by Luke Duffy
He carefully moved in the opposite direction towards the back fence of his garden, gently placing each foot on the soft soil below him. He dreaded the sound of a snapping twig under his feet and he continually glanced back over his shoulder, checking to see if any had noticed him and began to follow.
The fence was just five metres away now and he stole one final fleeting look back toward the mob of cadavers, still tussling amongst themselves as they fought for pole position at the door.
He lifted his foot for another step and it lifted only a few centimetres as something gripped him from beneath. His foot had snagged a root and as his body continued forward, leaving his foot in the grasp of the natural snare, he found himself tumbling to the floor, fast.
With a thud, he hit the ground and the pack fell from his grasp. The tin cooking pots inside rattled as they were thrown about and crashed against each other, creating an ear-splitting crescendo in Simon's mind.
For a split second, Simon lay still, cringing as the thunderous sound in the otherwise silent world abated in his ears. He began to scramble to his feet and reach for the pack. His foot stayed where it was. It remained tangled in the undergrowth as he pulled and thrashed to free himself, panic gripping him from within.
The moans of the dead became louder and more excited, drifting to him on the air and clutching at his soul with an icy hand. There were many more voices crying out now than there had been before. They had obviously heard him, and in his panic Simon found his foot more firmly lodged in the tangle of weeds. Terrified, he tugged and kicked at them in the hope of miraculously freeing himself.
Then, he saw the first of them. It staggered through the wild and jumbled bushes that had blocked their view of him, the branches and leaves swiping at its face and creating minor slashes in its skin that went unnoticed by the creature as it made its way toward Simon, still writhing on the ground.
It was the walking corpse of a woman. Her hair was missing in patches and her skin was mottled grey and sagging from her face. A large, festering black wound in her shoulder was filled with the squirming maggots that ate away at her flesh and the dark and dried blood that caked the remains of her once pretty summer blouse, now looked like dried oil encrusted for all time in the material.
Simon turned away in revulsion and fear and continued to fight against the vice-like grip of the roots around his foot. The staggering woman saw him and a long and mournful wail erupted from within her. Her hands reached out and she tried to increase her speed as she forced her way through the rest of the undergrowth and bushes, her feet shuffling and scuffing against the dirt and dried leaves on the ground.
More were following. Simon saw faces appear behind the woman and they all looked back at him. Their vacant dead eyes stared at him, never blinking, and their hands grasped at him as they approached. Everywhere he looked they were there, steadily closing in on him as he lay helpless, tethered to the ground.
He was in a panic. His breath came hard and fast. His chest felt ready to burst open from the pounding of his heart. His bladder and bowels threatened to release their content as he continued to struggle. They were just metres away now. Their shuffling steps bringing them closer by the second while he remained tied to the spot.
The woman's wasted and gaunt body was already beginning to dip at the hips as she anticipated sinking her teeth into the squirming man on the ground. Her thin, dry and cracked lips curled back, exposing the rotting gums and yellowed teeth. A growl emitted from her throat, carrying putrid bile that oozed up from within her decaying insides, seeping through her teeth in long thick strands that dripped toward the ground.
A moment of clarity and Simon remembered the machete on his belt. He pulled it free of its scabbard and quickly sat upright, reaching to his foot and hacking away at the mass of tangled weeds.
His foot came free and he scrambled backwards onto his feet. He turned, looking for the pack and was suddenly gripped from behind and pulled backward. The woman had reached him and she clutched onto his jacket, trying to drag him toward to her. Without a second thought, Simon threw his hands back and stepped forward, allowing the jacket to slip from his shoulders and down his arms.
Once he was free, he turned, raised the crowbar and swung it down onto the head of his attacker. The woman, for a split second, had a look of shock etched across her face, as though it had been the last thing she had expected. The heavy iron sunk deep into her skull, causing one of her eyes to pop as the pressure forced it outward. She dropped to the floor, the jacket still grasped firmly in her hands.
Simon turned and reached for the pack. It was too late; one of them, its teeth gnashing and a whistling moan escaping from its torn and destroyed throat, was just a metre away from it. It lurched towards him, its arms reaching out and swiping at thin air as Simon took a step to the side, narrowly avoiding its grasp.
"You fucking keep it, then," he shouted in frustration as he turned for the fence.
He vaulted at the wooden planks and gripped the top. With all his strength, fear, and adrenalin driving him on, he began to pull himself up and over. As he raised his remaining foot, he felt a cold, bony hand close around his ankle and yank down on it. He pulled hard and the grip was lost, the momentum of the heave pulling him over onto the opposite side of the fence.
Simon landed heavily on the other side amongst long grass and weeds. The wind was knocked from him as he hit the ground with his back. He shook his head and quickly looked about him, fearful of any surprises waiting for him. The crowbar was still firmly in his grasp, along with the machete, and he began to lift himself up.
