‘Now we know headshots work,’ said Eddie.
‘Great,’ said Laura. ‘Have another go.’
Eddie raised the pipe again just as the bony features of the dead woman began to move.
Chapter Seven
North Wales, UK.
Ronnie was happily married with a five-year-old son who shared his name. He adored him, not at first but when he got used to the idea he was the best thing that had happened to him. Along time ago Ronnie was a mad bastard that earned him the nickname ‘Psycho’. That was until he met Stacey, she straightened him out.
All three had been excited to get away, the cottage had been booked for the past few weeks and Ronnie and Stacey had spent those past few weeks wishing their lives away just wanting to escape from the mundane activities of their uneventful lives. Stacey was a stay at home mum, she gave them both a good life. Ronnie was a store manager at a local supermarket, the pay was good, the hours flexible but the job was boring as shit. He was tired of listening to customers complain about sell by dates…He felt like screaming…for fucks sake love, yes the milk does expire in a weeks’ time but you have a tribe of kids around your feet, it will be gone by tomorrow - but no, he was a slave to the wage so instead he replaced it with a bottle that lasted two days longer.
They arrived at a small village just outside of Bala called Llanfor. It was all grey stone and greyer slate. Lots of Land or Range Rovers all typical of farming country. So typical that he nearly knocked down a sheep without any road sense. He turned into the village off the A494 and after a couple of turns he recognised the cottage from the site they had booked on. It was attached to another; a white car was parked outside.
They had arrived early Saturday morning, a chill in the late October air to go with nonstop rain. They family hadn’t had a holiday in over two years, and he was glad to be out of Manchester for the weekend. A huge rally had been organised to show the government that the public were not happy with planned cuts, austerity they called it, further taxation the public called it and the monstrosity that paraded as Brexit.
Ronnie knew a few of the lads that were going and his brothers they tried to rope him into going along, it will be like old times they said, maybe before his son was born, he might have.
The door to the cottage was open, the key and a pint of milk left on the wooden table just inside the kitchen door. The lower floor was open plan, kitchen with all modern amenities and a small living area with a huge stone fireplace. A log burner sat in the middle and a bucket of freshly chopped wood sat beside. Ronnie wanted to live here. He’d even brought his own axe to split some firewood.
Up a set of steep and bending stairs was a bathroom and spacious bedroom. The bedroom window overlooked a shed that housed a washing machine and the generator. They grabbed their bags from the car, Ronnie brought in the box of grub – Ronnie jnr wrestled his bag across the gravel path. He watched him wiggle past him, his mother bent over checking out the oven, the scene was perfect.
Stacey caught him gawping, she stood up straight with her hands on her hips. ‘Why are you standing there all smug,’ she said, her front teeth showing in her smile.
‘I was just thinking how perfect the scene looked,’ he replied winking.
‘The cottage or me bending over the cooker,’ she cocked an eyebrow.
‘I’m going with both,’ he replied.
‘Good choice,’ she replied. ‘Did you know we can’t get a signal on the mobile?’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Perfect.’
They popped into Bala about a mile up the road. They had fish and chips from a local café, Ronnie thought about calling it a greasy spoon, but he thought he’d be doing it a disservice to the cleanliness of any greasy spoon compared to this. He’d also say the four-star rating stuck to the front door was either out of date or greatly exaggerated. Either way, he handed over his money and took the food.
They ate back at the cottage, got into their pyjamas and Ronnie being the man, attempted to start up the log fire. After several fucks, Stacey took over and it’s quite possible she was an arsonist in a former life. She poked, stoked and tossed on another log and within minutes they had a blazing fire. The first time they heard the wood pop and spit an ember onto the rug they both jumped. Ronnie laughed as Stacey stamped her foot down repeatedly. Ronnie jnr gor excited. They kept the door to the burner closed from then on. They enjoyed the fire, burning through most of the wood.
Ronnie could never imagine being without them now. They were his world. He had had a lot of scores to settle in a previous life. He thought about them occasionally, then Stacey or his little boy’s voice would snap him out of it and bring him back to the present. He watched them now as they cuddled up to him. Since Ronnie jnr had learnt to walk he always placed himself in the middle of them both. Stacey would always giggle especially if Ronnie were getting a bit romantic.
‘I think we should have three maybe four more,’ she once told Ronnie as we he was heading out the door to work once.
If he hadn’t been eating a piece of toast she’d have had to put her hands over her ears. Thirty seconds later she heard ‘sod off’ bellowed through the letter box followed by ‘I love you’ and a contented laughter.
He lay his head back and they sat and watched a Disney movie that he was certain they had watched at least five times already. This was how you spent a Saturday afternoon.
*
Ronnie woke a couple of hours later, he showered and took a walk around the area. He left Stacey and his boy to sleep. He wandered around out the back. A couple of chickens were eyeing him suspiciously. The brown one flicked its leg like it was kick starting a motorbike, it raced towards him, dodging him at the last second and hurtled up a flight of stone steps. The other one didn’t fancy it – it turned around and found another route.
