Breaking News: An Autozombiography

by N. J. Hallard

  The bodies piled up. I should have been wishing we had the respirators and chemical gloves that we’d left down the path. I should have been wishing we had some water. I should have been wishing I hadn’t shouted at Lou, who had picked herself up and kept on fighting although she still hadn’t looked at me. I just carried on silently, grimly. The zombie advance thinned during the midday heat, allowing the others sometimes as much as ten minutes to cat-nap in shifts. The flies were getting worse in the heat as Jay opened two tins of plum tomatoes for fluid and shared them out. Al declined the warm watery pulp and even Lou thought twice about it when she started dry heaving at her first gulp. I wordlessly opened some sweet corn which they both took a sip from. Then we all saw something which stopped us in our tracks.

  Lumbering towards Lou was a traffic warden, his clothing almost complete if a little dusty. He had no obvious injuries, and even had his radio still attached to his belt. At first I thought – we all thought – he was still alive, and needed help. Vaughan even cried out for Lou to stop when she raised her nail guns and unloaded them into his face and neck, but he stumbled and just carried on undaunted, although Lou’s reaction was enough to spur us all toward him.

  I don’t know who got to him first, but there was little left when we were done. Jay puked, and we all stopped and looked at each other. Such a minor authority figure would have been a source of laughter to us, even treated with mild contempt. Now, though, the raw sight of a uniformed human we’d bludgeoned to paste laying at our feet made us all sick. We had to carry on without the renewable vigour that made possible our efforts of the previous day and mistakes were made: Jay nearly took off my ear when taking a swing with his sword, and Al had been hit in the calf with a stray nail. All of us were in tears at some stage after that; Lou in the shade of the tree, knees to her forehead; Jay as he fought; Al quietly, choked; and Vaughan openly and wetly, his round face to the sun. I was shuddering constantly, great waves of sickness pushing tears to my cheeks and hot coals to the back of my throat. It began to make less and less sense. In the old zombie movies, that was the time and the mental place in which the principal characters usually got eaten.

  As sunset reached across the blue sky the wind started to drop. No bird sang as the stench of rotten eggs built in the stillness, and we battled on. Less of them seemed able to make the climb at that point, but that didn’t stop some lucky freaks and a few of the fresher ones. We must have destroyed a thousand of them between the five of us and the two dogs. Lou fed them biscuits from her hand, still muted, drained. We were all however, united in trying not to contemplate the dry, salty dog food we’d inevitably have to tuck into ourselves. Vaughan’s nail gun had jammed, so Al and I busied ourselves with that, happy to get lost in something technical and coolly inorganic - something which didn’t require a decision.

  The dogs were resting. Looking back on why they failed to warn us, their noses must have been confused by the fug of double death that cloaked us all, as well as their own fur which was matted with black tar. Either way the dogs didn’t alert us to the advancing threat. We were all in the shade of the tree, and it was only the second time since we’d got back from B&Q that we were all resting together. I was now obstinately ignoring my wife back, and I closed my stupid fucking eyes. The first I heard was Vaughan shouting next to me. He’d been resting against the tree’s thick trunk, and Lou and Al had their backs to the camp entrance and the edge of the Ring. I suppose they assumed that between Vaughan and me we had their backs covered. Jay was taking a piss in a bush.

  I squinted in the gloom to see Vaughan scrabbling to his feet. He had no weapon - nothing except his open arms. He ran as if herding an animal, and at first I couldn’t see what he was running towards. Then Lou was pulled backwards onto the ground, as a heavy-looking bloke grabbed her hair. There were two of the filthy fuckers, and the second was about to lunge at Lou when Vaughan scooped them both up, practically off their feet, propelling them towards the edge. As the fat man’s legs tried to get used to running backwards, I saw that he held a clump of Lou’s hair in his hand. He refocused his hollow eyes onto Vaughan, who was just facing the ground as he ran, driving his heels into the grass. I don’t know what he hoped would happen; whether they’d fall to the ground or whether we’d back him up, but he kept pushing and pushing. We just stood and stared.

