The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World

by Grimes, A. L.

  Miles stood in front of his father, ‘I am your son and please don’t hit my mother again.’

  He struck miles with the back of his hand. His legs waivered but he remained on his feet. His lip spilt and the blood trickled down his chin. Miles fixed his stare on the man in front of him. ‘Perhaps you’re not my father,’ he said.

  He raised his fist to strike Miles again, this time Mary pulled him from harm’s way. His father grabbed his coat and stormed out. That night when he came back, Mary had warned Miles to stay in bed no matter what happened. The row was furious, Mary was giving as good as she got. Miles stayed put until he heard his mother scream. He raced down the stairs to see his father over his mother, his hands around her throat. Miles grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen and without thinking he jabbed it into his father’s thigh. He screamed in pain and lashed out with his fist, he caught Miles square on the temple. The seven-year-old lost focus, his vison swam and the room turned upside down as he crashed into a table. Miles was out cold, blood pouring from his face.

  Mary jumped up and screamed, she checked Miles. ‘Oh my god, he isn’t breathing,’ she cried. ‘Go and get an ambulance,’ she shouted at her husband.

  Jimmy Wilson casually took a cigarette from the packet and slumped into a chair. He took a long drag ‘Fuck him,’ he said. ‘Let him fall into a coma, we’ll have another kid in a few years.’

  Miles was breathing, he was dazed but he could hear the talk. ‘I’ll go myself,’ she said. ‘Please don’t be here when I get back, we are done.’ She stood, Miles barely reached out, she didn’t notice.

  ‘It’s my house, if anyone is going it’ll be you and that thing on the floor,’ he snarled.

  Mary left the house, Jimmy walked past his wounded son without pause and headed to bed. Miles managed to lift himself to his feet. He staggered out of the house in search of his mother. She had gone to the bottom of the street to use the payphone only to find it vandalised. Miles tried to shout but the pain struck his brain like a hammer blow. His mother was in the main road waving her arms frantically.

  Two minutes earlier a man walked unsteady from the pub to his car, he fumbled with the keys as his mates laughed. He didn’t know he was on the wrong side of the road driving home. He certainly didn’t see the woman waiving her arms in the road until it was too late. He didn’t stop as she spun through the air and landed in the gutter. Her life had gone just as her son touched her hand.

  Miles woke up in hospital two days later surrounded by strangers. The story his father told was different to what actually happened. His wife was getting an ambulance for him after Miles’s unprovoked attack. Ned eventually broke down and told how Miles had hurt him. Jimmy Wilson said he didn’t want to look after the kid. Miles was taken from the hospital straight into social services. At eighteen years of age Miles disappeared.

  When he casually walked into the police station to confess his crimes he had done so with a smile across his lips. The young officer at the desk didn’t, in fact he took a step back and called for assistance when he noticed a crimson leak from the bag that Miles carried, he caught an aroma of copper in the air. Back up arrived, they asked him to reveal the contents of the bag. He pulled the severed head out by its grey hair. The young officer vomited were he stood, so did several of his experienced colleagues – this wasn’t normal for a Sunday night.

  A search of his apartment had found another four severed heads; the police were already in possession of the bodies. The first victim was the drunk who had killed his mother, his name had been in the paper after the police caught up with him and his head was now in Miles’s fridge. The police thought they had closed the case of a serial nut job who had an issue with his upbringing. In part they were right, but they made the mistake of treating Miles like the fool he wasn’t, he played the part well.

  Unknown to them, they were the next part in his plan, he had been playing a long game, his business wasn’t finished. He had heard the nurses charging about all evening, panic in their voices, chattering on about the riots and monsters. He lay on his bunk staring out the window, the sky was grey with dark clouds threatening, he couldn’t help but smile.

  Part Two

  Everywhere Else...

  Chapter Twelve

  Outside London, UK.

  The train rumbled along the track outward bound from Euston station at about 8.31pm, it was full of commuters travelling to the smaller villages along the route. Most were aware that an outbreak of violence was spreading across the country; they had seen it on the news, some had dodged the troubles by minutes. All had ignored the advice ‘not to travel’ including the train and bus companies, the financial budgets did not allow for such a thing. In an age when society is more materialistic than practical neither consumer nor provider is willing to listen.

  One passenger, a tall mid-forties man with greying temples was wishing he hadn’t made the journey. The train was rammed more than usual. He spent the entire journey either with his face pressed against the door window or when he was able to turn, he was inches from a female commuter. She smiled often, he was a handsome man – he thought she was enjoying the journey especially when he felt her hand brush his thigh, it was almost intimate.

  An announcement caused unease on the train; the announcer informed them that London was and still is in chaos. His details were sketchy. Many of the passengers discussed the current situation that would inevitably bring the country to a standstill. Would it be possible to catch a train into work on Monday? At least this one was on time. The grey-haired man turned towards the door, eagerly waiting for the train to get him home, he had been on the train for five minutes, only another forty nine to go before it pulled into Cambridge. His day hadn’t started good. He’d had a meeting just after one that afternoon and on a Saturday, London was worse than the reports had suggested, and he was late by a good twenty minutes. His shirt had been soaked through, forcing him to keep his jacket on. By the time the meeting had finished he was grateful for the fresh air. He had smiled all the way through the meeting, a VIP with his company, he believed he had drawn the short straw. His colleagues were attending the days sporting events. Some fresh air would be welcome now, the stuffiness from the train and his female admirer’s overwhelming perfume was sending him dizzy.

