by Fleet, Ricky
“Jesus, what can we do?” Kurt exclaimed.
“Nothing, look at how many of them there are,” John answered solemnly, the voice of reason.
There were at least fifty between the two properties, with more likely to be out of sight. Kurt knew he was right in his analysis, but it didn’t help. They opened the window, the voice reaching them now, desperate and terrified. It was a man, screaming for help, yet knowing none was coming as the dead ones came for him.
“Get up into your attic, now!” Kurt shouted. The shadow turned in their direction, but he seemed to have missed Kurt’s advice. So he shouted it again, as loud as he could.
“They are outside the door!” The man screamed back to them on the wind.
“Oh God,” whispered Sam as John took him and led him away from the window. He had witnessed enough already today and Kurt was thankful.
The man had climbed out onto a small ledge that each house was fitted with, a balcony that had never been finished when money had run out on the building project. There were no protective rails on them, just a drop onto the ground below. Now the balcony overhangs simply served as a place to wait out of the rain while someone answered the door. The first of the zombies had broken through into the upstairs room and were now toppling from the window and onto the balcony in an ungainly heap. The man would duly push them off before they could regain their footing. It was almost comical to watch, like an old clock, whose wooden figures would emerge at the turn of the hour and carry out an action over and over before retreating back into the clock body. The bumbling corpses would fall out of the window and he would kick them. They would topple over the edge to the ground, where they would struggle to rise and then head back in to the house. It was akin to the Greek myth of King Sisyphus, who was made to roll a boulder up a hill for eternity, only to have it fall to the bottom when he reached the peak. The task was useless but unceasing. Kurt felt wretchedness in his soul, forced to honour the man’s final moments as he weakened. He would not look away, he could not. Kurt couldn’t explain, in his mind, he felt if he didn’t witness the event, it would be a horrible betrayal of the stranger’s life. No one should be left to die alone.
It was happening. The man tried unsuccessfully to heft a zombie over the balcony’s edge. A second zombie fell out and then a third. They rose as one, the man was so weak from the exertions, they all just fell in a tangle of bodies from the balcony. He didn’t scream or shout. Silence marked his end at the hands of the crowd in his front garden. Kurt said a silent prayer and closed the window, the sounds of tearing and snapping bones carrying on the air.
“He’s gone,” Kurt informed John as they headed downstairs. They said no more about it, the losses were mounting and each death created a new enemy for the survivors.
“How many do you think there are out there?” John asked.
“I’m not sure, there were over fifty around, plus the ones that were… in the house.” Bad memories flashed through Kurt’s mind. “If it is the same all over the whole estate, we could be looking at several hundred in this area alone.”
John pondered for a moment, waiting at the kitchen door, “How many residents in Emsworth?”
Kurt didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “About ten thousand,” he answered.
“And in the surrounding villages?” John continued.
This was spiralling into new levels of nightmare. “About fifty thousand, and maybe half a million in Havant and Chichester…” Kurt answered.
“And we are slap bang in the middle of them all.” John’s logic was sound.
The mere thought of hundreds of thousands of those things was enough to cause Kurt to shiver and think how the hell could they possibly hold out against such numbers?
“But someone will come, they have to come. The armed forces are going to sort this out. Christ, we have an Army barracks a few miles away on Thorney Island.” Kurt had to admit to himself that deep down, he had not given much credence to this being ‘The End’.
Even as they prepared and started their plans, he had assumed that the people in power would solve the crisis and things could return to some sort of normality in the next few weeks. His dad was making him think of a future that would be no better than Hell on earth.
“I sure hope so Son, but ask yourself this, how much help have we received from the emergency services so far? I haven’t even seen any sign of them since this started.”
Kurt remembered the speeding car that had passed them. There had been nothing else.
“None.” His head dropped, “Do you really think this is it?”
John knew what he meant. “I don’t know, still we have to be prepared for the possibility that the world is on the brink. We rely on ourselves but pray that this mess sorts itself out.”
Kurt nodded. Their whole mind-set was going to need to change. Things that had been taken for granted their whole life such as food, water and first aid were at an end. Could they adapt to this new existence? Would they want to? Kurt’s mind reeled with new understanding. Looking in the kitchen door at the rest of the group, he was scared for what was to come. Whatever it was, he could be sure it would not be anything good.
John saw the despondency in Kurt’s face, which hadn’t been his intention. He wanted his son to strengthen his resolve for the trials ahead.
“What did we learn a moment ago with what happened down the road?” John was trying to draw Kurt back and get him thinking like a survivor. Kurt thought for a moment, and then it dawned on him.
“The light!” Kurt looked around and the realisation of how much they were illuminated sunk in. “Bloody Hell! Sam, go and turn all the lights off upstairs, now!” Kurt made to run from room to room as well, but John stopped him. He had gone from one extreme to the other and the rush to action would be far too dangerous in this brave new world.
“Take a minute and think. The ones outside are already there, so there’s no point in worrying about them. We need to stop ourselves from being too much of a magnet to the others, yet we also need light to see what we are doing don’t we?” John let this sink in. He had an idea of what they could do as a temporary measure, but wanted Kurt to come to his own conclusion.
