Holiday of the Dead

by David Dunwoody

  “Roy, what’s going on?” she asked, feeling the fear begin to come back again.

  “There are some people around the side of the house,” he told her. “Probably kids from the village. I’ll …”

  He fell silent.

  “Roy?”

  “Jesus,” she heard him mutter. “Oh, Jesus Christ!”

  “Roy, what is it?” Susan said, her voice rising in pitch. She strained at the window to try and see anything, but he was out of vision to the left. In the shadows on the right, something moved. A figure.

  “Oh God,” she mumbled.

  “Susan,” Roy said. His voice was a harsh rasp. “Susan, lock the door.”

  “Get into the house, Roy,” she begged.

  “I can’t. They’ve got me cut off. Lock the door!”

  “Roy, please!”

  “Do it!” he shouted. “I’ll get in the car. Please. Jesus!” There were more figures in the shadows now, moving towards the car. There was something odd about the way they shuffled, limping, advancing as if in pain, shambolic. She saw Roy reappear, his back to the car, phone still clasped to his ear.

  “Behind you!” she screamed. She saw him turn, watched the look on his face as clearly as if it were daylight as he dropped the bundles and grabbed the phone in his left hand, his right hand fumbling to unlock the car door. The figures were getting closer. She felt more tears on her cheeks. She wanted to lock the door, but she could not move. She was transfixed as surely as if she were paralysed, her eyes on the scene before her, the phone pressed so hard against her ear that it would have hurt if she had been capable of feeling pain right then.

  Roy wrenched the door open and got into the car. “I’m going to get help,” he said. “I’ll be back for you. Lock the doors!”

  “Just go, Roy. Go!”

  She heard the noise of the car, of the starter motor vainly trying to start the engine. She heard Roy muttering between sharp breaths. The figures had almost reached the car, and for the first time she heard another sound, a sound that she could not recognise. It was a low moaning noise, like an animal in pain, and it was a moment before she realised where it was coming from.

  “Roy!” she screamed.

  “It won’t start!”

  More figures appeared from the left of the car, from the shadows behind it. She could not count them all. She could only watch in sobbing terror as they surrounded the car. The sound of breaking glass shattered the night.

  “Susan!” Roy screamed, and then his scream became louder, became shockingly high as the car became obscured from view by the dark bulk of the creatures.

  “Roy,” she sobbed. She couldn’t look, turned away and collapsed to the floor. The phone hung loosely by its cord, a series of grunts and wet tearing sounds emanating from it until finally it, like the night, was silent.

  VII

  She couldn’t have said how long she lay there, too scared to move, too distraught to think. Nothing came through the door, although she had never locked it. Nothing smashed through the windows to take her the way it had Roy.

  It took the frantic beeping of the phone to rouse her from her near-catatonic state. Left off the hook too long with no signal left, the alarm had come on. Numbly she picked the handset up and replaced it in its cradle. The phone let out one sharp ring and was quiet.

  She could barely bring herself to look out of the window, but eventually she managed it, wiping away the tears that blurred her vision. The car was still there, the last faint light from the village sparkling on broken glass. Nothing moved. No shambling shapes in the darkness. No Roy.

  She was still not thinking, not in any real sense. Had she been able to think she would not have gone outside. She would not have turned the interior light on as she left to cast its revealing rays across the driveway. She was on autopilot. The fear that had so completely overtaken her had gone, leaving a void inside her. Only a compulsion, a need to know what had happened, powered her body as she walked out into the night.

  The rain had at last stopped. The ground was sodden and thick with mud that embraced her naked feet. She did not notice. The driver’s side door of the car was closed, the cheap plastic of the handle wet beneath her hand as she reached out to open it.

  It took her a moment to realise what it was, the dark, unrecognisable shape that tumbled from the car. It lay there in the mud, one limb outstretched, dead fingers seemingly grasping for something. She could see hair but there was no face, not anymore. Something that might once have been called an eye stared blindly up at her from a half-shattered socket. She did not scream. There was no emotion left in her. Her eyes followed the line of the arm as it reached towards two shredded bundles of paper and food, two greasy masses that glistened dimly in the light of the house.

  From inside the car came a noise. It took her a moment to realise it was a tinny mobile rendition of I Just Called to Say I Love You. She reached into the car, found the phone. It felt slippery and faintly warm as she pressed it to her ear.

  “Susan?”

  “Uncle Ben?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Is everything alright? I’ve been trying to ring for hours but the phone was always engaged. It only just occurred to me to ring Roy’s mobile.”

  “Oh, Uncle Ben,” she sobbed, his voice bringing her back from the edge. “It’s, “it’s Roy. They …” She tried to speak but the words stuck in her throat.

  “Easy, Susan,” he said soothingly. “Tell me what’s happened. It’s something to do with Roy. Yes?”

  She looked down at the corpse at her feet, at the wedding ring on one finger that seemed to glow in the darkness.

  “Roy’s dead,” she said simply.

  There was a long pause.

  “Yes,” Uncle Ben said finally. “Yes, I know.”

