Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Harris, Chris

  We were zombie killers. We were going to survive this!

  We shouted and punched the air, primal emotions building up inside us. The villagers surrounded us, strangers we’d never met before congratulating us, grabbing our hands, and thanking us for saving their lives.

  I looked down at myself and then looked at Shawn, surprised that we weren’t covered in more blood. Yes, we’d been splattered with some when it had sprayed off our knife blades, but unlike in the movies where you couldn’t kill a zombie without being coated from head to toe in blood and gore, the truth was that zombies don’t bleed much.

  Perhaps it was the fact that their metabolism was slower. Their heart rate and blood pressure were likely to be much reduced, as they only needed to move to get to the next meal and weren’t performing any of the highly complex tasks normally required of our bodies, tasks which tend to require substantial amounts of energy.

  With the help of the world’s most powerful computers, scientists were just beginning to build humanoid robots capable of successfully replicating simple movements. Our remarkable bodies accomplish complex tasks using their matrix of brain power, muscles, tendons and senses, all of which enable us to balance from when we are about one year old, but that expends a lot of energy. A zombie didn’t need all those abilities, so it made sense that their bodies slowed down to conserve energy.

  Chapter Twelve

  As I walked back behind the trailer, Becky hurled herself at me again. I hadn’t been hugged that much for ages. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the zombie situation I’d have suspected her of being after something.

  I pushed her away gently. “Let’s get going, darling; we still need to keep moving and find somewhere safer. Then we can rest.”

  The farmer approached, his hand outstretched, “Thank you so much. Now you really have saved our lives. We’ll never be able to repay you.”

  I shook his hand. “It’s fine. Remember, I was protecting my family as well. If you could help us out with the things Shawn asked for, then we’ll get going. We really want to stick to our plan and keep moving.”

  “Of course. Just drive up to my barn and I’ll get you what you need. If you could just give me a minute, I’ll start getting everyone organised.”

  He was a natural leader and in no time at all, had issued instructions for everyone to start gathering the equipment they would need to start building their defences.

  Once he was satisfied that everyone knew what they were doing, he climbed into Shawn’s car and we all drove the short distance to his outbuildings. Once there, he introduced us to his wife and quickly updated her on what had happened. Then he instructed her to get us some food from the pantry.

  She must have been made of stern stuff, because she took it all in her stride, remarked that they’d better get the cows in before they were eaten, and announced her intention of putting a bag of food together for us. She invited Becky and the kids to accompany her to the kitchen.

  We followed him into the barn. He was clearly an organised man, because it was spotless and the shelves and racks were neatly stacked with a whole array of items.

  He quickly found a six metre by six metre tarpaulin and an empty twenty five litre water container, which he started filling from a tap on the wall.

  “Now what weapons were you thinking of?” he said, gesturing towards his tools.

  “I could make a spear from a length of wood but an axe would be useful,” replied Shawn thoughtfully.

  “A hand or a felling axe?”

  “Both if you have them. I normally have a hand axe with my kit but stupidly, I’ve left it at home.”

  “Here you go,” he said and handed Shawn one of each.

  I’d been rummaging through some of the shelves and had found a heavy looking machete in a sheath. Feeling that I was pushing my luck, I asked for it anyway. He’d been more than generous as it was. He handed it to me without hesitation, assuring me that he had plenty of tools.

  Shawn asked if he had any diesel, as he’d made his escape from the garage earlier without filling up. Once again, the farmer was happy to oblige. A truly unselfish and generous man.

  As we carried our gifts back to the car, he pointed to his diesel tank and told Shawn to back up to it, joking that he’d better not get stopped by the police, as it was red diesel and they didn’t take kindly to ordinary motorists using it. He even asked if we wanted to take a few jerry cans of fuel with us, an offer we would have been stupid to refuse. So of course we didn’t.

  By now Becky had emerged from the farmhouse carrying a large bag of food. I was anxious to get going again.

  I’ll admit that the thought of staying and helping these people had occurred to me, but I’d quickly decided that moving on was the right thing to do. We needed to find somewhere really remote for a while.

  I made sure that everyone was safely in the car and then walked up to our farmer friend, shook his hand and thanked him for the last time. As our small convoy drove away, I realised that I’d never even thought to ask his name. Everything had happened so fast. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and sincerely hoped that we’d given them enough time to prepare themselves for the horror they would be facing before too long.

  The route we’d quickly traced out proved to be the correct one. For the first thirty minutes we didn’t see another soul. Every house in every hamlet or small village we passed through was deathly quiet. Whether everyone was dead or just quiet we didn’t know.

  It was possible that everyone was following the government’s advice and staying indoors. I wasn’t sure. But I did notice that there weren’t many cars parked on driveways or outside houses.

  One explanation might have been that, on hearing the news, most people had assumed that it was a local event and decided that the best course of action would be to go somewhere else. Or more worryingly, perhaps the virus had spread so effectively that the locals were now all zombies.

  Had we been the lucky ones, and by pure chance, somehow escaped becoming infected?