  Some of the passengers were becoming angry as the train rushed past their destinations. No such luck with the female, she continued to smile, he smiled back sheepishly. She no longer brushed her hand; it was more of a hold she had now. He had a feeling she was on the train till the end, she hoped he was riding till the end, maybe invite him for a quick drink, she didn’t see a wedding ring. As if reading her intentions he formulated a quick getaway. Off the train as quick as he could, no turning back, into the car park and up the road before she could find him. He lived in a small village called Milton. He could be in his slippers by ten, mug of tea in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

  The train pulled in at 9.25pm, right on time. Many of the passengers had gone miles past their intended destinations, the brief had been just to get the people out of London, that brief was never passed on. Many of the passengers were going to demand compensation, one man, a big fella was determined to spend the night in custody: the train driver was getting a good kicking.

  The driver sat in his cabin; the door locked to the angry crowd. He was struggling to keep his eyes open. He had got caught up in some of the troubles on his way to work. A slack jawed protestor high on drugs had tried to bite him, it nipped him on his hand just before a mounted police officer gave it a good whack across the ear with his stick. The officer recognised his uniform and gave him a nod. The protestor hit the deck; he couldn’t tell its gender. Now he felt like shit and it was only going to get worse when he finally stopped the train and opened the doors. He lost consciousness just as the train pulled into the platform, the train was slowing but it wasn’t going to stop in time.

  The platform looked like business as usual, lots of people shuffling about. Wa
it, what was that it looked like a person was being attacked while others watched, some joined in the assault. The train slowed as it passed the crowded platform. Something’s not right thought the grey-haired man. The people were facing away from the train.

  ‘The train’s not stopping,’ shouted a male from further down the carriage. The big fella rattled the driver’s door with some urgency. After some encouragement and promises of support when the police arrived, he kicked in the cab door. The driver was waiting. The slowing train hit the barriers causing the packed train and it’s passengers to lurch backwards. The driver bounced off his control panel and was flung at the big fella. He had taken a chunk out of his face before they landed on top of several other passengers. The chatter from the train was silenced with a scream from another carriage, then another – then a whole chorus of frightened screams.

  The train jerked to a halt and the doors hissed open to an orchestra of the moaning dead and the deathly screams of the living. A man turned to face grey hair. The once expensive striped suit was crusted with congealed blood. Grey hair stared at them in front of him; the walking corpse stared at him with its one eye. The mushy socket of the other eye was leaking with thick black fluid. Grey hair pissed his expensive suit.

  The dead thing opened its mouth and arms at the same time; it was surrounded by a bunch of undead creatures. Further down the train the attack was underway. The heave of the escaping crowd behind him caused him to surge forward, he recognised the touch of the hand that pushed him – the undead creatures welcomed him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Birmingham, Central UK

  Neil Garret had worked at the hospital for over ten years. He was a charge nurse on the front line, that meant he dealt with all the shit first. Tonight would be more intense than normal. The medical co-ordinator had failed to turn up for her shift and no contact could be established, Neil was in charge. He didn’t mind, he lived and breathed the job – the pay was decent, but he enjoyed the excitement more. It beat any nine to five jobs. He knew tonight was going to be different. He was four hours into a twelve-hour shift and hadn’t stopped, it seemed like his shift had already clocked into overtime.

  It had been a quiet Saturday evening until the nationwide protests had turned into riots. Looting and violence had erupted in the big cities, this spilled over into the outskirts and smaller boroughs. For the first few hours it was head wounds, stabbings and a gunshot which he couldn’t be sure was a result of the rioting.

  About midnight people started turning up with bite wounds. The injured looked clammy and pale. The wounds had a smell and look of infection. Some looked worse than others, some looked beyond treatment. Whatever it was he didn’t want other patients coming into contact with the afflicted. He quickly instructed two junior nurses to isolate a ward and quarantine the infected, one looked at him in alarm when he used the term - infected.

  He was informed from a radio dispatcher at reception that a paramedic crew had been attacked by a gang of protestors. They were on a call treating a bite victim, a middle-aged man who had suffered some sort of seizure. His eyes had rolled back, a few minutes later he sat up and attacked his rescuers. The screams and shouts had attracted several others who joined in the attack. That was the last they had heard from the crew. The police had been contacted but still nothing, that was an hour ago. In fact now that he thought of it the crews were working flat-out, but few were returning.

  He had done a good job of isolating the infected patients. He carried out a quick verbal check of their health history and a brief physical examination followed by blood samples. It was a Saturday night, limited staff on shift and others not turning in, he had to be quick. He had asked if the results of the bloods could be rushed back, the phlebotomist raised his eyebrows – Neil raised his own back. He knew even a rush job would take a couple of hours.

