by Oliver Smith
I’m on my own then. Jack was determined to explore this new dawn and find out if he had the mettle for the fight. Swiftly through the house, Jack peeped through the small window in the front door and saw that the coast was clear, he shut the door quietly behind him and quickly got in his car, a small Citroen, not the ideal all-terrain vehicle. Creeping out of the drive and down the street, everything was quiet. Evidently Danny had done a good job of clearing up the dead.
It was soon apparent how wide Danny’s radius was. Just a short drive past the shop and following houses, the village became more dispersed with sweeping corners and narrowing roads. Two of the dead could be seen in a farmyard wandering around trying to locate the noise of Jack’s car. He could see that the dead were penned in by a fence so were going nowhere. Approaching the first bend, Jack slowed the car down, almost to a standstill. On the adjacent corner was a crumpled wreck of a car wrapped around a tree. A mangled body lay half out of the windscreen. The flesh had been gnawed off, leaving sinew, muscle, and bone curdling in the spring sunshine.
Jack turned his head and felt his stomach turn. He began to retch but managed to control himself before he vomited. Driving on, glass scattering the road and other bloody wrecks became a common sight. Jack swore he saw movement in the back of one crumpled vehicle, but carried on like a determined and frightened missionary.
The journey Jack had chosen was slightly further than the quickest route. That route featured main roads and built up areas and he wanted to avoid populated areas until absolutely necessary. The journey he chose featured country roads, one main road and then most worryingly for him, the motorway.
The country roads were mainly clear. There were cars every now and then, but easy to navigate. Some of the fields were occupied by cows or sheep. Another field told a different story. It reminded Jack of a scene from Dances with Wolves where the white man had obliterated the buffalo. The entire field was a sea of sheep carcasses; accompanying the deceased sheep was a small group of dead, feasting with endless hunger.
Handfuls of the dead scattered the road at irregular intervals. Normally in groups of two or three, they tended to amble carelessly down the road until they caught sight or heard Jack’s car. This would stir them and they’d pick up pace, but they were easy to get around in their small numbers. An idea, a practical idea, hit Jack. Most of the dead he came across were heading towards Jack’s home, having been drawn towards the sound of his car with what little cognitive cohesion remained in their brains. Jack’s idea involved passing the dead and then slowing down and drawing them to follow him, away from home.
Jack was pleased with himself. A great idea and it felt safe. He imagined that this might be how a lion tamer might feel, safe but not safe. Jack laid himself as bait two more times, drawing seven of the dead away.
About a mile down the road, Jack saw a lone figure walking towards him. Instantly Jack knew that this person was living. The way he walked was normal, perhaps a little erratic, but there was a definite coordination that the dead lacked. As the car pulled closer, Jack could see that the man was in his late 50s or early 60s. He was short and small framed and looked like he was going out for a walk in the country. He had a ski pole, small ruck sack and was dressed like a rambler. Jack slowed the car and wound down the passenger window to see if the guy needed a lift.
As the car pulled to a stop, the man leaned in the window.
“My name’s Stanley” He said and paused for what seemed to be an age.
Jack waited for him to continue, but nothing came so he responded, “My name’s Jack. Are you okay? Do you need a lift anywhere, there’s about seven of them coming this way about a mile back?”
“No son. I’m fine.” Stanley spoke again and then said nothing.
Jack waited again. This man wasn’t exactly talkative. It reminded Jack of seeing a vague acquaintance in the street and stopping to realise that neither has much to say. The silence hung in the air when Stanley continued, “I see you haven’t been judged yet.”
Confused, Jack asked, “Judged by who?”
“Whom.”
“Judged by whom?”
“By God of course. It’s judgement day or is it judgement month? I don’t know.”
Jack almost snorted, “What has God got to do with anything?”
This fired Stanley up, leaning further into the car with one finger pointing towards Jack, he said, “What has God got to do with anything? What hasn’t God got to do with? He’s tired of us humans and he’s called Armageddon. What did we expect though? Gay marriage, Muslims, bloody women bishops, war, famine, paedophilia…”
With Stanley mid-rant, Jack lost his patience, and spat out, “Paedophilia? You God botherers would know all about that. Don’t come at me with your mumbo-jumbo cult bigotry. God is a way to control societies, what is happening is nothing to do with God.”
With that, Stanley lost his temper, pulling up his ski pole towards the open window Stanley incoherently stammered, “You little shit, I’ll judge you myself.”
Jack had heard enough, he slowly accelerated away to get rid of the crazy old guy. Stanley held on, but eventually let go of the car at running speed. The man still had some sense.
A few feet away, Jack stopped the car and stood out of the door and shouted, “Look Stanley, sorry it got heated. Get off the road, you can see them coming, there’s seven of them.”
Stanley gestured with his hand whilst mumbling something and continued towards the dead that Jack had lured away from home.
Jack got back in the car and continued, glancing in his rear-view mirror to check on the welfare of Stanley, the bigoted Christian. He saw Stanley hobble over a wall and into a field. The dead couldn’t scale anything over their tipping point so had no chance of making it over the wall to feast on Stan.
