He pulled himself over the wall again to check the next house.
Bingo.
A powerful Kawasaki 250cc Ninja sat in the yard. Pristine. With a great big bastard chain locking it to the ground. As he would have expected in this neighbourhood.
He threw the bat over the wall then climbed over himself.
He tested the lock on the bike, just in case. Solid.
The house was a typical two bed terrace, like the one he used to live in with his Mum. White paint peeled off the brickwork.
Next to the motorbike was a kid’s trike.
The top half of the back door was a glass screen.
He used his bat to shatter it.
“Daddy!” It was a young lad’s voice.
He quickly reached through the broken window and opened the door.
A shout came from upstairs, a man’s voice, “You’d better be fucking gone by the time I get down mate!”
Bollocks, thought Chris. This was going to be trickier than he thought.
Chris ran into the kitchen and quickly looked around, hoping to see the keys hanging off the wall but he saw nothing. Heavy steps stomped down the stairs.
Chris tucked in behind the kitchen door, and held the bat high, ready to swing.
Footsteps in the lounge, then towards the kitchen.
A man appeared. A big man. Shaved head, white t-shirt.
Chris brought the bat down hard.
There was a heavy clunk and the man fell to his knees, holding his head, red appearing between his fingers and running down his arm.
“Ya bastard,” shouted the man through gritted teeth. He turned his head to face Chris. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Chris raised the bat again and pretended to swing. The man flinched. Good, he was scared.
“Sorry, mate, I need your bike. Just give me the bike and I’ll be gone.”
The man frowned. “Me fucking head you prick. What am I supposed to do about me head?”
“Look, I just need your bike. I need to get home.”
The man leaned forward onto one hand, the other holding his head and let out a moan. “Think you’ve cracked me skull.”
“You’ll survive mate.” Chris looked around the lounge. Some keys were sitting on the coffee table. “Is that them? Is that the keys?”
“Fuckin’ take them you dickhead.”
A little boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He saw the man on the floor and burst into tears, “What have you done to me Dad?”
Chris grabbed the keys. “I’m sorry, alright? I just need the bike.”
“You’ve killed me dad!”
“He’s not dead,” said Chris.
“I’m not dead lad,” said the man.
“You’re not going to die too dad?”
“No, I’m alright lad, I’ll be ok.” The man looked at Chris again, “Just take the fucking keys you bastard, and get out of here. Leave us alone.”
Chris looked at the young lad, could only be about nine or ten. The same age he was when his mum died.
“What does he mean ‘are you going to die too’?” said Chris.
“His mum died two years ago,” said the man. “Now he thinks I’m dying as well. Just get the fuck out of here.”
Chris grabbed the keys.
“I’m sorry.” He ran out into the yard. He unlocked the heavy padlock and sat on the bike. He started it. It gave a healthy throaty purr, and revved into life.
Chris sat on the bike for a few seconds. There was the sound of an explosion, followed by a few screams, from the nearby street.
Chris jumped off the bike and ran back into the house.
The man was sitting on the couch, his T-shirt covered in blood. The young lad was mopping it up the best he could with towels, crying.
They both looked at Chris.
“What the fuck do you want? I told you to go,” said the man.
“It’s not safe here. Come with me,” said Chris.
“What?”
“Come with me, I gotta get me Nan, then I’m gonna get her out of the city. Get to the beach or something.”
“You fuckin crazy?”
“It’s the zombie apocalypse mate! Can’t stay in the city.”
The man shook his head. “You come in here, brain me, rob me bike, and now you want to go on fuckin holiday together?”
“I’m sorry about your head. I didn’t mean to hit you that bad. I’ve had a bad day.”
The man studied Chris’s face. “I guess you have. What the fuck happened to your face anyhow?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Chris ran over to the window and peered out through the net curtains. A zombie stood still by the window, half of its brain and one eyeball hanging on its shoulder. Its head exploded as a woman with a spade cleaved its skull in half. Blood splattered on the window.