  Susan continued to stare at the body. She had said the words, she knew he was dead, and yet something inside her wouldn’t accept it. She kept expecting him to jump up and laugh, so that she could scold him for scaring her. That was just the sort of thing Roy would do. Like the thing with the tarantula. It was funny now, looking back at it, but at the time …

  She was suddenly cold.

  “What do you mean,” she whispered. “You know?”

  “They tell me they tried to warn him,” Uncle Ben said reasonably. “Poor Susan. I always said he was too stubborn for his own good. I know you agreed. You always said one day it would get him into trouble.”

  “What are you saying?” she said, numb again, knowing the answer.

  “You can’t have fish and chips twice. The zombies will get you. But he had to have something he wasn’t supposed to have, didn’t he? Like you, Susan. You were always too good for him. If only he could have just walked away. Still, all’s well that ends well, eh?” He began to laugh. Slowly, other voices began to join him, each laughing, some recognisable, others not. Each new voice added to the cruel merriment.

  Susan lowered the phone from her ear and then, as if it were suddenly burning, hurled it away. It landed ten yards away, but the noise seemed louder than ever. Susan screamed, holding her hands to her face, leaving handprints of mud and blood on her cheeks and forehead. Again and again she screamed, trying to drown out the mocking laughter in the darkness.

  Lights began to blink on in the village, but interest in the screaming soon faded when it became apparent where it came from, and one by one they disappeared. In the darkness that followed, the fish and chips began to sink into the mud.

  THE END

  THE LAST TRIP TOGETHER

  By

  John McCuaig

  “Dad … Jack …” her hushed little voice was barely audible over the high pitched, whistling wind. Tip-toeing between the lines of almost identical caravans Katie searched for her family as those rows of metal boxes seemed to draw in all around her. Passing one of those faux white picket fenced gardens her eyes spotted the door of a light coloured caravan slowly creep open. Gingerly, a well aged woman appeared from out of the darkness and descended the thre
e small steps before stopping to stare at the young girl.

  That deep groaning escaped from its blood drenched mouth as the pensioner suddenly made her way towards the rain soaked teenager. Edging herself backwards Katie only stopped when she felt a hand grab a hold of her shoulder.

  Six hours earlier

  “For the last time, can you please get yourselves moving,” his voice was booming as he stepped outside. “I want to get over to Hastings before dark.”

  Sharing a little look, the sixteen year old twins Jack and Katie watched as their dad Gordon started to pack up the gear from outside their camper van. If the truth be told, they were glad that this would probably be the last holiday they’d have to endure with their father and his rickety old mobile home. Every single year it was the same old thing, they’d head down to the south coast of England, travelling around the quaint little towns for a full, and very long, two weeks. Now however, they dreamed of the delights of the music bars of Ibiza or swimming off one of the Greek islands.

  “This stuff isn’t going to move itself,” Gordon attempted to smile to his only children. He failed, he saw the look in their eyes, he knew himself that they were growing up fast and he’d already guessed they were just building up the nerve to let him know.

  “Sure thing, Dad,” Jack mumbled as he stood up and folded up the tatty, old table while his sister grabbed the chairs and stacked them up inside. “I take it we’re heading for the usual site?”

  “Yeah, of course we are, son. I know how much the two of you love it down there.”

  Katie stood right behind her dad; a huge smile spreading across her face. Yeah, they did love that site, but that was back when they were about eight and building sand castles down on the beach. Turning away quickly Jack did his best to hide his own little smile from his father.

  Soon enough they were back on the road and heading east along the coast to the old fishing town of Hastings. All during the two hour trip the camper van was filled with songs from the sixties as tape after tape was shoved into the slot on the dashboard. The twins shared their I-pod; each had an earpiece in, the fancy little machine was trying its best to block out the sounds of the Beach Boys and the Monkees.

  “Okay kids we’re here,” Gordon said as they turned off the main road into the rain swept complex and saw that all was quiet. “Let’s find our slot and get parked up.” Driving straight by the Office they headed for the very back of the site. The owners had let him book online but although he had been a good customer over the years they still wanted his grubby old caravan well away and out of sight. They sure as hell did not want to chance any prospective new customers catching a glimpse of it, even if the sun was just slipping down behind the horizon.

  Reversing into their bay right by the rear wall, Gordon set about connecting the park supplies to his van – water, gas and electric. All the while the twins kept themselves dry and warm inside.

  “Well sis, this sure is fun,” Jack said as he grabbed a deck of cards from a drawer.

  “Hey, keep your voice down,” Katie snapped back. “He’s doing his best.”

  “Yeah … he’s doing his best to kill us with boredom.”

  “Please Jack,” peering out the window she checked their dad was still out of earshot. “Just keep smiling and try and at least look as though you’re enjoying it. We’ve only got a few days left, and then we’ll be back home.”

  “Whatever,” Jack mumbled as he dealt out the faded cards to play a game of patience.

  “Will sausage and beans be alright for now?” Gordon shouted as he ran back inside and quickly removed and shook off his well drenched coat. “We haven’t got much else; I’ll need to pop down to the store in the morning.”

