The dead were like rats as they swarmed into the village. Some of the villagers stood and fought, died valiantly then got back up and joined the ranks of the dead. Ronnie observed the carnage and watched as the living hit the dead on the shoulders and in the face without causing any real damage. They knocked some over, but they got back up. When Ronnie killed the four who had eaten Reggie he hit them hard in the head mainly from instinct. He pulverised their skulls that’s why they had not moved again. One of the dead came towards Ronnie so he tested his theory. It didn’t move again after his axe had pierced the skull, He thought about telling the survivors but then he thought, fuck them.
While Aaron was busy defending the front Ronnie led a ravaged man to his mum’s house. The dead man kept reaching out for him, but he was slow. His skin was grey and mottled, eyes like a saucer of milk. He had a bite wound on his neck, crusted with dark blood. Ronnie opened the door to the house. Mary called out from the kitchen; the dead man heard her. Ronnie stepped into the front room and closed the door as she called out, ‘Aaron is that you.’
The next sound she made was a scream, then another, then silence. Ronnie opened the door and raised the axe as he looked into the kitchen. The dead man was eating Mary face first. He slipped out and left the door unlocked. Ronnie dispatched a few more of the dead on his way to the Land Rover station wagon. He shouted for Aaron to get in.
He knew Aaron wasn’t going to leave his mother and when he shouted he was going to get her Ronnie manoeuvred the Rover outside his house. He followed him in. He raced in through the open door to see the dead man gorging himself on his mother’s flesh. He let out a screech that seemed unnatural for a man of his age. He knocked the dead man to the floor and smashed in his skull with the butt of his shotgun. His mother was unrecognisable from the neck up. Her nose and cheekbones had been devoured. Her lips had gone, exposing her stained teeth. He fell to his knees and held her hand, he had to turn away from her raw face.
He looked towards Ronnie, sobbing. ‘I need to bury her,’ he said.
‘We don’t have time; the place is swarming.’
‘I’m not fucking leaving her,’ he snarled.
‘Suit yourself,’ he turned to leave.
‘You can’t go.’
‘Fucking watch me,’ it was Ronnie’s turn to snarl.
Ronnie heard the same unnatural screech come from Aaron a second time. When he looked back his dead mother had reanimated and was pulling him close. Ronnie walked over pulled him free and raised his axe.
Aaron fell to the floor, ‘Nooooo,’ he shouted to him.
‘She is fucking dead.’ He brought the axe down with force. Her ravaged face split in two and she stopped moving.
Aaron had jumped to his feet and pushed the shotgun in Ronnie’s face. ‘You killed my mother.’
‘You stupid twat, she was already fucking dead. I have just put her and you out of misery.’ He didn’t falter. ‘Now get that fucking thing out my face before I shove the wide end up your hole.’
He lowered the shotgun, ‘Will you help me bury her, please?’
Ronnie gave his best smile and lowered his tone, ‘We need to get out of here before we’re stuck. At least she is at peace and won’t suffer.’ Inside his head Ronnie was screaming at himself to bury the axe in his head and have done with it.
Ronnie knew Aaron would come in useful. Luckily for him he accepted Ronnie’s response, they closed the door on their way out. Ronnie picked up three more of the village men, he couldn’t remember their names and headed for the exit. The van barricading the exit had already been moved. More of the dead were pouring in, who knows where they were coming from.
Ronnie stopped the station wagon and looked in the rear-view mirror. Individual battles were going on all over the village. Men and women battling the dead. Children cowering in bedrooms, behind their parents or on top of outhouses. It wouldn’t matter where they hid, eventually they would be eaten or worse, walking about dead. He gave one last thought to Little Ron and Stacey then he hit the accelerator and ploughed through the dead.
In his haste to get away and with his thoughts still on his family he didn’t see the tractor pulling into the village, Ronnie swerved quickly. He saw the second tractor because they bounced off its huge rear wheel. The force of the blow shook the station wagon and the wheel skidded on some horse shit lying in the road. Ronnie couldn’t prevent the station wagon from sliding into the ditch at the side of the road. He watched as a convoy of tractors rolled passed them and into the village. Before he could reach the door it was pulled open and a long-barrelled shotgun touched his nose.
‘Is that the prick who killed your dad and sister?’ Said a tough welsh bastard.
‘It is,’ said Brian’s son. Ronnie had forgotten about him.
Ronnie didn’t remember anything after that because the tough welsh bastard hit him twice in the face with the butt of his shotgun.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Manchester, Salford.
Harry, like everyone else was watching the news reports broadcasting that the dead, yes, the dead were walking about eating their fellow humans.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ asked Bull.
Harry gave him a fed-up look, ‘I’d have thought all those punches over the years may have knocked some sense into you Bull, obviously the opposite has occurred.’
‘Huh,’ replied Bull.
‘Never mind,’ said Harry. ‘What’s happening my friend, is that we have been well and truly screwed by our mysterious partner.’
‘At least she paid well.’