The fence to his left began to rattle and vibrate as the crowd thumped and pounded against it. They wailed and moaned, some building themselves into frenzy when they glimpsed him through the narrow slats of wood. To Simon, they sounded annoyed and frustrated to have lost the opportunity to sink their teeth into the man they had waited so long for outside the bunker door. If he did not know better, he could be forgiven for believing they were upset and infuriated over the fact that they had been outfoxed.
Climbing to his feet, Simon brushed himself off and stepped back. He could see glimpses of the lumbering dead here and there, as he watched the fence rattle and judder under their weight and assaults.
The smell was overpowering. Flies swirled above as the movements of the dead disturbed them as they feasted on their rotting flesh. He could feel his stomach twitch at the stench of them.
He stepped back and turned away. Behind, he left the safety of his bunker, food, supplies, survival equipment and clothing.
"Dickhead," he mumbled.
7
The hunt was on.
The rear gate had been secured again, this time using more chains, much thicker and secured with large, heavy-duty padlocks. Steve wished beyond himself that they had CCTV coverage in the area, but there was not a thing they could do about it. The people who had designed and run the park security had not seen fit to have cameras set up in the area of the rear gate, relying on the fact that it was out of the way and that not many people would know about it.
Normally, in the past when the park had been open for visitors, there was a human guard there and Steve began to consider that maybe they should mount a guard themselves, especially at night. That would mean adding to the duties of the people living in the mansion and stretching them even thinner on the ground. It would have to be a double duty, too, with two people needing to provide the guard force. To leave one person out there, so far from the safety of the house and alone all through the night, would be out of the question.
With their rear protected, for now, they turned their attention to tracking down and killing the remaining dead within the park. Carl had seen five, maybe six of them disappear from sight toward the west of the park as he watched from the roof, but he admitted that there could have been more.
Just the thought of having them within in the walls and not knowing where they were was enough to bring people to the edge of panic. Though
everyone managed to keep their heads and prepare for the job that needed to be done, terror gripped them. It was the fear of the unknown.
The park was a big place, with a lot of dark corners and shady tree lines. Hungry eyes could be watching their every move, stalking them and slowly moving in for the attack when they least expected it.
People began to amplify the ability and intelligence of the dead in their own minds. With having not been beyond the walls for a while and experiencing the dead first hand, and unsure of where they were within the park, they started to think of them as phantoms, running loose inside the walls and scheming all kinds of plans and ideas for what to do with the living people within the house.
Jake had to speak loudly and sternly at one point as they prepared for the hunt when some members of the house began to suggest that maybe the dead had developed higher intelligence, or maybe a supernatural force was driving them. To Jake, these ideas were ludicrous and did nothing but add to the panic that everyone had already began to feel bubbling up inside them.
"Look, I'm scared of them too, but they're not demons," he barked, his voice echoing around in the foyer. "They don't think, or plan. They move about on instinct and are incapable of outsmarting us. Now, shut up with the speculation and rumours."
The people around him, including Steve who had been in a hushed conversation with John about the degree of intelligence and ability of the dead, were stunned to silence as Jake dressed them down.
John hefted his pickaxe handle and tested its weight in his hands. "Jake's right, they're just bags of pus. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all calm down and get back to normal."
"Normal, are you serious? Good one, John," Gary joked.
Steve and the rest of the group assembled outside the house. All were dressed in thick clothing, despite the heat of the day, and all were armed. Everybody would have preferred to have something a little more formidable than clubs and hammers, but guns were a luxury none of them had. No one really knew how to use one anyway. They were going to have to be up close and personal against the dead, as always.
They had all done battle against the reanimated corpses before, but it never got any easier. The idea of carrying a weapon in hand, one that could only be used up close and not from a distance, then charging into the fray to fight with an enemy that did not have any concept of fear or self preservation, was enough to scare them half to death.
They could not even afford to become injured. A bite from the infected was fatal and they all knew that. They would die slowly from a burning fever and painful infection that would spread through their body like a wildfire before returning as one of the walking dead. An accident could also be just as deadly to them. A misplaced foot or fall during a fight could leave them at the mercy of the dead.
Everyone had the same look about them as they assembled in the foyer. Their eyes were wide and the nervous glances they all gave each other spoke a thousand words. Knees were weak, hands shook and their palms sweated while their hearts raced and pounded in their chests. Adrenalin was kicking in, coursing through their bloodstreams as they psyched themselves up for the imminent clash with the un-dead.
Steve paired everyone up. Carl and John were to search together. Carl had already found two of them earlier and dealt with them while Steve and the others had taken care of the stragglers by the rear gate. The two men nodded to each other, their eyes locked as they acknowledged one another and their shared apprehension of the task ahead. Deep down, though, there was no one else that Carl would rather have alongside him.
Steve had Helen and Gary was partnered with Sophie. Everybody had designated areas to patrol.
"Jake, Lee, you two head for the restaurant area. Check the buildings then head towards the lake and clear the north-west part of the park. Carl, John, you two also go to the restaurant area and then head south west and come around toward the main gate. Try and make a little noise while you do it, only enough to get them to stumble out into the open, not ringing a dinner bell."
