stand but had to crawl over to the bed and pull himself
up. Douglas was better able to see the baby boy from the bed. Douglas couldn’t
help but let out a big grin. Delila didn’t look impressed and pointed back to the
corner.
‘Stay there,’ she shrieked, and Douglas went pale. The atmosphere was tense
again. The air conditioning buzzing went silent, the absence of fresh air gave the
room a musky appearance. All that remained in the petty motel room was the
uncomfortable bed, covered in a cream pink throw over and a bathroom which
housed used razors and shaving cream. Douglas had a stern look of anger in his
grimace and sat on the floor next to the bathroom door once again, knees to his
chest.
‘I’ll tell you where he is, he’s gone because he doesn’t care,’ she quivered,
her mouth agape, her eyes sunken.
‘I want to help you and your baby get out of here and go somewhere safe, the
town hall or the police station.’ Douglas tried to sound optimistic. Delila wiped
her eyes and the tears kept rolling from her cheeks onto arm. Douglas rolled his
eyes, realising how difficult that sounded, exhaustion coarsely soared through
the air. Delila seemed unmotivated to move. Vehicles were out of the question
and the hospital was surely no safe zone. ‘We could try and make our way to the
motorway,’ Douglas continued. ‘But that means having to put up with being in a
car for a few hours, that’s if we find a car with keys. I know of a car, parked at
the back of the petrol station, the keys are usually always stashed in the exhaust.
Belonged to the owner,’ Douglas spoke empathetically and twiddled his thumbs,
gazing into the carpet, almost self-pitying himself.
‘I don’t want Samuel to be in danger,’ Delila blurted. ‘As for the man earlier,
he’s beyond redemption, I wouldn’t want to find him again,’ she cried and sat
down on the bed, the quilt rustled.
‘We don’t have to find him,’ Douglas said. ‘You can wait here while I fetch
the car, I just want to make sure you and your baby…Samuel, get to safety. It
seemed unfair to leave you here that’s why I came back, I could hear a baby
crying,’ Douglas explained, his eyes met Delila’s glassy eyes, they were
breaking barriers, of age and of expectations, building trust, although Delila
appeared hesitant to trust still.
‘I couldn’t exonerate him from his ignorance, please don’t abandon us like
he did,’ Delila sobbed, drying her eyes and reaching a hand to Samuel. Samuel
slept peacefully, but for how long was anyone’s guess. Douglas pushed himself
to his feet and this time approached Delila with determination. He sat opposite
Delila on the bed.
The dirty window was drowning in moonlight, the candle lit room surreal
with compassion. He put his hand to hers, and she took it. Douglas looked into
her eyes and blushed. They could now trust each other, it was hard to trust in this
new reality, they were the remnants of humanity. The order they had found,
amongst the moment of peace, was disturbed by the scratching on the wall. The
neighbours mustn’t have left. The occupants had to be dead, or at least halfway.
‘We can sleep tonight,’ Douglas spoke. ‘There’s a few hours of darkness left;
I’ll keep watch.’ Douglas retreating to the wall next to the bathroom door, where
the paper had peeled off. A content smile on his face. Delila shuffled up the bed
and lay down, pulling the blanket over herself and closing her eyes.
Rain began pattering on the window frame, the inside covered in streaks of
dust. The moonlight now obscured by clouds and the only source of light in the
room, the candle on the bedside table, was melting fast.
***
Morning broke over the rooftops, remnants of humanity shimmered across
Beach Town, scattered fires lit up parts of the neighbourhoods, corpses shambled
in every corner alley and down every street. Electricity was out, water was out,
phonelines were fried and emergency service numbers failed to dial. Nothing of
the busy town remained, it was akin to a deserted town. The only survivors left
had taken shelter in homes, some families were lucky to survive, and others
fortified their front doors. The police on patrol were now rogue militants. The
police station was home to a chaotic and uncoordinated team of undertrained
officers. The only way out of town, blocked.
The screaming black tar creatures had gathered a following of various
corpses, each dressed uniquely, some in their birthday suits – or death day suits –
some were half eaten, guts trailing along the concrete slabs of the pavements.
The creatures were aptly named screamers by the remaining serving officers,
roaming Beach Town with a gang of the undead in tow. The officers had one
way to contact each other, their radios, and that was not efficient enough,
considering the radios were constantly cutting out due to interference.
It was Sheila who had witnessed the screamers inflict death. They possessed
great agile capabilities and tended to crouch in bushes. They would use their
hands as razors and cut the throats of the victims. The victims would fall and
then corpses would pile on them.
It was as if – as Sheila had murmured as her flat burnt - they were feeding the
dead. Sheila was watching over the town from a high, safe window. The new day
shone into her apartment where blue flames whipped and flicked viciously, it
was a short matter of time before she had no choice but to jump.
A few stragglers roamed the motel, clueless braindead freaks were waddling
in the mesmerising crisp red dawn. People once considered smart were now
walking into walls and gazing moronically at the crows and seagulls that
swooned overhead.
Their slowness had given Douglas an idea, especially since he had managed
to reach the Jeep behind the petrol station. The keys had been in the exhaust. He
had to get it running and to the motel room quietly without attracting them. He
was locked inside the Jeep. The doors secured. The distant hills behind the petrol
station shimmered with a heat, the island was like that, unpredictable weather.
Up and down, rain and sunshine.
Today the weather didn’t matter, surviving did. Humanity now had to endure
a battle of redemption, of security and trust. Douglas smirked, empowered by the
sunrise, keying the ignition, a look of determination across his face and fire from
the sunlight in his eyes, unmoved, powerful.
The vehicle revved to life and the brown four door Jeep shot a clump of
black smoke out the rear smouldering the bricks of the petrol station as Douglas
shifted to first. The bins were overloaded. The building riddled with cracks
sprouting olive vines and spouting weeds from every crevice.
