by RR Haywood
He grabs the first rifle and changes the magazine while constantly checking the rear garden.
‘Hold these,’ thrusting the weapons into Reginald’s trembling hands he grabs the gas stove and rips it free from the fittings with a grunt, ‘DUCK,’ he shouts and launches the heavy oven as Dave drops instantly to the ground. The solid metal appliance ploughs through the double fronted rank ripping them from their feet.
‘OUT,’ he barks and snatches the rifles back. Two rifles. Thirty rounds to a magazine. Sixty rounds. Fully automatic and he lets rip with both and lets the power of the weapons rip them apart. At such close range the bullets rip through the first body, into the second and out into the third behind. As the first ones are blown back so the bullets can hit the ones behind until the hallway is filled with the bodies being slaughtered.
‘Cut the gas pipe,’ he orders Dave, ‘Reggie, out the back…now….NOW,’ he roars when the little man doesn't respond. Reginald yelps and scampers away as Dave grabs the thick rubber pipe above the safety shut off valve and cuts it clean through. Gas hisses into the room as the weapons click empty. Out into the back garden they go with Clarence slinging one rifle while changing the magazine in the other.
‘Ready?’ Dave draws his pistol and glances at Clarence.
‘Do it,’ Clarence hands the loaded rifle to Reginald and starts reloading the second one. The pistol fires. A single shot that strikes the metallic valve cut from the rubber pipe. The single spark ignites the gas filled air which bursts with a dull roar and fills the kitchen with a burning blue flame.
‘Dave, on point…Reggie stay between Dave and me…GO.’
Dave heads off with his pistol held one handed. He twitches and fires into the head of a female vaulting the fence. The skull implodes as the body slumps down into the flower bed. To the end of the garden they race and only pause for Clarence to beat the fence down and open a path out into the open countryside. Dave falters, hesitating with conflict at going the opposite direction to Mr Howie.
Clarence spots the worry and turns round with the same thought in mind as the first flaming bodies burst through the open back door to charge alight down the garden. One after the other they pour out. Hair ablaze. Those with clothing are on fire. Those naked are burnt but still they come.
‘We can lead them away from the others,’ Clarence says urgently, ‘move out.’
The order given and for a second, Clarence thinks Dave will refuse and go back but the small man turns, nods and starts moving.
They run out, directly out. In a straight line intending to draw as many with them as possible. Dave in the front keeping pace. Clarence in the rear with his full stomach churning from the recent food and the sweat already beading on his head. Reginald in the middle whimpering with yelps as he fixes his eyes on Dave’s back and runs too terrified to look at anything else.
Nineteen
‘Was that you?’
‘No,’ she freezes mid-motion and feels his hand tighten the grip on her thigh. Behind her he lies, spooning as they build to climax, ‘Roy…’
The howls fill the air and the thunderous voice soon rip through the square as the feet march in a rampage toward the open doors of the houses.
They clinch with an instinctive desire to be closer at the point of peril. This cannot happen now. Naked upon the bed with food in their bellies and the promise of a peaceful day ahead.
Roy moves first, rolling back and dropping off the edge of the bed to his feet and over to the net curtain covered window. Paula watches him. The contours of his wide shoulders tapering down to the natural v of his waist and in that second she gains the true measure of the man. A man so tormented by his own irrational fears that he shunned mainstream life and gave in to the conditions that controlled him. He is naked but shows not a flicker of fear as he turns and gently says, ‘they’re here,’ his tone even, his face a mask of utter competence.
Her stomach flips and her heart lurches to miss several beats as it ramps from sexually charged to terrified in an instant. She scrabbles over the bed dislodging empty tins of food and dodging the plates and cutlery left scattered on the carpet.
At the window she joins him. Shoulder to shoulder as they watch the undead swarm from all four corners in a dazzling display of pure coordination. Lines of men, women and children that swirl with flow and contraflow. The ranks double and triple and staring at them from above becomes sickening. Something awful and beyond the capability of man. A display that would take communist armies months to prepare and drill so they could display their power to the world. Here it is done without warning, without planning and executed instantly and without mistake.
They watch mesmerised as the first ranks peel off to charge towards the block containing Howie and Marcy. As they spin and trace the nausea giving motion so another rank separates and another and another. An all-out attack driven towards Dave and Clarence. More towards the block containing the lads and yet more coming towards them.
‘GO,’ Roy bursts to life and runs naked from the room into the hallway knowing he won’t have the time to get down and lock the door before they reach the threshold. A plan already in mind and he shoves a foot on the end bannister post and heaves himself up to thump the wooden hatch to the loft away.
‘Paula…up here…’
‘Yep,’ she grunts and thrusts the assault rifles at him to throw up, ‘clothes,’
‘NOW PAULA,’ he hears the thumping feet pounding closer across the ground outside. He jumps down and takes the bundle of clothing from her hands as she runs still naked from the bedroom, ‘up…go…’ he urges her onto the bannister post and grabs an ankle to roughly push her up into the hole. Looking up and instinctively he averts his eyes from the nakedness on display as she heaves and wriggles herself up and into the loft.
