Zombies!

by David K. Roberts

  “So where do you live?” I asked Pius.

  “Claymill House,” he replied. “About three quarters of a mile from the Woolwich Arsenal Gatehouse.”

  “Sorry, mate. I have no idea where that is.”

  “I will have to take you there. It is not a hard journey - normally.”

  “Okay. We’ll have to take back roads to be safer, I’d say. Are there any back routes?”

  “I think so.”

  “Pius,” Becky interrupted. “I don’t want to be insensitive but…”

  “I know what you want to ask,” Pius rejoined, lowering his gaze as his mind filled with imaginings. “What if they aren’t there or, perhaps not alive as we know it.” He paused, looking back at Becky. “I don’t know the answer to that question.”

  The man was clearly fighting his imagination, what we had seen this day only adding fuel to that particular fire; by then I wasn’t in the least bit jealous of his having a family. It must have been awful for him; I couldn’t imagine the pain he must have been feeling all the time; hell on earth to get this close and still be so far from getting back to them.

  This last part of the journey would be a serious challenge for all of us and I was beginning to wonder if it really was worth the risk, especially when the ubiquitous nature of this infection was clear to anyone with eyes. It was all very well anticipating the success of our quest during the journey, but arriving at the end point it was quite something else to deliberately get off the safety of this boat and make our way back into the fray. And to what end result? A forlorn hope? As Robert Louis Stevenson said, “to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive”, loosely translated as ‘reality sucks’. Shrugging off these fears I studied the shore for signs of a suitable landing point.

  “Judging by the number of zombies I can see perhaps we would be safer if we could steal a truck or something. Is there anywhere you know along here,” I asked pointing at Pius’ home territory, “where we could get hold of one without having to travel on foot through the open areas?”

  He thought for a moment, peering closely as the new Riverside Development hove into view.

  “If we get off on that jetty,” he replied, pointing. “I think we can follow the shoreline. Further along is a business estate where trucks pick up and drop off regularly. I have done security work for a couple of those companies.”

  I followed his finger as it pointed out each area as he described it and was relieved to see that the new housing development where we would land seemed to have fewer zombies loitering than we had seen up to now. I wondered why and asked Pius what he thought.

  “There is a big wall surrounding it and local people rarely go there. It is for city workers, rich people.” He sounded less than impressed by what sounded to me like a gated community. It appeared gentrification of Woolwich was creating a ‘them and us’ scenario - like so many other places around the world. Well, they wouldn’t be leaving ordinary people behind now - being a zombie was about as egalitarian as it gets.

  Accepting Pius’ assertion I steered us towards the jetty, studying its length and the pontoon for signs of life. There were a couple of zombies on the jetty who had now just noticed our approach that we would have to deal with but that was all I could see. I felt a little relief.

  “Anyone see anything that might be trouble?” I asked. With nothing reported I pulled slowly up to the pontoon and Pius jumped out to tie us up. Just in case another non-zombie fancied using the boat I put the keys in my pocket and joined Pius on the platform, then helped Becky and Indre off the boat. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping no-one discovered and stole our rocket ship; if it was taken it would leave us with uncomfortably few options if we were chased back onto the jetty upon our return. I didn’t relish jumping into the Thames again after the morning incident and as if to reinforce my fear my leg gave me a sudden twinge as the wound reminded me of its presence.

  Moving ahead of the others and reaching the shore, in my highly stressed state I got a moment’s fright when I mistook for real humans a group of steel plate sculptures of people in silhouette. Cursing I looked around for any actual threats we might have missed; seeing none other than a few of the undead wandering in the distance I finally beckoned for the others to join me. Cautiously we made our way eastwards along the path that followed the line of the river. I remember thinking it would probably be a lovely place to live in the summer.

  After a while a few zombies, former residents I presumed, began their usual magnetic movement towards us and soon we had a dozen or so of them following us sycophantically wherever we went. By now there was no opportunity to stop and assess our position as the creatures were simply inexhaustible and never gave up. Bloody annoying bastards.

  We came to a square inlet and turned right and away from the river at last. Following the parking area and a path that led from it we came upon some business units outside which were a few lorries and vans that had been parked up ready for the day’s work. A few corpses lay on the ground, trails of their blood following the gradual slope of the car park’s surface towards wrought iron drainage grills. One of them lay near the closest vehicle, a plain white smaller van, which had smeared bloody hand prints across its surface. From what I could gather it seemed as if a victim, perhaps one of these very corpses, had been thrown brutally against the side, causing a small but definite indentation that was also decorated with arterial spray. I was getting good at recognising that by now. I quickly checked the bodies and found that they all had significant head trauma, explaining the fact that they were still here.

  Thinking beyond the terror that these people must have felt as they were killed, relief surged within me as I realised my new friend had been right. Pius rushed over to one and tried the door. Locked. He tried another, but it too was locked. He frowned, looking around working out what to do. In the distance I could hear our shadows getting ever nearer. What attracted them to us? How did we differ to make us so recognisable, even from a distance? I never really figured that one out - it couldn’t have been smell because the things always recognised us from distances too far for odour to be a factor.