  He checked in the isolation ward a couple of times. Several of the patients were shot up with morphine to dull their pain. Others had slipped into a dead sleep. He got the call from the isolation ward while he was treating a fresh bite victim. A male patient had dropped dead in the middle of the ward.

  Neil was giving compression CPR within minutes; he didn’t know how infectious the disease was, so he stopped a nurse from giving breaths. The time of death was recorded. A male porter transported the body to the mortuary. With everything else that was happening, Neil and the two nurses failed to notice that three more patients had expired.

  By the time Neil had finished drafting his report several more bite victims had been admitted to the emergency department, he needed to get back. He punched the keypad to release the locked door. Turning left he headed towards the emergency department.

  His mind was racing in all different directions, he needed to regain his focus – it was going to be a tough night. The groaning noise from behind snapped him alert. He turned to see the man he had pronounced dead earlier stumbling towards him. The front of his hospital gown was soaked with blood. His face was mottled grey with moonlit eyes. Blood was dripping from his jaws. Neil was about to take a step forward when he noticed the porter staggering behind the dead patient. He had the same complexion and vacant stare.

  Neil had worked in a hospital long enough to know that dead meant dead and anything after that was impossible and not natural. The thing moving towards him was certified dead by him, he was too methodical to think different. He hadn’t made a mistake, the thing behind it had been alive, he hadn’t mistaken that either. Now both of then looked the same – walking dead people and the sound they made was making his skin crawl.

  He raced towards the isolation ward to warn the other nurses, he punched in the first three numbers of the code and was about to press the fourth when a thud on the glass window of the door stopped him. Snarling at him from the other side was a cold-eyed creature. Its mouth and gums were covered in fresh blood, it continued to crash into the door ignoring the barrier that separated them. It had no idea it was imprisoned, neither did Neil. Each time it stepped back it revealed the scene behind it.

  In the centre of the ward a group of the infected were manually dissecting the older nurse. The younger of the two had joined in the attack, her face covered in blood each time she raised her head. Part of her arm was missing. Neil didn’t press the fourth digit, his brain and bowels convinced him. Instead he turned and ran for the emergency department to raise the alarm.

  As he crashed through the doors a scene of carnage was well underway. How long had he been gone? Dead bodies littered the floor, blood smears covered walls, floors and somehow ceilings. Healthy humans fought with the infected, unsuccessfully.

  Neil stood frozen, watching as his fallen colleagues climbed to their feet and joined in the attack. A police officer smashed in the skull of an undead attacker with his baton, it didn’t get up - the rest took him down. The two undead behind him turned the corner and closed on him. No way forward and no way back, he headed left into the x-ray department. Such was his speed that he missed the blood splatter across the wall and the crimson trail leading into the office, he crashed through the door. He slammed the door behind him, the key had gone. As he pulled the desk towards him, he heard the unmistakable moan of the dead. A female nurse was eating the face of the radiologist. The door burst open behind him; the porter reached for him so did the patient. The dead in the room stood and advanced towards him – his shift was over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eccles, Outskirts of Manchester, UK

  Wayne and Clare had been married for almost two years; their problems had started before then. Chloe was supposed to be the glue that bound them together. She had huge blue eyes with wispy blonde hair accompanied by a huge toothless smile and an infectious laugh. She lay in her cot staring at the quiet mobile unit floating peacefully above her. She still slept in her parents’ bedroom; her mother Clare lay in the bed opposite. Her father spent less time sleeping in the bed lately.

  Arguments had replaced laughter in the home for some time, C
hloe sensed the atmosphere and often cried when her father raised his voice. Clare had heard her husband come in, she looked at the clock it was past 3am. She had asked even demanded he didn’t go to the demonstration with his troublesome friends. She had a particular dislike for Eddie, the tall brash individual that Wayne looked up to. To her it seemed Eddie treated Wayne like his slave, having him run perilous errands while Eddie stuffed the proceeds into his pockets. She never told Wayne that Eddie had tried it on with her before Chloe was born, he tried to slip his hand up her dress while Wayne was busying himself elsewhere in the house. She had slapped him across the face hard, his arrogance had annoyed her as he smiled and walked away. After that she told Wayne she didn’t want him in the house again.

  Clare lay in the bed while he stumbled about, she had no intention of getting up to see how he was. Nights like these usually ended with him vomiting and falling asleep on the settee. She hoped he didn’t trip over the cat like last time – the commotion woke up Chloe and ended with a row and the slamming of doors.

  After a few minutes she heard an awful retch, she stuck the pillow over her ears and hoped by the time she got up he had cleaned the mess. As the house went quiet, she drifted off into a restless sleep, Chloe closed her eyes too.

  *

  Wayne had ignored his wife and often did when Eddie demanded his presence. He wished they could both get on - if anything to make his life easier. He had known Eddie since school, they had always grafted together. Wayne looked up to Eddie, he was fearless and always breaking the rules. He always promised Clare that the next job would be the last with Eddie, but Eddie was quick to remind how he had protected him as they were growing up.