by Alex South
“Yeah.”
“You should go and find her,” said Rob.
“I don’t know where she is,” said Duke.
“If you go to the top of the hill, you will have a good view of the area. You might see her.”
“We tried that,” said Duke.
“We need to slow down,” said Dreadlocks. “We need some headspace.”
“Um… there’s something… big…” said Laura, “We’ve got no food here and Rob’s eating zombies… to survive.”
“I’ve eaten zombie meat,” said Rob, as if to confirm it.
Duke and Dreadlocks both stared at him for a few seconds.
“You all knew?” said Dreadlocks.
“Yeah he told us.” said Laura.
“You’ve been eating zombies,” said Duke dumbly, as if he understood the words, but couldn’t see why they were in that order.
“Yes.”
“Why… How?”
“I have no food.”
“How did you know it’s safe?”
“I don’t.”
“… fuck me.” Duke put his head in his hand.
“Are they here?” said Jess.
“What?” said Rob.
“The zombies. Are you keeping them here?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the basement.”
“They’re dead, right?” said Duke.
“Of course.”
“So what are we going to do?” said Duke. “We can’t stay with this guy… we don’t know what’s going to happen to him.”
Rob stood up and started to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” said Jess.
“I’m getting a rope,” said Rob
“…why?”
“I’m going to tie myself to the chair.”
He left.
“I want to leave,” said Jess, once it was safe to speak.
“You want to find the girl?” said Duke
“No…” Jess looked at him as if he were dirt on her shoe. “I want to go to another house. This isn’t safe.”
“But how would we get inside?” said Dreadlocks.
“We can break in.”
“But then the zombies could get in.” said Dreadlocks.
“Obviously we fix the damage when we’re inside.”
“What if we don’t find any place?” said Elena.
“There has to be somewhere,” said Jess.
“What about Laura?” said John.
“Yeah, I can’t move again,” said Laura.
“We should stay,” said Duke.
“It’s not safe-“ Jess began.
“Shut up, he might hear you,” said Duke.
“He’s infected,” whispered Jess.
“We’ll handle it,” said Duke.
Some time later Rob returned with a rope in his hand.
…
It was hard to grasp the progression of time. With the windows boarded up, the only clue was the intensity of the light creeping in through the cracks between the nailed-on-wood and the wall, but eventually that light faded, and the house grew even colder.
“Rob, maybe you can… er… you can leave us to sleep,” said Duke.
Rob grunted.
“And um… what are you going to do? Tie yourself to your bed?”
He was quiet for a while. “No…”
“No?”
“No.”
“So, what you going to do?”
He glanced at them. “How can I trust you?”
“You can trust us,” said Duke, as if his words somehow carried a guarantee.
“If I tie myself to the bed, you might not untie me, or you might kill me.”
Duke thought for a second. “I can’t prove anything. But… we’re not like that. Why would we anyway?”
“Because I might turn into a zombie and because there’s no food.”
“That’s why we want to tie you up. And if there’s no food, there’s no food. Killing you won’t change that. We’re not killers, dude. We’re not like that.”
“I’ll lock my door.”
“From the inside?” said Duke.
“Yes.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Rob thought for a while, “Okay. You can tie me. I trust you.”
“Nice one. Good.” said Duke.
There was a long silence.
“I need to piss,” said Laura.
“Oh… um, you want me to take you?” said John.
“No, it’s fine. Dreadlocks can take me.”
Dreadlocks stood up and walked over to her. John suddenly felt a stab of anger. He could carry her fine. He wasn’t as strong as Dreadlocks, but…He stopped himself. He was being stupid. It was nothing.
Chapter 8
John woke up covered in sweat — a pale, blood covered face loomed in his mind, bearing down on him.
It took a few seconds to realise where he was, and that he had, in fact, been dreaming. He hadn’t slept well. And now those hours of wakefulness dragged on his spirit. Last night, he had been lost in a swirl of unanswerable questions – punctured by sudden vivid images: Dan’s suicide. The faces of the zombies. Mary and Tyler jumping out the window.
He knew that there was nothing good in this humming of activity, and he wanted desperately to not think, to escape, to escape himself and all of this. So much had happened; he had lived a lifetime in just a few days. It almost seemed like time had cheated, like it had allowed too many moments to slip in. It all seemed so impossible, so fundamentally without sense. Even now, a part of him was waiting for it to not be real.
He covered his face with his hands. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit…” He repeated it again and again, until he forced himself to stop to make sure that he still could. He wished he had slept better. Searching for Laura’s chest in the darkness of the room, a small shot of relief took him – he found it slowly rising and falling. The night had been full of these checks.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey… sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, I was awake.”
“How did you sleep?”
“I didn’t.”
It was only her and him in the room. Last night, after further discussion, Dreadlocks, Elena and Jess had decided to sleep in Poppy’s old room. Three factors led to this. The door had a lock. The room had a bed. And they all felt that they would sleep better if they weren’t alone. As for John, he was on a line of cushions taken from sofas, which he had placed on the floor next to Laura.
