by Lewis, Jack
Fear the Dead
A novel by Jack Lewis
Copyright 2015 by Jack Lewis. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away without the prior written consent of the author.
This book is dedicated to my wife, who has the patience to listen to me, and to my mum, who knows that asking for honest feedback means ‘tell me what you like about the book’.
Chapter 1
Black shadows slid from the spines of the trees and covered the woods in darkness. Night was nearly here, and soon it wouldn't just be the infected lurking in the forest; the stalkers were coming.
The rain beat down on the hood of my windbreaker in heavy patters that danced off the top of my head and seemed to weigh me down with each drip. My shoulders were slick with water from where the waterproof lining of my coat had faded. Across to my left, in the distance, an infected stumbled through the trees, its clumsy footsteps crunching on the twigs beneath it.
I reached for my knife. I thought about getting out my revolver from my bag, but gunshots were the last thing I needed. That was a sure fire way of getting a crowd of infected to come looking for you, drawn in by the prospect of a meal. I walked quieter and breathed a little softer.
The sky darkened a shade. My stomach felt empty and ached with hunger. My legs were leaden and each step was a chore. I needed to sit down, I needed food, and I had to get to shelter before the stalkers came.
There was a town called Vasey less than an hour’s walk away. There would be walls and a roof to guard me from the elements and the things that walked in the night. There would be fires – warmth - and God, maybe even a beer. My mouth watered at the idea of gulping on a bottle of cold ale.
The problem with going to town was there would also be people there, and lots of them. Vasey was the biggest settlement of survivors in Lancashire, and it was as safe a place you could get in this new world. Well, everyone called it the new world, but really it had only been fifteen years since the dead had first started rise and eat people. A lot of things had changed since then. People had changed since then, and not for the better. No, I would give town a miss. I’d learnt better than to seek out the company of people, and I’d learnt there was no man or women who cared about your survival as much as they did their own, no matter how much they tried to believe in their pretend civilisation.
I thought about my old life. I thought about Clara, and the way she used to tug at my hand when she saw an infected, about how good I used to feel knowing I could keep her safe. So much for that.
The sky was darkening, I had pangs of pain in my stomach and my legs felt like they were going to collapse underneath me, but I couldn't go to town. There were too many people. I looked around me. To my left the lone infected seemed to be walking in the other direction. I moved my hand away from my knife, knowing that for now at least, the danger had passed. A lone infected fifty metres away didn’t pose too much of a threat to me. Their vision wasn't good and nor was their sense of smell, unlike the stalkers. If that had been a stalker it would have seen me straight away and it would have been leaping through the trees, pouncing on me before I could even reach for my knife.
I shuddered at the thought. I pulled my hood further over my head and walked on through the wet woods, and after a while I saw a wooden building. It looked like some kind of storage shed, small with a jagged tin roof and wooden panelled walls that looked like they would blow down in a gust. Not a place to wait out the apocalypse, but it would be good for tonight. I would get in there, put down my stuff and maybe even grab a few hours of much-needed sleep, because it had been god knows how long since I had last got some of that. There was something a little more reassuring about putting your back against a solid wall than the trunk of a tree.
As well as getting some sleep, I could even live a little and risk cooking something. My mouth started to water at the prospect of eating for the first time in hours. I didn't have much on me - probably just some tins of beans and sachets of soup - but it would taste like a kings feast, and man was my stomach aching for it.
I got closer to the shack, and my heart sank.
Through a small frosted glass window I could see a dim light flickering. I couldn't make out anything else inside, but light meant people, and that meant I couldn’t stay there. I turned and started to walk away from the shack, my stomach reeling from the prospect of food that had just been snatched from me. My legs felt a hundred times heavier and the pack on my back, filled only with my meagre possessions, felt like a boulder. If I didn’t find somewhere soon, I was going to drop.
Behind me a door opened. I span round, reached to my belt and in one smooth motion slipped my knife into my hand and held it ready to strike.
"Whoa. You won't be needing that tonight."
A man stood in the doorframe. He was tall, bald and a wild beard sprouted from his chin. He wore a baggy white t-shirt covered in red food stains, and jeans that were splattered in patches of mud. His fly was unzipped, and on his feet he wore unfastened boots. I got the feeling he hadn’t expected company outside the shack. He took a step toward me.
"Evening." I said, and looked away. I turned and started to walk in the opposite direction, having no interest in conversation.
Behind me boots crunched on the forest floor.
"Gimme a minute, stranger."
I turned round. He had an amused smile on his face.
"Need something?" I said.
The man looked around him. The forest seemed denser in the dark. "Where you goin’ this time of night?"
"Don't worry about it."