“I have to get out of here, get back to me Nan. I reckon we can all go. I’ll ride, you get on the back and the lad can go in-between.”
The man shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere.” He went to stand up, but wobbled and fell back again onto the couch.
“Maybe he’s right dad, even if he is a prick,” said the lad. His face was red from crying, but he’d finished with the tears now. He had a shaved head too, and a white T-shirt. Looked like a mini version of his dad.
“You can’t look after him, with your head like,” said Chris. “What happens if the next person to come in here isn’t as nice as me?”
The man let out a snort. “This is a fucking joke.”
“Dad?”
The man shook his head and hugged his son. “Go up and grab your bag, Nate. Put your coat on and pack your warm things. Not too much though.”
The lad ran up stairs.
Chris smiled and held out his hand, “I’m Chris.”
The man took it. With a very strong grip. He was a big bastard alright. He squeezed hard and Chris felt his knuckles rub against each other.
“I ought to fuckin brain you.” The man shook his head, “and I will do when I’m better. But you’re right, we have to get out of here.”
“That’s right,” said Chris grimacing through the pain in his squeezed hand. “Maybe it’s one of them things, you know, twist of fate and that.”
The man gave one final squeeze, “I’m Terry.” He let go of Chris’s hand. “Now help me get me stuff.”
Chris helped Terry up the stairs and stood by the door whilst Terry packed a small rucksack.
They went downstairs and Terry locked up the house. They got on the bike.
Chris revved it hard. The engine sang in high pitched complaint.
“Careful, dickhead!” shouted Terry.
“Sorry mate,” said Chris. He eased the engine gently and they rode out into the alleyway.
Chapter 7
“Come on girl, sit yourself down here.”
Nan motioned for Amy to sit on the couch. Amy was shaking, her skin pale. Her eyes wide open.
She looked at Nan, “What’s going on?” Her voice shook. She was on the brink of tears.
Nan rested her hand on Amy’s. “It’s the zombie apocalypse, dear. I’d best go get you a cup of tea.”
Nan went in to the kitchen and began making the cuppa for Amy. Poor girl, obviously terrified.
Amy shouted in from the lounge, “What do you mean zombie apocalypse?”
“It’s the virus, it’s everywhere now. My Chris tells me it’s zombies. You know, like on the films. Do you take sugar dear?”
“Erm, one please. Chris told you? Where is Chris? Is he ok? I saw him this morning.”
“He doesn’t look too good does he?” Nan brought in the cuppa and placed it on the table in front of Amy. “He told me was mugged. I don’t believe him though. I think he’s been messing around with that Simeon again.”
“He told me he was mugged too. Is he ok?”
“I hope so. He went out. I got a call from him an hour or so ago, said he was on his way home and I that wasn’t to open the door
to anyone. Glad I made an exception for you though.” She smiled at Amy as she eased herself onto the couch.
“Now, what happened to you then?”
Amy held her head in her hands. “We were going to go to Formby, our uncle has a caravan there.”
“Oh, very nice.”
“Yeah, my sister thought it would be safe there, and we wouldn’t get this virus.” Amy shook her head as if fighting with her thoughts. “I thought this virus was like a bad flu or something? Zombies aren’t real are they?”
“I’m not really sure dear. It seems that everything is possible these days, what with these icomputers and phone-pads.” She took a sip on her tea. It was a good brew. “So what happened then? How come you aren’t on your way to Formby?”
“Cheryl went out to get some stuff, food and that, about and hour and a half ago. I got worried, shop is only round the corner. So I went out to see if I could find her. Phones had stopped working.” The cup in Amy’s hand started to shake.
Nan guided the cup onto the table. “And then what happened?”
“I had just left the flat. That’s when I saw Mrs Williamson. She was moaning, covered in blood, I thought she was ill, but when I tried to help her, she tried to bite me.” Amy burst into tears. “Does that mean she’s a zombie?”