At the door now. Voices snarling and feet reach the stairs as Roy vaults onto the post and jumps straight up through the hole. His hands grip the edge, his legs dangle for a second as the effect of gravity takes over from the jump up and with a yelp he gets in and rolls away as Paula plops the hatch cover back down.
‘Did they see you?’ She whispers into the perfect pitch black of the loft.
He shakes his head then realises she can’t see him, ‘don’t know,’ he whispers in reply, ‘did you get my shoes?’
‘No…I don’t know what I got…hang on…I got a shoe…I think it’s mine.’
‘Oh, are mine still down there?’
‘Where do you think they are?’
‘Okay,’ he says with a nod, ‘I’m nodding,’ he adds.
‘Ssshhh.’
The sounds beneath them make it clear the undead have gained the upper floor and with the loft covering the width and depth of the house working out directional sound is near on impossible.
Hearts hammering. Tension mounts. Breathing low and shallow. Blood thundering in their eyes. The sounds of attack from somewhere else. Gunshots from an assault rifle. She wants to shift position as the joists under her naked body are hard and digging in. She wants to clear her throat and get dressed and check the weapon is ready for firing. Just one day. That’s all they wanted. Just one day away from the constant danger of dying, from running and fighting and hiding. From being too hot, too hungry, too thirsty and so bone weary tired it makes you want to cry. They were naked and talking about babies just a few minutes ago. Normal stuff that normal people do. Not hiding naked in lofts waiting to find out if the undead have locked onto the pheromone trail and are now staring hungrily up at the wooden hatch.
With a start she realises they have no hand weapons. Roy’s sword and bow are in the Saxon. She has her knife but that is a last resort thing. Two rifles and a couple of spare magazines and there were so many of them. So many. How did they find them here? Why are they swirling like that again? Thoughts race through her sharp mind as she works the problem to gain a solution.
In a loft of a terraced house. That means one end will be the outside wall and the other will be a fire wall to
the next house. She thinks back to running through lofts before and finding the weird man hiding out with his stash of batteries. The sudden memories flood her mind. Of the time she spent alone in her home town culling them group by group until the last one fell. The traps she set. The tests and learning and she did it alone with brains over brawn. Now it’s about direct combat and fighting in a group and constantly being protected by Roy and the others. She loves them for doing it but being protected is not the Paula that walked away from the rapist bastard Clarke in her office on the first night.
Brains over brawn and there is more than one way to skin a cat or slaughter a big horde of infected.
Moving gently she feels through the clothes and starts dressing. Pushing her legs into the jeans and fastening her bra before tugging her top down over her head. Decisive movements that settle her heart rate and bring focus back to the game.
She gropes the air and feels for Roy. Sinking down over his body she holds her mouth close to his ear, ‘keep them busy here.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a cunning plan,’ she kisses his cheek and moves away before he can say anything else. She doesn't have to wait to be rescued or rely on Roy to protect her. She can take the fight to them.
Feeling the joists she works along to the water tank and round to where the firewall should be. Step after step and her hands grope the air in front of her face. Nothing. She heads further and keeps going until she knows she is past the point where the firewall would be. No firewall then, old cottages built a long time ago and they must have been kept in the family to have avoided modern fire regulations.
Too dark though and not a hope in hell of finding the next hatch. She needs light. There might be electric lights fitted but the power is off. No matches, no lighter and no torch. Everything is in the Saxon.
Seven P’s, she winces the rebuke silently at herself vowing to carry a bag from now on. A small rucksack that should be with her at all times. They should have one. A personal survival bag containing a torch, batteries, first aid kit, water and a multi-tool.
She has to have light so instead of going forward she crabs sideways and feels for the sloping roof and the beams supporting it. Hard going and she bumps her knuckles and bangs her forehead before finally touching the inner membrane of the roof. She draws the knife from the scabbard and starts slicing through the thick taut material. Valuable seconds go by but the blade has been sharpened by Dave and does the job with ease. Chunks come away to be lowered to the ground and placed instead of being allowed to fall and make noise.
Fingering the roof she detects the rough underside surface of the tiles and starts working to ease it away from the fastening. Pushing it out then side to side before it clicks free and almost falls away before she grabs it and eases it back through to be laid down.
Light pours into the loft. A ray of pure sunlight that dazzles her eyes so adjusted to the pitch dark. She looks round and spots Roy lying still naked next to loft hatch watching her. She gives a thumbs up and motions towards the clothing at his side, get dressed.
The loft hatch to the second house is but yards away but she also notices there is no firewall until the second to last house. Boxes are stacked. Old carpets and rugs rolled up. Small wooden crates and the trust these residents must have had with each other harks to a time gone by.
With speed now she can see, Paula heads down the joists to thread a route through the boxes and stacked goods until she reaches the far end and the last loft hatch. A new firewall only a few feet away and it must have been constructed when that house was sold.
She drops down and listens with her ear close to the hatch. The air is filled with noise but nothing immediate that indicates they are beneath her. Slowly she cracks the slab of wood and gains a view down into the hallway. The open bathroom door, she moves round and spots a bedroom door also open. Carpeted floor and the walls are neutral in colour. With a last glance over at Roy she eases the hatch off and lowers herself down through the opening to drop lightly onto the carpeted floor.