  It was only when all three of them tipped over the side and out of sight that we ran, in stuttering slow motion, to the edge of the Ring to be met by the vision of our friend at the bottom of the ditch. Fresh meat, he lay on his back looking up at us for a few seconds before his scent hit them. He was pulled apart like a chicken wing, tensing up and fixing my gaze before closing his eyes. He never screamed once.

  Al jumped straight in, hacking and slicing, but Vaughan had been absorbed by the mass of arms and jaws. We had no option but to follow Al, but I had no weapon in my hand. I ran back to the fire, now dangerously low, and picked up the pressure sprayer, pumping the handle as I ran and igniting the first dribble of white spirit on the last embers of the camp fire.

  ‘Get down!’ I shouted. They stood back-to-back in a tight triangle and lashed outwards. Al was screaming, a deep angry wail which cut straight through me.

  ‘Get the fuck up against the bank, now!’

  Lou flattened herself against the grass bank beneath me, Jay pulling Al down next to him. I let off a blazing stream of flame into the bank of white faces, warping in its own heat. Heads spat and fizzed as I helped Lou onto the top. I squeezed the trigger for another burst, with Al and Jay scrambling up the bank under the flames.

  There were three of them in the camp, and Al screamed from the back of his throat as he quickly burst their skulls like fruit. Lou was bawling, her head in her hands. Jay just sat down, blankly staring into the lifeless embers of the camp fire.

  ‘Come on, we can’t stop. Vaughan’s gone, we can’t stop. We’ve got to keep going.’

  ‘Why?’ Jay looked at me without expression.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, it was inevitable. He went out like a light.’

  ‘But he’s dead,’ Lou wailed.

  ‘At least he’s not going to turn into one of them. There wasn’t enough left,’ I said. Lou stood, fire in her eyes.

  ‘This isn’t a game; it’s not PlayStation. If you’d been looking out for me and Al he would never have had to do that. How can you be so cold?’

  ‘I’ve got to be cold. I have to think like that – how the fuck can you think any of this is real? Anyway, if Vaughan hadn’t put down his weapon he wouldn’t have had to push them.’

  ‘He saved you wife, mate,’ Al was looking at me coldly. He and Vaughan went back a long way, further than the others.

  ‘And your life, probably,’ added Jay. He turned on his heels, swatting at the grass.

  ‘Look, Vaughan was always going to be the one out of all of us who got it. He was like the one in Star Trek with the different coloured jumper.’

  I don’t know why I expected a laugh, but one certainly didn’t come. I couldn’t think of it in real terms. I can honestly say I don’t think I would have batted an eyelid if Vaughan had appeared right there in front of us; a cheesy grin on his face, rubbing his belly and asking me what was for dinner. Instead Al was sobbing, Jay was nowhere to be seen and I couldn’t even go to my own wife for a hug. I was right – none of it seemed real.

  The wind had picked up, a great swell from the west which prickled my tongue with the faintest yet freshest hint of ozone I’d ever tasted. Al and Jay were talking to each other over the cooling ashes of the fire.

  ‘We’re going.’ Al said to me, simply. His cheeks were wet, and tears gathered at the base of his goatee.

  ‘What? We’ve done it.’ I waved my arms. ‘The wind’s changed; they’re not getting up the slope as much. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘Nearly where?’ Jay asked, his mouth tight. ‘I’m going to see my parents. At least they’re safe in there, and they’ve got water.’

  ‘What
are we going to do about water?’ Lou looked like a rag, so small and frail.

  ‘Lou doesn’t know what happened to her parents.’ Jay said, his eyes piercing mine so I had to look away. ‘We might be able to get there. Al says he’s got just enough petrol to get back to my house, and there’s petrol in our garage.’

  ‘Al?’ I couldn’t comprehend what they were saying to me.

  ‘We’re going,’ he repeated, and turned on his heels.

  I saw the two freaks before the others - a man and a woman bedraggled and dusty, stumbling into the camp with faces like ash. I was behind them and hidden by the tree, so I raised my nail gun, walked briskly up to the nearest one and squeezed the trigger. It gave a hollow click, which was enough to make her turn to me. She screamed.