He took another step toward me. "Do me a favour?"
I took a deep breath. I wasn't big on favours. "What?"
He grinned. "I got a call of nature. I know, I know - worst time for it, eh?"
"Why not take a piss in there?" I said, nodding at the shack.
"We got a bucket, but I don't like using it. Something about the sound the spray makes on the metal. It don’t seem right to do it indoors."
I tightened my fist. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my irritation under control. "So what, you need me to hold it for you or something?"
He laughed. "Nah. Just keep a look out. Make sure one of them bitey bastards doesn't take a chunk out of my arse."
I was done with this. I didn't feel any threat from the man but there was no way was I letting my guard down around him, and nor did I have the time to stand around while he took a piss. The sky was pitch black and it wouldn't be long until the stalkers were prowling. I had to have shelter before then, or I was done for.
I heard a spurt of liquid hit a tree behind me. "It's getting late," said the man, as he released his bladder. "And town’s an hour away. Say, I don't remember seeing you there before."
"That's because I don't live there."
"Really?" His voice seemed incredulous at the thought that someone might not be from town, that someone might spurn the safety of its walls. "At any rate, you're gonna need to get yourself under a roof." The stream of urine stopped and he zipped up his pants. He motioned behind him to the shack. "It's not the Hilton, but you're welcome to stay for the night. We're seeing it out until morning then heading back."
Part of me was already walking over there and setting down my bag. I wanted to get in the shack, take my boots off and sink to the floor, and I would have done anything to fill my belly with beans and then sleep for a week. I looked at the man again. He seemed genuine enough, but the bad ones always did. Everyone seemed honest, at first.
The only people you could count on to show you their intentions were those who didn’t care to hide their bad ones.
"How many are you in there?"
"Me, Dan and Faizel. My name’s Noah."
"I'll pass."
His voice changed and became patronising. "I don't know if you've checked your situation lately, but it's night-time. ‘Scuse me for being blunt, but if you're out here at night you are screwed. I don't know you from Jack, but I don't want to hear you screaming out here when I'm trying to sleep."
I needed to go inside. It was crazy to stay out at night, I knew, and I wanted the shelter, food and sleep so badly. I didn't want to spend another night shivering in the woods, not daring to shut my eyes. But I couldn't. I knew that in there, in the same room with three strangers, I would keep one eye open all night. There was no way I would let myself sleep.
I turned again and walked away. "Thanks for the offer."
My boots felt heavier with every step. The man called out behind me. "You're going to get yourself killed, you idiot."
Tell me something I don't know, I thought.
***
I carried on walking. I judged it to be around midnight, and being out in the open at this time was akin to swimming in shark infested waters with a steak on your back. To my right there was an oak tree that shot thirty feet into the air. It looked thick and solid but there was emptiness in the trunk, some kind of dark hole. I got closer and found that the bark was hollowed out. Whether it was through old age or the work of some forest animal, I didn’t care, I was thankful for it. It might not have been the Ritz, but it would do.
I lowered my head and climbed into the hole, squeezing my body into the tight space. The inside of the tree smelt like sodden earth and felt soggy on my jeans, and my back was bent so much that it hurt. I wasn't looking at a comfortable night’s sleep, but then, when was the last time I had one of those? When had I last shut my eyes for more than an hour?
I couldn't go on like this.
I thought about the shack and felt a pang of regret. Why couldn't I have just gone in? Plenty of people would have trusted the men, gone inside and got a good night’s rest.
I shook my head. Those were the kind of people who died. Every time you trusted a person you had another spin of the chamber, hoping this time it wasn’t your turn to take the bullet.
From my hole in the tree I had a limited view of the forest in front of me. If something suddenly spotted me, I would be screwed; there would be no way to escape, no back exit. It was still better than being out in the open, though. Out there an infected could come out of nowhere and bite you, or a stalker could leap from a tree and take a chunk out of your neck.
To take my mind off the infected and the stalkers, I put my pack on my lap. I unzipped it and looked and what I had with me. Somewhere at the bottom were some fireworks - useful for distracting the infected - and a lighter. I rummaged round the pack and took out the revolver that I had found a few months ago in the pocket of an infected whose skull I’d smashed. The handle was scratched and the brown paint had started to fleck away, and when I opened the chamber the smell of gunpowder cut through the soggy aroma of the tree. I only had three bullets left but that didn’t matter. I rarely fired the gun if I could help it; the sound of a gunshot might as well have been a siren call for the infected.
I checked my food. Two tins of bargain bin kidney beans in brine. As hungry as I was, the thought of the slimy beans put my stomach in a knot. My only alternative was a sachet of powdered chicken soup, but I needed to boil some water to cook it with. Right now, lighting a fire would be suicidal.