Smiling to himself, Jack thought that bumping into Stanley wasn’t a complete right off. He was a country boy at heart, and he knew that the UK was covered in fields with separating walls and hedges that would slow down or stop the dead, depending on their numbers. God bless you Stanley.
The rest of the country roads followed a similar pattern, minus Stanley, there were quite a few scares for Jack on the main road and motorway slip-road however. He had seen about 30 dead on the country roads in total, but the main road had many more scattered about. Driving through the dispersed crowd, Jack could only guess that there were hundreds of them. The little Citroen was like a magnet and the zombies like iron shavings. From all directions the dead clambered, hobbled and dragged themselves towards the car.
The road was also full of smashed and abandoned vehicles. He could get past the vast majority by slaloming through the obstacles, but this also narrowed the chances of avoiding the dead. Jack was conscious that he couldn’t plough into the dead at any great speed as the car would be knackered in no time, if that happened, he’d have no chance on foot with so many dead around.
Jack was beyond reason now, if he would have envisaged this scenario when coming up with his half-baked plan, he would have said that now was the time to turn around and call off the trip. Adrenalin pumping and the false security of his car, wild eyed and scared, Jack pushed forwards around crumpled cars and around the flailing arms of the dead.
Near the entrance to the motorway, three creatures blocked Jack’s path, instinct started to take over in the still air of the car. He slowed and crawled into them pushing them backwards. It took just a few steps backwards for the three dead to lose coordination and tumble to the floor. Jack turned the wheel sharply left to avoid going over all three. The car jolted to a grinding and sudden stop. Shit. Two of the still writhing bodies were pushed and then wedged under the front of the car. Jack accelerated and the wheels span trying to find grip. The left tire caught traction on an arm, the spinning wheel tore flesh ripping it from the bone as the car jolted forwards, climbing over the torso of the still moving creature. The fleshy part of the stomach gave the tires more grip, ripping the creature’s gut apart as the car jolted ov
er the last body. With both front tires on the road, the car attained maximum grip to continue Jack’s merry jaunt.
The slip road onto the motorway was unobstructed. It looked as though something had cleared a path as several cars were pushed aside. Jack remembered the army from Lucy’s video and wondered if they’d come this way. He couldn’t even think where the nearest army base was. Whoever had cleared the path didn’t really matter; it lifted Jack’s hopes of achieving his goal.
The motorway was depressing. There were lots of cars, but they weren’t closely packed together and most had been pushed to the side of the road by whatever had cleared the slip road. There weren’t hordes of dead either; just stragglers ambling around like a plague of sleepwalkers. The upsetting thing for Jack was seeing cars packed with belongings; toys, photo albums and other items, useless for survival, calling out to a world that no longer existed and the lives that were no more.
The road, without other careening cars, made Jack think of films where they shut down part of a city to make it look deserted, but as he continued down the motorway taking care to avoid sharp debris, other vehicles and the dead, he knew it was very real. He was concentrating on keeping damage to the Citroen at a minimum, it was vital for his retreat.
The motorway widened and separated into three lanes going to Manchester and two that joined the ring-road. It wasn’t as bad as Jack had feared it would be. The road into Manchester was surprisingly deserted. Thinking logically, Jack shouldn’t have been surprised, how many people would have wanted to make their way into a densely populated area where people were rising from the dead and becoming hollow husks with a hunger for meat?
Jack continued along the motorway until it changed to the Princess Parkway, which led into the centre of Manchester. The road passed under the M60, the ring road around Manchester, and beyond that, on the other side of the road, separated by a central reservation, was Adventure Island. Jack was close and had come so far. The journey, which can’t have been more than 10 miles, had taken about an hour and a half, but it seemed to Jack like an eternity.
It was upon entering the first suburbs of Manchester that the abandoned cars and debris became too congested to pass. The store was only 200 metres away. The numbers of dead were nothing like Jack had expected, he could see a handful of small groups. Nothing more. He decided he was going to take the last part of the journey on foot and taste some action. Jack was running on pure excitement and adrenaline, it almost felt like a game. He had never been so reckless in his life, he was always quite passive and avoided conflict and this new fight exhilarated him, he wondered if he’d get an extra life in this game?
Jack turned the car around on the motorway to face the way he came, just in case he needed a speedy retreat. He made his way out of the car, grabbed the hammer, and set off. The two nearest dead were about 50 feet away and ambling towards him. He made off and decided to jump the central reservation onto the other side of the road. Weaving in-between cars, Jack was light on his feet and trying to be quick. A bang on the window from inside a car nearly made him soil himself. Trapped inside its tomb, one of the dead clawed at the window. It was a girl, maybe 12 years old. Her weak pounding was no match for the car windows. The driver, presumably the girl’s mum, lay half eaten across the steering wheel with blood smearing the windows. The sight sickened Jack as he continued to a break in the cars that made for an easier passage and avoided more of the dead.
About 100 metres from Adventure Island an overturned truck and a host of smashed cars blocked the way. It looked as though the truck had decided to speed through the traffic jam, whether this was during the evacuation, Jack didn’t know. It was tight, but he could see a rough route through the wreckage with only a little climbing. Jack made his way forwards past a couple of cars.