Around the corner an open road, he toed the accelerator and the Jeep rolled
forward. Creeping the Jeep around the building Douglas saw a clear route
approximately thirty yards to the motel. The ticking over of the small engine was
drawing the attention of birds that feasted on dropped foods and crisp packets.
Some crows rested inside the abandoned cars that had been dumped at the
pumps. Fuel was spilt over the floor, Douglas spotted it and as the Jeep drove
over the spillage, he tightened the grip on the steering wheel. The entire place
could explode, go nuclear, if something sparked it. All it would take is a shot of
fumes from the exhaust and the petrol station and motel and all birds would be
obliterated.
Douglas pulled the Jeep alongside the motel room. Douglas put the
handbrake on and honked the horn, a few monsters stumbled out of the other
motel rooms. Naked women came from the room furthest away, Douglas
admired their naked splendour with a grin. They still looked alive if it wasn’t for
that crooked stall paced limp. The morning dew on the windshield gave
everything a fuzzy appearance. One of the motel rooms seemed to be coveted in
a white smoke. Douglas could not move at the realisation that the smoke
flickering from one of the motel rooms could be a raging fire inside. He shivered
and his stomach rumbled which attracted the undead from the petrol station.
‘Come on, where are you,’ Douglas complained, his arms shaking and the car
vibrations rippling through his spine with every revolution. He honked the horn
again, longer.
Delila appeared from the motel room carrying Samuel. Douglas gritted his
teeth hoping there was time for her to get in the Jeep without getting eaten or
blowing up. Douglas spotted the electrocuted officer in the puddle, the officers
burnt face and torn flesh made Douglas quiver. Delila approached the Jeep, but
her timing didn’t ease Douglas’s grimace.
Flames began to spit from the doorway further down. The dead were fast
approaching the bonnet, clawing at the metal. The sound was like marbles
rolling across a stainless-steel sheet.
Delila struggled to open the door and get in, but she managed to place
Samuel - who was awake and wide eyed and calm - on the seat. Douglas could
not take his sight from the flickering flames in the doorway or the beasts in the
rear-view mirror.
‘Come on for god’s sake,’ Douglas cried out. ‘Come on!’ The creatures
started clawing the doors. Delila was in and holding Samuel in her arms again.
Douglas floored the acceleration pedal. They all sunk into the leather seats as
the Jeep screeched off, as Douglas turned sharp left and onto the main road. One
of the corpses arms had torn off in the tire as the body was flung sideways into
the motel wall. The Jeep was speedily beginning its journey to main street. The
boulders side bank was lined with blood streaks and remains of bodies. There
was shirts and random items of clothing scattered over the side bank.
Douglas looked in the rear-view mirror, his face dripping in sweat. The motel
and station grew smaller. The flames erupted into the air, a small grey mushroom
cloud appeared, then a bang rumbled through the road, followed by a pop, the
shockwave rippled through the steering wheel and the glass in the rear-view
mirror smashed and Delila screamed and Samuel began to cry. The journey to
salvation had begun.
CHAPTER 30
The Revelation
The remaining police officers stood quietly around the radio table, watching the
radio eagerly whilst sipping the last of the water from the fountain in Styrofoam
cups. Charlie was making his way around the station without being noticed after
slipping in the back door. Keenly spying the police and eager for Harry to wake
up. Charlie had found the bandages on Harry’s wounds awe inspiring. The pain
from his neck scar pulsed for the remainder of his pacing. He finally settling on a
darkened oak bench near the reception desk.
After removing officer Pauls body – another officer managed to find the
janitors mop and clean the mess using a bottle of surface disinfectant – the
officers stood twiddling thumbs and asking each other open ended questions
such as what could we do next and how did this start. One of them had brought
down the steel chairs from interrogation rooms.
James and Sam had woken and were merrily playing but James constantly
looked at his father. Sam jumped on Harry a couple of times. The remaining
doctor had to shout at him so he wouldn’t claw at Harry’s already wounded
body.
Charlie watched with a grin. Charlie had no need to move. The two officer’s
stationed at the front door had re-entered. Seemingly unaware of the body that
Charlie had dumped over the sidewall. Because of their obliviousness he could
sit quietly, protected from the elements until rescue arrived, or however long
until the officers spotted him.
Every officer had been rattled by the horrendous events that had unfolded.
When the morning dew settled and the clear blue sky broke over town, the
officers felt the remnants of the thundering clash of the motel explosion. The
petrol station was blown to oblivion along with any survivors. It was pointless to
call for any emergency services. The officers had grunted in agreement that they
would stick together until rescue arrived.
Charlie appeared to find the officers amusing, bearing a jeering smirk across
his stubbly face. The officers had been locking him up earlier. But after breaking
one officers neck – amongst other victims – he sat joyfully watching the pigs sip
the last of their supplies.
A young Caribbean male officer, unbuttoned white shirt, shaking hands and a
nervous expression, walked over to the reception desk and was taken by surprise.
Charlie smirked at the officer.
‘I’m taking charge, get back to the radio and see if you can help,’ the young
officer said to Charlie. ‘There obviously isn’t any point waiting for the
Lieutenant to arrive,’ he continued. The officers slanted tag read Ken. Charlie
burst out laughing, his coarse laugh breaking to a choke. Ken looked with
distaste. Ken was a well-built man, and Charlie only had stature on his side, Ken
could surely out manoeuvre Charlie.
The other officers glared to Charlie and Ken but didn’t advance, unaware of
the threat. Ken adjusted his belt. His trousers were torn along the shin.
‘I’m sure you could,’ Charlie replied, leaning against the reception desk and
clasping his hands together in anticipation. Ken sternly gazed at Charlie.