  The sound shook me to my boots, and I stepped back. The others turned, agog. I don’t know why I tried to shoot again, but I did. I can never forgive myself, even if she has since forgiven me, but I can blame exhaustion, sleep deprivation, dehydration, or confusion at the others’ plan to leave. I could use some emotional psychobabble to explain my behaviour after so many hours of seeing faces torn apart in front of me by my own hand. I don’t; I blame myself. Anyway, the nail gun was still empty. She screamed again, and then Jay’s hand was over mine, lowering my arm firmly. The man spoke first.

  ‘You’ve got to help us.’

  His voice betrayed his worn, frail appearance – he sounded young, but I wasn’t taking any chances. They’re almost certainly infected, I thought. I dropped the nail gun, and ripped off the girl’s shirt down to her waist. She screamed again.

  ‘Are you bitten?’ I screamed. ‘Are you scratched? Show me!’

  The kid was trying to stop me as I ripped off the girl’s skirt. He was fumbling at me, so I snapped, felling him with one sharp crack to the jaw. She was still screaming, and looking at Lou with pleading eyes, but I didn’t stop until she was naked in the moonlight. I turned her round.

  ‘Mate, take it easy.’ Jay said quietly.

  ‘Fuck off. We’ve got to be sure,’ I stood up, in his face. He was taller than me, but I was screaming, flecks of spittle hitting his stubble. ‘We’ve got to be so fucking sure, get it?’

  ‘Please, stop it,’ Lou was sniveling, but not even close to touching me. The girl’s milky skin was free from any marks, so I turned to the man who was still out cold and pulled all his clothes off, rolling him over in the dust with the end of my club. He had no marks on him either.

  ‘Pick him up and take him over there, prop him up against the tree,’ I ordered to young woman. She did so, cradling his head as it lolled on his shoulders. She moaned quietly. Al tried to help her.

  ‘Fucking leave her!’ I screamed. Al walked away, grabbing his bat as he passed his tent. I picked up the rope and threw it at the girl.

  ‘You - stand next to him, backs against the tree. And keep him upright.’

  She did so, shivering, and I put the middle of the rope at her feet and took one end round the back of the tree. I picked up the other end – keeping my distance – and pulled it taught. I wrapped it round them a couple of times and tied it at the back, pinning them both to the trunk.

  ‘It’s too tight,’ she was saying, but I wasn’t listening.

  ‘Just fucking stop it!’ Lou was in my face now, red with rage, quivering and clenching her fists. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  She slapped me hard across the face, and I saw a blinding white light. I thought it was my eyes, but a second great flash of lightning picked out the underbelly of the rolling black clouds on the horizon. She slapped me again, then pulled her wedding ring off and slapped me a third time with it in her open palm.

  ‘Cunt!’

  ‘Please help us,’ the girl was sobbing but Lou was gone, following Al to the car with Jay’s arm around her shoulder. They disappeared into the darkness, and I cried.

  Breaking Down

  [day 0006]

  I broke down, sinking to my knees and falling face-first onto the chalk. My hands clawed the earth, and my mouth opened to scream. No sound came out.

  I am crunching chalk, standing, swaying. My throat feels as if is being crushed by the weight of tears which won’t come. The crunching sound doesn’t cease when my jaws stop grinding. It isn’t the sound of chalk anymore; it is wet gristle and dry bone.

  Shielding my head from imaginary blows I fall again, eyes shut, trying to stop the sight playing out in front of me. Fearful human faces cower from my relentless clubbing, skulls splitting, voices screaming. Living voices shrieking and bawling as I take swing after swing after swing.

  My hands are turned upwards towards the moonlight, beads of sweat pricking through oily pores. I am not wearing my wedding ring. Intricate cobweb patterns offer themselves up amongst the miniscule fissures of my palm print, tracing upwards to my fingertips, shooting sparks into the hot night sky. I run.