Kurt looked around thinking, finally he admitted defeat, the despondency back once again, “I just don’t know. I’m not cut out for this.”
“Why don’t we just put a couple of coats of paint on the windows down here? It will allow us to keep the lights on for now, at least until the electricity supply dies,” suggested John.
Kurt grudgingly accepted the idea. He was fed up of the condescending tone that his father used when talking to him, it made him feel infantile and weak. John sensed the change in his attitude and changed tact.
“Son, please don’t take it the wrong way. You are a superstar in how you saved so many people. Now is the time to be cool and calm. Think things through from every angle and do it quickly, those things won’t give you a second chance.”
Kurt knew Dad was right and only trying to protect them. His pride would have to take a backseat for now.
They collected a pot of paint and quickly coated the glass of each pane downstairs. Sam had finished the task on the upstairs windows and now they were slightly less obvious. The glass was difficult to cover in one coat, so they decided to wait and then give it another, sealing in the light further. The glass sat above chest height, so the zombies wouldn’t be able to get through the windows to them. Kurt didn’t like to be completely blind to the activity outside, they could observe in darkness from the upper floor unseen.
“Shall we have someone keep watch?” Kurt asked.
“Good idea, we need to know if anything is going on ahead of time. Sam, would you mind taking the first slot? Just check from window to window and if you see anything out of the ordinary, call immediately.” John smiled and shook his head when he realised what he had just said. Since when is zombie watching considered ordinary?
Kurt and John returned to the kitchen
to find the woman was still unresponsive. The others were trying to make her comfortable. She was clean now. Sarah had taken one of her tops and changed the filthy vest she had been wearing before throwing it into the bin. It was too damaged and stained to be rescued.
“What is the news saying?” John inquired.
“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” answered Gloria, recounting the snippets of information that they had learned from the TV.
They had tried to feed the survivor some spaghetti sauce to keep her strength up. It had proven similar to feeding a baby, with much chin wiping and little making it into her stomach. It was obvious that there was nothing they could do at the present time, except wait and see what would happen over the coming days.
“I will take her up to the bedroom and see if she will sleep. It’s the body’s best way of healing.” Gloria stood and helped the girl up, Braiden followed and assisted where he could.
John had finally started to eat something as well. He, Kurt and Sarah returned to the lounge, the TV was still broadcasting. There were no new developments in the crisis.
“I noticed you have water upstairs, enough for several weeks as long as we cover it to prevent evaporation. What about food?” John wondered.
“We have plenty as long as we are careful. I took a few minutes and stocked up on dried and canned stuff, things that will last,” Kurt answered.
“The other issue is what do we do when the electricity stops? It could shut down at any minute, it all depends how long the power plants remain operational.”
Kurt had given this a lot of thought. “Chris had solar panels fitted six months ago, he was telling me that on a good day they get three kilowatts of power and one kilowatt on a cloudy one. If we can rig a wire from there to here, we will have a small amount of electric during the day. At night it will be candles and, fortunately, we have hundreds of them.” Kurt waved with his arm, showing the plethora of scented candles that adorned the shelves and fireplace mantels. “At least the place will smell good.”
John smiled, “Good. That will really help us. Have you given any thought to what we will do when the food runs out though, if things haven’t improved by then?” It was a difficult, but legitimate question to ask.
“The first thing I intend to do is break through, from the attic, into the other five houses on our row. None of them came home before this got bad.” Kurt thought about his neighbours, how they may be faring. “We can raid them for supplies. After that Dad, I just don’t know.”
“That sounds like a plan, but we need to really start to consider the possibility that this will not get better, and we will need to relocate at some point.” John was playing Devil’s advocate, broaching the tough issues and giving them time to really get their heads around the problems while they were relatively secure.
“I don’t have an answer,” Kurt conceded. “Can we sleep on it? My brain is close to shut down.” They were all yawning by this point, and the energy expended that day was incredible, coupled with the psychological trauma they had all endured. It was a surprise they were still standing.
“Yeah, let’s think about getting some rest, one thing first.” He got up and walked to the glass door that the van had blocked, and felt the paint. “It’s good, let’s get that last coat on. I want to leave some lights on down here in case we have trouble.”
Sarah and Kurt stood, muscles aching. He kissed her and she went upstairs to see the others and make sure they were all ok before bed.
“Dad, what are we going to do?” Kurt queried when they were alone and painting the second coat onto the glass. He felt small for asking, but his father was always level headed and pragmatic, it was as if he was made for this kind of situation.
“I’m not sure Kurt. We will deal with it head on, and we will survive.”
Even though they were platitudes, his words reassured Kurt, for the first time that day he felt… optimism? How could he be so cold hearted? He thought that millions were probably dying, and all he cared about were the people under this roof. He was worried about this change in him, but didn’t articulate it to his father.
