After a steady mile and a half of yomping I was starting to panic – they were growing in numbers the further up the track we reached, but we were up high enough now to clearly see the Ring over the tops of the surrounding vegetation. I saw Al cupping his ears before the radios crackled into life.
‘Dogs.’
Carried on the wind was a twin baying noise sounding not dissimilar to the jet engine going down that Lou and I had heard on the first night. Then both radios clicked and sputtered. We listened, keeping still, until quite plainly we heard Lou’s voice cut through the static.
‘…dogs but… you there… come…’ followed by silence. Everyone was looking at me, and I started to feel my throat closing up again. Then, mercifully, we heard ‘...much longer. They’re in the camp. Hello?’ We all sprang into life, heels digging into the chalk. Jay was on the radio.
‘Lou I don’t know if you can hear us, but we’re on our way, we can hear you. We can hear the dogs. Keep doing whatever it is you’re doing, we’ll be there soon!’
‘Just keep ploughing through them!’ I shouted to the others. They could climb the slopes and get into the camp. I was angry with myself, and my ears became very hot. We hit the first wave of ten or so, running straight past them. The last one caught Vaughan’s rucksack and pulled him to the ground. He managed to jam the top of the axe head under the woman’s chin, keeping him clear of her gnashing teeth but the handle was wedged into his chest, pinning him to the ground. He roared with pain as I ran back to him, seeing other freaks were nearly onto him, and slammed my club into her back with a snap. She went limp, and Vaughan heaved her off with the axe. Al was next to us now, and popped nail after nail into the faces of the three closest ones. One of them dropped, but the others merely slowed down slightly as their heads were jerked back with each shot.
I helped Vaughan up and we turned on our heels, Al following and firing with a pinging sound. Up ahead I could see Jay in trouble, backing up as two creeps bore down on him from the higher ground. Vaughan and I sprinted either side of Jay in a pincer movement on the group and taking out the outer cadavers, allowing him to vent his frustration on the one in the middle. He brought his sword down plumb in the centre of the chap’s head, cleaving off a slice like a water melon, but also unmistakably severing his spinal cord.
Al joined us, firing ahead before reloading on the move. There was an all-too-small gap until the next wave, which was still mercifully oblivious to our approach and stumbling up to the irresistible aromas of the camp, the dogs – and my wife. The path up to the Ring was in sight, the ancient woods standing dark and uninviting on our right. I could just about make out the V-shaped notch. It looked like it was ablaze – had the campfire got out of control? I couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like a bonfire had been piled up onto the chalk in the centre of it, and several creeps had caught light and were stumbling about. I could see perhaps two or three hundred figures lining our route up to the top.
‘Let’s dump the bags were we can see them from the Ring. We’ll have to break through,’ I panted. We could hear the dogs plainly now as Jay got back on the radio.
‘Lou, are you there?’ he was breathless. There was no reply. ‘Lou, are you there, over?’ Al was trying too. Vaughan put his backpack on the ground, and I watched him help Jay as I levered my own off. Al was looking at me, waving the radio.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘Let’s do it,’ Jay said eagerly.
‘Wait,’ I stood in front of them. ‘Just wait a sec. We need to do this right. Al, your bag’s got the nail guns in, right?’ Al nodded. ‘Okay Jay, cut off a length of rope a bit wider than the path is. Al, we’ll take one end, Jay you take the other. These cock-ends don’t look too nimble on their feet; so we’ll just trip them all up. We hold the rope across the path and charge them from behind. We’ll tip them over. Vaughan, take the bag with the nail guns and mop them up any stragglers with your axe.’
Vaughan looked gutted to put a backpack on. Jay handed us one end of the rope and we all started off up the hill. We thrashed through the grass verges either side of the track, trailing the rope between us. The first four went down a treat, heads thudding into the dirt, but the fifth one was a heavy-set bloke and we ended up just moving him up the hill. He even turned and looked at me before we stopped, his head lolling with every thundering step he took. Vaughan caught up, puffing life a steam engine, and axed the fat zombie full in the face. Jay threw him his radio.
