The Reanimated Dead (Book 1): Into the Cotswolds

by Wakefield, Trevor

  ‘Well?’ I asked.

  She turned to her left as the two zombies reached the 90 and stuck their nearly decomposing fingers into the window guards and pressed their faces and gnashing mouths against them too. She turned back and nodded her head as she folded the pages.

  ‘We’ve still got to get there yet and will need to hide the guns before we do’.

  She nodded. ‘That’s not a problem is it?’ She asked with not just a bit of concern in her voice.

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied lying slightly. ‘Ready?’ I asked, trying to sound more upbeat about it.

  She nodded and that was it agreed. First gear was selected and off we drove. There was a loud moaning and popping sound as the zombie’s fingers that had been gripping the security grills were ripped from their knuckles. Sarah went pale as she looked at me. ‘Urgh that’s so damn gross’.

  Chapter 14

  We passed a turning for a train station, where it was, I couldn’t see but the sign assured me it was in that direction. 100 yards further on was a petrol station full of burnt out cars. The shop was also a completely burnt out shell. Looking at the price sign out front of the forecourt it was selling the most expensive fuel I had seen since leaving the house by at least £1.25. That’s £2.60 per fucking litre! The robbing shite that owned the place must have thought all their Christmas’s had come at once and hiked the prices up to cash in on the extra demand when the shit hit the fan. To be fair I'd have been tempted to torch the robbing bastards place if I had seen that in the early days. I wonder how well the money is doing him now if he, or indeed she, is still alive.

  The area we were in would have had a large concentration of people with turnings left and right to various estates. Zombies were two a penny now and we were having to swerve all over the place to avoid them. Another reason to keep the speed down to ‘As slow as possible, as fast as needed.’ on at least two of the blocks of flats I could see survivors waving bed sheets to attract my attention. Sorry but I was no one-man rapid reaction squad, it wasn’t just myself I had to look after now.

  We passed hairdressers, undertakers – who strangely didn’t look like they were doing too much business at present, several takeaways an electronics shop and a Tesco store. The Tesco had quite a few cars in the car park and loads of goods spilled across it too. It crossed my mind to have a drive around but there was movement everywhere. We were alright for food supplies at the moment and it was a risk I didn’t need to take now.

  At the mini roundabout we turned right up the hill as per the map, although it looked like we wouldn’t need it as the school was now sign posted from here with painted wooded signs and arrows. A bit like when people were getting married in an out of the way place and you see signs on the verge saying, ‘John and Janes wedding this way.’ pointing the way. Those biker boys had been busy.

  As we headed up the hill the housing estates continued and there were more undead, this time I couldn’t dodge them all. The new pole on the bumper and grill on the front shrugged them off no problem though and the tyres mushed them up and rolled them flat like they had done before. Another roundabout. Sign and map showed to go left but map also showed that straight on was a risky area. Turning left as we should we saw a large hardware shop to the right with a large chain across the car park entrance, this gave hope that if needed the place hadn’t had a full-scale looting yet should I need DIY supplies. I didn’t need anything that I knew of but would file the location away in my head. This place could be a gold mine.

  Turn off after tun off into estate after estate lined our route along the road when it suddenly opened up. Left was a large multi -sport field, next to it a police station and magistrates court and across the road a farm and fields all the way up to a large woodland. I pulled to a halt. The police station appealed to me big time.

  It was set in land on its own. No cars outside either police or civilian. I pulled off the road and drove up the kerb, between the large trees to the car park. ‘There’s a turning left just forty yards that way.’ Sarah pointed out. I just grinned nice and wide. ‘Child.’

  ‘Just cleaning zombie guts off the tyres.’ Was my excuse. Pulling up to the front door of the station I could see that the big, heavy solid wooden court doors were shut firmly but the station doors weren’t. Smashed and ajar at the top of a small disabled ramp they told their own story of woe. Windows on the ground floor were all done in with venetian blinds hanging in various states of fucked up. Upstairs looked no different apart from the two on the right that showed signs of scorch marks around them. It certainly shot down my previous idea of a police station being a stronghold.

