by Fleet, Ricky
Sitting there, he looked down on the faces of the dead. The different stages of decomposition were evident, and he had time to think of the first attack, the sagging, liquid corpse he had killed in the stairwell. Was this where they were all destined to end their days? Even the peace of the grave was now corrupt. The family from yesterday had not been bitten or injured, but still they rose to join the ranks of the undead. He thought of his family and whether he would have the constitution to do what needed to be done if the time came. He wasn’t entirely sure he could. Men, women and children were eager to reach him as he sat there. He recognised a few of the faces, which was even more awful. Days ago they had been mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, now they were a family of the damned.
Kurt thought back to his father and their argument. He felt disgusted with himself for speaking the way he had, he knew that his father loved him dearly and only wanted to make him strong for what was to come. But the wounds ran deeper than the last week. For years he had been pushed away and isolated, ever since his mother had left them. It left a void within them both that they could have worked together to fill, but it was not to be. The gulf between them grew with each passing year. Although there was no reason to, John blamed himself for her death. The brain aneurism was unexpected, no history of brain disease existed within the family. It had just been a cruel twist of fate. She had passed peacefully in her sleep one night, John finding her cold and grey in the morning light. The doctor assured him that it was instant. That no amount of treatment or medication could have reversed the damage caused, yet he still felt responsible. Why had he not woken in the night, why had he not sensed her pain? The fact that he had slept soundly beside his dying love ate at him day after day.
Kurt had tried to explain this to his father, but John carried the burden of guilt like a cross, mentally self-flagellating in his pain and need to suffer for the perceived wrong committed. It was this that caused the rifts and distance between them, and no amount of effort on Kurt’s part could build a bridge that spanned it. In the end, they had become like acquaintances, business like in their manner. The horror of the past few days had melted some of the ice. There was still a long way to go, but the first faint signs of the old John were there.
The events had flung them all together and Kurt was unsure if they alone were responsible for his father’s growing feelings toward Gloria. Before this, John had not even looked at another woman and had gently rebuffed any advances from those that tried to get close. It could be he was attracted to her strength and boundless optimism in the face of remarkable hardship. Or it may simply be the fear of being alone in this new dead world, which Kurt could totally understand.
He mentally shook himself and carefully stood up, he needed to rid himself of this childish attitude and grow into the man they all needed him to be. He had family to protect, both by blood and by bonds of survival. Things were bound to get a lot worse in the coming weeks and months, the comfort of a home unlikely to last without a constant food supply. The noise from further down the attic rooms was familiar and welcoming. He had been alone for only an hour, but the company of the dead had been infinitely less appealing than that of the living. He wasn’t really ready to see anyone after his earlier outburst and climbed down into their house with a grimace of pain. He found Braiden talking to Hope, explaining how much he missed his own mum, talking about better times when she had been around and taken him to visit the beach.
“She used to buy me an ice cream on the way back from a little van that was parked on the beach entrance. It was called Mr Whippy and the speaker was broken so the music was all off key. I always had a strawberry cone with chocolate sprinkles.” Braiden was sat with his back to the woman, watching the flames lick at the fresh logs he had placed on the embers.
Kurt held his breath, not wanting to break the spell of what he was seeing. Braiden looked over and acknowledged him with a raised hand. He cocked his head when he saw the look on Kurt’s face, the way he was paused just inside the doorway and the fact that he wasn’t even focused on him. Hope reached forward and stroked Braiden’s hair, he flinched and spun round and Kurt was afraid that the suddenness would startle her back into her own mind. Exhaling the pent up breath he had been holding, he was mistaken and need not have worried. She continued to stroke at Braiden, a motherly gesture of solace. Braiden touched the hand as it moved and tried to engage with her.
“Hi, my name’s Braiden, what’s yours?” he asked quietly, meeting her gaze. She just smiled and carried on petting him. “Can you tell me who you are?” Braiden pressed gently.
“No, don’t push her mate. You have made a great breakthrough. Let her come back slowly, in her own time,” Kurt advised. Braiden nodded and sat still, allowing the continued contact to see if it would break the inner barriers she had erected.
Kurt was overwhelmed with happiness. He would wait to tell the others as they would all want to rush back and see the miracle. He seated himself by the fire and took the bowl of food that Gloria had left him. Nothing had ever tasted as good as those steaming beans in tomato sauce and pork sausages.
Chapter 23
They had stripped the shower house of all useful items and any furniture that could be broken down to fuel the fire at home. John caught the longing looks of his family as they walked past the bathroom with the walk in shower cubicle.
“Who would like me to fill the shower at the end of this?” he asked and they all affirmed their appreciation.
They moved onto the next house and descended with care. As long as they remained cautious and quiet, they would be able to clear each house within an hour. John continued with the stair removal, and instead of setting the rest of the group on watch, he used only one at a time. This enabled the search of the home to be done and all useful goods taken and placed by the staircase alongside the demolition. They found more long life food to use, the contents of the fridges and freezers was worthless and already on the turn. The smells that escaped from the magnetically sealed doors ensured they would not try to open the next one. There were a few bottles of wine and Sarah couldn’t resist taking them, placing them by the pile in the hallway. John smiled and nodded, they could all do with a tipple after yesterday.