‘Get on that chum, see if you can reach her.’ He turned to Al and I. ‘Some of them are too fat to trip up, so when I shout ‘up’, just lift the rope over their heads. Vaughan can deal with the ones we leave.’
We sprinted off again, sending a pack of shuffling figures toppling. Jay would pre-warn us of a fat one every so often, and we’d leave them alone. We could hear Vaughan on the radio, pausing to dispatch the waifs and strays. The Ring was close, obscured from view by a densely packed thicket. Soon we hit our first flaming zombie, staggering about as if drunk, and hissing like a potato in a microwave. We saw more on the ground, charred and thrashing as we forged on, and soon Cissbury Ring was in sight. There was indeed a roaring bonfire in the V-shaped notch, spewing out flaming, flailing bodies as fast as they stumbled into it. It was made from gorse bushes. Clever girl, I thought. I just hope you’re still there.
I left Al and Jay to pull more of them to the floor as I thumped my way through the hordes ahead. There were fifty or more of them heading for the fire, and I could see hundreds of others stretching around the bottom of the earth ramparts. To my horror I saw several clambering up the slopes, dead fingers gripping clumps of dry grass, feet scrabbling on the chalk.
‘They’re in the camp; let’s get a move-on!’ I yelled behind me.
Vaughan had joined the others, holding the nail guns from Al’s backpack to arm us with, but they had to be adapted first. Jay was ripping up gaffer tape and they both worked on each nail gun in turn, quickly placing a cross of tape over the safety plate. When they were done Jay held one in his left and his sword in his right, and Vaughan weighed up his axe as he ran to hand me my nail gun. I took it and turned to scale the hill, avoiding the inferno in the middle of the footpath. I could hear both dogs howling, and Jay shouting ‘Stick together’, as I ran to the bottom of the first slope. The heat from the blaze was fierce but I ploughed headlong through the freaks and started to monkey my way up the outer perimeter rampart. I used the screws on my club to pull at their clothes, clearing a path above me by sending them flailing down the hill. I lost my footing once and nearly ended up in the unappealing pile of twisted, fidgeting corpses below me. When I finally stood on the top of the chalk walkway I could see down into the secondary ditch, curving away around the Ring either side of me. The hollow was dotted with figures, some immobile, some gathering themselves up to scale the secondary, inner slope; steeper and less forgiving. One or two fell from the top ring and back into the ditch. I jumped in, firing my nail gun at the heads of those who spotted me. The nail gun was effective as a distracter, and Al would be the first to admit that a clean kill was rare. If you hit roughly the right spot at the back of the neck – always fire off at least three nails at a time – it either felled them instantly or most often twisted them to face a different direction. Sometimes it even sent them to the ground with the impact.
I chose a path up to the top of the Ring which was relatively free of scrabbling stinkers and began to scale the inner hill. I had got half way up when I was struck by something heavy from above. I had been scanning the ground for a hand grip and hadn’t seen the corpse stumble to the edge of the Ring and then over it. He fell on top of me, grabbing at my clothes and trying to bite me as we both fell, his nail-stripped fingers finding a grip on my boot. I kicked at his face with my free leg but his grasp never weakened. I kept kicking, desperately looking around the ditch for help, my nail gun on the ground a few feet above me. There was no-one, but I could hear the warped pinging of nails through the gorse blaze.
But I could also hear the dogs. I whistled the friendly, not-a-care-in-the-world whistle I did when I wanted Floyd to come to me. I kept booting the bloke’s head, confident he couldn’t bite me, but I was absolutely pinned to the floor by his hunger-powered strength. Our struggle had caught the attention of more peckish walkers, too. I whistled again.