  I have no weapon. I stand in a field of stubble; new, unfamiliar smells joining the sharp ozone of the gathering clouds. I wheel around and around, collapsing dizzy as the moon is obscured I catch sight of Cissbury Ring on the upside-down horizon a mile away. But closer, and in their droves, dark silhouettes creep towards me.

  I am flat on my back, with earth on me. It fills my ears and my nose and I splutter and claw my way into a sitting position as a silent purple crack splits the sky into two. Then I am running again, stumbling through flames, spittle

  streaming down my chin as claws and arms catch my tattered clothing. A thousand eyeless faces turn to me, stretching away into the distance.

  Every limb aches with a deep thud, every joint on fire. I am laying on my front on familiar ground. Everything is quiet. A little dog runs up to me. Arcs of lightning scorch the sky, but there is no thunder. Floyd is standing above me, looking down into my face, jaws hammering away in ceaseless, noiseless barking. Everything is silent, and my eyes are closing.

  I look up, and see horses.

  Making Sense

  [day 0006]

  When I regained consciousness Floyd was nowhere to be seen and my head and limbs were pounding. I drifted in and out, sobbing uncontrollably, helpless and alone. My friends were gone. My wife was gone. The only two other survivors we’d seen since the priest on the way back from Brighton I had left helpless. In my waking moments, thoughts focussed on the others; on why they’d gone and whether they were alive. But it hurt. It hurt so much that my mind grew too active to fall unconscious again. This was real, I remember thinking. This is all real, and I am still alive. It was only at that point that I realised how prone I was, lying face down in the dirt, with the scent of my sweat and tears carrying on the air. I had no clue how long I had been there for, unarmed and undiscovered. What about the two survivors who had approached us for help? Maybe they had escaped the teeming, stinking hordes too. The power of my responsibility to them was the first positive reflection I had since daring to think we could survive up here. That was what dragged me to my feet.

  I tried to find the tree I had tied them to, but I was disorientated. I looked down and saw that I was naked, except for one shredded leg of my jeans rucked around my ankle. After a second or two of staring down, confused at the sight of my own blue-white flesh, I begin to check myself for cuts, bites and scratches. There were none.

  And then I felt my first raindrop in a month. The last time I felt a raindrop on my face, I could tell a man that someone had died and he would come and put them in a wooden box which was then put into a metal box on wheels, which moved slowly to the place where the body would be burnt, and people would cry. I could pick up a plastic box, press three numbered buttons and people would come to help me. I could push a strip of plastic into a wall and paper would come out, which I could exchange for goods and services. I could sit in a dark cavernous space with other humans and watch light playing out images on a huge white cloth whilst boxes made sounds to go along with it, and it would be fun whilst we ate popped kernels of corn. I could even watch a box of my own, and see a
man tell me when the rain would come. Would I need a brolly?

  Now it was just water, just one drop, big and cool. After a minute of breathlessly waiting another came, splitting apart on the end of my nose and stinging my gritty eyes. Another. The rain fell and I sat, cross-legged and arms outstretched in the mud, mouth open, catching fat drops on my tongue. Thunder rolled, and crisp slivers of purple lightning cut across the clouds and etched into my eyes.

  I ran to find the source of the shouting and saw the tree. The rope was loose, but I still could not see the couple.

  ‘Where are you?’ I yelled.

  ‘We’re in the tree you fucking absolute arsehole! Arsehole!’

  The words were comforting to me, and I found myself smiling at the fact that I had not killed them. I walked to the trunk and tried not to look up as I helped the girl down first. I gathered their clothes, sodden and heavy, and began to help them but was waved away. I saw my own nakedness again – I had absolutely no idea where my clothes were – and scampered to my tent to haul on some trousers. They stuck on my soaking wet legs, and I lost my balance and fell over. Where was Lou? When I wrestled my way out of the tent, I could see that their clothes looked old, almost like antiques – certainly second-hand. She wore a net skirt over black trousers, and he had much more trouble pulling on his sodden black drainpipe jeans than I had. They are Goths, I thought to myself. That’s just what I need to cheer me up.