“You need anything?” He whispered.
“No.”
“Okay.”
He lay there, staring into the darkness. His body felt painfully alert, as if it were anticipating something. He listened. He waited. His insides grew tighter. There was a pressure, a tension. Any moment the world could collapse. It had shown him this.
He forced himself up and into the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind him. The only light came from the boarded up windows, dull, cold — the sun had not yet found a way to shine. John flicked a switch. The table and chairs sprang into existence, along with the kitchen counter that ran around most of the room’s edge. He was forced to squint — his eyes not yet ready.
He was hungry. He began flipping the cupboards open. Some were buried under the countertops; some were suspended above them — large wooden things clinging to the wall.
No food.
It seemed Rob was telling the truth. He spotted a round pink tin with ‘coffee’ imprinted upon it in the obligatory ‘isn’t life lovely’ font – the kind of cosy, feminine writing that had come to characterise so many things in so many houses.
He opened it. Result! He needed this. Now he just had to get a caffettiera. He searched the kitchen again, finally finding the little silver solider standing to attention, ever-ready to deliver his fix. It was big enough to serve six or eight. He flipped the switch on the kettle and, after a small wait, was pouring the water into the caffettiera — it felt
like pouring a bullet into a gun.
He watched the water throw itself away into the air for a few seconds. Then, he put the hat onto the silver solider. The key was to wait for a little while before pushing the filter down. Let it brew; that was the way.
…
Coffee now in his mug, he sat at the table and took the first sip.
The bitterness seemed to go beyond taste, beyond sensation. It became a sharpness that cut through everything, bringing forth a powerful relief. A thickness grew in the back of his throat, as if he were about to cry. And the sharpness continued on, mixing with this sensation. So that it was not just the bitterness of coffee, but a generalised thing. It was pain. It was a yearning. It was the beauty of struggle. And as the warm liquid sank into his stomach, he clung tight to the sensation of it all. He clung tight to the complex flavour, the heat, the pleasure, the fix.
He thought about Laura. How was her body reacting to the metal? How big was it? Perhaps it was absolutely tiny, like a bullet. Maybe it wasn’t even from the grenade, but, in fact, a fragment from something that the explosion damaged. Was she going to die? Was she going to leave him?
Suddenly he felt that the coffee was a mistake. It was pounding into him, giving him too much focus, heightening his nerves, and his fear with painful intensity. It was better to be numb. But some inner voice told him that he needed the energy, that he had become too passive in his own thoughts. He needed to wake up and take control. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force some silence into himself.
He realised his hands were clenched into fists. He released them.
They had no food. He had no food. How long can a body last without it? Wasn’t it a week or something? Water was a few days; food was a week. Is that right? He shouldn’t have drunk the coffee, he thought, caffeine and no food. He was going to have some sort of energy crash.
He wanted to get away, somewhere without danger, somewhere without thoughts. He buried his head in his hands.
How many days had it been? Was it still possible the zombies might drop dead, that they might die of natural causes? That stuff with that little girl, Stacy. That just undermined everything. Psychic powers. What was that? Who knew? Who fucking knew?
…
A little while later, John heard a fumbling at the door. Somehow his body reacted before he did. His insides became heavier, like he was being down pulled towards some terrible force. Dreadlocks entered and John was left in the hollowness of his rush.
“Morning,” Dreadlock’s said with dull, tired eyes, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah… you just made me jump,” said John softly.
“Oh, sorry, my friend.”
Dreadlocks circled the table and hugged him from behind. John closed his eyes. After a few seconds, Dreadlocks let go.
“Thanks, man… thanks,” he was quiet for a while, then spoke. “You want a coffee?”
“Is that Rob’s?”
“Rob drinks tea.”
“Is it right for us to drink it?”
“It’s just one.”
Dreadlocks nodded his head slightly. “I’ll take one. Just one.”
“I’ll make it for you,” said John, moving to reunite with his new silver friend.
…
John and Dreadlocks finished the coffee and hid the evidence. A little while later Rob arrived, followed by Duke, who had clearly deemed it okay to untie him.
“Good morning, friends,” said Dreadlocks.
“Morning,” muttered Duke, clearly tired. Rob said nothing and looked a little flustered.
“Did you sleep deeply, Rob?” said Dreadlocks. His tone stuck out in the room, it was warm, caring and vulnerable, almost painfully so.
He made a strange grunt and nodded his head. “I need to cook,” he said. There was a silence. Duke sat down next to them.
“Zombie?” said John, suddenly hit by a hot flash of anger. He didn’t know why, but he resented Rob. The reasons were within him, but all tangled up and hard to decipher, so that it felt like his emotions had taken over. And everything was coming from his gut.
“That’s all I have.” And with that, he was gone. Duke sighed, stood back up and went to follow him.
“I’ll take over, Duke,” said Dreadlocks.
Duke stopped, turned and looked at him. “Oh yeah? Really?”
