The other option, as I explained earlier, was to head for the hills. Yes, there were some pros to going that way but it would be over a thirty-mile walk through a land of the living dead. And no guarantee, when I got there, of finding a stronghold to keep me safe.
Most people would hoof it to the nearest shopping centre where there’s lots of food and equipment to be had. Which brings us to one of the first rules of zombie invasion. Never travel through or to populated areas. Which was something I was about to do. Cramlington is one of the largest towns in the county of Northumberland. Fortunately, my estate was on the outskirts and with luck I could be in a farmer’s field and on my way to wherever I needed within ten minutes.
I deliberated for most of the day and came to a decision as it started to get dark.
A sailor’s life for me!
I rose early and took the next few hours to prepare my kit, and by noon I was ready for the journey. I’d decided to risk travelling by day instead of night. I’ll admit the darkness would make me less likely to be seen but that works both ways. I’d rather be able to see what was eating me than get chewed on in the dark
Onesie on, tactical belt with both machete and hatchet looped on, bugout bag on. And I was ready.
I managed to squeeze through the hole in the roof, lowered myself over the edge of the gable end, let go and fell around five feet to the garage roof. There was no point trying to keep quiet at this stage. This escape was to be a shock and awe mission. To just run like fuckery before they knew what was happening. I crossed over onto next door’s adjoining garage roof, quickly checked their garden was clear and dropped into it. The boundary between our houses was part brick and part fence, the upper part being fence. No sooner had I dropped, than the deedaz in my garden started assaulting it. It gave in seconds, but since the wall was just above waist height, the sudden surge of the dead made sure the ones in the front line of the assault were pinned by the ones behind, unable to climb or fall over. This gave me enough time to scale the opposite fence and partake in my favourite schoolboy pastime.
As soon as I was out of sight of the dead they stopped their frantic wails. I popped my head over to see what was happening. When they saw me they started up again. I quickly ducked. No sooner had I done so than they calmed. The wind direction was slight but it was travelling from the deedaz towards me. They obviously couldn’t smell me. Without constant stimulation and without means to pursue it seemed the saying ‘out of sight out of mind’ was true. They’d follow prey in its general direction even if they lost sight of it, but if an obstruction got in their way during the chase they seemed to go into hibernation mode and forget about the target.
Working my way over the next two fences I entered the garden that backed on to the cycle track. As I prepared to exit I turned towards the house, readied myself and took a deep breath before opening the gate. The curtain in an upstairs window moved. I waited and watched. It moved again. There was someone up there. Someone alive.
Chapter 15 The thin lady
The fact that there was someone alive in my street astounded me. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of anyone since two days after the initial event. I heard the screams of the attacked and dying and had noticed most of the doors and windows in the street had been broken and smashed. So the fact someone had survived this long was a surprise to say the least.
I waited to see if they showed themselves. I didn’t know who lived here, so when a sad emaciated face appeared at the window there was no recognition from me at all. And even if I did know her I don’t know if I’d have been able to recognise her anyway. She was obviously on the verge of starvation. Skeletal was too kind a description of her. She mouthed the word ‘help’ through the gap in the curtains. I motioned for her to open the window and I went and stood underneath it. With great difficulty she opened it about an inch. ‘Do you need help?’ I whispered. She nodded. ‘Can you come down and let me in?’ She shook her head frantically this time.
‘I want to help, I won’t hurt you’. Shaking her head, she weakly pointed over her shoulder to where her bedroom door obviously was.
‘Are they in the house?’ I whispered. She mouthed back ‘My husband’. Now either he was very possessive and didn’t like his wife talking to men or he was deader than a fucking dodo and was in the house with her. She had obviously barricaded herself in the bedroom when her husband had turned. When this happened was anyone’s guess but if I had to, it was probably around two to three weeks ago judging by how gaunt she was. She must have had access to water because the average person can last around three weeks without food and she looked close to that mark.
‘I’m leaving. Do you want to come with me?’ She looked at me as if I was mad. It was probably a stupid question but I had to ask it. For one, I think if I’d said boo to her she’d have dropped down dead and two, I don’t think she’d make it to the end of the garden under her own steam. ’Do you need some food?’ She nodded vigorously.
There was no way she was having what I had in my bugout bag. I’d have to somehow retrace my route and go back to the loft. There was still a good few weeks’ worth of supplies left. She could have them. All I had to do was find a ladder.
‘I’m going to go and get you some food and water, I’ll be back soon.’ Wrong thing to say. She panicked and started banging on the window as I turned away. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she rasped.
Suddenly a banging came from within the house. ‘Oh no!’ was all she said as I looked up into her terrified eyes. A crash followed, she screamed and then she was gone, undoubtedly in an eternal embrace from her husband.