He was looking for some firewood, he fancied having a crack at chopping his own. He wasn’t carrying his axe; He didn’t want to scare any locals or give the chickens heart failure. He met a friendly neighbour, not friendly enough to share his wood but vocal enough to direct him to the cottage owner’s house. He abandoned his walk and headed into town, remembering a sign he had drove past stating firewood for sale. He stopped by the lake on the way, a tourist attraction in the summer, deserted in the winter. Having used up their supply he stocked up and headed back.
The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing in front of the log burner wrapped in fleece blankets and sleeping. Around seven in the early evening, a gentle knock on the door awakened Ronnie. He hoped this part of the world was immune to trick or treating, then realised that was the night before. A man in his late fifties, well-built and a pleasant face introduced himself as Brian, the owner. The wheelbarrow of wood gave him away. They exchanged pleasantries and he said he would put the wood in the shed, Ronnie thought he was offended that they had bought some.
‘You’re from the Manchester area, aren’t you?’ he asked in a mild Welsh accent.
‘I’m from the quiet part,’ he smiled.
‘I wasn’t aware there was a quiet part,’ he said straight-faced. ‘Anyway, lucky for you, you got out when you did they have cordoned off the city. A demonstration has turned into a riot, according to the news there have been deaths.’
Stupid bastards he thought, ‘Thankfully I am here, you have a lovely cottage.’ he thought he was going to bring up his surname, but he didn’t.
‘We are a peaceful village; the police rarely visit us and when they do it’s usually for a cuppa and to provide us with information. They last time they came on official business was for the young lad over the way. He was speeding about on one of those scrambling bikes, nearly frightened half the sheep to death.’ He rolled his eyes while telling the story.
‘Thanks for the update,’ he said eager to close the door.
‘I’ll put the wood in the shed, just help yourself. If you need anything else I’m just the other side of the fence,’ he pushed the wheelbarrow.
‘Thanks,’ he said
about to close the door.
‘The news reports said the dead had come back to life and are eating people. What’s this world coming too,’ and then he was gone.
Ronnie thought about turning on the TV to watch the news.
‘That’s nice,’ said Stacey wiping sleep from her eyes. ‘You’re making new friends. What did he want?’
Ronnie didn’t see the need to worry Stacey about what was happening back home. ‘He brought some wood, a wheelbarrow full.’
‘You numpty, I told you he would. You were just too eager to get in and play with the fire.’ She laughed loudly.
‘C’mon Ron, mum is making fun of dad – you know what that means?’ He said.
‘Tickle time,’ he replied.
‘Oh no,’ replied Stacey laughing loudly.
She was too late; Ronnie had her pinned to the sofa while Ron applied the torture – they all laughed loudly. He forgot what Brian had told him. Ronnie cooked tea and Stacey cleaned while he had a relaxing bath. The three of them sat in front of the roaring fire, sometimes quietly other times talking about nothing, it felt good. Ron fell asleep between them both, they finished off a bottle of white wine. Ronnie wanted to remain in that moment forever.
Chapter Eight
Manchester, Central UK.
Eddie. Laura and Ritchie had managed to get away from the centre of town. The darkness had become deeper, streetlights illuminating the deserted streets and the temperature had become bitter. Eddie tried every car that he passed, no luck they were all locked.
‘Smash a window with your metal bar,’ said Laura. ‘Surely someone like you can hotwire a car.’
‘No shit,’ he snarled back. ‘I was hoping a good citizen had left open a door, I don’t want to immobilise it or worse set off an alarm that attracts attention.’
‘Sorry, I hadn’t thought of that,’ she gave a hopeful smile.
‘What do you mean, someone like me?’ he stood directly in front of her. ‘Do you think you’re better than me do you, standing there in your fancy dress with your important name badge?’
‘She has a history of judging people, usually just before she sleeps with them. You my friend may find it’s your lucky night or unlucky depending how you look at it,’ chipped in Ritchie.
‘I didn’t ask you I asked her, and we are not friends,’ snarled Eddie.
Ritchie raised is hands in surrender, ‘OK, I’ll be over here when you two are done with your lovers tiff.’
‘Fuck off Ritchie, what would you know about anything.’ She may have been intimidated by Eddie, but she wasn’t about to remain quiet, it wasn’t in her nature. ‘I simply meant a man of your resource and skill.’
Eddie was as dim as a faltering light bulb, he took the compliment and let it go. She would have plenty of time later to show her gratitude, he thought. He walked away and resumed his quest for a vehicle. Laura gave Ritchie the finger, he smiled back. Seconds later the sound of crumpled metal stopped them in their tracks. They looked at each other, several alarms sang out - all in their heads and all connected.
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Ritchie. They all agreed.
‘Go and take a look,’ said Eddie gesturing to Ritchie.
‘No fucking way. I’m not going around there on my own.’
‘Don’t look at me either,’ said Laura.
‘Fair enough, we’ll all go together.’
Mutual agreement was becoming a habit.
*
The three of them edged nervously around the corner, Eddie used his metal bar to nudge Ritchie into the street.
‘Prick,’ he said scowling.
‘Watch your mouth or these things won’t be the only target practice for my WMD,’ he pointed the bar menacingly at Ritchie.
