Diaries of the Damned

by Laybourne, Alex

  His head pounded even harder by the time he reached the ground floor of the house, which was somewhat worse for wear following the end of their two-day bender, celebrating the end of the winter exam period. Much of the previous two days was a blur. Several large blocks of time were lost altogether from his memory.

  A number of passed out bodies littered the floor of the living room; even more spread over the three large sofas that came with the property. In total, there must have been at least twenty-five people on the ground and top floor alone. Robert did not want to chance a guess at how many were crammed into the six bedrooms on the first floor.

  A recent outbreak of the flu had seen a number of students either headed home or in some cases, into the hospital for treatment. Their house had not been hit too badly, probably given to the party more study less attitude of the majority of its inhabitants.

  Nobody else was awake, and given the ginger condition that they were all likely to be in, Robert decided against turning on any lights. The one from the refrigerator was bad enough. He opened the door and had to shield his eyes like a vampire walking into sunlight. He grabbed a carton of orange juice, and cleared some space on the side to allow him to reach the coffee machine.

  With the juice in his stomach, and the smell of coffee gently caressing his senses, Robert found the haze began to lift. The handful of Paracetamol he had dry swallowed played a part. Only once his coffee mug had been filled and that first warming gulp had simultaneously burned his tongue and heated his soul, did Robert pay any attention to the floor. It was warm, and wet. Not that he gave it much thought. After a party they had been known to find a great many inexplicable things in all manner of places; including an incident that seemed to involve a two liter carton of olive oil, a golf club and two pairs of rubber gloves. Nobody ever came forward or ever seemed to recall that moment.

  It was only when he went to walk away and almost slipped that Robert paid it some mind. The floor was dark; it looked black. He bent down and dipped his fingers into the puddle that he saw covered nearly the entire kitchen floor. Standing back up, Robert had no option but to turn the light on, in order to see what had been spilled.

  Robert’s scream was the loudest of them all when the light finally flickered into life. The kitchen floor was covered in thick scarlet blood, the walls were smeared with it; bloody handprints looked as though whoever had been the victim put up a good fight before they died.

  “Keep it down man, fuck!” a groggy voice came from the living room, followed by the sounds of shuffling footsteps. Kurt Von Trail moved beside Robert and made his way into the kitchen, he still had his eyes closed, and his movements were driven out of pure coffee scented instinct. His feet skidded on the floor and he fell with a crash. “What the… oh holy Jesus fuck!” He screamed when he saw what had caused him to slip. He tried to scramble to his feet but did nothing but spin himself around on the floor. When he fell for the second time, it was face first. He stood back up and spat out a lump of flesh. “What the…” Kurt began, but was cut short as a blood-encrusted hand grabbed him by the throat. The sound of sharpened nails piercing his flesh sounded just like the opening of a tube of Pringles: crisp and sharp. The hand disappeared again, ripping Kurt’s throat away. The large well-muscled figure fell to the floor with a wet rush of expelled breath. His hands moved to try to stem the flow of blood that was projecting from the gaping wound with large arching spurts. Robert felt his bladder let loose as a warm jet splattered his white t-shirt with gore.

  Robert stared with open eyes at the young, naked girl who stood opposite him, her mouth chewing furiously the on the flesh she had crammed into it. While her jaws worked on the flesh, her free hands massaged her breasts and her crotch with a similar fervor. Fingers from her right hand slapped noisily as they entered her, blood dribbling from both north and south holes as she continued her quest for successful self-pleasure.

  Robert backed out of the kitchen, his body unable to turn away from the scene before him. All around, the screams began to resound. Finally, the hold was broken, and Robert spun around, just in time to see another similarly dead figure make a grab for him; this one, a male. Not just a male, but Todd; the man who had moved into the dorm house the same day Robert had. He had a two gaping holes gouged into his flesh, one on the side of his neck, and the other in his flank. Both showed the clear indentation of teeth marks.

  “No, no nonono! This can’t be! ” Robert cried out as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

  “Todd,” he called out as the male zombie fell on him. His teeth snapped closer and closer, searching for the sweet taste of fresh meat, while his hips thrust with an unknown fury. His stiff member probed and prodded Robert’s crotch. With a firm push, Robert managed to dislodge the much lighter man, and scramble to his feet. Blood hovered in the air like a mist, as he saw four of those… zombies, tear chunks of flesh from the bones of his friends, and their female companions. As he watched, Todd got back to his feet and grabbed a naked screaming girl from behind; falling into the sofa, she was pinned beneath him. Impaled on his penis she screamed and lashed out, but could not dislodge him. Todd gave a growl as he buried himself deep inside her, while simultaneously ripping deep chunks of skin from her back and shoulders. The blood flowed down her spine and slapped noisily with each undead thrust.

  “Open the door! Rob, open the God damned door!” a strained voice echoed in Robert’s ears. It sounded as though it came from miles away; shouted from a distant place.

  Robert turned his head and saw the source was indeed much closer than it had sounded. The whole world had become a dull throb in his ears. The only thing he could hear with any certainly was the frantic thundering of his heart. Mike McMullen ran toward him, his arms wrapped around another one of the creatures.