‘Yes she did but I’m now suspecting that we were never intended to spend the fucking money. This was a planned assault. None of it leads back to her and why should it, we have no fucking idea who she is. This Bull, I’m afraid this is all down to us,’ he said pointing at the TV screen.
‘We didn’t bring the dead back to life,’ said Bull.
‘I’d be prepared to bet that the gas we released had something to do with it. Have you not heard from the Makin boys yet? I thought they’d have headed here as soon as the outbreak started.’
‘They could be dead.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Harry.
‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Bull.
‘We are going to ride this out, see what the government and authorities’ do, if they can actually do anything about it. It looks to me as though the police and other emergency services have been overrun. As for the army, most of our troops are overseas fighting other people’s wars.’
‘They might bomb the city’s, blow the dead to bits,’ said Bull.
‘The politicians have been crying poverty for the past seven or so years. Cuts here, cuts there while they line their own pockets. They say they have no money for the health service, law enforcement has been reduced, unemployment is at an all-time high and we have just stuck up two fingers to the rest of Europe. The last thing they will do is reduce the country to rubble. The economy is going to crash that’s for sure.’ Harry smiled. ‘I wouldn’t put it past the bunch of arseholes in London to have planned this themselves.’
‘You think the Prime Minister has given the go ahead for an attack on her own people?’ asked Bull.
‘Why not,’ replied Harry. ‘The country is unbalanced. We have too many takers and not enough givers. Did the government really want to exit the EU? They painted themselves into a corner by holding a referendum, thinking they couldn’t lose but look what happened, the power of the people spoke… and they were heard.’
‘Why not just have another referendum and reverse the decision?’ asked Bull again.
‘Politics is not your chosen subject is it Bull.’ He didn’t wait for him to respond. ‘It’s not best out of three nor would it be very democratic to overturn a decision made by the people. We need to remember here my friend that the Brexiteers won. Just over half the country said yes, the others said no. It wasn’t going to matter, either way there was going to be anarchy, granted what we are
seeing is extreme but who will the people turn to – our government and they will accept any decision because their lives have been shaken apart. When the country settles down many lives will have been lost but the economy will be more stabilised because we will have less people to feed and support.’
‘But thousands if not millions will be dead, most getting back up and walking about again. How will the government stop that, how will they clear up the streets. Everywhere will be disease ridden.’
‘Millions will live, and they will be the ones to help with the clear up. We are doing our part now Bull. We are out there clearing up the streets of the dead. We are attempting to control the surge by chopping them down as they rise. Manchester will be a safe zone and when the government take control again, we will be there to offer our services. The European Union will be re-established, and I intend to be part of that establishment.’
‘What about me?’ Said Bull.
‘We can get you a tailored chauffeur’s uniform,’ said Harry with a chuckle.
Harry’s laughter gave way to dread as the TV brought news of fresh attacks. The red pulsating spots that indicated infected zones were not in the UK. They were spread across a worldwide map, followed by live reports with back drops to well-known landmarks. The Eiffel Tower appeared first, followed by The Reichstag building, St Michael and St Gudula Cathedral was next…the whole of Europe was under attack. Australia, New Zealand, China, Japan and the African continent were not immune. The Middle East a constant red spot for conflict became one with its neighbours.
‘We’re fucked,’ said Bull.
‘We are now,’ replied Harry as the states of America began to blink red.
‘I don’t think the EU will be banging on the door to help now,’ said Bull a little too smugly.
‘All the more for us to do,’ replied Harry sharply. ‘Shouldn’t you be clearing some rubbish?’ Bull got up and left.
Hazel had stood in the doorway listening to them both prattle on about their ascent to the elite. All bullshit she thought. Harry had been talking about opportunities and he was right, she felt the same. This was her chance to get away from Harry, it was dangerous outside, but she was willing to die outside than being stuck with Harry in a dead infested world – being with him made her feel dead inside.
Hazel had never forgiven Harry for her son’s death; she also knew the part Bull had played in it. When the time was right both of them would feel the vengeance of a woman with little to lose.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Somewhere, North, UK.
Miles had been held on his own wing of the hospital on a permanent basis due to his inability to get along with his fellow patients. The decision to allow him into general population had resulted in the loss of an eye for one patient, the reproductive organs of another and the governor’s job. He was housed with some of the most notorious criminals and psychopaths known to man and they all wanted to stay away from him – he was the monster among monsters.
His lips seemed to hold a permanent mocking smile, eyes that radiated intelligence and an articulated voice. The first psychologist he encountered at the hospital spoke to him like he was an infant, so he clamped his mouth onto his nose and bit it off. The second psychologist spoke to him with respect and ensured he was strapped to a chair before their sessions. She ended their meetings when his provocative talk became too personal. His final psychologist and head of department - Dr Martin was someone he responded to positively. For Miles it was part of his plan, Dr Martin didn’t remember little Miles Wilson and why should he, he wasn’t the only boy he had abused. In time Dr Martin would experience fear and pain far greater than any he had inflicted upon his victims.