‘What can you see?’ Asked Laura.
‘A smashed-up Volvo that’s taken out at least another three cars.’
‘Any survivor’s,’ she asked.
He turned towards her, ‘Do I look like a fucking paramedic?’
Eddie had heard enough; he pushed the metal bar into Ritchie’s face. ‘You’ll be needing one if you don’t stop the fucking attitude.’
Ritchie cursed a whole bunch of names, in his mind. He noticed a lump of brain had become lodged in the hollow end of the bar, he grimaced. He returned his vision to the wreckage. ‘Hang on, I can see movement inside.’
The three of them walked cautiously towards the battered car. Ritchie still had the lead with Eddie bringing up the rear, his bar was raised ready for destruction. The windows of the car were all fogged up with condensation. The bonnet had buckled, and the front left tyre had blown.
‘Shit,’ said Eddie. ‘We won’t be hitching a lift in that.’
‘We don’t know what’s inside,’ added Laura.
The steam bubbling from the burst radiator must have affected the interior of the car. A white fog was swirling inside with an occasional flash of what looked like an arm. Ritchie approached carefully, he reached for the door handle. A bloody hand slapped against the front passenger window.
Ritchie felt his whole body move. His feet left the tarmac road and produced a ripple effect through his body as his reflexes kicked in and propelled him backwards. The thud of the hand and the startled jump of Ritchie caused Laura to jerk, her ample bust forced itself into the firm elbow of Eddie. The only jolt Eddie felt was in his trousers.
A snarling face through the thinning interior mist snapped them all back into reality. The face was full of rage and hunger. It slapped the window again, it wanted out…It wanted to tear the flesh from all three of them.
‘That’s something you don’t see every day,’ said Eddie.
‘You don’t have to be cruel,’ said Laura.
Eddie put his hand on the back of her head and directed it to where he was looking. ‘Not that,’ he said. ‘That there.’
At the end of the street was a police car with all four doors open, they made their way towards it. The snarling dead creature watched them go.
*
The lighting in the road wasn’t great. The lights from the police car interior guided them in. The patrol car was empty, no signs of struggle and more importantly no blood. Eddie searched the vehicle quickly.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he cursed.
‘No keys,’ Laura asked.
‘Tits and brains,’ smiled Eddie.
‘So what now smart arse.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘My question is, where did the coppers go?’ Asked Ritchie. ‘I’m going to take a piss over here.’ He headed to a small dark alleyway.
*
Although the temperature had been dropping steadily Laura was now beginning to feel the cold bite. She looked in the rear of the car for something warm, nothing. She decided to look upfront for the keys, Eddie was right, nothing. As she eased out the front her hand slipped off the seat and tipped her sideways. Her head and shoulder rested on the steering wheel; it took her a few seconds before she realised - she was leaning on the horn.
*
Ritchie still had his cock in his hand as the first police officer stumbled through the darkness towards him. He was still pissing as he fought the creature off. He managed to shove it to the ground as the second dead thing took hold. Eddie had his hands around Laura’s hips pulling her from the car as the attack took place. He dropped her to the floor and took hold of the bar.
He took off towards the struggle. He tripped over a dead police officer; this one wasn’t moving. He hadn’t noticed the body or the trail of guts beside it. It looked like a car had run over its head. He picked himself up and was about to give Ritchie some assistance when Laura screamed. A crimson splattered police officer was advancing on Laura. He didn’t think twice, before she could scream again, he was across the road and had buried the scaffold bar into its head several times.
Ritchie wasn’t as fortunate, his dick swinging dance had ended up with both of them crashing to the floor. The only luck he had had was when they
both crashed on top of the other creature. He was able to stamp the others brains out of its skull. While he was doing that the other had clamped its jaws onto his forearm. He gave an angered scream and used his rage to pin the creature to the floor. He punched the creature repeatedly and pummelled its skull into concrete until brain and blood pooled onto the hardened floor. He looked at his arm, the gaping hole. He was fucked and he knew it, so did Eddie and Laura, they stood watching him. He gawped back.
Chapter Nine
Southport, North Coastal Town, UK
Frank Temple was a disciplined man, his daily routine was precise, his lifestyle healthy and balanced. He had two weaknesses in his life, the first one was studying for her degree in Leeds and the second was sitting next to him on the settee. She had pushed herself into him, he put his arm around her, and she looked up with those big brown eyes. He had joint custody of Monroe, a seven-year-old King Charles spaniel. She had been with him since she was eight weeks old, apparently the runt of the litter. When he had first clapped eyes on her, he knew he could help her. Since that day they spent all their spare time together. She got her name from his daughter’s obsession with Marilyn.
He had an agreement with his ex-wife Kerry to take Monroe at the weekends and most days he took her to the beach. She owned the passenger seat of the car; it was hers and she wasn’t afraid to let others know. He had insisted on taking her full time, but he guessed it was an excuse for Kerry to still see him. He had closed up early today, a big sporting day combined with a country out in protest wasn’t doing much for his mood. He disliked football and politics in equal measure.
The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World Page 4