Floyd skittered down the chalk towards us, black blood covering his head and chest. His tail was wagging, and he licked me, seemingly ignoring the fellow trying to consume my foot. He soon got the idea though, turning away from me and slamming his jaws shut either side of the stinker’s face, sinking them in and determinedly twisting his head to an impossible angle with an impressive low grumbling sound. The grip on my foot loosened and I got to my feet, grabbed my nail gun and began firing at the others who had got far too close for comfort. I whistled again and Floyd let go instantly, following me up the chalky scree and over the top. I ran towards the first few stunted trees where I could hear Dmitri but see neither him nor Lou. I turned back to the prow of the hill to face a line of tattered figures, one far less hunched than the others and with something in his hand. On hearing a metallic ‘pop-pop-pop’ I realised it was Al. When he saw me he shouted ‘Where’s Lou?’, but I could only shrug before sprinting onto the plateau of the Ring, Floyd bounding around my feet.
‘Where’s mummy?’ I asked him. He ducked and barrelled off like he really had just understood me. Toward the middle, beyond the camp I could see a tree, windswept but taller than the others. Gathered around its base were twenty or thirty of them, arms clutching at the lowest branches with a collective murmur as Floyd stood to one side and barked at the tree-top. I kept my distance and yelled Lou’s name into the leaves. Dmitri appeared, bouncing up to greet me but hauling one stinker to the ground in the process. Floyd took his cue and they both worked the face. I could see the radio sitting on the ground at the foot of the trunk.
‘Lou?’ I yelled, checking over my shoulder. ‘Lou, you up there?’
‘Yes. I’m in the tree thanks.’
‘Hang on baby,’ I swung at a freak that had lumbered up to me. ‘She’s here!’ I yelled at my three chums, all of whom were now in the camp, hacking away. They ran to the tree, screaming to divert the freaks’ attention. It worked, and they started to drift towards us. We picked out our targets and worked our way through the throng methodically.
As Al and Jay finished off the final few I looked up to see Lou’s leg rustle out of the lowest bough.
‘Can you get down?’
‘I think so. Hang on.’
Vaughan joined me, standing against the tree trunk and holding a hand up for Lou to step onto. I guided her as she jumped the last few feet. Jay and Al were standing with their backs to us, ready for some fresh zombies who had managed to stumble up to the top of the Ring and now had us in their sightless eyes. Lou thumped me in the chest.
‘You took your fucking time!’ She was fuming. Al handed her his nail gun, and, seeing that she had nothing at all I gave her mine too.
‘I like the bonfire. Where’s your club?’
‘It was cutting into my hand.’
‘Sorry baby.’ I turned and faced the strange. ‘Spread out. Take one at a time and only advance when they’ve stopped moving. Be methodical. Push them to the edges.’
We all got stuck in, pounding away, raining blows even when they were on the ground, sidestepping their slow advance and severing heads whenever it was feasible.
Al reached the edge of the ring first having retrieved his scythe from the armoury. He stood and swung like he was deadheading roses. Jay was also whisking off heads with his sword as soon as they appeared. Vaughan just hacked and hacked with the axe, and still they came. Al tried using the pressure sprayer in short bursts, trying not to increase the grass fires that had sprung up all around us but soon gave up, beating at the ground with his towel. Jay and Vaughan tried a new angle with the rope, running rings around groups of five or more with an end each like the Rebel Alliance around an AT-AT’s legs, before tightening the loop and felling them, whereupon Al would step in and take off their heads.
I saw Lou with her jet-black hair whipping around her face, both nail guns raised, taking alternate shots in quick succession before reloading in a heartbeat. That’s my girl. My girl…
Breaking Up
[day 0005]
We fought into the night, taking it in turns in teams of two to mop up any freaks that had made their way into the camp. The dogs were crucial, and would alert us and fight at the same time. We couldn’t see how many more of them were shuffling their way up from the town, but in the brief lulls between waves we stopped, listening to the hoarse moaning and whispering that carried on the breeze. Lou had told us in breathless episodes about the last two hours. After we had started off down the hill she had busied herself collecting wood and clearing more of the long grass with the scythe. But she’d got freaked out when the birds and insects stopped chattering, just after the wind had picked up. She had thought she could see shapes in the woodland below and the dogs had been acting up, growling and drooling. She’d seen that the main weak point was the V-shape through which the footpath led up to the centre of the camp, and had started to hack down the gorse and broom bushes, piling them up in the gap. It was then that she’d seen the first one coming. The dogs ran down to inspect him and had quickly dismembered the threat, but were soon overwhelmed. Lou had been sure her impromptu defences would block their way but they started to thrash through the gorse.