  “The door,” Mike called again. Without thinking, Robert spun around and pulled open the front door. A few seconds later, Mike barreled past him and out into the cold early morning air. He wore nothing but his boxer shorts and an odd pair of socks. With a grunt, he threw the zombie that he had been manhandling down the small flight of concrete steps that led up to the front door of the house. It landed in a heap on the floor, its thighbone snapping with a loud crunch.

  Mike did not stop to celebrate his victory; he just turned and ran inside slamming the door shut behind him.

  “What the fuck is happening, dude?” Mike asked, his eyes wide with fright. I smoked some shit last night but tell me this isn’t happening.” He nearly begged as a new woman fell into his arms. She wore a red lingerie set; or rather it was a white set stained red thanks to the hole in the side of her head. Her attacker had pulled her hair back so fiercely while she attempted to flee, that she had been nearly scalped. The zombie had been in such a rush to consume her active body that it had bitten on the side of her face. It had removed her ear and a good portion of her left cheek. As she stood, grasping for both Mike’s neck and his crotch, her arousal forever linked with her more literal hunger for the flesh, her hair flopped around like a bad toupee. It was this that Robert grabbed hold of, pulling her back just as her teeth began to pinch the flesh of Mike’s neck. The yank was hard enough to rip the scalp away from the head, and gave Mike the chance to strike out. He punched the zombie woman in the face, snapping her head back with the sound of crunching bone. She lunged forward once more, but Mike sidestepped her advance, dipped his knees and drove forward with his shoulder. He hit her in the stomach and doubled the zombie over. He pulled back and gave a sharp double-handed shove. With Robert’s expert door wielding skills once again shining through, the horny women fell over the threshold and into the waiting arms of the previously expelled houseguest. Unlike his sexually charged companion, the other zombie seemed more intent on swaying and staggering around, drunk, barely able to hold himself up. He vomited and a thick trail of dark blood spilled from his mouth, showering the female that stood next to him, groaning at the way the night air teased her dead flesh.

  Mike slammed the do
or shut once more and the pair turned to face the room. The floor was strewn with seven zombies and six fresh corpses. Those that had managed to escape either hurried up the stairs, where they met the descending crowd that that been woken by the screams, or had escaped through the back door. Their cries of terror echoed down the street.

  “What do we do, man?” Mike whispered. Six of the remaining zombies were fully engrossed by then in the feast of flesh before them. Todd was still in the throes of lust with his victim. The girl Robert had first seen was crouched on the floor, grinding her bloodied crotch in Kurt’s face while she had eaten his genitals and was busy filling her stomach with chunks of leg meat.

  “We need to get out of here. That’s what,” Robert said, yanking the door open; he ran into the street. He leaped past the two zombies, who turned to face him. The girl was significantly more alert then the male, who stumbled in a drunken advance, his broken leg further hampering his forward momentum. The girl gave a low screech as she gave chase. Robert made to flee, but stopped. He looked around and saw that the dead littered the street, and the sound of growling zombies caused the ground to shake, as if Robert stood near active power cables.

  “Rob, behind you!” Mike’s voice called out, just as the female zombie pounced. She forced Robert to the floor, and although he could turn himself just in time, her dead weight was heavy against his tired limbs. The initial adrenaline rush provoked by Todd’s attack had worn off.

  The woman’s body was cold, her touches anything but gentle as she forced herself upon Robert. He held her at bay with stiff arms, and just as his strength began to give, her head exploded, showering him with blood and shards of bone. Robert looked around and saw Mike standing holding a cricket bat against his shoulder. Blood smeared the flat face of the bat, and a long crack ran through the wood from the impact.

  Robert scrambled to his feet and followed Mike back inside as the herd of zombies that had gathered in the streets descended on them in a rush.

  Mike bounded up to the front door, while Robert stopped. He stood beside the drunken zombie, whose head was flattened on one side. He found it oddly fascinating to see how the creature refused to give up on his undead existence. It tried to snap its shattered jaws at Roberts’s ankles. Another stream of sour smelling vomit bubbled through its shattered windpipe and covered what remained of its face in thick yellow bile.

  “Come on man, they’re gaining on us,” Mike called from the doorway. His face wore an expression of disbelief. He watched as Robert removed his shirt and started beating his chest in the street like some kind of animal.

  “Hey... hey, over here, come and get me,” he roared toward the house, screaming his voice hoarse.

  “Rob…” Mike began but as the first zombie appeared in the doorway, its wide eyes a held a strangely vacant look, and the smell of cannabis seemed to seep from its clothes, the masterstroke of Robert’s plan dawned on him. With a shove, Mike grabbed the zombie and threw it to the floor, striking out with the bat. The connection was not powerful enough to kill it, but enough to ensure it stayed down for a little while longer.

  Mike started shouting and banging on the door. He pulled his shirt over his head and slapped himself hard enough to leave a red print on each side of his chest. The plan seemed to work, because Mike came running down the steps toward Robert, with a group of about seven zombies in close pursuit. “Run man. We’ll need to double back.” Mike didn’t slow down as he ran, even though they could have out maneuvered the crowd at a steady walk.