  With a crash of glass Pius used his rifle’s butt to break the wired security glass of the nearest building’s entrance door. It was tough but after three or four well aimed blows it presented a hole big enough to get his hand through to feel for latches. He was mumbling under his breath as his hand came away empty. In sheer frustration he threw his significant bulk against the door and it flew open, setting off an alarm.

  At the sound my blood went cold and Becky looked at me in fear and gasped. Indre moved closer to Becky as if that might somehow make things better. I ran over to Pius to see if there was something I could do to help.

  “These people actually took my advice on security,” he explained, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and pride. “You would be surprised at how many ignore it and rely on safety in numbers and the appearance of security.”

  He hurried inside, making his way behind the reception counter and rummaged around a little. I heard a click and the sound of a box opening. He stood up and smiled broadly, his face jubilant. In his hand were a couple of sets of keys.

  “Come on,” he cried and I followed him back to the parked up vehicles. He tried the keys in each lorry until both sets had been matched to their own vehicle. With each success he checked their fuel status from the cab. One was completely full, while the other had little over half a tank. Naturally we took the full one. As the cab was only suitable for three passengers, Becky volunteered herself and Indre to get in the back while Pius and I sat in the front, our rifles at the ready.

  Pius drove and in his determination carelessly bowled over a number of zombies in their sleepwalking daze as they sought our truck. Listening to the sickening thuds as each slapped into the vehicle I worried about the sort of damage they could do to the vehicle. At this rate I wasn’t sure we’d even get to his apartment block, but the look on his face told me that criticism w
ould not be welcome. For me it was the first time I’d ever felt the sensation of people under the wheels and it made me feel nauseous. I opened the passenger window a little and breathed deeply. None of this seemed to make the slightest impression on Pius as he wound his way out of the business estate and onto the main road. At Plumstead Train Station he made an illegal right hand turn and we were immediately amongst high rises and two storey maisonettes as we ascended the surprisingly steep hills of the area. I had nothing but the vaguest of ideas as to where we were but after a couple of hurried turns Pius pointed at a white-sided high rise block of flats as being our destination. His eyes glistened with emotion, and I could see a tear had escaped and made its way down his cheek. I could see it was all he could do to concentrate on navigating the winding roads and dodge the abandoned vehicles, many of which seemed to have been burnt out; curiously, I noticed that many had bullet holes in them and burned corpses within. My trepidation returned. Zombies didn’t use guns as far as I was aware.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere there was the buzz of small calibre machine gun fire and our ride was instantly riddled with bullets. The windshield crazed and it was only through sheer luck that Pius maintained control. As he punched a hole in the opaque screen a slug whistled past my face, the air pressure of its passing evident. My side window shattered flinging glass cubes everywhere as it made its way outside again. Pius floored the accelerator and soon we were out of the unknown assailant’s gun range. I could hear loud voices behind us shouting in anger as we gained distance from them. Who had fired upon us I would never know but the media frequently spoke of gun-toting gangs in this area that believed in the power of small arms fire. It seems they were correct up to a point but surely there was a bigger enemy to concern themselves with, at least today. I just prayed Becky was safe in the back - I couldn’t communicate with her and we couldn’t afford to stop in case the bastards with the guns caught up. My predicament brought to mind Schrodinger’s Cat - I quickly put it out of my mind and kept my fingers crossed for the girls.

  At last we were outside the block of flats where Pius believed his family still was. Bringing the lorry to a skidding halt he leapt out and ran to the main entrance door, calling back to us to wait. Pushing it open he raced through the doorway and disappeared. I was a little nonplussed by his precipitate action but I could hardly criticise him, after all this is was the aim of his single-minded journey. I leapt out of the cab, rushed around to the back of the van and threw open the rolladoor. It crashed against its stops but I was already inside and rushing over to Becky. I had already noted the large number of bullet holes drilled liberally across its side and rear.

  Becky lay there, back against the wall closest to the cab, blood covering her face and chest. I cried out in horror and anguish. I fell down at her side, my les giving way under me. It was then I noticed Indre lying next to her, the poor girl’s pulped head in Becky’s lap. With a sense of guilty relief I realised that the blood was not Becky’s but Indre’s. The poor thing had caught a bullet through the side of her head, its exit splashing Becky with gore.

  My Becky was alive.

  *

  15 - High Rise Ambitions

  “Oh, god,” I sighed, knowing words were pointless. I decided only action would do and so carefully moved the dead girl away and laid her as gently as I could on the floor.

  I lifted Becky onto her feet.

  “We need to move, my love,” I whispered into her ear. “Come on.”

  Numb, Becky followed me on autopilot as we climbed down from the van. I handed her one of the boathooks we had kept as weapons. This seemed to make her focus a little and together we made our way quickly over to the entrance into which Pius had disappeared. I held on to my trusty rifle with its bayonet still attached. A few zombies were beginning to gather around the building and slouching across the carpark; perhaps the sound of our arrival had given them notice of fresh meat.