  “Sounds good, Dad,” Katie said as she kicked her brother in the shin under the table.

  “Yeah, that’ll be just fine,” Jack shouted out as he glared at his sister while rubbing his throbbing leg.

  It was Katie’s turn to wash the dishes while Jack dried them up with his usual enthusiasm. Huddled around the cramped little sink they watched as their father spread his map out on the table, no doubt already planning the next day’s adventures.

  “Do you hear that?” Jack whispered, grabbing hold of his sister’s arm and stopping it from splashing around in the water. “There’s something at the door, sounds like a dog.”

  On hearing the light scratching behind them, Katie wiped her hands dry. “Well then you big scaredy cat, are you going to see what it is or do you need a little girl to have a look instead?”

  Chucking the damp towel at her face and grumbling under his breath he made towards the door. Flicking over the lock he’d only managed to open it an inch before it flew open. It was however no dog; a balding middle aged man dressed in grubby blue overalls thrust himself in through the opening. Grabbing a good hold of Jack by the collar they stumbled backwards towards the sink.

  “Dad … Help us!” Jumping up on the man’s back Katie screamed as she wrapped her arms around the rabid attacker’s neck while Jack pushed his snapping jaws away with all his might.

  Instinctively grabbing the frying pan up from the draining board Gordon smashed it into the head of the man that was attacking his children. The force of the blow sent the twins and the man sprawling across the floor towards the bedroom. Jack was first to his feet.

  “What the fuck’s up with him,” screaming he pulled up his sister and dragged her away.

  “Watch your mouth, boy,” Gordon said as he looked down at the unmoving man. With the frying pan still tight in his hand he got himself a little closer. “It’s Conner Hobbs; he’s the handyman around here. I’ve known him for years.”

  “And what’s that all over his face and hands? He’s covered in fucking blood!”

  “I said stop the swearing, Jack!” Grabbing him by the shoulder Gordon looked at his son right in the eyes, and then he lowered his voice. “Will you please get on that fancy phone of yours and call for an ambulance, and you’d better get the police over here as well.” Going over to Katie he kissed her head gently and moved her even further away from the still body. “Come and sit over here, love, there’s no need to worry about him anymore.”

  “No damn signal,” Jack muttered as he slid the lid of his phone back down. “What can you expect in the arse end of civilisation?”

  Before Gordon could berate him again all the lights in the caravan blinked out. Katie grabbed hold of her father, just in time to hear the moans, the low pitched moans coming from deep in the darkness. The handyman Conner was slowly getting back up on his feet.

  “Get behind me Jack,” Gordon stood up and held the frying pan high and waited for Conner to get close. He found it hard to see him in the dark but he could sure hear him approach. One more swipe sent him sprawling back down to the floor, but Gordon did not stop there this time. Again and again he rained down blows onto the skull of the man who had dared to threaten his family, only stopping his attack when he heard his daughter’s screams. Spinning around he saw she’d hid her head in her hands, unable to watch her Dad as he smashed in the brains of another man.

  Dropping the weapon to the floor he sat down and wrapped his arms around his girl. “I’m sorry love, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let him harm you or your brother.” Rivers of tears soaked into his t-shirt as she buried her face deep into his chest.

  “Dad …” Jack was peering out of the window. “You’d better get over here and have a look at this.”

  Breaking free from his daughter’s grip he joined his son. Pulling the curtains slightly open they saw two men in their thirties staggering down the gap in the caravans. Even at distance and through the heavy rain, the moonlight shone on them just enough for Gordon to see they were not quite right. Like Conner, they were soaked through in blood. A woman out walking her little terrier bumped right into them as she came hurrying around the corner, no doubt trying to escape from the rain. Pouncing on her as soon as she appeared they pulled her to the ground and tore at her flesh with
their teeth and hands. The screams of her pain and desperate calls for help brought another half dozen more men to the scene. But they were not coming to her aid but to join the party, to join in on the feast. Even that yapping, little excuse for a dog was picked up and devoured by one of the eager monsters.

  “We need to get the hell out of here now, Dad,” Jack whispered. “It’s like we’re stuck right in the middle of some frigging zombie movie.”

  “For the last time,” Gordon snapped back. “Will you quit it with all the swearing?”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding me on,” Jack just stared at his father in disbelief. “We’re watching someone being eaten alive, you’ve just brained a man with a frying pan and all you’re worried about is my shitty language?”

  “What’s going on out there, Dad?” Calling out from the seat, Katie tried to break their angry eye contact. After the last couple of years of them locking horns she had become an expert at breaking them up.

  “Don’t you worry honey,” he said as he pulled the curtains tightly closed. “Just stay nice and quiet please.”

  “We need to go now,” Jack carried on as soon as his father turned back to face him.

  “It’s not that easy son,” Gordon slumped back down on the seat and stared at his kids. “They shut the gates after dark for security; they don’t want anyone sneaking out with one of their caravans. The only way to open it is from inside the Office itself. If we drive over there we’ll never get out, you saw how quickly they appeared when there was some noise.”

  “So what are we gonna do then? We can’t just stay in here.”