Miles was watching the world collapse from the comfort of his spacious cell; his excitement was building. Everybody was going about their usual business inside the secure unit, there didn’t seem to be any panic - not yet. He watched the images of mass violence on his TV screen, people being hunted down and eaten. The violence was random, without organisation – it was a primal rage. The creatures would fall upon fleeing innocents, tearing them to pieces before moving on to the next victim. The real fascination for Miles was seeing a recently chewed up corpse begin to reanimate, it made him lean forward in his chair.
He sat and watched the shaky camera footage as the recently deceased joined the ranks of the marauding dead. Several of the news feeds went blank as the incredibly stupid journalists came under attack, never to resurface. The remaining feeds were bringing coverage from across the country; it was a pandemic that seemed intent on destroying civilisation. Miles would seize his opportunity.
He had been a model prisoner for the past two years since the incident with the genitals and while precautions were still taken with him, he knew they were more from habit than security measures. Dr Martin had allowed him more exercise time, extended TV viewing and greater access to the library. Miles read everything, fiction, all the sciences, psychology and even some cookery.
Gerry asked him one day, ‘why are you reading cookery, they’ll never let you near a kitchen in here.’
‘I’m reading it so I can cook a good meal in my own kitchen.’
‘That’s never going to happen, the judge himself said you will never be freed. I believe he meant it.’
‘I have never doubted the words the judge spoke to me on that day,’ he replied. ‘I can see your confusion Gerry, but I never mentioned being freed. One day Gerry I plan to escape.’
Gerry laughed loudly, ‘You almost had me there.’
Miles smiled back at him; Gerry didn’t report the conversation - he dismissed it as banter. It never crossed Gerry’s mind that Miles had never been known to tell an untruth.
When Gerry the six-two, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound lump inserted the key into the lock, he smiled. He enjoyed his friendship with Miles and had done for the past couple of years. In a way Miles enjoyed Gerry’s company, he was a likable man but lacked the intellect to be on Miles’s level. Miles gave him the impression he was interested in his stories, a means to an end. Gerry was never aware that he was being manipulated and volunteering information about the secure unit. He liked to put trust in people; it was a major flaw of his.
‘Good morning Miles,’ said Gerry cheerfully.
‘Not according to the news,’ replied Miles.
‘I’m sure the authorities will get it under control soon.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ said Miles sarcastically.
‘You ready for your meds,’ said Gerry as he placed two capsules into Miles’s palm.
‘You know me, compliance is my golden rule.’
If the sarcastic tone registered with Gerry, he didn’t show it. ‘You know the routine, two-hour session with Dr Martin followed by an hour’s exercise, then lunch.’
Miles nodded his agreement and popped the pills into his mouth. The pills were designed to relax his body so physical exertion was near impossible while he was transported around the unit. He placed the water cup to his lips as the first scream erupted from somewhere inside. Against procedure Gerry stepped out of the room and looked along the corridor, Miles quickly took the pills from his mouth and drank the water.
Gerry stepped back in and examined the empty mouth of Miles. ‘Why are you looking so pleased,’ he asked.
‘I do believe today will be a good day,’ said Miles.
‘What will be the subject you and Dr Martin will discuss today?’ he asked Miles.
‘We could discuss the end of the world,’ he said nodding towards the TV screen. Gerry couldn’t deny the escalating trouble was making him uneasy. ‘I’m just kidding with you Gerry – I’m going to discuss my release.’ On this subject he wasn’t joking. The dread that Gerry was experiencing intensified.
In the visiting room a man had collapsed and died, the gates were opened, and he was rushed into the medical wing. The medics fought hard to save him. A suspected heart attack aided by a nasty infection on his arm had caused his death. He was pronounced
dead by all in attendance. Five minutes later he had sat back up and tore a chunk of flesh from an orderlies arm. Moments later the infection was spreading, a female nurse screamed as a dead creature lurched towards her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Southport, North Coastal Town, UK.
The abrupt end to his daughter’s conversation didn’t concern him. He knew she was safe for now, but he wanted her close to him as soon as possible. He searched the spacious office for some medication that may halt the infection. He pulled open drawers, rifling through paperwork and other unhelpful junk. In the far corner of the room he noticed a two-door wall cupboard with the words, MEDICINE CABINET, TO BE KEPT LOCKED AT ALL TIMES, inked across the front.
He looked at the crowbar and smiled, aware that he had brought his own key. He was just about to slide the crowbar between the cupboard doors when he heard the floor creak outside the door. He remained quiet and waited, the footsteps continued past the door. As he turned towards the cabinet Lucy gave out a shallow groan, but it was enough. The footsteps grew louder again as they turned toward the sound.
‘Fuck,’ said Frank. He moved across to Lucy, looking down at her he didn’t think she was breathing. The footsteps continued towards the door. As they got closer they were more thuds than steps. He bent down on one knee and felt for a pulse, he wasn’t sure if the throb he felt was from Lucy or his own adrenaline charging about his body. He knelt on his two knees and placed his ear on her chest. Subconsciously he noticed the footsteps had stopped but his thoughts were on Lucy.
The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World Page 15