A hand from an unfeasibly small space grabbed Jack’s ankle, he was off balance and fell headlong. The hand lost grip but Jack landed with his face peering through a broken window to a grotesquely mutilated form, still animated, only inches away. The creature no longer looked human, crushed, and bent beyond recognition, the bloody mess was missing most of its cheeks and lips, but broken teeth still crunched together as prey landed in front of its hungry and still active brain. The dead person lifted its arms to seize Jack’s head, but as its shoulders moved, the arms hung limply: shattered bones, a result of the thundering truck, meant the creature’s arms and hands were useless.
Jack had seen enough, he pushed himself up and jumped over the car, he could now see the end of the pileup. He hurdled the remaining obstacles and found himself standing in front of a more able-bodied monster. Without thinking, Jack took the hammer from his belt and swung with his right hand from right to left with all his might. He caught it on the temple, a terrible sound, as the hammer sent the dead man falling to the floor. Lifeless.
Jack was out of breath and could see about 50 or more of the dead in close proximity. To hell with it. He started to sprint to Adventure Island. He knew he’d draw them there, but he could wait for them to disperse or he could escape quietly out of the back if his way in became too congested. The thought of being inside and away from the dead was something that appealed to Jack as he approached the door to find it unlocked. Thank Christ.
With his shoulder holding the door shut, Jack looked to find a lock or bolt as the dead made their way to the store. Two bolts on the top and bottom secured the door. He turned around and found the store empty. He was surprised; with the chaos outside he would have thought people would have sought refuge here. Maybe they did, but there was no sign of disruption. It was dark with most of the windows covered with branded slogans wasted on unintelligent zombie brains.
Failing to bring a torch had been an oversight and Jack searched clumsily around the partially lit till area until he found a display of torches, the extreme sports person’s impulse buy. He picked one up and began to rummage around the shop for essentials he could take with him. He found a rucksack and started to fill it with more suitable clothing for survival. To Jack’s dismay there weren’t any useful weapons, he was expecting ice picks, axes and all sorts of other things, but no such luck. The shop appeared to be appealing to the vanity of outdoor pursuit rather than actual extreme sports enthusiasts.
Jack packed some rope, waterproof and warm clothing and was ready to leave within a few minutes of arriving. He took a drink from the warm fridge and greedily gulped down some of the sweet orange energy drink. He could see the dead covering the door he’d bolted; he would need to leave via the back.
He went to explore the rear of the shop when he heard a scream.
Chapter 12 - The Government
The UK Government had been one of the best prepared regimes in the world when it came to the rising of the dead. Incredibly, they had practiced drills and written up contingency plans for a zombie like outbreak. They had been mocked heavily in newspapers with many questioning the use of public funds for such bizarre and unnecessary procedures. The ranting agendas of newspapers such as the Sun and Daily Mail no longer mattered, if they ever did. Their reporters eaten, their offices empty, the huge printers motionless, collecting dust.
The Government no longer had cause for concern about media backlashes to bumbled politics or Boris Johnson offending half the world with oafish comments. They could operate without recourse, no public outrage, no social media criticism, and no dividing party ties. However, the Government was completely cut off from the people it was supposed to be governing and with that, could be seen as just another group trying to survive the harsh realities of post-apocalypse living.
The only rules governing the people of the UK were those of survival; mankind’s basic needs guided by individual moral compasses. This of course created issues as hunger and disease, combined with the grizzly horror of each day, added to the distressed and panicked state of Joe Public. Survivors were sacrificing right for wrong, forcibly taking what they needed, people were beaten, deceived, and even killed for food, cars, and other possessions. There
were still people helping others, sharing, and even taking those in need into their care and shelter. Strangers stood together fighting to keep their domains safe and dead free. The trouble with helping people is that it adds more risk to existing. Sticking your neck out was more than just an inconvenience, it was a potentially life-threatening action.
Charles Darwin said, ‘It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is most adaptable to change.”
He couldn’t have been more accurate. Those who were trapped in the social boundaries of the old world were being eradicated either by their own good deeds going wrong or by others who had adopted more aggressive tactics in order to survive. People who were naturally open and experienced to violence had an easier and more successful chance of survival. Someone who was willing to punch a fellow human being in the face would have no hesitation about clubbing a dead monster over the head. Of course, the biggest influence on a person’s survival was circumstance. If you were living in a remote location, the chances of even encountering the dead in the early days were slim. If you were unlucky enough to find yourself in the middle of a city when the outbreak reached its pinnacle, then the odds of survival were minimal, unfortunately for the people of the UK, urbanisation was on the rise and the vast majority of the population lived in cities and towns.
The UK Government: no longer headed up by Theresa May who had been infected by one of the hired help within 10 Downing Street, was a mishmash of Labour, Conservative, other parties, and various high-ranking members of the armed services. They were at a classified location planning and plotting.
The Government had been well informed in the build up to the disaster. They had caught and contained many small outbreaks before anything was in the news. This only gave them a day or two head start. Intelligence from other countries showed the potentially devastating effects of the disease. They ran advanced simulations showing the predicted infection rate, watching with grave faces.