They cleared each home, finally arriving at the end house they had been using for their attacks. They took all the goods they could salvage. There was an abundance of food in the house, which would buy them at least another three weeks. They gave a silent thank you to the occupants and said a prayer for their safety, wherever they were. All electrical equipment was transported upstairs from the home, stereos and televisions, as well as lamps and cooking implements. The lack of power meant they were largely useless, but better they be useless within easy reach, just on the off chance they might be helpful. John was on the fourth stair tread, and Sam was in the process of passing a multipack of crisps up, when he caught his elbow on a floor lamp they had taken. He felt it tilt and grabbed for it, but missed it by inches. The glass dome shattered on the wooden floor with an almighty crash and they all froze, hoping against hope, but knowing what was coming for them. The light filtering through the glass dimmed as the shadows converged on the doorways. The first blows were struck and the doors vibrated within the frames.
“We have to hold them back while you finish the stairs Grandad,” shouted Sam as he made for the front door.
“NO!” he yelled to Sam. “No risks, we have enough for now. Get up there!”
Sam hesitated, ready to fight, but he knew it would be too dangerous. The shadows had grown and now blocked most of the light. There would be many flooding through the broken door in moments, so he retreated, and with a quick boost from John to reach the nearest tread, climbed the remaining stairs. Sarah followed and John quickly threw some cans and pasta up to them, before grabbing the banister and pulling himself up too. The food was thrown through the waiting loft hatch without ceremony and some of the packets split as they hit the floor. The front door squealed in protest as the weight
was brought to bear. Finally the timber frame gave up the ghost, splitting inwards and spilling the Hellspawn corpses onto the floor of the hallway in a heap. They wasted no more time and fled into the loft, leaving any remaining things for the dead. They watched from the attic space as the zombies gathered at the half broken staircase, the four missing steps may have been enough, but it was not worth the risk. If they remained stuck on the ground floor it would be worth an attempt to retake the house, but not today. They were tired and fatigue was setting in, the physical as well as emotional stresses taking a toll. The biggest loss was the water which they had in the bath, covered in plastic, but John was certain Kurt could fabricate something to draw it up and reclaim it.
“I’m so sorry Grandad, I keep doing stupid things.” Sam was crestfallen at the food and water they had lost.
“Don’t think like that Sam, you have been a real soldier since this all started. You have shown courage and compassion, I am so proud of you,” John told him, pulling him close for a hug.
“But all that food…” Sam said into his shoulder. John pushed him away, held him at arm’s length and looked at him.
“We have killed dozens of them, we will kill more, and you will kill more. I couldn’t ask for a better man to stand with in this mess,” John told him with sincerity.
Sam took the words in and felt more positive, the zombies were still trying to navigate the missing steps but were having no success as yet. The falling and stumbling was actually quite entertaining in the circumstances and they watched for a further five minutes. One slipped and fell, cracking its skull open on the corner of a protruding chunk of wood. It lay still, dead from the injury. They all burst out laughing at the macabre scene, the death of a walking corpse the new stand-up comedy. It didn’t bode well for the future of mankind.
Chapter 24
“Sam, are you awake?” Braiden whispered in the darkness.
“Mmmm,” Sam mumbled, coming out of his slumber. “What’s the matter?”
Braiden shifted position on the mattress and faced where Sam laid, only the faintest outline visible from the reflected glow of the dying embers in Sarah and Kurt’s room.
“Do you think of that family at all?” Braiden asked.
“I try not to. It’s horrible what happened to them. He must have been really scared to do what he did to his wife and kid,” Sam reasoned, still groggy from the alcohol in his system from the wine they had all enjoyed at dinner time.
“We are scared as well, but would your dad do it to you?”
“Never!” Sam retorted, angry at the question. “Don’t say things like that.”
“My dad would have done it. He liked to hurt people. I think that’s where I get it from.” Braiden was talking more to himself now. “I killed him,” he whispered.
“I know you did, you saved my dad from him that night. I don’t think you…” Sam was fully awake now. He shifted his own position and rested on his arm, looking down.
“No, I mean I killed him. I left our door open for them to get in. I am a murderer,” Braiden interrupted. He was struggling to get the words out, trapped between a feeling of terrible guilt and one of release, of freedom.
“I don’t understand,” Sam was afraid. The conversation was turning dark and dangerous.
“You need to get rid of me, or I will hurt you all too. I’m just like him, just like my dad, I do bad things.” Braiden was lost in his own spiral of pity now. Sam knew the reputation of Lennie from overheard whispers.
“You are nothing like him!” Sam was angry now. He felt the pain of his new brother. “You have saved us all since it first started, me, Gloria, Mum, Dad, John and Hope. None of us would be around if it wasn’t for you. You are a hero!”
“Heroes don’t have bad thoughts like mine. I just want to hurt people all the time,” Braiden said, he couldn’t believe Sam’s defence of his behaviour.