  I Circled the car park and reversed back up against the disabled ramp, my idea being that if I am chased out by a hoard then only I will know it’s there, I can jump the railings either side and they will run into the back of the 90 and be trapped by the railings giving me enough time to get away. genius eh?

  That was the idea anyway. Sarah knew the drill, if she sees anything beep, keep doors locked with the spring bolts and she kept hold of the keys. When we were talking whilst working on the Lexan the other day, she told me she was taught by her Gramp to drive in an old Nissan Micra on his farm when she was eleven. I wasn’t going to let her drive without seeing for myself but if push came to shove, I’d rather she had the 90 at least running, ready for when shit hit the fan.

  I got out and tapped myself down. Shot gun, pistols. Gerber sheath knife, folding baton, spare cartridges and clipped on my new machete. Sarah passed over the crossbow. I took it and nodded. Nothing more to say until I was back. She shut the door and I heard the thump as the spring bolt slammed into the locked position.

  Walking around the 90, I hopped over the disabled railings and unlocked the back door. There were more items I wanted. From the kit that Sue gave me I took a helmet and visor, two tear gas cannisters – I had an idea about this stuff that I may be able to test here today – and some tactical gloves with solid knuckles and moulded plastic armour on fingers and back of the hands.

  Reclosing and locking the door I turned back towards the Police Station door. Same as usual, crossbow in the aim and proceed with caution, pushing the unlocked door open with my left foot. The door swung open inwards easily, but I kept my foot on it to keep it open.

  The reception was quite well naturally lit with just one door leading behind. It was wide open, and the door jamb was split. Still keeping the door open with my foot, I took a deep breath and shouted out. ‘Yo! Dinner time!’ and rattled the door. No noise came from the door or corridor but upstairs and to my right there were several large thumps. I waited a few moments longer but could hear no moaning or shuffling coming out of the door so, whilst still keeping an eye on it, I grabbed some debris off the floor and wedged the door open with it.

  Approaching the broken open ‘Staff Only’ door, I could still hear nothing. Once in the corridor and with open doors either side I stood there stock still and opened my mouth. Try it in a quite area, opening your mouth amplifies your hearing and rids your hearing of your own pulse etc.

  Walking steadily forward, looking into each room. Just interrogation rooms on each side of the corridor. Just 4 chairs and a table in each. At the end of the corridor were the cells and booking area. Four cells all empty, but the smell of rotting food coming from the end one. A plastic tray of what was once an attempt at a fried breakfast was untouched on the blue plastic covered mattress with a towel. The towel looked like it had been soaking wet at one time and had dried out over the weeks into a putrefied smudge of a towel. A closer look showed it had been wet with water at least, and not blood.

  Behind the booking-in area were male and female changing rooms and a crew room. Both changing rooms were a shamble with clothes strewn everywhere. I deemed there nothing to be of use in them and moved on to the crew room.

  In here was dark, the blinds were down, desks and chairs were scattered about. At the head of the room was a table with chargers and police radios on. Nothing or nobody w
as hiding in this room – there was nowhere to hide! I took hold of three radios. They were all fully charged but I made sure they were all turned off. I didn’t want a sudden squawk should they pick up a signal from somewhere. I shoved them into my free pockets. The charger was about a foot long and could charge up to six radios at once. I unplugged it, wrapped the cord around it and put it inside my jacket.