I stood there shocked. Again I had done nothing but watch. I’d never have reached her in time in any case, but this was starting to become a habit. My indecision and inability to act under pressure were becoming more apparent to me and were fast becoming a worrying trait. All the years of mental zombie practice had been a waste of time. Under pressure I was lacking everything I needed to stay alive. Split-second decision making was obviously not one of my strong points. The only thing I’d been able to do since this event started was to hide, run and piss myself. Doubt in my abilities was beginning to grow exponentially. Should I just find a ladder and return to my little cave in the loft? I had a few weeks of food left and could probably scrounge some water from some of the other houses on the street. Maybe the government would get this under control? Maybe they’re just working their way up the country exterminating this threat to humanity. Maybe in a few days’ time everything would be back to normal. Maybe the ex would forgive me and tell Sporticus to fuck right off. Nope. None of that was going to happen. I either continued with my plan or I stayed and died of thirst or starvation in the stinking roof space of my house.
I built up enough courage to tiptoe back to the gate leading to the cycle path, looked over the top and saw nothing in the vicinity. It was now or never. I unlocked and opened the gate, taking a quick glance up to the window where I’d first seen Skeletor. Looking down at me were the unhappy couple. They just stood there watching me with accusing eyes. He was looking a little worse for wear and she looked like Stephen fucking King’s ‘Carrie’. Totally creeped out and with a heavy and guilt-ridden heart I turned and stepped beyond the gate.
Chapter 16 The gauntlet
The quickest way to the coast was east, but that would take me through the majority of the vast housing estate I lived on. I headed north along the cycle path which was the fastest way to open ground and the fields beyond. I’d have to cross a dual carriageway but would worry about that if I ever got out of the estate. Usually it would take around five minutes to get there at a jog, but things had changed a lot since then. With machete in my right hand and my crossbow in the other, in case I needed to do some stealthy shit, I hugged the fence alongside the path. Slowly and quietly I made my way north.
After a few minutes, I spotted in the distance and to the left of my route a small group of deedaz gathered around something on the ground. I checked the wind direction and g
auged that it was blowing slightly towards me. They wouldn’t smell me but I was out in the open and if they looked up for a second they would definitely see me. The dual carriage way was around a three-minute run away from my present location. Two minutes if I legged it. The only problem I might have was at the end of the path. It bottle necked into a narrow cut between two houses. If that was blocked or if there were deedaz there I’d be trapped. At the end of the path was a lightly wooded area on a slight incline. Once I got through that, the main road would be accessible. I decided that discretion would not be the best part of valour. My pack was full and heavy but was strapped tight to my body. I clipped the crossbow back on it and withdrew my hatchet. If it came to it I’d hack my way through.
Deep breath, weapons in hand and a quick prayer (I am an atheist by the way but I’m also a gambling man and like to hedge my bets) and I was off. As soon as I started running, heads turned towards me. Yes, you guessed it, a little bit of wee came out. I ran along the right side of the path opposite the little mothers meeting they were having. Slowly they started to rise, and with it came the god-awful moaning. To my left and right the call was answered in some of the gardens I ran past. I’d inadvertently rung the bell for dinner time. I ran past the group, which consisted of around five or six, and got a glimpse of what had held their rapturous attention. I think it was human. There was ribcage here, a few bones there and blood fucking everywhere. I reasoned that if a person died before turning or without being infected the deedaz must feast on it until there’s nothing left. Then I reasoned to stop fucking reasoning and hurry the fuck up.
I made it to the bottle neck and ran between the houses to the trees and stupidly risked a look behind me. The zombies had followed at a... I can’t say run exactly, but they certainly weren’t walking. If I could describe it I’d say lauping. Is that a word? Imagine Dr Frankenstein’s assistant, Igor, trying to run. Sort of like that. Not fast but enough to put the shits right up you.
As I breached the trees the enormity of what had happened to the world unfolded before my eyes. The road was packed with abandoned cars as far as the eye could see. All four lanes in both directions. Body parts covered in flies lay everywhere. Scattered throughout the mayhem and standing staring at me were the walking dead. Again with the fucking moaning.
I bounded on to the roof of the car I was nearest to, sending up a black swathe of flies and prepared to play the world’s most dangerous game of frogger. Luckily the cars I planned on using to cross the road to hell were lined up perfectly but looked slick with the offal the flies had left behind.
Frozen by indecision, a hand grasped the back of my trouser leg. Instinct took over and I leapt for the next car, pulling free of the hand that had ensnared me.
I’ve always thought I was quite a bright chap. I was quite well educated and understood the basics of most things in life. Science being one of them, although I failed to remember the principles of gravity and the fact I was carrying a big fuck-off rucksack.
I slammed into the car I was jumping for like a fat lass opening a chip shop door.
Stunned and lying between the cars in amongst the gore of my fellow man I quickly scrambled to my feet and surveyed my options. All of the cars I could see were bumper to bumper, most of them fender benders, so wiggling my way between them was out of the question. My exits were cut off by deedaz converging towards me along the aisles the cars made. I hefted myself up on to the car I’d slammed into and jumped down on to the grass verge between the opposing carriageways. A short hop over the knee-high safety barrier and I was halfway there. This side of the road had some spaces between the bumpers of the multitude of cars so I weaved through and finally found myself facing an open fenced field. The field ran adjacent to the road for a least a mile, but if I simply walked through it, parallel to the road, I would be seen by every deeda along the gridlocked highway.