They finished the job in silence and then joined the others upstairs. The glow coming up from below gave them just enough light to work by. Sam was prowling from room to room, seeing everything while not being seen by those outside. The zombies that were at the doors were beating and moaning. It looked like the ones who were just milling around took no notice of them. This fact didn’t escape their attention. It could prove useful in the future. The final sleeping arrangements were made. It was decided that Gloria would share with the newcomer who was fast asleep, her eyes closed as soon as her head lay on the pillow. John would bed down in the hallway, with thick sofa cushions laid end to end, making a makeshift mattress. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was home. Kurt just stripped to his briefs, as the physical effort to put some pyjamas on was a herculean undertaking that he simply couldn’t be bothered to try.
“I will take first watch, get some sleep and I will wake you in two hours,” John said quietly as Kurt climbed into bed. “Love you all,” he said a bit louder, with a chorus of ‘love you too’ answered in response.
Chapter 14
John listened from the hallway, laid there in the near total darkness. The cushions were soft and awkwardly placed, which would give his back hell in the morning. Bed sheets rustled, people shifted positions as they sought more comfort and murmurs heralded the descent into sleep. Gloria begun snoring and this made him smile. It was a refreshingly normal, innocent sound. In a way, it gave him a focal point to concentrate on and took his mind off of the wailing and hammering of flesh on wood and metal. The stillness lulled him, his mind returned to several hours ago, on the Lavant road.
John marched down the pavement, his car was turned off and locked up. The air was biting as he walked, and the hedge on the other side of the road whistled in places where the wind blew through. The noises were growing in intensity, the shouts and screams were coming from around the turn in the road. He walked past several people who had climbed out of their cars. They watched as he passed, concerned, but unwilling to follow and help. More faces peered at him through the glass of locked doors, some angry and some nervous. What was wrong with people, did no one help anymore? He felt anger at the way society was heading, the lack of personal responsibility and the pursuit of selfish desires would break this country.
The houses to his left were of a red brick and thatch roof design, lots of the more rural properties out here had the straw roof. It was fantastic at insulating for warmth during the colder seasons. The drawbacks were that any open fire ember that climbed the chimney could cause instant conflagration. Once the straw was ignited, nothing but an act of God could put it out. Still, they were beautiful and had a great deal of character, and were from a time where people would help each other unconditionally.
He turned the corner and passed a young man running the other way in the middle of the road. John was going to yell to get out of the road in case he got run over. The scene that presented itself showed that he needn’t have worried. Both lanes were jammed with cars. The cause was a small prang between a Vauxhall Astra and a BMW 3 series. The bonnets were crumpled and one of the windscreens was shattered with a large, bloody hole directly in front of the driver’s seat. He had seen this before. The lack of seatbelt, coupled with a head on crash, equals the human body being propelled forward at great speed through toughened glass, often proving fatal.
Several car doors were open where some good Samaritans had gone to offer assistance. Amazed that the bloodied driver survived and had gotten to his feet, their charity had cost them dearly and now they numbered among those who were going car to car and dragging people out into the street from smashed windows. It took a few moments for the scene to register on John’s mind, why was there so much blood, what had that lady just ripped free from the child on the ground? It hit him like a hammer blow, he nearly doubled over in the street, he knew it would be the end of him. A
nother car door was open and he heard the faint crying of a baby over the melee that was taking place. The bloodied man who had reached the door leaned in and John could just make out the top of the baby safety seat in the back. The crying reached a crescendo of agony and was cut short, followed by a spray of blood that coated the rear window, concealing the unfolding horror.
John broke, he roared and surged forward, the body of the man still leaning in and moving in a frenzy with whatever he was doing to the poor child. John swung two brutal uppercuts at the exposed side of the attacker and felt ribs shatter under the clothing. The thing pulled away from the baby and tried to turn and back fully out of the car to get at John. Not giving the monster time to stand upright, he swept the legs out from under it. It fell, face first into the seat cover, the head still within the vehicle. The baby was lost, that much was clear, it was little more than tatters and bones sat in the pale blue car seat. A lump formed in John’s throat and he started crying at the inhumanity, the suffering of that little bundle of joy made him go temporarily insane.
The rage exploded inside him and he pulled at the back of the zombie, positioning its head just inside the door. With inhuman ferocity, he slammed the door against the skull over and over again, causing it to split and spill its contents onto the waiting tarmac. There was nothing left by the time he had finished, just a bloodied, ragged stump where the head once was. Turning, he was just in time to catch the driver of the car before he pounced. John held it at arm’s length. Its weight was nothing in his fury. The face and upper body were shredded from the impact of the accident. Red, wet skin was hanging from the skull in fine strips, it looked as if the man had been through a food blender. He swung the driver around with all his might and into the side of the car, the head connected and the neck snapped like a twig. John mounted the flailing body and pinned the head down, avoiding the snapping, ruined mouth. Almost calmly, he put his thumbs to the eyes and pressed; they dug through the orbs with two sickly pops and sunk into the brain below. With great relish, he ground his thumbs into the skull cavity, mashing the contents within, the body bucked as if electrified underneath him. He withdrew his digits and they came away with a thick mucus substance attached in long, slimy strings. He wiped his hands on the creature’s trousers, the only piece of clothing that wasn’t saturated with blood.