by Lee, Damien
“Tripped down the stairs while she was viewing the house.” Amy chuckled. “I told her it was a bad omen, but she went ahead and bought it anyway.”
“That’s parents for you.”
“So, what about yours?” She watched the smile fade from his face.
“My mum died of cancer last year, and my dad… we don’t really see eye to eye.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. My sister is the only person I have. Not knowing whether she’s safe is killing me.”
“We’ll find her.”
Amy placed a comforting hand on top of his. He took his eyes off the road and stared at her briefly before the smile crept back onto his face.
“I know.”
They both eyed the street warily as they turned onto the housing estate. Neither uttered a word as the car slowed to a crawl, allowing them to take in the scene. The street was silent. Some doors stood ajar as the car rolled down the road, others were swung wide. When Amy saw the bloody handprint on a door, she let out a quiet gasp.
“Which one is it?” Ben asked.
He followed Amy’s direction to the house at the end of the road, looking from the bloody handprint on one door, to the broken panes of another. Finally, his eyes settled on the door belonging to her mother. It stood ajar like so many others, but there was no obvious sign of damage. As soon as he stopped the car, Amy bolted.
“Wait!”
Amy paid him no heed as she raced towards the house. She shouldered the door aside, breaking the silent atmosphere.
“Mum?!”
Ben followed her as she darted inside the house. He looked over the surrounding gardens before peering into the doorway. The hallway was empty, Amy was gone.
“Shit.”
He made his way down the hallway, scanning each of the open rooms. When he reached the kitchen, he peered inside. His gaze fell on Amy, who sat in a heap on the floor. Next to her was an up-turned wheelchair spattered in blood. She sobbed into her hands, allowing Ben to survey the rest of the room unnoticed. The lack of a body concerned him. If Amy’s mother had fallen victim to the horde of zombies, where was she now?
“Amy,” he whispered. She continued to cry. He approached, listening for any other sound in the house. When he was close enough, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Amy.”
This time she turned, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“We have to find her.” She snivelled. “I have to know if she’s alive.”
She tried to stand, but Ben held her at bay.
“Listen, Amy, if your mum couldn’t walk there’s little chance she would’ve escaped.”
“You don’t know that.”
She tried to rise again, but Ben’s grasp kept her in place. “Look at the blood.”
“Get off me!”
She lashed out, causing Ben to step back. She jumped to her feet and approached the conservatory door which stood ajar. Ben turned away, deciding to leave her to calm down. He ran an appraising eye over the kitchen. Despite the bloodied wheelchair, the rest of the contents seemed untouched. Two wine glasses stood beside two plates in the sink. Ben glanced at the kitchen table, noticing that two of the four chairs had been pulled out. Amy’s mother wasn’t alone. She never mentioned her father. He looked up and found she was no longer stood in the doorway.
“Shit.” Ben approached the sliding doors as Amy’s outburst came from the garden.
“Mum!”
He looked around, noticing the majority of the garden veered to the left. A lone woman swayed at the back of the garden, turning as Amy drew near. The cast on her foot caused her to stumble.
“Mum?”
“Amy, get away from her!”
Ben ran over as the woman lunged for her daughter. They fell to the ground in a tight clinch.
“Mum, get off me!”
Amy fought hard to escape her mother, but her grip was fierce. Finally, Ben pried the woman away.
“No, don’t!” Amy cried.
She struggled to her feet as Ben glanced around the garden at the array of ornaments. Choosing a long, colourful wind spinner, he pried it from the ground and impaled the woman through the eye.
“No!”
Amy screamed as her mother bucked and jerked beneath the pole. Ben applied more pressure. Eventually, the sound of breaking skull signalled its exit through the back of her head.
“You killed her,” Amy gasped. Ben turned, wiping a stream of sweat from his brow.
“She was a zombie. That wasn’t your mother.”
Amy whirled away and ran back into the house. Ben glanced down at the bloody ornament still clutched in his hand. A slight breeze disturbed the fan, causing it to spin in a colourful blur. He released his grip and approached the conservatory.
“Amy?”
The house was quiet. He stepped into the kitchen, looking again at the two chairs pushed away from the table.
“Amy?”
He strolled into the hallway. Still, the house remained silent. He continued down the passage to the foot of the stairs. He went to call her again, but stopped when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He whirled around, meeting Amy’s tear-stained face.
“Where’s my phone?” she stammered.
“What?”
“My mobile phone. Where is it?”
“I don’t know. Look, is there somebody else here, your dad perhaps?”
“I need my phone.” She repeated. Her glazed eyes staring at the wall. She’s in shock, he thought.
“Amy!” Ben grabbed her by the shoulders, stepping into her line of sight. “Does your dad live here?”
Amy blinked before a frown creased her face. “No, my dad died when I was five. Why?”
A floorboard somewhere in the house creaked. Ben glanced towards the stairs, an unconscious gesture that Amy replicated.
“I think somebody else is here,” he whispered. “We have to go.”