On the far side of the field was a wood which I knew to be quite large. It separated my town and my ex’s town and had a river that dissected it from west to east.
I’d spent a lot of time in those woods when I was younger, but mostly on the north side, which had a beautiful, well-walked country path that followed the waterway all the
way to the North Sea. I had explored the south side a little in my youth. I used to go there when I was in my early teens with my best friend Joey Davis. We’d spend the day there whenever we skived from school. The perfect place for dodging any of the many truant officers that patrolled the streets of Northumberland.
There were no paths to speak of. The odd fox or deer track could be found, but apart from that there were no discernible routes, though the likelihood of bumping in to a deeda on the south side was far less than travelling the northern side’s route.
I made my way over the field towards the woods. As I was about to enter the shaded canopy of trees I turned to check behind me towards the main road I’d crossed. The fence I’d just climbed over was now home to a group of around fifteen deedaz. I was spurred into continuing my journey when one of them fell over the barbed wire fence and into the field.
Chapter 17 – The nest
Once into trees I headed east, next to the meandering river. I did see the odd deeda on the opposite bank but thankfully nothing at all on the side I was on. The next few hours were really hard going. More or less cutting my own path through the undergrowth, fully aware that the deeda that fell over the fence may not be too far behind. Having to stop and listen after every step started to take its toll and after what felt like ten miles (it was actually about two) I had to take a rest. It was now late afternoon and with no solid structures to be found and night only a few hours away I had to come up with a plan so I could rest safely.
I took out some paracord, tied it to the handle of my rucksack and climbed a huge old tree I’d came across. Once up to the crook of the tree, which was around ten feet from the ground, I hauled my rucksack up with me. After digging around in the sack I took out my paracord hammock and tied it across the two main limbs about fifteen feet from the ground. Bed sorted I went about securing my sack to the tree and sat and ate one of the MREs (an army acronym for Meals Ready to Eat) from my bugout bag. With no option to eat it other than cold I wolfed it down with gusto. So much better than the noodles and soup I’d been living on for the past month. Chilli with rice with an orange drink, finished off with chocolate biscuits.
Now loaded with calories I pulled out my sleeping bag and inserted it into the bivi bag. The chance of rain was small but when dawn came round, the morning dew would most likely dampen the sleeping bag by itself. I decided to get into the hammock before it started getting dark. Anyone who has ever tried to mount a hammock will know how hard it is to do. Never mind fifteen feet from the ground. I had practised with it when I’d first bought said item and after a good few hours I’d perfected the technique. Although I forgot to practise how I’d get into the sleeping bag once I’d got in, never mind doing all this at altitude.
I hung the bag over the supporting rope of the hammock nearest where my head would be. Carefully and not very gracefully I settled into my temporary string bed and slowly wormed myself into the sleeping/bivi bag. It took almost fifteen minutes but I didn’t mind. I felt relatively safe up there.
Before I fell asleep I reflected on the day I’d had. My escape from the loft, the poor waif trapped in her house with her deeda husband, her awful demise, my inability to come to her aid and the gauntlet I had run through the estate and carriageway. Maybe the future would be better. Maybe by this time tomorrow I’d be sailing away from all of this terror.
Maybe I’d find an island and live happily ever after. Maybe.
I was not looking forward to falling asleep that night, as the events of the previous day would no doubt have a profound effect on my dreams. I reasoned my subconscious mind would punish me through the medium of dream for being so indecisive.
Guilt is a terrible thing to live with, especially when people have died by your hand. Well, not by my
hand personally, but you know what I mean. I could have warned Max to stay away from the old man who had bitten him. On reflection, I truly didn’t know or expect the old man to be an actual zombie but I did have the information I’d learned from the TV on that fateful morning and probably should have told him all that I knew when he asked, instead of telling him a pack of lies about riots and terrorists. Maybe he would still be alive. In all likelihood, he would have laughed at me and run to the old man’s aid anyway. Alice, of course, was beyond help. There was no way I could have helped her without being torn apart myself. Maybe I could have distracted them by shouting out of the window and drawing them to me. I doubt they’d have come when the chance of a meal was only a broomstick away. And as for Skeletor, I could have passed up the food I’d had in the bugout bag but never could I have guessed that she’d react the way she did. It was over in seconds.
There was nothing I could have done to save her.
As I lay there under a canopy of green and brown pondering my actions, I concluded that there was nothing I could do about anything that had happened since the deedaz had arrived. I couldn’t change anything. There was no use debating shoulda, woulda, coulda. All I could do was take each day as it came and hope that my future decision making would be more decisive and definitely more proactive. As the night drew in and with the hammock gently swinging, thoughts turned to my ex. I still loved her terribly and if I could go back and change the way I had been I would have. To be honest I was worried sick about her, but we hadn’t been in touch for what seemed like a life time. I toyed with the idea of detouring into her town to see if she needed help but dismissed the notion. I don’t think I’d cope if she’d been turned, even more so if I arrived and he was there protecting her from the zombie masses with his fucking pecs. Okay, I am bitter!
It's Grim Up North (Book 1): It's Grim Up North Page 5