  Robert followed suit, and together they drew the pack of six zombies out of the house and into the street, where they met the oncoming crowd. Upon later, closer inspection, the dead were comprised predominantly of lecturers and students.

  The boys ran a few hundred meters down the street – enough to keep the zombies interested in them – and Robert and Mike made a sharp left hand turn, running down a small side street that would bring them to the back garden of the property. They could hop the fence, if it was not already open, and sneak in through the back. They started down the side street but stopped when they came face-to-face with a large blood soaked creature. His jaw hung loosely as if dislocated on the left side, and his ankle was folded double with the sole of the foot horizontal to the floor. It gave a growl, and its demeanor changed in a flash. It moved for Mike, who was the closest to him.

  Mike managed to avoid the thing’s grasp by stepping to one side, but the street was narrow, more of an alleyway than an actual road, even if it did have a name.

  “It’s too narrow, man. If we meet another one of these things, we are done for,” Mike called as he shoved the zombie head first into the wall. It slid to the floor, a disgusting trail of blood left behind.

  “We don’t have a choice; just leg it.” Robert looked over his shoulder and saw the first of the chasing pack had reached the road’s entrance.

  “Shit,” both said in near perfect unisons, as they broke into a sprint.

  The pair charged down the alley, and hurdled the body of a former student whose broken, glass-encrusted form had been forced to creep on its belly following a fall from the top floor window of one of the neighboring houses. They made it to the street that ran behind the property, and stopped. The newly undead were everywhere, milling around, oblivious to their presence.

  “Keep quiet, and keep low,” Robert whispered. He had seen enough movies to know how it worked. Even if the zombies in them were never sex crazed or drunk, he still hoped that the same basic rules applied.

  They crept along the wall and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw that the gate was open. Slipping inside, they closed it and turned to face the house. All of the lights were on, and the blood stained kitchen windows created a strange orange glow. A pounding at the gate told them that their disappearance had not gone unnoticed. Both men jumped as the gate shook on its hinges.

  “We need to get inside.” Mike moved away from the gate as he spoke and moved toward the house. Robert followed him. They opened the kitchen door, and a shower of warm blood sprayed into Robert’s face, blinding him. He heard Mike scream, a sound he had never expected from a man built like Mike. The scream defied description. Its pitch was high enough to cause Robert’s ears to ring, even after he was inside. Moving quickly, he jumped inside and slammed the door, as Mike’s gargled pleas for aid went unanswered. Robert wiped a clean spot on the window and looked out. His friend lay on the floor, a bite had been taken out of his face, his right eye had burst. Then the zombie headed south in search of a juicier morsel, and now shoved a steaming pile of fresh human offal into her ravenous mouth.

  A hand fell on Robert’s shoulder and he spun around, arms flailing in defense. His target never stood a chance. Its head snapped back and lips were split open. With a gargled cry of surprise and pain, the young girl fell to the floor. The fact that she was not a zombie dawned on Robert a few moments later, when she started crying.

  “Oh fuck! shit! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.” He reached out and helped the girl to her feet. “Shit, let me take a look.” He pulled her hands away from her face and grimaced when he saw the bloody split that ran the width of her mouth.

  “What’s happening?” she cried, showering yet more blood into Robert’s face.

  “They are all zombies. I don’t know how or why but…wait a second, are they all gone?” Robert stopped talking when he heard growls coming from the living room.

  He walked out of the kitchen, and the girl grabbed him by the hand as he went. The living room looked as though a small incendiary device had exploded in it. Blood covered almost every surface. The furniture was smashed and the sofas tipped over. From what Robert could see, there were three zombies left. Todd and his conquest continued to fuck their way through death. Her back had been picked clean down to the bone, and Todd’s bloodied face was buried in her upper arm. A third lay on the floor, impaled on numerous bits of broken furniture. Four men, all college friends, stood huddled in the corner taking turn
s trying to stop the creeping zombie by stabbing at it.

  “It’s not a fucking vampire, guys!” Robert called out, startling them all. He walked over to the group, taking a wide berth around the zombie, and took a large piece of wood – a table leg – out of the hands of Darren, the newest member of their house. With a big swing, Robert crashed the leg down on the zombie’s skull. It took two more strikes before the creature fell still.

  A loud noise from behind him alerted Robert to the fact that Todd had finally disengaged himself from his conquest. Turning, it was clear to see that his lust was far from over. He moved toward the young girl, attracted by the scent of her bloodied face, and tasty cunt. She screamed, and Robert stepped in, swinging the table leg like a baseball bat, he hit Todd square in the face. His nose crunched loudly, and the table leg, when pulled back had opened a deep, wedge shaped gash. Todd fell to the floor. Thick black blood fell from the wound which had removed both of his eyes, or rather covered them with flayed skin. Still he crawled, inching his way forward, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog on a summer’s day. Robert bludgeoned the thing with a frenzy of blows, not stopping until globs of bloody brain covered the end of the table leg, and his friend’s face resembled nothing more than roadkill.

  Robert dropped the weapon, and fell to the floor. He was exhausted, and could not stop the darkness from over-taking him.