‘We should move all officers up to the roof,’ officer Ken said. ‘The top floor
of the station. We need to get the word out to the men on the front line. God
bless them I hope they are alive. To the rooftop. We’ll set off the emergency
flares from storage, the military isn’t the only rescue,’ Ken gasped with sweat
sticking to his shirt. Ken rubbed his thin jawbone and it clicked. Charlie scorned.
‘No chance,’ one officer holding water said. The officers were beat, all of
them appeared exhausted and bored.
‘We should stay in the warm,’ a middle-aged officer chipped in. ‘We can’t
take our chances living on the roof.’ All six officers mumbled followed by
random agreements.
The doctor attended to Harry and James trying to keep his head low to avoid
disagreement. Officer Ken went pale seeing the disagreement.
‘You are a genius,’ Charlie said sarcastically. ‘We can wait on the roof until
rescue arrives.’ Charlie smiled deceptively. ‘I think you are onto something,’
Charlie continued whilst grimacing at the other officers.
‘At least you are with me,’ Ken sounded optimistic. The officers resumed
their redundant quavering and talking, and Ken approached Charlie on the
bench. Ken’s shirt drenched and his face sunken.
Ken carried a pistol on his belt; the holster was unclipped. Charlie glimpsed
the pistol and slowly reached into his jacket. Before Ken could speak Charlie
equipped his knife from his jacket and forcefully drove the dagger through Ken’s
stomach. Blood pooled from Ken’s mouth and stomach down his trousers before
collecting around his feet. Charlie wrapped his arm around Ken pulling him
close. The officers were oblivious, but the doctor noticed.
‘Stop!’ the doctor yelled as his Poirot style moustache flicked.
The officer equipped their pistols. Sippy cups were dropped, and they had all
pistol sights on Charlie. James coveted Sam and snuggled into his father’s
unconscious arms. One wrong move and Charlie was dead.
Ken was still breathing and whimpering, crying tears of blood. Charlie stood
up using the dagger to lift Ken.
‘Drop it,’ the only female officer shouted. Her pistol was a silver colt with
fire sight. She aimed straight at Charlie’s head. He held Ken the Caribbean
closer, ignoring the blood that spooled from Ken’s brown lips onto his leather
jacket.
To the right of the reception desk, the staircase. Where Harry lay
unconscious on a makeshift bed whilst James and Sam hid in his arms.
She fired her colt, the bullet ricocheted off the rear stone wall.
‘Whoa lady, not cool,’ Charlie yelled. ‘Fire again and I’ll burn you all.’ The
female officer lowered her gun as another officer placed one hand on her
shoulder.
The officers lowered their pistols. Charlie began to move towards the
staircase. He reached the first step, froze and then tossed Ken forward snapping
Ken’s ankle. The station became an auditorium of high-pitched shouting before
going silent. Charlie ducked his head and darted up the stairs.
Two officers ran for the stairs, but the doctor commanded them to stay and
the officers stood down stowing their pistols. The officers turned to look at
Ken’s bleeding corpse, another lost warrior in the new world. Ken’s eyes
flickered as he exhaled his last breath.
‘Another officer dead,’ the doctor said. ‘I think we should prioritise now. By
the way, this patient is waking up and we need to secure him.’ The doctor
pointed to Harry who squirmed and groaned. James watched in awe, holding
Sam tightly in his arms. Harry opened his eyes for the first time in hours and the
doctor took a sharp intake of breath. The officers gossiped. James looked into the
eyes of his father. Harry’s eyes were milk white.
‘Take your time,’ the doctor said softly to Harry. ‘You’ve sustained some
damage, a few cuts and bruises. Heck you’ve been through a war. It Looks like
you could do with some water too.’ Harry propped himself up on his elbows.
James let Sam loose and he didn’t skitter off, but instead seemed intrigued by
Harry, purring at him, rubbing his face on his arms. Harry gently stroked Sam.
‘He can see, thank god,’ the doctor added.
Some officers had been ignorant of anything the doctor had said but now
they had looks of awe and respect. The female officer had moved to the bottom
of the stairs, trying to see if Charlie was still in sight.
‘He’s gone,’ she said. ‘We can’t let him run loose in the building.’ Nobody
was paying attention to her.
Harry looked pale and worn but had an expression of discerning judgement.
Two officers returned to the front doors and left to guard the front. The door
officers were briefed not to respond to the internal threats.
Harry was goggle eyed and his left arm shook. He felt his leg wound, it was
now cleansed and bandaged, the tape neatly cut by the doctor. He felt his new
clothes, someone changed him. Sam rubbed against his hands, tail up and
weaving his head around. Harry smiled and then hugged James tightly. James
pushed him away with a profound smile.
The doctor had walked to the table for the water cups. He took one and then
pulled a strip of paracetamol from his pocket. Harry felt a pulse of relief. His
head hadn’t ached so much since having a hangover, but he struggled to
remember when that was. Time had dilated, Harry forgot where he was and what
was happening. The confusion made him tremble. The doctor now placed the
cup in his hands, and Harry took the pills the doc had popped out for him. Two
gulps and the water were as ice, refreshing. Immediately the officers jumped
back, each startled and commenting. Words buzzed in Harry’s head. The room
became a glowing orb of light, and then faded to normalcy again.
‘If you can’t deal with it then try and do something useful,’ the doctor
choked kneeling next to Harry. Shakily he placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder
and Harry felt more confusion. ‘Can you talk? Take it easy, you’ll have time to
recollect the situation later,’ the doctor added, scratching his white stubble. Harry
pushed himself up, with the help of the doctor, into a sitting position against the
staircase. He felt the blanket and it was smoother than ever, it was unreally
beautiful, the glow of each object intensified, and even James’s skin looked
vibrant and new. Harry made a thumbs up gesture with his hands. The doctor and
James watched on in amusement. Sam skittered off towards the officer’s. The
police stood at ease, because Harry was awake and not a creepy walking dead.