She holds still with her heart booming and cranes her body to look down the stairs to the front door that’s still locked. Into the bedroom first and she just manages to supress the yelp at the corpse lying on the bed. An empty bottle of pills lying on its side on the bedside table. The shock of seeing a normal dead body still gets her. Not a rotten infected corpse or the mangled remains from a fight but a real person who died naturally and something about the choice of the act taken gives a sense of pride, of virtue and dignity. That this person could see what was happening and decided, of their own free will, not to be a part of it.
A pair of sensible shoes put neatly to the side reminds her of her own bare feet. She nods her head as though giving a minute bow of respect and starts opening drawers to find a pair of cotton socks she can use. Wearing someone else’s shoes is weird and wrong. The folds and creases are different. The dips for the heel and ball are slightly off and the ridges made by the toes are offset but protection is a far greater need than discomfort.
Shoes on she moves downstairs and into the kitchen, going straight to the gas stove. A quick turn of a dial and the hiss of gas coming out brings a tight smile to her face. She turns all the dials and opens all the doors to the appliance so the gas can pour out into the room.
A gunshot from next door followed by a spray of burst fire and she runs back up the stairs and uses the bannister post to clamber up into the loft to find Roy standing dressed over the loft hatch holding an assault rifle pointing down.
‘They found us,’ he calls out, ‘how long do you need?’
‘Few minutes, can you hold them?’ She replies running along the joists to the next hatch.
‘Yep,’ he says confidently, ‘if you see any shoes anywhere…’
‘Size?’
‘Nine, well nine and a half to be precise but I can do nines or ten at a push.’
The next hatch is opened and she drops down with a smile forming at the casual manner of her lover. That he doesn't ask what she is doing shows the implicit trust he has. No questions or wild panic about him.
She lands and listens, head cocked to the side and again edges round the top of the stairs to see down to the front door that’s slightly ajar. A dark stain smeared across the downstairs hall and round splodges of footprints that walked through the wet blood over two weeks ago. They were in here when it happened but not now.
Shoes for Roy. She checks the bedrooms, opening wardrobes and cupboards but finding only shoes for an old lady and nothing for a man. With time pressing, Paula heads downstairs and gently pushes the door closed while listening to the incredible noises coming from the other side. Into the kitchen and she flips dials and open doors to the oven before racing upstairs and climbing back into the loft where she pauses to get her breath back.
‘Any shoes?’
‘Nope,’ she pants and watches him fire a single shot down into the house, ‘you okay?’
‘They’re different,’ he says in a voice that catches her undivided attention.
‘Different how?’
‘I don’t know…charged up and…more switched on? Yes, more switched on.’
‘Not good, one more and we’ll have to go.’
Further along and she flings the loft hatch aside, sticks her head down to listen then swings confidently down to land on the floor. A quick check down the stairs and the front door is closed. Into the kitchen, turn the dials, open the doors and let the room fill with the pungent aroma of gas. Back up the stairs, climb the bannister post, heave up into the loft, onto her feet and stand with hands on knees while panting hard.
‘Shoes?’
‘No shoes,’ she shakes her head, ‘ready?’
‘I am and so are they,’ he says without turning from the hatch, ‘whoa you little sod,’ he fires once and leans forward to watch the body slump down amidst the legs of its brethren.
‘No choice,’ she says moving to the last loft hatch closest to the firewall, ‘we get down an
d out the back…then run…got it?’
‘I have and again so will they,’ he says pointedly.
‘Roy, we don’t have a great deal of choice.’
‘I understand that but the second I move away from here they’ll be coming up and chasing us.’
‘Well we can’t stay here.’
‘I also understand that but like I said, they’re going to charge after us…what’s that smell?’
‘Gas.’
‘Gas? You turned the gas on? I’m bloody firing a gun here!’
‘Yeah yeah, come on…hatch is open and…’ she leans down to check the underside, ‘it’s clear, ready?’
Roy stares down to the bodies cramming into the hallway, his finger pressed lightly on the trigger as he waits for the next one to try and make the leap. Then they change. A flutter of something that passes through them and those immediately underneath the loft hole drop to the ground. Roy frowns, watching intently with morbid interest as more infected bodies pile onto those already lying down. A wide base that narrows as more and more fling themselves down to form a pyramid that rises in height towards the ceiling.
‘GO!’ With an electric pulse of understanding he races down the joists and through the boxes to Paula waiting by the last loft hatch, ‘go down…they’re coming…’
She drops down onto the hallway and moves aside to take the assault rifles passed down then moves to the top of the stairs as Roy drops nimbly into the carpeted floor. Down the stairs and a hard left turn to charge down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen and already above them they can hear the footsteps of the undead bounding across the loft space. She pauses to flip the dials and open the oven doors while Roy gets the back door open and moves out into the bright sunshine.
‘Paula,’ he hisses, ‘now…go now…’
‘Oh Christ,’ she mutters as the first one falls heavily through the loft to land with a whump on the hallway above her head. To the back door she runs after Roy and side by side they sprint towards the fence at the bottom of the garden.