I dug down and felt the cold touch of metal on my hands. It was Clara’s gold bracelet. I had bought it for our five year anniversary, back when things were good. Now it was a grim reminder of what I had lost. I felt a sentimental wave start to wash over me, so I put it back.
Tucked at the bottom of my bag and wrapped in a waterproof plastic sheet was my prize possession, my GPRS tracker. I looked out into the woods, and seeing that nobody was around, I took it out. I pressed the ON button and within a second the screen came to life, a blue light that illuminated the darkness. I covered the top of it with my hand to stop the light being seen by anything that was lurking around me.
The GPRS loaded and the route displayed. It showed my current location, and the route I needed to take to get to the farm. Thank god that the satellites were still working, because without them I would never find my way. The farm was tucked away in a remote little spot in the countryside, so hidden away that it was impossible to just stumble on it.
The farm was my dream, my salvation. Once I got there, everything would be okay. I'd be alone, far away from people, and I would be self-sufficient. And the GPRS was my only way of getting there. I checked the mile section in the corner, and saw that I had 400 left to go. The thought of the journey ahead of me made my body feel heavy, but nothing was going to stop me.
As I enjoyed the images in my head of how good life would be once I reached the farm, my eyelids started to fall.
Later, I don't know how long, I jerked awake. I looked outside of my little tree hole. My breath instantly caught in my chest and I felt a shiver run through me.
Across the woods, a stone’s throw away, a stalker hugged the ground, its nose sniffing the earth for my scent and its agile body slinking in my direction, hunger on its lips and death in its eyes.
Chapter 2
I had nowhere to run. Even if I had a head start on the stalker, with the way those things could move it would be on me in seconds. I thought about grabbing my knife, but for all the good it would do me against a stalker I might as well have just used it to slit my own throat.
I reached for my revolver and put it in the pocket of my windbreaker. I wasn't going to fire it; to kill a stalker I'd need to get a head shot, and despite having three bullets I would only get the chance to fire one. My aim was average at the best of times, and right now my head was spinning so much it felt like I were on a boat.
Although my eyes stung I didn't feel tired anymore, as though seeing the stalker had shot adrenaline through my body. I felt wired; my pulse was racing and my legs were restless, and part of me just wanted to stand up and bolt through the woods.
I needed to think. I didn't have long before it caught my scent. Its head sniffed against the forest floor, and it's body slunk across the earth like a snake. It was strange seeing something that used to be a person moving in this twisted way, and watching it made my skin clammy and put my stomach in a knot.
I looked up and saw the night sky, black and endless. A few stars dotted the canvas, illuminating a dark sea that threatened to drown me. I needed a diversion, something to take the stalker’s attention away from me and give me just enough time to get the hell away. But what could I do? What could I cause a distraction with?
Then I had an idea, and I felt stupid for not thinking of it before. I still had the fireworks. What better time than now to light up the sky a little, to give that stalker fucker a show and send it off chasing an explosion? It would buy me the time I needed to make a careful escape.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the fireworks, but the cardboard they were made from was completely soggy. Goddamn it, why now of all times? I had the worst luck in the world. As I held them they fell apart in my hands, covering me with black gunpowder. My head dropped. Now I really was in trouble. I thought back to the shack and the men inside, and I felt like punching myself for my stupidity. Why had I not gone inside? If I'd just trusted them, I wouldn't be in this mess.
What the hell was wrong with me?
The stalker looked up. There was a sense of purpose in its movements, and for a second it looked straight at me. My blood froze. I held in my breath and tightened my body, willing myself not to move an inch.
Maybe it wouldn't see me. Maybe it was looking past me. I could still have a chance to get out of this.
But then it started to move in my direction, and I knew. This was it for me.
I reached into my pocket and took out the revolver. I flipped the safety and straightened my arm, pointing t
he gun at the stalker ahead. My arm shook but I tensed my muscles and bit down on the glob of bile that slid up my throat.
The stalker got closer. It was moving in on my scent, testing the ground and making sure of its senses. Any second now, it would pounce, but I wouldn't give it that chance.
This was it.
I took a breath and held it in my chest to steady my aim, the way I had seen snipers do it in films before they took a kill shot. The stalker moved back into its knees, crouching and ready to pounce. I pulled the trigger.
The barrel of the gun exploded, sending sparks shooting out of the chamber and filling the hollow tree with a deafening bang. I felt a searing pain burn through my hand, and I dropped the revolver in my lap. My hand was in agony, and it was so bad that for a second I couldn't even look up to see if the stalker was dead.