  Back outside of the crew room was a room with the door ripped from its hinges. The lights were on and the plaque on the crooked door read ‘Armed Response’. I entered it expecting it to be empty and I wasn’t disappointed. All the weapon cages and cupboards had been forced open. It looked like Mrs Hubbard’s kitchen! It seemed like a wasted stop but in the back of a locker was a box of twelve CS type gas cannisters, some belt mounted gas sprays like Sue gave me and three gas masks still in their plastic wrapping. A non-lethal product obviously but did every situation have to turn lethal to survive? Someone’s overlooking could be to my advantage. A tactical vest with movable molle pockets and attachments on it was on top of another locker. I had nothing to put all this kit in though, so I nipped out of the room and into the men’s locker room where I had seen a rucksack on the floor earlier. I picked it up and tucked it up and turned it upside down, emptying its contents over the floor. Still being cautious I re-entered the armed response room and filled the little ruck sack. Strapping the rucksack on tight I returned to the corridor with crossbow out-front. Seventies style glass doors with single glazed windows with wire reinforcing squares led to a stairway leading up. The stairway echoed no other sounds other than my own and, although I climbed as soft footed as possible, I couldn’t help the song ‘Down in the Tube Station at Midnight’ by The Jam going through my head. ‘The glazed dirty steps repeat my own and reflect my thoughts.’

  My steps were light, but my thoughts were mixed. Had I really expected to find weapons lying around so many weeks into an infestation? What do I really expect to find upstairs? Should I just turn around and head back out to the 90? I had heard no beeps or noises coming from the 90 so I had to assume all was ok. In moments I was at the top of the stairs. The doors matched the bottom ones in their design and look. I pulled the door open and stepped out into the corridor.

  Straight ahead it had two doors to my left, the first was shut and the second ajar. To the right was another two doors, again the first shut and the second ajar although at the end of the corridor it turned right, and I could see no more than that. All was quiet. I contemplated making a noise but decided to check my immediate left door first.

  It turned out to be the canteen door. The door had no handle to it, just a hand plate with a plaque reading ‘OUT’ on it. The door was made to swing outwards. I put my sheaf knife into it and pulled the door out towards me quite easily. Pocketing the blade, I looked around. Blinds were hanging and not hanging at crazy angles on the windows. Chairs were stacked, unstacked and in various states of not the right way up, as were the tables. The smell of rotting food was overpowering. So, overpowering that as I stepped fully into the room I didn’t see or smell a zombie step out of the door by the serving counter.

  To say I was startled was an understatement! I fired the crossbow but missed the head shot and got the shuffling corpse through the throat, pinning her to the door frame by her neck. She immediately started gnashing, chomping and reaching out at me. The end of the bolt was disappearing with each of her jerky movements as she tried to pull herself free of it. I turned the bow around and stoved her head in with the butt end in two savage smacks. I grabbed the woman by the lapel with my gloved right hand and was about to pull her off the bolt pinning her to the door frame when something on the floor behind the counter moved rapidly towards me,

  I jumped back just as it emerged out of the door. It was a zombie, unable to use its legs – the knife in the lower spine could have been the reason for that – but it moved with such surprising speed. It stopped as it tried to bite my lower leg, giving me the chance to take a step and a half back and give it my best Johnny Wilkinson world cup winning kick with my steel toe capped boot right under his chin. Its head snapped back breaking its neck as my steel enclosed toes buried themselves in its brain cavity. Thank fuck I don’t wear Crocs! I withdrew my boot and flipped the body to one side in one deft movement. Going back to the woman I pulled her forward by her lapel and let her drop to the side of the door frame.

  Gripping the bolt as best as I could, and I couldn’t shift it even with the gloves on. I could have tried my multi pliers, but I didn’t want to damage the shaft if I could help it. In a moment of frustration, I hit it with the butt of the cross bow. Fuck me!!! The fire alarm burst into life big style and I almost had a cigar in the back of my pants! Looking at the other side of the door frame showed a fire alarm switch…. With a crossbow bolt sticking through it! Twat! Time to get the hell out of here sharpish.

  As I re-cocked the crossbow the door at the far end of the canteen swung open with force. They didn’t just walk in they flowed in like water down a spillway. There must have been twelve, fourteen, maybe even sixteen and no doubt more in the corridor too as although the door I came in wont open inwards the resounding bangs from the other side indicated someone wanted to come in that way. I pulled the two bodies into the canteen then got behind the counter and shut the door.