  I thought it through. The UK had a population of over sixty million.

  By the morning of day two of the apocalypse, the number of people actually infected or who had already transformed into a zombie would be huge, but surely this still only accounted for a small percentage of the population as a whole? The few people who had followed the government’s advice and remained isolated from everyone should have survived day one without being infected. The rest, unfortunately, would have run in all directions. Human beings are social animals and we automatically seek safety in numbers.

  The majority would probably have escaped the initial outbreaks, but then fallen victim to the unprecedented way in which the virus spread.

  It was not yet midday on day two, but by the time Tom and his family were setting out for the moors, more than half the population of the UK had succumbed to the virus, as it raged uncontrollably like a wildfire sweeping through a tinder dry forest.

  We kept the radio tuned into the emergency broadcast but it was still repeating the original message. We turned down the volume until it was just background noise, but so that we would hear if the message changed. Becky also kept checking her phone but it continually showed “No signal”.

  “I can see another car coming,” I said quietly, and relayed the information to Shawn via the radio. A silver Ford Mondeo estate car was approaching down the narrow country lane.

  It was an old model and had two surfboards attached to its roof rack. I slowed down and the other vehicle did the same, until we were about fifty metres apart from each other.

  We all sat there for a while. I was unsure about what to do next. We could always just squeeze past each other and continue on our journeys, but somehow making contact seemed the right thing to do. If nothing else, we could use the opportunity to exchange information.

  I flashed my lights, hoping that the other driver would interpret this as a friendly gesture. They returned the flash.

  “Oh well, here goes nothing,�
�� I muttered to myself. I put on my mask and stepped out of the car. Shawn joined me.

  Two young lads stepped out of the Mondeo and started to walk towards us. When they were about twenty metres away I held up my hand. “That’s far enough please, we don’t know if you’re infected.”

  “We don’t think we are,” one of them replied. “We’ve listened to what the broadcasts and internet feeds that are still working have said. But the internet went down about an hour or so ago. We haven’t been near anyone, but we’ve seen enough to know that it’s true, and that there are zombies walking about. It’s getting fucking freaky out here!”

  “Where have you come from?” asked Shawn.

  “Scotland,” said the other one. “We’ve just driven down to try out the surfing. We were driving through the night and didn’t know what was happening until a few hours ago when we got bored with listening to my music and turned the radio on and heard the emergency broadcast.”

  At that point, they explained, they’d suddenly realised that the roads were unnaturally quiet. They’d checked Facebook and YouTube and seen enough crazy videos to make them turn around and head back for home.

  They’d been prevented from doing so by a massive crash about ten miles back up the road, which appeared to have just happened. They’d been about to get out and help when they’d seen one of them feeding on someone right in the middle of the road.

  “We panicked,” the lad said. “We just turned off the main road and ran into a field, smashing through the fence. Luckily it’s been really dry lately, so we managed to get across a few fields until we found another road. We haven’t got a map and my phone’s map stopped working. so we got lost. We’ve learned enough to realise that we need to stay away from people, so we’ve been trying to find somewhere safe.

  The problem is, we keep coming across the zombies. They’re freaking everywhere! The last village we went through, we had to run two of them over to escape. They surrounded the car as soon as we stopped at a junction”’

  I looked back at their car. It did look as if it had been through a lot; it was coated in mud and the front bumper and bonnet had big dents in them. Most of the body panels were damaged and one of the wing mirrors was hanging off.

  I thought for a second. These guys had been driving through the night, so they couldn’t have been in contact with anyone. It was pretty much the same as it had been with Shawn. We’d been in contact with other people but so far had shown no signs of being infected. We were, I concluded, incredibly lucky.

  According to their story, there had been infected people in the villages they had passed through and they had seen more of them further up on the main road at the scene of the crash.

  This confirmed the scale of the outbreak; it just had to be everywhere. The radio report had spoken of it being a global event and that had to be true. It couldn’t just be confined to this remote part of Cornwall. Logic dictated that the infection rate in the towns and cities must be almost 100% if we were coming across them in reasonably remote places.

  I took a deep breath and spoke, “What do you want to do, lads? Neither of you has a Scottish accent, so why were you driving from there? My name’s Tom by the way, and this is Shawn.”

  They both looked relieved. “Hi,” said one. “I’m Andy and this is Chet. We’ve been in Scotland for the past week or so checking out the surfing and sleeping in the car. Chet got a call from a mate of his, telling him how great it was round here, so last night we decided to pack up and head down.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look like typical surfers,” I said, eyeing them both.

  “Why?” Chet replied indignantly, “Because I’m Indian and he’s overweight?”

  I had to laugh. I shook my head. “No! Well there is that, BUT I was about to say you both look too sensible to be sleeping in cars and chasing the surf.”

  Andy chipped in, “I’ll have you know, weight’s an advantage when it comes to surfing! But to be fair, Tom, you’re right. We were both getting fed up with sleeping in the car; it just sounded fun when we came up with the idea. Chet’s mate is staying at his parents’ holiday home and he’s got spare bedrooms, so we jumped at the chance of a soft mattress.”