She had called the dogs to her and set the whole lot alight with the pressure sprayer. She’d had to put out some fires but the tactic had bought her some time. Soon enough though they had started to come over the top, seeming to either avoid the flames or, as Jay suggested, learning from the mistakes of the others. I couldn’t help suggesting that there were enough of them to spread themselves out randomly. Lou had fought for as long as she could with both dogs staying by her side to defend her. She’d tried the radio – which we heard – but eventually she’d had enough and climbed into the tree, dropping the radio in her exhaustion.
Yet here she was; twice as exhausted as the rest of us but invigorated by new energy for the fight. We were all running on vapours, and Al had brought the water container round to each of us.
We had the southernmost quarter of Cissbury Ring pretty well covered, and luckily for us they seemed to all be taking the most direct route up. Gasping for air, we breathed in the foul sulphurous vapours like we were drinking the purest well water. But blinded by sweat and gagging with every breath we fought on, lopping heads and severing spines. It was worth relighting the bracken every so often, when it got clogged up with corpses and their crackling, withering rasps carried away on the air like ghosts. Flies droned around our heads, settling in our eyes and ears. The fires spread down the slopes and onto the fields, broken up by pathways and patches of bare earth and chalk. Al’s nonchalant, absent-minded early-morning clearance of the long grass in camp probably saved our lives.
Lou was the first to say it, in the rests we took in pairs; she was the first to actually say what the others were apparently thinking. She said she wanted to go.
‘Go where?’ I asked sarcastically, to no answer. But even Al was worried, about our vulnerability on top of the Ring as much as the fires all around us.
‘But where will you go?’
Dawn broke, splitting the horizon with slivers of rose and gold. The smoke hung blue over Worthing town, and still they came. We could see them coming through the woods, across the char-streaked fields and up the parched golf course. We saw zombies who couldn’t make the slope any more though loss of limb or shredded muscle, and just scrabbled at the chalk and brush in the ditch, sometimes standing on bodies three deep and clutching at the sky with stripped fingers and broiled eyeballs. There were more who could still make it, slithering over the prow of the hill toward the camp with that fixed stare, the gurning jaws and in some cases clothes still in one piece. These
fresh ones were noticeably faster, but still we could outrun them and dispatch them quickly if we kept our heads. But we were getting increasingly tired, the adrenaline only going so far when the bursts did come. We had kept each other going with encouraging words like ‘nice shot’ and ‘keep on rolling’, but they seemed meaningless now I had the thought in my head we weren’t actually defending anything. But I remember becoming steadily less bothered, laughing uncontrollably as I fought, to the point where Jay had to come and help me out.
‘You alright chum?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I tried to take a breath. ‘They look so funny!’
They did look funny; like broken humans. Social niceties had all gone out of the window. All that scrabbling around and moaning seemed such an obviously un-English things to do. The one thing that stuck in my mind was the fact that none of them were bothering to queue for their food.
‘Where’s the water?’ Lou looked haggard, but I was thirsty too. I was too impatient to be gentlemanly, and took a swig before I passed it to her. There wasn’t much left; I had removed the stopper. I’m not sure what happened – I thought Lou had hold of it, and I’m sure she thought I had hold of it too. It fell anyway, water spouting from the container and rolling like mercury on the parched ground.
‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ I roared. I took myself by surprise, but Lou positively crumpled. The water ran to a dribble.
‘Easy chum,’ said Jay
‘Fuck you, I’ll talk how I want,’ I rounded on Lou. ‘Why did you drop it? The boys hadn’t had a drink yet!’
‘It was an accident, don’t worry,’ Al looked uncomfortable. My friends who had known Lou longer than I had hated even being near our arguments, let alone being used in them as guilt leverage. We rarely fought, but when we did it was fierce – Lou could more than stand up for herself, but now she just sat there, motionless, unable to even look at me.
Breaking News: An Autozombiography Page 17