“Wait, I can’t find my phone.”
“You had it back at your place.”
Amy looked away. “Oh god, I must’ve dropped it when Mrs. Carmichael attacked me. We have to go back.”
“Have you forgotten my sister?”
“No, but I need to see if anybody has tried to ring me. Please, Ben. I need it.”
“Okay. Let’s just get out of here.”
With a parting look at the stairs, he stepped out of the house. He motioned for her to return to the car, following her down the garden path. The street was still empty, with the exception of a lone kestrel perched atop a telegraph pole. It stared at the pair as they walked towards the car, ruffling its blood-stained feathers. As they neared, it turned its head in order to get a better look. A trickle of blood dripped silently from its beak. Its body trembled. The temptation became too much to bear. With an ecstatic screech, it leapt from the pole and swooped down.
“Get down!” Ben managed as he ducked the bird’s attack. It sped past him, soaring high into the air before curling back for a second strike. Ben ducked again, only this time, the bird’s claw tore into his shoulder. He grimaced as it rose once more, preparing for a third assault. He fumbled his keys, pressing whatever buttons he could. A prompt beep signalled the car was unlocked. The pair scrambled inside as the bird swooped again.
“Are you okay?” Amy asked as Ben examined his wound.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
The pair flinched as the kestrel struck the roof of the car. It bounced onto the hood where it lay motionless.
“Jesus,” Ben whispered, unable to take his eyes off the bird. “It’s not just humans this thing is affecting.”
“We have to look out for birds as well?”
“Maybe. But I doubt many can fly. If it’s a bite that’s turned them, then chances are they’ll be too injured to get in the air.”
“You think?”
Ben nodded. “Bird’s wings are delicate. If they’re injured, they usually can�
�t fly. This kestrel might be one of the few with intact wings.”
“But what if it’s not just a bite that can turn them?”
“What else could infect them?”
Amy shrugged, her eyes fixed on Ben’s shoulder. He looked down, noticing that blood had started to seep through the fabric. He hissed in pain as she pulled back his shirt. A fresh trickle of blood ran from the narrow graze.
“It’s not deep, you’re lucky,” Amy said.
“Yeah, I feel it. Most people get shit on by birds. I’m the one who gets attacked by one.”
He looked for a smile on Amy’s face, but there was none. Her raw eyes looked blank as he started the car.
They drove in silence back to her home. Amy stared out of the window for the entire journey. She glanced at the deceased men and women littering the streets with a newfound indifference. Now that her mother was gone, the turmoil of the rest of humanity seemed trivial. She felt numb. She had lost the most important person to her. The thought of the rest of her family succumbing to the virus had less impact now that her mother was dead. As they arrived back on her street, she voiced her woes to Ben.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?”
“This. Constantly running from these things. One mistake and it’s over.” A fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Which is why we need to stick together.”
“For what? What good will it do?”
She spotted her phone in the road as Ben pulled up. After a cursory glance to make sure they were alone, Amy got out of the car. The unsettling silence caused her heart to beat more urgently. She wiped her tears away, listening for any nearby threats. There were none. She strode over to her phone, conscious of how loud her footsteps seemed. She sighed in dismay when she saw a long crack spider-webbed across the screen. With another quick glance around, she picked it up and returned to the car. To her surprise, a white light glared from the screen as it resumed its normal start-up process.
“Huh, it still works.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“I dropped it when I fell. I’m surprised it didn’t break.”
A notification on the screen made her heart race.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“It’s my grandparents. They tried to call me back!”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’ve got two missed calls.”
She dialled the number again, waiting anxiously for one of them to pick up. Her heart sunk when it went through to the answering machine again.
“Hey, it’s me, Amy. Are you there?”
She looked at Ben, who watched her eagerly.
“If you’re there, please pick up the phone.”
She waited patiently, hoping to hear one of her grandparents on the other line. After a brief pause, she let out a sigh.
“Okay, well ring me back as soon as you can. I’ve got my phone with me now. I’m just going to Sunnymoor with a friend from work and then we’ll come for you, okay?”
She looked at Ben, who was nodding.
“Hope to see you soon, bye.”
She hung up the phone and looked back at him. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Ben grinned. “Where do they live?”
“On a farm about ten miles north of here.”
“North?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just don’t tell Fran, our dad has a place a few miles north. She might insist on checking up on him.” He laughed as he started the car and turned back onto the street.
“Really? What’s his name? I might know him.”
Amy tried to recall the countless farmers she had met through her grandfather. In such a small community, everyone knew each other.
“Gordon Chesterfield.”
Amy gasped. “Your dad’s Gordon Chesterfield?”
“Yup.”
“He owns the slaughterhouse?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, I’m glad you’re not fond of him. I could never go there. That’s one of the reasons I’m a vegetarian.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to admit I can’t touch beef either. Chicken I’m okay with, but not cows.”