  Shawn looked at them. “Where were you going to go when you decided to turn round?”

  “We’d decided to head back to the student house we share in Birmingham. We haven’t got any family around. Chet’s still live in India and my parents have buggered off on a round the world cruise.” He paused then looked upset, saying quietly, “I hope they’re ok.”

  “Zombies!” shouted Becky suddenly, and we all started and looked round. A zombie was pushing its way through the hedge close to the car. Looking through the gap, we could see more behind it. Chet and Andy watched open-mouthed as I ran up to it, gripped it tightly by the hair with one hand and drove my knife through the side of its head with the other. I examined it as it lay sprawled on the ground. It was female and was dressed like a serious rambler with walking boots and proper hiking trousers. There was even a rucksack on its back.

  “Look Shawn,” I pointed out, “She hasn’t been bitten as far as I can tell. She must have been infected another way. This virus is out of control! You haven’t been near anyone who’s infected and neither, apparently, have these guys (I pointed to Andy and Chet). We must have been incredibly lucky not to pick it up back at that campsite we were on. We need to set off for the moors now so that we can get ourselves organised.”

  I turned to Andy and Chet and for the first time, noticed their faces. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I couldn’t have done that two hours ago either. It gets easier.” Coming to a quick decision I continued, “Look, do you want to come with us? We’re from Birmingham as well, so we may try to get back there …”

  Shawn shouting, “Tom!” made me turn. The other zombies must have been closer than I’d realised as more of them were now forcing their way through the hedge. It was a hawthorn and the vicious thorns were ripping through their flesh and their clothing.

  Oblivious to this, their horribly blank faces set in a kind of mute obstinacy, they pushed even harder in their desperation to reach us. I swallowed hard and Shawn and I stepped forward with our knives held ready.

  The first few were relatively easy to kill, because they were caught up in the thorns but more kept on coming. It dawned on me with horror that there were far too many of them and I started to panic.

  Frantically, I killed one and pushed it away and then just managed to get another before it took a bite out of my outstretched arm. I scrambled backwards and glanced at Shawn. He was in an equally precarious situation and was desperately trying to kill as many as he could while avoiding being grabbed. I heard the engine of my car start and thought, “Thank God, at least Becky will be safe,” as I stabbed the nearest one through the eye.

  I turned my head to see Shawn topple over, clutching a zombie by the neck to keep it from biting him. Suddenly the Volvo shot forward, and with a sickening thud, smashed into the zombies directly in front of me, knocking them over. It reversed, and with tyres squealing, rammed into the ones behind, clearing a space around Shawn.

  That fantastic woman had kept her cool and thinking quickly, had realised that the only way to save us was to use the car as a weapon.

  I thrust my knife into another one, and realising that Shawn was still in serious trouble, ran over and dragged the zombie off him. I dispatched it with a quick stab to the brain.

  I pulled Shawn to his feet and handed him his knife which he’d dropped, then screamed, “Come on. Let’s get out of here!”

  “No!” panted Shawn, pulling away from me. “Zombie Rule Number 1. Kill every one of the bastards that you can. If you leave one, it could be the one that gets you later on.”

  He flung himself forward and began to work his way methodically through the ones Becky had knocked to the ground. Some of them had mangled limbs and were twitching like fish out of water, and others were attempting to stand up, th
eir uncoordinated efforts making them look like drunks. If it hadn’t been for the fact that they were zombies, it might have been comical to watch. After watching him kill the first few, I stepped forward to help.

  I felt something yank me from behind and realised that a zombie had grabbed hold of my jacket. I felt its rasping breath against my neck as it tried to bite me. I spun wildly and shoved it away, then stumbled backwards clumsily, falling hard against the side of the car. Dazed, I lost my balance completely and fell over.

  The zombie lurched forward with obscene eagerness, a greedy look on its face. It was heavy and it took all my strength to push it away and stop it from biting me.

  Its breath stank and I gagged. Its eyes were just six inches from mine, the normal blank gaze replaced by a look of burning hatred and hunger. The seconds passed and I felt myself weakening. I was struggling to push it away and its teeth were getting closer. A snarl escaped it and I tried to scream but no sound came out. I had nothing left. I was going to die.

  Thwack! The zombie’s head jerked to one side as something hit it. Smack! It jerked again. The third hit made a horrible squelching sound and I watched as the side of the zombie’s skull caved in.

  It went limp and fell off me, then lay to one side, either dead or stunned. I wasn’t sure which, so I grabbed my knife and stabbed it for good measure.

  I looked up. Standing over me, with his blood-flecked cricket bat gripped firmly in his hands, was my son.

  What can I say? My ten-year-old son had just killed to protect me.

  I stood up, my legs still wobbly, gave him a bear hug and said, “Thank you, son, I’m proud of you.”

  Becky stepped out of the car and I could see that, because she loved him, she was going to tell him off for putting himself in danger. Instinctively, I knew it would be the wrong thing to do. If he hesitated the next time it could get him or someone else killed.