Something flashed in Harry’s right eye and he felt like talking but couldn’t.
His mouth moving jaggedly. Harry touched his cheeks with his detailed index,
its wrinkles like canyons of warping black matter. The world of his hands was
all-encompassing of his imagination. He thought momentarily that he was on
drugs, but he wasn’t, because he felt absent minded. Harry looked around at the
figures appeared with a small orange simmering light around them which faded
to purple and white. His throat popped air and the words croaked out as if his
oesophagus were dry.
‘Where…Where…Where,’ Harry couldn’t fathom the words, something to
do with where he was. Trying to talk was a heavy pressing in his stomach. He
pointed steadily to his forehead then gave a thumbs up. He knew his brain
worked, but his voice didn’t. God knows what other things didn’t work, like his
ability to walk straight. The doctor acknowledged with a smile and thumbs up.
‘Good,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll be here if you need me but feel free to explore
the main hall. Please refrain from going upstairs, some guy wearing a leather
jacket has killed an officer and made for the upper levels.’ The doctor stood and
walked over to the radio table. The female officer returned from the staircase
with an angered sour grimace wiped on her face.
Harry gulped and then realised with dread that it may be Charlie from the
hospital. Charlie had been acting suspiciously after leaving the station, but had
he returned, and for what reason. Memories flooded back. his lower back
tingled, and his left leg ached. He rubbed the thigh, the clean joggers breathable
and comforting. James hadn’t moved from his fathers’ side since he woke, and
Harry was glad. But there was a feeling of emptiness in Harry’s heart, as if he
were unhappy to be alive. But he reassured himself, hugging James, that this was
a brilliant thing. What he couldn’t remember was the last words Sheila spoke, or
his wife.
‘Oh, call me John by the way, or doctor, it’s up to you,’ John the doctor
called across to Harry, who managed a smile. His face was particularly tender.
Some of the officers laughed and John shook it off with a middle finger. Harry
could feel the sense of instant connection, everyone was literally surviving now
so it didn’t matter who was present, it only mattered that they weren’t psycho’s
intent on hurting anyone. Harry chuckled to himself, his laugh fraught sharply
with air.
‘Why are your eyes black?’ James asked, looking caringly to Harry. His
stomach rumbled; he could use a sarnie sandwich. Then he noticed his bag and
the other belongings from the fire station were gone. He did recall the phone
call. The memory was brought back by hissing of the radio on the officers table.
The officers were trying to contact someone, there monotone voices repeating
the same message. They took turns. The female sounded more enthusiastic then
the others. John was looking at a clipboard whilst taking notes and checking his
briefcase. He appeared as if he had lost something.
The question James asked had shocked Harry. But he was withdrawn, and it
didn’t disturb him, nothing did anymore. Not after seeing a child torn to shred
and a bunch of dead people shambling through a once thriving hospital. The
stains from the attack were still present near the staircase, someone had done a
bad job of wiping the blood up. The body had been laid beside the entrance. It
was coincidental when an officer walked through the front doors, the sun and
blue skies shone in the distance. The officer grabbed the bodies legs and dragged
it out the door held open by his assisting officer. The body of the youngster left a
trail of oily blood, it was dreamlike. Everything Harry had known was
overturned. Then with a huge huff and a big inhale, Harry whispered fragilely.
‘We’ll be okay, James, we’ll be okay.’
CHAPTER 31
Crowded
The station was at stalemate. The occupants stuck in a limbo, waiting for the socalled
rescue to make contact. Evacuation could be months, if it even happens.
Doctor John had scrawled a message to be relayed over the radio and one
younger officer took to reading it sharply. ‘We may have an immune survivor,’
the officer read the message aloud. Harry perked up to a sea of officers admiring
him with a slight look of resentment.
The increasing number of zombies shambling through main street was
evident by the wails echoing through the walls. Their predicament was
escalating to dangerous levels. No matter how sunny it was, it felt miserable.
The officers outside the station front door were now firing their pistols, pop
after pop of unsilenced takedowns.
Harry listened closely; the shouting was muffled as if muted by foam. The
other officers stood around gazing at the front doors. The gunshots continued
until the front doors slammed open and one officer stumbled into the station
heaving and short of breath. The other officer was crouching at the entrance,
popping round after round into the beasts.
‘Assistance,’ he cried. ‘There has to be more than a dozen and they’re not
stopping!’
The remaining four officers scrambled to equip their pistols and darted
towards the front doors.
Harry saw the variety of ripped clothes and gnawing faces the endless
clawing to devour the officers before being shot point blank in the chest and
skull. The moaning crescendo like waves of the sea. A thick salty breeze wafted
into the hall. It smelt half sea, half dead. The dead were being slowed, but the
relentless need to feed was not being subdued.
‘God dammit keep them out!’ another officer yelled. The officers managed to
push them back and slowly but surely shut the front doors. Doctor John
remained stagnant and fraught. James became overly anxious and fidgeted which
irritated Sam who began to scratch at him.
The police would again be overwhelmed, and the station overrun, Harry had
seen that before. The dead were unstoppable. Rescue had to come, there was no
way any of them could survive otherwise.
‘We have to call for rescue now,’ Harry coughed. John shot him a look of
scouring anger and empathy. As if Harry had questioned their authority. ‘We
have to leave now.’ Harry pushed himself to his knees and wobbled. Dizzy and
his vision sparkled. John rushes over to his aid and assists Harry by supporting
his underarm.
‘Take it easy,’ John said. ‘We have our orders. I think the police can handle
it.’
A screaming officer shook them all. The officer’s outside were firing again.