  Fuck! They stumbled over the upturned chairs and tables. Some fell, some didn’t. They were halfway down the canteen towards me now. Only two I could see were wearing uniform, the rest must have been regular peeps like me, people who though this could be a refuge. I knew I should have called out when I was at the top of the stairs, but I had gotten complacent in the last few days. Now it was biting me in the arse. I’ve only got five more bolts on me; the rest are in the 90. Add my two shotgun pistols that’s four shots and another four spares in my pocket and that’s thirteen and I’ve got sixteen in this room and god knows how many in the corridor. Bloody cockwomble! I should have bought the pump action, be better to be armed to the teeth than this. I promised myself that if I got out of here then the next time, I did something stupid like this I’d be a walking armoury!

  I did have an idea though, a few days ago it played on my mind and now I suppose was the time to suck it and see. Might be my only way out. Slinging the rucksack and the helmet off to the counter I unzipped the bag and removed the gas mask in its plastic wrapping. Using my teeth and my right hand I tore the packet open whilst my left hand withdrew two of the tear gas cannisters. After a few frantic moments pissing around with the straps I had the mask on and helmet back on too, swung the rucksack back on shrugged my shoulders and took a big breath.

  The undead rabble were three quarters of the way down the canteen floor now. I grabbed the first cannister, removed the pin letting the spoon fly off along the stainless steel serving top then rolled it over the edge towards them. The gas spewed out so quickly from the rolling cannister and they all just stopped in their tracks with some sort of mucus streaming from their eyes, nose and mouth. Their heads were all now raised slightly more than normal and slowly turning left and right. The gas must have wiped out their sight and smell senses, all they had now was sound and touch.

  This was interesting, but now was the time to move. I threw two saucepans as far up the canteen as I could and through the gas you could see multiple shapes rapidly head in the direction of the clanking and ringing of metal against tiled floors. I opened the door back into the canteen, found the canteen to corridor ‘out’ door, pulled the pin on my other cannister and flipped it out the door. I counted to five although it may have just been three, I was more than a tad nervous about this next move and burst through the door into the corridor.

  I burst through with my right foot and shoulder hoping to make contact with at least one or two with the door like I had done with Zack. Nothing. I was now stood in a corridor with eight zombies. Six to my left and two to my right by the door to the stairs, all of them stock still and leaking that strange mucus shite from their eyes, nose and mouth. />
  Fuck it, I’m going for it, I took a few steps forward and shot the zombie in front of me with the crossbow, in the same moment I made for the pressed steel framed glass doors to the stairs. As I did so the zombie behind the one I took down reacted and swung towards the sound. Although he didn’t grab me, he was a large fella and his momentum alone smashed me through the door. Glass went everywhere as the door bent and the wire re-enforced glass didn’t.

  Never mind the gas creating visibility problems, I could barely see out of the mask on its own. The glass eyes went off at an angle instead of straight ahead, I felt like a chameleon with eyes each side of my head. How the SAS could storm buildings, differentiate between friend and foe, and come out the other side unscathed I never knew, I was struggling just to put one foot in front of the other. I couldn’t even see the bloody step in front of me as I stumbled towards the stairs and went ass over tit down them to the first landing. Despite the helmet, I must have hit my head and passed out momentarily.

  When I came to, I was surrounded by five of the fuckers! Hands grasping at what they could. The helmet visor was gone, and a scrawny hand was trying to remove the gas mask whilst another was gripping at my boot. I lashed out with feet, gloved hands and, when I found it again, my crossbow butt. The fire alarm was still playing the shittest rave music my sore head had ever heard. I managed to pull out a cannister pepper spray and spray it in their general direction. It certainly didn’t work as well as the gas, but it gave me a few moments to roll away down the next set of stairs. As I hit the floor, the population of the landing above me grew as another six stumbled and fell down the stairs to join the rest. I pulled myself up and my right leg went as stiff as a board from my arse cheek to the tip of my toes. Fucking cramp!