Nan hugged Amy, “There, there, dear, there there.”
Amy spoke into Nan’s neck, her voice muffled, “So I ran away, I couldn't get back to my flat without having to go past Mrs Williamson, so I thought I’d try Chris’, I mean, your flat.”
Nan continued to hug Amy. Poor girl.
Chris raced the bike down the alley. If there was one thing he could do, he could ride. He’d never been able to own a bike as fast as this, of course, but he’d stolen a few.
Nate sat squashed in between Chris and his dad. Both Nate and Terry held tight around Chris’ waist. Terry had a strong grip. Chris hoped he’d forgive him for hitting him on the head. He was a big bastard alright.
“Turn left here mate”, shouted Terry, “You’ll get to the alley behind Smithston Street. Long one that, takes us onto the main A-road. Short ride to Bootle from there.”
Chris nodded and took a tight right.
“Careful nobhead! You trying to shake us off?” shouted Terry.
“Sorry mate. Just trying to be quick.”
Chris turned onto the next alley and revved hard, the motorcycle took off under them.
A man emerged from a backyard just ahead. Chris swerved delicately as the man tried to grab them.
Buggers are everywhere, thought Chris. But a hell of a lot less than on the main road.
Which was where they turned to next.
The A-road was a trunk road that would lead directly to Bootle. He knew it well.
He stopped at a junction.
“Last main road I was on was the dock,” said Chris. “Nightmare mate. Cars crashing everywhere, zombies all over the place.”
“So?” said Terry.
“Just warning you,” said Chris. “Hold on tight. Things may get a bit mad, like.”
As if on cue, an explosion rocked the air and a thick plume of smoke rose a hundred yards down the road.
“See what you mean,” said Terry. “Hold on Nate, you got that? Hold on tight.”
“Yeah don’t worry Dad.”
“Everyone ready?” said Chris.
He revved the bike, hit the clutch and speeded onto the road.
Thirty miles an hour, forty, fifty, sixty miles an hour in seconds. Chris expertly banked the bike left and right to avoid traffic, panicked people, burning cars, stumbling zombies. Nate and Terry tightened their grip around his waist.
He kicked down through the gears as they approached traffic lights at a crossroads. Even though the lights were green, Chris didn’t trust that anyone would be paying attention to the lights, so he pulled to a stop.
Just as well.
A fire engine zoomed across their road. It was on fire, screams coming from the cab. A few seconds, a rush of speed, a red blur, heat. The truck’s horn honked, its siren fired intermittently.
It ignored a curve in the road and ploughed straight into a shop front at full speed.
It exploded.
“Cool,” said Nate.
“It’s not cool,” said Terry. “People died there lad.”
“Sorry dad.”
Chris kicked the bike into gear and they were on their way again.
He took a turn off the main road into smaller and smaller branch roads until he was on the street leading to his tower block.
He pulled into the car park. Two cars were on fire. Several zombies wandered around the car park, bumping into vehicles, moaning.
One looked at Chris and let out a moan. It walked directly towards them. The others followed suit.
“Wait til they get a bit closer,” said Chris. “Then we’ll leg it round them. They’re slow as fuck. We should be alright.”
They got off the bike and waited. When the now grouped zombies were about ten yards away, Chris, Terry and Nate ran in a wide circle round the zombies towards the high rise.
A group of lads ran out of the high rise. They wore tracksuits, baseball caps, balaclavas. Two had motorcycle helmets on. They carried various weapons; bats, knives, spades. They stopped.
“Are youse zombies?” shouted the one at the front with a balaclava on.
Terry grabbed Nate and pulled him close.
Chris held up his hands, “No mate, it’s me Chris, from the fourteenth floor, you alright Benno?”
Benno pulled up his balaclava. “It’s just Chris.”
The gang, satisfied, ran into the car park. They shouted immediately on seeing the zombies following Chris, and they dived into them, swinging their weapons.