Harry grabbed the doctor and pulled him close.
‘You hear that?’ Harry said. ‘That’s not salvation and we won’t last here, we
must try.’ Harry’s demanding felt futile. His balance was skewed as he shuffled
the doctor by the scruff of his neck and gritted his teeth. Adrenaline pumped
through him, a sensation of spiders crawling over his chest and then calm. John
was startled as he tried to wipe his face, but Harry stopped him.
‘We can try…’ John replied but was cut off before he could finish, visible
shook, his hands shaking. Harry released him. Another door slammed shut, both
John and Harry stumbled to the side of the staircase. James and Sam patiently on
the blanket.
Harry could hear footsteps pacing across the stone floors. The killer from
earlier? ‘What’s that?’ John whispered to Harry, who had regained his strength in
his arms. His back ached and his half-knifed calf pulsated with each heartbeat.
‘I see a shadow behind the reception desk,’ Harry replied. The station
windows weren’t great at illuminating the station entrance hall. Harry watched
the shadows eagerly, fearing the dead had breached the building. He wondered
what it may be like to kill one of the zombies again. John crawled on his belly to
the other side of the staircase and Harry could see his head popping up from
behind the stone. John dropped out of sight and then jumped up with a squelch.
‘It’s okay come on in,’ John said. ‘We’re here for your benefit.’ John
vanished from Harry’s sight. Harry could hear a woman and then a baby
coughing. Harry’s thoughts were not friendly at first. Risking his child’s life by
sneaking in the back door. Everyone mattered now though, even if Harry was
annoyed and they endangered the entire building. He put two and two together.
Obviously they had attracted the zombies. James left Sam and went to greet the
strangers.
Harry saw a man and a woman carrying a thickly wrapped baby. Harry
pushed himself to his feet again, ignoring the pain and missing the painkillers,
even though they made his head feel soft. As the survivors approached the
staircase, Harry imagined the woman was Sheila. Sheila may have changed her
mind and tried to find him. But it wasn’t her.
He officers left outside were shouting. The officer stood around the radio
table looking concerned but helpless to act. The shouting officers mixed with the
bangs of metal sent shudders down Harry’s spine. The mother and baby had
somehow got into a death-trap.
‘Douglas, Delila and Samuel meet our survivors,’ John introduced them.
Douglas exchanged a handshake with Harry, and he instantly regretted it, it was
pointless. They could be dead soon, getting acquainted was useless.
‘My name is James,’ James shook Douglas’s hand with a smile that made
Harry become glass eyed with emotion. Soon the smiles turned shyness and
James wrapped his arms around Harry.
‘There’s no more time, John,’ Harry implored before demanding, ‘we call
now, do it.’ Harry pointed at the radio. Douglas and Delila watched in confusion.
John shook his head and walked over to the radio.
All the remaining officers gathered around the table; the radio hissed.
Gunshots continued to ring out. Harry prepared himself.
‘Calling Alpha evacuation, Alpha evac. This is Beach Town police station to
evacuation, over,’ John said. Harry’s pulse quickened.
‘Give it here,’ Harry said as he tried to snatch the radio from John who
quickly pulled it away. The plastic scraped Harry’s hand. Harry wanted to punch
the doctor but being in the presence of a baby and James changed his mind. John
was not as big as Charlie; John was the annoyance that Harry could deal with.
Harry pondered being able to control Charlie if he turned up causing trouble.
Whatever mysterious disease was coursing through his veins, it made him feel
ten time stronger than usual.
‘I have my orders too,’ John said. ‘Evacuation, Beach Town police
department to evacuation, I… we are requesting emergency evacuation from the
Police station, the situation has changed,’ John turned to look at Harry before
continuing. ‘I have the package.’
It was obvious Harry was the package, but why he was he wasn’t sure. The
bite wound on his calf had been cut out in a brutal manner, but there was more to
this disease. Maybe he was immune. But he doubted the odds and grunted it off.
The radio crackled, then two officers bolted through the front doors loud
enough to startle the baby awake, he instantly began crying.
‘Barricade the door’, the officers gasped in unison. Harry spotted another
bench next to the door.
‘John give me a hand,’ Harry shouted as he limped to the wooden bench. The
officers managed to lock the bolts above the door. Outside dark figures emerged,
their bodies covering the station window, the smell of brains and guts seeped
through the glass. Harry pushed the bench and John pulled the bench to cover
the door. After pushing the bench against the door Harry felt embarrassed, it was
a pathetic attempt at barricading. Harry was sick of nobody taking charge, the
same happened at the hospital.
‘You two, stay guard,’ Harry commanded the officers. ‘Make sure they can’t
get in.’ After hesitating they began scouring the hall for some other benches.
‘John get back on the radio.’ Doctor John did as he was told. There was no reply
yet. ‘James stay with Sam and make sure he doesn’t go wandering off.’ James
had made a den from the blankets and appeared content to hide there with Sam.
The empowering feeling of taking charge gave him butterflies. Harry’s palms
sweaty with blissful hope. Being in charge made rescue seem possible. The
smell of the dead was overpowering. Seeing so few faces in the hall made it feel
strangely crowded. Harry imagined it was the dead outside that gave that effect.
It was affecting his concentration.
‘Alpha evacuation, I have the package, we have a survivor without
symptoms, over!’ John shouted. Delila sat on the staircase trying to shush
Samuel, his crying quietened but continued. Douglas remained very wide eyed
and vacant leaning against the reception desk. If Harry had the time he might
have enquired, but he assumed it was shock. The radio cackled in John’s hand.
Harry placed his hands on the table and gasped. John held the radio against his
ear.