“How many people have you hurt since this all started?” Sam pressed him.
“I used to try and hurt you all the time,” Braiden confessed, looking away despite the fact that they couldn’t see each other’s faces.
“That was before all this, and do you think you were the only one? I can name loads of other bullies at school who were just as bad as you.”
“Go on then.” Braiden was unconvinced. He had always been told he was evil by his dad. That he was the worst son in the world, the worst friend and awful to be around, a ‘wrong un’ as Lennie put it. It must have been why his mum left him.
“Peter Finch, he beat up Carly Hutchins during break because she wouldn’t go out with him. Lloyd Easton, he threw a chair at Miss Phillips in English and fractured her arm. Josie Henstridge, she beats up boys and girls, I got a split lip off her a month ago. I could go on and on.” Sam left it there, let it sink in for a moment and thought Braiden was ignoring him when the quiet dragged on for several seconds.
“Yeah ok, but I was worse than all of them. You tried to be my friend and I beat you up for it.” Braiden felt awful about the incident. Sam had tried to talk to him, but because Braiden was in front of his ‘friends’, he lashed out to impress them.
“Yes you did, and all I was trying to do was talk to you. But I know it was the others that you were showing off for,” Sam explained.
“Huh? Why do you say that?” Braiden was confused, how could he have known?
“Because you kept looking at them when you were hitting me and they egged you on. You wanted approval. It’s what one of my lessons in sociology taught me.” Sam wasn’t entirely sure if it was true. A lot of the grown up stuff he was learning made no sense, but the smile Braiden wore after he looked around as they cheered him on disappeared when he looked back at Sam and threw the next punch. “And what did they do when you got caught? They walked off laughing at us both.”
Braiden laid there thinking. He understood that the other boys weren’t ‘friends’ as such. They would encourage him to do stupid things like press the fire alarm button at school, push someone down the stairs into others and he would get the blame while they got off unpunished. He just wanted to be accepted, to belong to something.
“But I was the one doing it, why have you never tried to hit me back?” Braiden genuinely wanted to know. Any time he had done something bad his dad had reacted quickly, and violently.
“I guess I felt sorry for you. I knew your mum was gone and your dad wasn’t the kindest person.” Sam tried to be diplomatic about his home life. He held his breath, worried Braiden would get angry.
“My dad used to hurt my mum a lot too. She would try and protect me and he would punch her.” Braiden drifted back into memories of his family and the dreadful times they had endured.
“There you go, do you see? Who are you more like, your dad who hurts people, or your mum who protects them? I know which one I have seen in the past few days. You risked your own life to help people you hardly knew. Does that sound like something your dad would do?” Sam was trying to get him to see his acts for what they were, courageous.
“No, I guess not. But I still have angry thoughts and want to lash out,” Braiden persisted. Years of demoralization at the hands of his psychotic parent would take time to break.
“Oh really? And who have you lashed out at, the zombie that was trying to kill my mum and the one who killed his family? Bad people, don’t you see? You ARE a protector.” Sam was not going to let this go easily.
“If I am good, why did my mum leave me?” Braiden’s voice broke in the darkness.
“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly, caught off guard by the sudden change in the conversation. “But you are part of this family now. I am so glad to finally have a brother. We may even find your mum when this all goes away and we start rebuilding.”
“She’s dead, everyone is dead.”
Sam reached out and felt for Braiden’s shoulder, it was jumping with his quiet sobs. He squeezed it and continued.
“You also realize you brought Hope back, she only responded to you
in the end. That means that she sees something special in you, something good and true that she felt safe enough in your company.” Sam hoped that he was getting through but only time would tell.
“I am still a murderer,” Braiden stated.
“He was a very bad man. You stopped him hurting anyone else. That still makes you a protector.”
The talk was over. Braiden gave the hand a squeeze and gently pushed it away from him. They laid there for a while before sleep came again, lost in their own thoughts.
Chapter 25
Kurt was dreaming of a hot summer day that he had spent with his parents on Hayling Island. They had eaten a picnic on the beach, waves breaking and foaming towards them as the tide came in. They had taken their pet dog, a border collie called Missy. She had passed away nearly twenty years ago and was buried in John’s garden, surrounded by red and yellow rosebushes. Kurt had thrown the Frisbee down the beach for an hour, the beloved dog barking and giving chase, before returning and begging for another throw, tail swishing through the air madly.
Kurt gradually surfaced from the pleasant memory, emerging into the terrible reality of their new lives. Laying there and looking at the ceiling, he listened to the sounds of Sarah as she muttered in her sleep before snoring quietly, returning to more peaceful dreams. The dawn had taken hold and the light was breaking through the sections of window that they had left paint free to allow observation of the outside world. The barking had followed him from the dream and he could still hear the sound of his long dead friend echoing in his mind. Kurt frowned, the tone was wrong, it was deeper than he remembered her, but over time true recollection is replaced by vivid memories. There it was again! He sat up in bed and shook Sarah awake.