They veered onto a main road and proceeded back towards Sunnymoor. Amy still felt the crippling grief of losing her mother. But the notion of her grandparents still being alive helped to ease the pain. The prospect of losing them as well was almost too much to bear.
20
They stood over the two bodies in the dank, foul-smelling bedroom. Upon hearing the blast, Frank and Lisa had gone up to investigate, more than aware of what they would find. When they reached the top of the stairs, the first thing that hit them was the smell. The door to the barricaded bedroom was wide open, releasing the putrid odour from within. They had entered the room cautiously, eyeing the blood-spattered walls and vomit-soaked carpet. The room was dark, with minimal light shining through the boarded windows. It was Lisa who spotted the dead couple first. They lay on the filthy bedding up against the wall. Ronald had placed his wife on the bed after shooting her. They lay hand in hand, both with half of their head missing.
“Oh God,” Lisa muttered, putting a hand to her mouth.
Frank slowly approached, breathing through his mouth to dispel the gagging scent. He stooped down beside the bed and retrieved the shotgun.
“Let’s go.”
“We can’t just leave them.”
“Do you fancy sleeping in here? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
“I mean, we can’t leave them in the house. They’ll start to rot.”
“One night won’t make a difference,” he replied as he made his way back downstairs.
“You never know.”
“You can move them tomorrow. I’ll help you if I’m still alive.”
“Ever the optimist.” Lisa sighed as they returned to the living room.
“Is he…”
“Dead? What do you think?” Frank interrupted Elaine as he slumped back into the armchair.
“So now what?” Simon asked.
“We need to establish a plan.”
“Oh, so now Ronald’s dead that makes you the leader?”
“No. As far as I’m concerned, you lot are on your own.”
“Really? Then, in that case, I’m the leader, and I say get out of this house.”
Simon rose to his feet, glaring at Frank with a newfound bravado.
“Yeah?” Frank sneered, rising to meet his opposition. “Well, I’m the one with the gun, and I say go fuck yourself!”
He levelled the shotgun at Simon, watching as all the aggression disappeared from his face.
“So tell me, fat boy, who’s leaving the house?”
“Nobody,” Simon stammered.
“Wrong. You are.”
With that, he grabbed the man by his shirt and dragged him towards the door.
“No!” Elaine screamed, running by his side.
“Get off me,” Simon gasped.
Frank ignored the pleas as he pushed him into the hallway.
“Open the door.” He ordered Elaine. She remained still, her body racked with sobs. Frank aimed the shotgun at her husband’s head.
“Do it, or I redecorate Ronald’s hallway.”
Elaine let out a whimper before rushing to the door. Lisa and Tina joined them in the passageway, watching as she frantically released the locks.
“Frank, this isn’t right,” Lisa said.
“Open it!” Frank bellowed as the final guard chain was released. Elaine hesitated, but the shotgun pressed against her husband’s head spurred her into action. With trembling hands, she pulled the door wide and jumped back.
Frank was surprised to see no zombies as he shoved the man outside.
“You can’t do this,” Simon protested, stumbling to the ground.
“Watch me.”
Frank returned to the house, facing Elaine, who stood in the doorway.
“Choose a side; in or out?”
&n
bsp; The woman looked between the gunman and her husband before begrudgingly stepping outside. She turned to protest, before the door slammed in her face.
“Frank, that’s not right,” Lisa said. “They might be a pain in the arse, but they don’t deserve to die.”
“I’m not killing them. They have loads of options, but being here isn’t one of them.”
He pushed past the remaining pair and into the living room. The screams of the couple outside were muffled by the boarded windows.
“Frank, there’re zombies out there! They’re gonna be killed.”
“If those fat bastards just lie down and die, then tough. They would have been a burden to us anyway.”
“Whoa, they sure ain’t lying down.” Tina chuckled. Frank looked over at the teenager who stared through a gap in the window.
“What’s happening?”
“They’ve jumped on top of your van.”
“How many are out there?” Lisa gasped, rushing to another gap in the window.
“Two, I think. Look, he’s hitting them with his belt.”
Frank remained seated, watching the flickering flame of a nearby candle. His gaze fell onto the pair of shotgun shells. He reached over and reloaded the gun, silently clicking the rounds into place. He sat back once finished, gliding his finger along the barrel and listening to the muffled screams.
“We can’t leave them out there,” Lisa said, turning to face him.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because they’re attracting attention. In a few minutes, every zombie within earshot will be here.”
Frank’s finger stopped sliding along the barrel. He tore his gaze away from the flame and fixed it on Lisa. They stared at each other for some time as the screams intensified. Eventually, it was the phone that disrupted them. It rang through the house, diminishing the noise from outside. They watched as it shook with each ring. Even Tina tore her eyes away from the scene outside to stare at the device.
“Shall we answer it?” Lisa asked.
“No.”
“But it might be his granddaughter again.”
“And if it is, what do we tell her? That her grandparents are dead and we’re just house guests?”
They fell silent as the machine beeped. Sure enough, the voice belonged to the woman they had heard earlier.