‘Alpha evacuations to survivors,’ a male voice spoke, Harry let out a sigh of
relief. ‘We have new orders following your information, we can evacuate the
package and three other survivors who haven’t been exposed, if there are any,
over’. John went pale. Harry felt humiliated and guilty. Harry and three other
lucky people were going to make it out of town alive. But they still had the
lunatic upstairs to worry about.
‘I’ll stay,’ John said with a sad gauntness gaze. ‘You need to get your son
out.’ Harry began tearing up but wiped it away and looked at James hiding under
the blanket.
‘What about you?’ Harry asked. ‘I thought you had orders?’ The front doors
were being frantically scratched at.
‘Screw orders,’ John continued. ‘I’ve lived and I think it’s fair that your son
has a chance to live a life, don’t you? That baby and its mother need to go as
well.’ Tears trickled down John’s face. Harry could see John’s wrinkles clearly
now, it was the right decision, John was used up. Even if John hadn’t given
James that chance, James would be leaving with evacuation no matter what.
Harry had come too far and through too much destruction to let James die now.
He realised he might have to contend with Douglas and the officers.
‘Good,’ Harry said and patted John on the shoulder. ‘It means a lot that you
would do that.’ John cleared his tears with his sleeve and placed the radio against
his mouth again.
‘Alpha evacuation send rescue to the police station. To the rooftop, we’ve
been trapped in the main hall,’ John said. The officers removed another bench
from a side room and placed it against the front doors. The doors were close to
breaking. Baby Samuel had stopped crying. Douglas had his arm around Delila
as they sat on the steps. Harry kept a watch on James.
The radio clicked in a Morse code fashion.
‘Survivors, evacuation has checked the map and rescue from there is not
possible,’ the man explained. ‘There is no landing pad, the nearest is on the roof
of Beach Town Hospital, can you make it?’ Harry rolled his eyes in disbelief; the
rescue team really had no idea of the situation. John even laughed at the
comment.
‘Are you serious evac? We can’t even get there, that’s the fucking source of
the outbreak as well!’ John yelled, his screech as chalk on blackboard.
‘What are they playing at?’ Harry commented to John.
Then, the front doors smashed open and the officers rapidly equipped their
guns and opened fire. The officers that had stood on guard shambled in before
being popped in the skull and dropping to the floor. Corpses were obliterated
backwards as bullets penetrated their bodies. Blood spurted onto the officers
clothing.
‘Hold tight,’ evac said. ‘Head to the roof, we’ll try to get there as quickly, eta
ten minutes, Alpha evacuation out.’
CHAPTER 32
Evacuation
The events of the last few days had been gut wrenching, the last few hours, even
more so. Once the hungry choppers of the zombies gnawed their way into the
police station, vacant expressions and gargling and oozing blood, the fear
cranked up a notch.
‘Go,’ John cried as the zombies swarmed in, the officers firing the remaining
bullets to no avail. ‘Get to the roof, we’ll hold them off.’ John equipped a
concealed pistol hidden in his back-pant pocket. Harry was shocked at the
number of zombies stumbling into the hall and he rushed to grab James and Sam
from the blankets. John opened fire, the shots hollowing through the coppery
fuelled air.
‘Come on let’s go’, Harry called to Delila a she cradled Samuel on the
staircase. Harry shook, emerging from behind the staircase, the dead. Stragglers
must have gotten through the back door. Harry recognised one of them was a
doctor from the medical tent’s outback, his undead torso ripped. Arms
outstretched and limping, the corpses came in wonky pursuit.
Douglas jolted towards Harry. Delila began to climb the staircase. The dead
closing in fast. Baby Samuel was screaming and gunshots beckoning made
Harry woozy.
‘Back door,’ Harry shouted. One of the officers turned to fire, a bullet
pierced the skull of a beast about to devour Harry’s face and the zombie dropped
motionless to the stone floor. Delila was ahead, expressing confusion. The other
officers diverted their attention to the back door, and the three remaining walkers
became shredded brains among the stained floor. The officers had no choice but
to now boot the dead back. The police had slowed the zombies advance. But
Harry could see the officers struggling to breathe and he could hear their guns
clicking empty. John was sweating profusely, dousing the dead with lead.
‘Move,’ Harry called out, Douglas was assisting Delila onto the first floor
now, but he left her at the top of the staircase and darted back down into the
main hall. James’s weight was bearing down, and Harry’s scratched arms stung.
‘Go Delila,’ Douglas cried. ‘I’ll hold them off.’ The hall was riddled with
corpses that Harry could not stop watching. It was captivating and surreal. Then
Harry grabbed Delila’s arm and with an almighty fathom of strength began to
forcefully assist her through the first-floor corridor. Douglas, John and the other
officers faded from sight. All that remained of those heroic people, Harry
thought, was being eaten or suicide. Their legacy, their honour would live on
through Harry and James, their stories would not go untold.
The struggling police cried out, their gunshots ringing out through the stone
buildings, a nerve wrenching cry channelled the station. The dead had taken
down another victim.
The first floor was empty, and the vacant offices were ghostly, an eerie sense
of a supernatural presence lingered, the sensation of death.
They continued to climb. ‘Keep going,’ Harry said. His legs pulsing, his
heart was racing, and he felt like he was going to pass out. The second-floor
corridor also empty, this time papers were scattered across the floor and
paintings and pictures had fallen off the walls. Harry spotted the sign for the
staircase. Each floor they had to travel the length of the hallway until reaching
another staircase at the end. Four more floors to go, but how long until rescue
arrived. Ten minutes was nothing and Harry suspected there may be two to three
minutes at the most. Evacuation had better wait for them, he thought. James
sobbed as they reached the rooftop staircase, metallic, Delila had handled the
climb sportingly and was well ahead. Harry was seized by a gripping stitch of
exhaustion pinching his lungs. His torso burned. As Delila pushed through the
door to the rooftop Harry was met with a refreshing breeze of salty air. It
invigorated him, and he pushed through to the roof. He could hear the zombie’s
ferocious growling. They were well past the first floor at this point. Rest in
peace, John. The groans were monstrous chants. The door to the roof had been
left ajar, but Harry thought nothing of it.