“Not bad for a bunch of scallies,” said Terry.
They got to the lifts. “Hope the power is still on.”
It was. The lift opened and a young couple froze, fear on their faces on seeing Chris and the others.
“It’s alright,” said Chris, “We’re not zombies.”
They said nothing. The man put a protective arm around the woman, and they squeezed past Chris, Terry and Nate, keeping their distance. Once a few feet away, they burst into a run.
The three got in the lift and went to the fourteenth floor.
The door opened. A zombie was half way down the corridor, an old woman in a white dress, splattered with blood. It limped towards the lift, moaning softly, its breathing rasping and laboured. It had a large hole in its chest.
Chris ran forward and hit the zombie hard on the head with his baseball bat. It fell, its blood decorating the wall. Chris hit it again, and a third time. The skull shattered and brain tissue hung out, stuck with pieces of skull. It was dead, again.
“See were you get your practice for hitting people on the head,” said Terry.
“Told you I was sorry mate.” He motioned for them to follow. “Here’s me Nan’s.”
Chapter 8
“Here he is!” Nan held out her arms and embraced Chris. “Where have you been, I’ve been so worried.”
“Sorry Nan, it’s a bit mad out there.”
“Can we get in out of this corridor?” said Terry.
Nan and Chris moved to the side to let Terry and Nate in.
“Who’s this?” said Nan, looking wary.
“This is Terry, and his son Nate. Helped me get back. Let me, erm, borrow his bike.”
Terry gave Chris a sharp look. “Hello,” he said to Nan, “Thanks for letting us in.”
“Don’t you worry" said Nan.
She led everyone into the lounge.
“Amy!” said Chris.
“Hello Chris,” said Amy, with a sheepish smile.
“What are you doing here?”
“Long story.”
Terry came into the room and smiled at Amy. “Hello,” he said.
Amy smiled back, “Hi.”
Nan took centre stage as everyone settled themselves on the
couch and dining table chairs. “Who wants a cup of tea then?” She stared at the blood on Terry’s T-shirt, and the dried blood on his shaved head. “What the bloody hell happened to you lad?”
“You alright?” said Amy, jumping up, “That looks nasty.”
“It is. Ask laughing boy here about it,” he motioned to Chris.
All eyes turned to Chris. He felt himself going red.
“He hit me dad on the head with a baseball bat,” said Nate.
“You did what?” said Nan.
“Chris!” said Amy.
Chris shrugged, not sure what to say or do. No matter how he played the excuses in his head, they didn’t sound right.
He sat on a dining chair in the corner of the room as Nan and Amy crowded round Terry, tending to his wound, cleaning him up.
It was early evening. Chris took out a cigarette, he’d been holding off all day, but he thought he deserved one now.
He wondered if Nan was still going to make that roast.
She did.
They sat round the table, and ate Nan’s delicious roast.
Chris told the story of how they had got here, trying his best to underplay how he had got the bike. But Nate made sure everyone knew what had happened.
“Well,” said Nan, “I’m just glad you are all here in one piece, and Chris didn’t do you any proper harm.”
Terry’s skull wasn’t fractured. He had a massive bump though, and a raging headache. He had gratefully taken Nan’s heavy pain killers she got for her hip operation. They had dulled the pain a little.
“You can’t half be a bloody idiot at times Chris,” said Amy.
“I’ve said I’m sorry! You don’t know what it’s like out there.”
Terry said, “Don’t worry. We’re ok about it. He just owes me big time. Don’t you pal?”
Chris smiled at Terry. No one seemed bothered about his injuries any more, it was all about Terry’s head.
“Well as long as everything is ok.” said Nan “Don’t need any more nonsense going on, what with what’s going on out there.”
Mention of outside, and everyone stopped talking. Up until then, they’d been having a nice bit of scran, chatting like friends. Everything had seemed alright. But they were far from alright.
Surviving the Fall: How England Died Page 26