“Yes. You rest. Take it easy.”
“Cheers, dude.”
Dreadlocks left. Duke looked at John,
“I can smell coffee.”
John’s heart sank a little. Had Rob smelt it too? Would he be mad?
“Yeah… don’t tell Rob… I should have asked.”
“Oh… right… It’s probably fine. Yeah you should have asked though.”
“Yeah, I just needed it.”
“Yeah… I’m gonna go catch some sleep.”
“Okay,”
Duke left.
Suddenly everything around him changed. The air ripped in two. A screeching, whining noise tore into his mind. Then, abruptly, an inner voice kicked in, telling him that it was just the sound of a circular saw.
“Shit,” said John.
The other members of the group began arriving in the kitchen – woken by the noise. Duke joined them also. It seemed sleep was no longer an option for him.
“What if the zombies hear it?” John heard Jess say to the room at large. He didn’t know what to say to that, and, instead, found himself leaving the room to check on Laura, or to find comfort by being close to her. He wasn’t sure which.
“You okay?” he asked her, once back in the living room and by her side.
“I’m fine.”
A little while later, after John had returned to the kitchen and exchanged words of discontent with the others, Rob returned with a pan containing a glistening red lump. Upon seeing the group, he stopped and stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and giving them quick worried glances.
“You need some space?” said Duke.
“Yes. I need to cook.” He muttered.
They all stood up. Rob moved farther into the room. Everyone headed to the door, keeping the table between them and the lump of flesh as they moved. This created a strange circling motion, with Rob moving down one side of the kitchen, and everyone else moving down the other.
Now the group walked into the living room. Duke, Jess and Elena took the smaller sofa. John sat on his makeshift cushion-bed. Dreadlocks stood, keeping his gaze on Rob in the kitchen. His line of sight was soon broken, however. A few seconds after putting the pan down, Rob closed the door.
A silence held them as they listened to the sounds of Rob preparing his meal. John noticed that the sun had started shining.
“How is everyone?” said Duke, finally.
There was a mumbled response. “Pretty bad,” said John.
The room fell silent, empty and lacking compared to the sounds coming through from the kitchen.
“What comes next for us?” said Dreadlocks.
Duke blew out his cheeks. “I don’t know.”
“We can’t stay here,” said Jess quietly.
For a moment, no one spoke.
“I can’t move,” Laura said.
“Can you try?” said Jess.
“No… I can’t”
“Dreadlocks can carry you again,” said Jess
“No, I can’t,” said Laura.
“Why?” said Jess. Laura opened her mouth, then seemed to stop herself from saying something.
“Just trust me, it hurts. I can’t move,” she said.
“Yeah we’re staying here,” said Duke. “So, today… today, we make the most of the house. We figure some things out; we figure out what comes next. Guys, we’ve gotta keep our heads. Promise me that, yeah?”
After some time, Laura tugged on John’s shirt. “You should go spend time with Rob.” She whispered.
“Why?”
“He’s eating, like, all by himself. You should really be friends. We have to be cool with hi
m.”
“No, he just asked for more space.”
“Please… We have to get on well with him.”
“I don’t want to. I don’t… er…” He shook his head. “… feel like it.”
Laura didn’t say anything more. John tried not to feel guilty. He wasn’t at his best. She had to understand that. All he wanted was to be left alone, to stay safe and try to forget everything. He needed that. If she could just feel how he felt… But now doubt started to creep in. He realised that out of everyone, Laura was the most vulnerable. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave. She needed this house to be a good place to stay more than anyone. Maybe she felt exactly what he felt. Maybe she needed help as much as he did.
“Okay, I’m going to do it.”
“Good. Thanks.”
…
John went to get a glass of water, and then sat opposite Rob at the table, trying not to look at what he was eating. His heart was beating faster. Why did this make him nervous?
“So…” John began.
“Are you staying?” Rob said abruptly.
“Er… we think so,” John said, a little caught out by the question, “if that’s okay with you?”
Rob said nothing and, now, the sound of his chewing was the only noise between them. John tried to think of something to say. It distantly occurred to him that it was ironic: A human eating the undead.
“So… you got any big plans? Like, you think we should wait for the zombies to die?” said John.
There was a long pause, as Rob finished his mouthful.
“Survive.” Rob grunted, finally.
John nodded. “Back when we were in the supermarket, we used to talk about finding the other survivors, you know, get together with the other humans, getting organised and sorting all this out.”
Rob didn’t reply. John took a sip from his water.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? It was a bit crazy yesterday but, I want to hear your story, you know?” John tried to smile. He wasn’t sure if he had pulled it off.
Rob seemed somewhat alarmed at John’s suggestion. “What do you want to know?”
“Well… what did you do for work?”
“I was a cleaner.”
“Okay. Where did you clean?”
“Offices.”
“Okay… I’ve done a bit of cleaning. It’s a good job. You put on your music, move your body. It’s good exercise, kind of like a… a gym session.”