On the rooftop, the salty wind snaked around Harry’s cold nose, it was a
huge relief. A sense of purpose and rejuvenation was beginning to overpower
him. They had made it. Seagulls swooned overhead. It wasn’t salvation, but it
felt as if it were redemption.
The air conditioning vents were silent, and the stone roof cracked and
sprouted weeds. The sky was clearer than Harry could ever remember. Delila
took a seat on a vent, comforting Samuel. Harry put James down – James held
Sam tightly, his meowing continued – he looked exhausted.
Harry walked back to the rooftop door and closed it, the creaking hinges
enough to scare the crows away, there was a rusty bolt at the top and he locked
it.
His limp was causing him to wobble and he couldn’t imagine climbing into a
helicopter. Harry walked to the edge of the roof, he stared thoughtfully at the
dead who had amassed to greater numbers than he thought possible. The
zombies shambled around every shop, building corner, crevice and car,
lamppost, post box and window. There must have been hundreds, the Beach
Town residents shambled aimlessly. Each biting into the salty air, their arms
swayed, as they attempted to grab at nothing. Harry gulped; this was the end.
Thank god rescue was – hopefully coming – if it wasn’t, he might have
contemplated jumping. But he had James and Sam to look after. Then he
remembered Sheila, he missed her greatly, even more than Molly. Harry looked
to the distant hills, to the hospital in the distance. An epiphany struck him, he
realised that Sheila was much better company and he preferred her
companionship, he revelled in it. Tears trickled down his face and he smiled. He
wanted to be with Sheila, it took the end of the world to realise it.
Harry’s reminiscent mind went black, he was pounded in the face and fell on
the stone floor. A large figure stood over him. Charlie, looking bulkier than ever.
Charlie grinned and clenched his fists.
‘Long time no see,’ Charlie remarked. ‘So, you’re waiting for an evacuation,
huh?’ Charlie equipped his knife from his jacket and swung it at his side, as he
had done with the wrench. Harry was confused how Charlie could possibly
know that.
‘How do you know about that?’ Harry snarled. Charlie booted him in the
ribs. The kick had cracked a rib and the pain was unbearable. Charlie paced
around Harry. He struggled to catch his breath. Charlie huffed as he looked over
the edge of the building.
‘Fancy going in with them instead?’ Charlie said. Harry looked over to Delila
and James, both were sitting on the vent, James was smiling. Charlie watched
them as well and Harry was red with anger. ‘What are the chances of that,’
Charlie chuckled. ‘Are you trying to steal them from me?’ Charlie knelt next to
Harry. His breath meaty. As Charlie bowed next to him Harry spotted the walkie
talkie under his belt. He must have listened to everything.
‘I don’t know who they are,’ Harry said, contemplating whether he should
mention the limited spaces available on the evacuation chopper. Charlie
probably knew anyway. Harry’s chest was cold. Charlie stood up and leant Harry
a hand. Harry was both surprised and relieved. One of them couldn’t board the
helicopter, and it had to be Charlie.
This was Harry’s worst day, beaten and bitten, torn and thrown around and
now, as he recovers from his wounds, discovering he may have to fight Charlie,
possibly to the death. Charlie held his knife in a threatening manner, the silver
blade glistened in the sunlight.
Harry had a chance to grab the knife and protect his son, and Delila and her
baby. He suspected Douglas was too young to be romantically involved with her,
but this was no time for procrastinating.
‘Me and my son are getting out of here,’ Harry said, ‘Delila and her baby are
too.’ Harry pushed himself to his feet and Charlie brought the knife slowly to
Harry’s neck and he froze. Intimidating and unnerving, one wrong move would
see his throat slashed. How many people was Charlie prepared to kill to survive?
‘I’ll be on that chopper, Harry,’ Charlie said, ‘you can stay here, and I’ll take
care of your son.’ The winds picked up, the amalgamation of salt and brains
wafted across the rooftop, the whooshing of something drowned out the
zombie’s moans.
The whooshing was louder, something was approaching. Harry and Charlie
looked around. Sure enough, Harry spotted the helicopter in the distance coming
from the hospital. The chopper was still a distance away and Harry knew it was
maybe two minutes out.
‘I’ll be taking care of him,’ Harry scorned. ‘You can rot here with everyone
else.’ Harry instantly regretted it. Charlie was gushing with saliva as he gritted
his teeth. But Charlie tossed the knife to the floor with a clank and he pulled out
his shotgun and tossed it to the floor as well. Harry had a few funny heartbeats,
and as adrenaline poured into his brain, his surrounding became crystal.
‘No don’t!’ Delila yelled. Harry turned to see James hiding beneath the air
duct shaft. Good boy, Harry thought as he turned to face Charlie, but Charlie
punched him in the jaw as he turned around.
Harry stumbled backwards, regaining his balance and holding his fists up in
defence. Charlie towered over him and lugged his right fist at Harry, beating
Harry’s arm as he blocked the attack. Harry manoeuvred sideways. Harry tried to
jab Charlie in the kidneys, but he missed, and Charlie thumped his cracked ribs.
The rotor of the helicopter was drowning out the dead and the seagulls departed.
It was over main street. The fight ceased whilst Charlie watched the black
helicopter. The crew were pointing to the rooftop.
‘Perhaps you aren’t going to make it after all,’ Charlie snuffed. Harry was
angry and lunged at Charlie, shunting him backwards into the wall as he began
digging his cut fists into Charlie’s ribs. Charlie was taken by surprise, but not
defeated. Harry looked to the knife, laying in waiting for him. ‘No chance,’
Charlie said. ‘We do this the old-fashioned way.’ Charlie kicked the knife across
the roof, and it landed next to a hiding James. Delila was weeping.