"Where are you heading for, Steve?" Gary asked, standing beside Sophie.
Steve looked at Helen then at Gary. "We'll head directly west, past the Information Centre and around the south part of the lake. Gary, I want you and Sophie to move directly north from the house and through the tree line. That should give us full coverage of the whole of the western part of the park. The roof watch have a good view of everything to the east with it all being open plane so that isn't an immediate concern."
Gary nodded then raised his radio. "Claire, are you happy with what you're doing?" He looked up to the roof as he spoke and three heads leaned over the side and peered down at him, giving a thumbs up in acknowledgment.
The radio crackled and Claire's voice could be heard. "Yeah, Gary, all three of us are up here and ready."
Gary was still looking up at the rooftop. "Okay, keep sending checks over the radio once we're gone and keep your eyes peeled."
Lisa had joined Claire and Jennifer on the roof team. Up until recently, she had spent most of her time in a daze and shock, but now she had begun to come out of her shell. It was still hard for her to deal with losing her young family, but she seemed to be coming to terms with it now, and rather than just floating about the house she had become more proactive. It was a hard new world, one that could only be survived by the hard minded, and Lisa had begun to prove her worth as part of the clan.
The house had been sealed from the inside. During the preparations, the boarded windows that were within arm's reach along the ground floor were double-checked and reinforced where necessary. The rear door to the mansion was locked and barricaded and the front door would receive the same treatment once the search parties dispersed and began their clearance of the park.
Karen had fought with Gary, insisting that the house needed to be left open for them should they need to retreat there, but he had talked her down. His argument was that there were children in the house that would not be able to fight the dead off if they managed to get in.
"And besides, Karen, if we need to we can always use one of the other buildings in the park to hide. There's only a few of them anyway and we're not taking any chances. Now go inside and lock the doors. Place the large couch and table behind them like we agreed."
Karen was a little on the frantic side. "But why do you all have to go after them?"
"Karen," Gary held her gently by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, "you know why. We can't risk having any of them in here and on the loose. We'll be okay, I promise. And you can listen over the radio if it makes you feel better."
With teary eyes, Karen accepted what needed to be done and allowed Gary to guide her back to the house. Gary kissed her and hugged her for a moment.
"Hey, I tell you what, why don't you think of something nice for us all to cook for dinner? That should keep your mind off things," he said it with a smile as he leaned back. His intentions had been of a good nature but his words had the opposite effect as Karen fixed him with a stare.
Karen scowled. "Don't patronise me, you old fart." She turned and marched back in the house to where Catherine, the wife of Carl, stood waiting to help her with barricading the door.
Lee and Jake burst into fits of laughter. Jake looked up at Gary who now stood on the step to the mansion, looking at the large wooden door that had just been slammed in his face.
"I tell you what, Gary, she has some fire in her belly when she wants, doesn't she?"
Gary was walking toward them now, trying to appear casual. "Yup, that's why I love her. She'll simmer down."
"I'm not sure, mate. I think you'll be sleeping on the sofa tonight."
Gary chuckled and wagged a finger at the much younger man then turned to Steve. "Okay, let's get on with it then," he said, drawing in a deep breath.
They had decided against using cars this time. The last patrol had turned up with just two finds and the group felt that they would see and hear them much easier if they were on foot. Though more vulnerable
, all believed that as long as they did not get careless, they would be more effective that way.
Each pair carried a handheld radio and Gary insisted that everyone should be giving regular reports on their whereabouts, including the group on the roof of the house. At least that way they would know that everyone was safe and which areas had been covered. Gary knew the place like the back of his hand, and just from people describing where they were over the radio waves he could draw up a mental map in his head.
"Be careful down by the lake area. There are a lot of small tracks that crisscross that area and some of the trees are so close together, it's impossible to see more than a few feet at a time," Jake informed everyone.
"Will do, Jake," Steve replied.
Lee and Jake began to walk along the gravel track that led into the dark shade of the woods and toward the Information Centre. A chill ran down Lee's spine as he recalled the night that he had followed Tony through the woods and discovered what he had done, the visions of the children and what they had endured haunted him still. He still had nights when he struggled to sleep as the images of those poor children refused to allow him to rest.
He shook the memory from his mind and spat on the ground three times. To him, the memory at that moment was a bad omen and he gripped his iron bar even tighter, gritting his teeth and growling quietly to himself.
Claire's voice hissed from the radios. "Good luck, everyone."
8
John and Carl had headed into the built-up area of the park along with Lee and Jake, as instructed. At the junction, both groups nodded their farewells to one another and went in their separate directions.
For some unknown reason, maybe from watching too many movies or even from instinct, both men found themselves crouching as they walked. Their knees were slightly bent, they leaned forward at the waist and their arms were held like pistons, waiting to go into action. They looked like coiled springs, as though they were ready to sprint for their lives, or leap into a fight.