  Once inside I realised I hadn’t a clue as to where Pius had gone. We were presented with a stairwell and a set of lifts. I remembered him talking about the view he had across the river, which probably meant his apartment was on the north side and on at least the fifth floor to see that far, or so I estimated. Eschewing the lifts for obvious reasons, we began to ascend the stairs. The stairwell echoed to out footfalls and after a while we slowed our pace and trod more lightly; the fear that someone, or worse, something, might hear us began to weigh us down and we were hugely grateful finally to arrive at the fifth floor.

  Stepping out into the corridor we felt a strong relief as we discovered no zombies had beaten us here. Seeing there were four doors on each side I decided that our task of finding Pius and his family was going to be easier than I had envisaged. I began with those on the north side.

  I knocked on the first door, keeping my bayonetted rifle at the ready. Nothing happened for a moment, then I could hear whispering from behind it but it remained closed. I knocked again.

  “What do you want? Who are you?” came a quivery and uncertain, elderly female voice. A second, also elderly-sounding male voice could be heard trying to silence her.

  “Sorry to bother you, madam,” I replied, trying to use as non-threatening a voice as I could muster. Was that even possible in the dawn of the apocalypse? “We are looking for a man named Pius. Do you know which apartment he is in?”

  “Don’t know no-one by that name,” sounded the male voice, aggressive this time.

  “Thanks,” I replied. “For nothing,” I mumbled under my breath.

  I sighed and moved on to the next door, knocking again.

  This time the responding voice was strange and sounded garbled. I asked my question again and the same voice responded but was still unintelligible. A scream pierced the air from within the apartment and someone fell heavily against the door.

  I tried the door but it was locked. I barged it with my shoulder and it gave way rather more easily than I had expected. It stopped against a body and I drew backwards quickly, bringing my bayonetted rifle to bear. An old woman, or what had once been an old woman, appeared from behind the door, an imprint of the door’s handle clearly defined in blood on her chest. She drooled darkened, thickly coagulating blood; one eye was missing - for some reason at that instant I had a flashed image of her eating it - and something sharp and powerful had sliced her down the front revealing a saggy breast, ribs and her heart, motionless since her death. I gasped at the apparition and I felt the blood draining from my face. In spite of my recent experiences I couldn’t believe she was still standing; the heart merely flopped around, partially severed from the blood vessels that usually held it in place. Becky squealed at the sight but rallied, explosively aggressive. Suddenly the remaining eye was skewed with a brass tipped boat hook and the old woman fell to the floor. Becky struggled to free the hook from the aged face but moments later was on guard again, ready to face more threats as they came, a trail of gore hanging from the boathook’s tip.

  Cautiously entering the flat we discovered a young boy in his early to mid-teens lying on the floor, groaning and rocking back and forth as if to mitigate the pain as he clutched a blood-spurting gash torn down his neck and top of his shoulder. He looked at us pleadingly for a moment before his life slipped silently away, the eyes now staring vacantly at the ceiling. As I stared at the poor kid I saw his eyes cloud over and in an instant he was staring back at me, the pathetic image of him replaced by a look of feral malevolence. His teeth began to chatter and grind in anticipation of tearing at our flesh as he groaned noisily and struggled to get up using newly dead limbs. This time it was my turn to react, mostly as one does to a spider scurrying towards you instead of away, and stabbed him directly in the face, twisting the rifle to release the bayonet. Blood poured down his face from the gaping hole I had left and he fell back down, landing on one side, revealing a red-stained machete that his body had been concealing on the floor. The lethal-looking blade certainly explained the fearsome gash on the woman. I picked it up and handed it to B
ecky.

  “This is probably easier for you to use than the boathook,” I said.

  Becky took it a little gingerly at first, but then hefted it, testing its balance. She smiled.

  “Oh, yeah,” she replied. This was a side of the girl I had not seen before and it was a little unnerving yet strangely arousing. I kissed her surprised face and in a heartbeat she was returning the passion. I looked her in the eyes, taking a moment to lose myself in her emotion. We stiffened at the same moment, so to speak. Footsteps sounded outside the apartment and we began to hear what sounded like a traipsing army further away on the stairwell. It seemed that someone had opened the fire door to this floor and let the horde loose.

  Desperate to see what was going on outside in the hall I flattened myself on the floor and slid over to the apartment’s door, risking a peep outside where I saw three zombies making their way towards the light coming from the apartment we were in. Looking further towards the stairwell I could see that another legless zombie had fallen onto the floor in the doorway, its body jamming the fire door open so allowing others to fumble their way past and onto our floor.

  “Shit,” I exclaimed.

  “What is it?” Becky demanded.

  “Fucking zombies, loads of them, coming up the stairs and onto this landing.”

  “How the hell could they follow us?” Becky demanded.

  “Dunno,” I replied. “But the bastards are here nonetheless.”

  We ducked back into the room and closed the door as quietly as we could. Dragging an over-puffed, leather single-seat chair over I jammed it hard against the door. Becky sat on it, adding weight while I looked around for something to wedge it in place. I dragged a cheap wooden sideboard into the hallway and wedged it between the chair and the wall, effectively ensuring the door wasn’t going to be pushed open any time soon.