The helicopter hovered over the roof, the gushes of wind propelling debris
around the rooftop. The crew slid the side door open and a man in a black helmet
began to guide the helicopter down. There was no room for it to land, they
would have to climb on. Rescue was here at last; civilisation had not forgotten its
humanity just yet.
Charlie kicked Harry in the thigh, and Harry whimpered. He returned a hardupper
cut to Charlie’s face and he stumbled back again. It gave Harry hope that
he could reach the chopper alive. He smacked Charlie in the gob, Charlie was
visibly disorientated, his eyes rolling as he clasped at his nose. Harry kicked him
in the balls and Charlie grabbed them, swearing out loud. He managed to smack
Harry’s face, but Harry continued through the pain. Charlie was closer to the
edge with each blowback. Harry continued his left right jab attack. Charlie
unable and struggling to get a punch in. Harry glanced to the chopper.
One of the crew had deployed a rope down to Delila and Samuel and was
assisting them as they were being lifted to the helicopter. He could not see James
and assumed he was onboard.
Harry’s distraction meant Charlie got few punches to his face. Harry’s nose
was bleeding. Charlie grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and swung him
round, holding him over the edge of the police station roof. Charlie began to
punch him in the face. Harry was losing consciousness, each hit like bricks being
thrown at him. Harry managed to twist around Charlie’s arm, and he kneed him
in the stomach and shoved him towards the edge.
The crew of the helicopter watched on, helpless to assist. Harry had one
chance now to end this, so he took it, booting Charlie in the stomach causing
him to fall onto the edge of the rooftop, trying to hold onto the brickwork as he
lay facing Harry. He was losing grip. Charlie’s face bloodied just as Harry’s was.
Harry was empathetic. Stupidly turning to leave. Before Harry could turn, a
tremendously loud gunshot rang out beside him. The shotgun.
Harry prepared to fall and die as his heart dropped to his shoes. He felt his
stomach and it was intact. He turned, gobsmacked to see James wielding the
shotgun.
Charlie had a gaping chest wound, blood pooled onto his jackets, filling the
cracks in the stone and dying the weeds red. James dropped the shotgun. Harry
was shocked.
Charlie was red, then he fell backwards, and his body rag dolled from the
rooftop. The sound of his body splattering on the pavement attracted the dead
and Harry watched on. Looking down as Charlie’s broken boned body was
devoured.
The chopper had waited, patiently. Harry kicked the shotgun to the side and
picked James up, wondering where Sam was. But Sam was not far behind and he
pounced up onto James who caught him. Harry brough them to the hovering
helicopter. The crew took James and Sam first.
Harry took a moment digesting the week’s events. The disaster that had
unfolded and carnage that may come. The splendid beach and the deliciously
cold ice cream of Beach Town was no more. Harry wrapped the safety jacket
around himself and was lifted painfully aboard the evacuation crew’s chopper.
As its ascended birds squawked overhead. Harry could see buildings burning
in different directions across the town, the corpses scattered far and wide
throughout the streets.
There were two pilots in black uniform with no identifiable badges. The man
in the back has his face covered with a black helmet and remained quiet. It was
the beginning of a new life. Harry wanted there to be time for Sheila.
The matte black Bell military helicopter laden with olive camouflage and a
UK tail number continued its ascent as it flew towards the sea. Harry had an
unobstructed view of the town. Up in the air was a bumpy ride, the pilots were
struggling with the gusts of wind. The hordes of the undead unrecognisable from
this altitude.
‘Take us to that tower block,’ Harry said. The crew member in the back who
hadn’t taken his gaze from the window, looked to Harry. He pushed a button on
the side of his helmet. The chopper was weaving faster through turbulence.
‘Sorry, no more detours,’ the man’s voice sharply cut through the helicopters
communication system, ‘unless there’s something there that might save the
world then we can’t divert. Don’t worry ETA is twenty minutes.’ The helicopters
radio buzzed, increasing in intensity.
Sam curled up on James’s lap to take nap. Delila cradled a snoozing Samuel.
The tower was still close enough. But it was burning, right from Sheila’s floor.
Harry became fraught with anxiety; it must have been Sheila’s flat. Below in the
school lawn and park, men were firing into oncoming hordes of undead.
Surviving police officers clustered in a small group, the dead encircling them.
Harry wasn’t hopeful for them. He needed an excuse to get Sheila onboard.
‘I thought you needed three other survivors. Children don’t count,’ Harry
said. The man with the black visor helmet leant to the cockpit. His black uniform
was coveted in patches, one of them was the flag of the United Kingdom on his
upper right arm. He was holding the microphone away from his face and
whispering something, he glanced back at Harry.
‘Who is it?’ he asked with a deep voice. Harry was attentive, the man’s neck
was black. The chopper was now leaving central Beach Town and heading
approaching the sea front. Distant echoes of metallic bangs continued to ring out.
The humming and beeping of the rotor blade were irritating Harry.
‘She’s female and she witnessed the outbreak,’ Harry asserted, ‘we both did.’
The burning tower block was growing smaller in the distance. ‘Please, go back,’
Harry pleaded, his face sinking with despair.
If there was someone whom he could survive the apocalypse with-it wouldbe
James. Sheila was the friend, the love and the comfort where James could not
provide it.
The man’s spoke deeply, his impactful words strong and cutting through the
noise. The rescue chopper flew over the beach reaching the sea.
The air was thick with clouds and salt, the tepid whirling breeze that caressed
the sides of the paintwork showed no sign of slowing.
‘We can’t go back; we have our orders.’