Deadweight | Novella | Thornhurst

by Forster, Paul

  “What’s the village up ahead?” The pilot spoke to his co-pilot. He should have known, but the day had been long even before they had started their two hours of flight. The patrol didn’t follow a planned route, which meant frequent map checking of the green fields and lookalike villages.

  “Looks like Nutwood? No, wait. It’s Thornhurst.” The co-pilot too had been pushed to the limit over the last few days.

  “Quick fly by then back to base for a shower and some kip, sound good?” The pilot had checked his fuel, they maybe had another half an hour of flight time, but had enough munitions left to at least help someone before they headed back.

  “Sounds amazing.” The co-pilot fantasised about his tepid shower and brief sleep in the corner of their makeshift base.

  The helicopter increased its altitude a little as it slowed down on the approach to Thornhurst. The streets were owned by the dead who looked up at the gunship, unsure what to make of it.

  “What was Thornhurst’s status?” the pilot asked his colleague.

  The co-pilot checked his printed and handwritten notes. “Evacuated, a handful of civilians remained. It’s on the engage list. Shall I call it in?”

  “They’re listening, they’ll hear whatever they want to hear. I’ll take us out to two hundred metres, engage from there and we’ll head back for that kip.” The pilot did as he stated and steadied the helicopter in position, looking down the village’s high street.

  The co-pilot looked down at the feeder infested street. They definitely weren’t people anymore, now they were valid targets.

  * * *

  Ethan had been shown to the living room and had made himself at home in a large, comfortable armchair. He’d caught his breath back, but kept the sweaty brow and red face. Eve entered with a glass of water, which Ethan downed in one without so much as a thank you. Neither let go of their weapon, the bloodied crude bat in Ethan’s right hand a stark reminder of the danger these things posed and the clean blade showing its lack of action.

  “Do you have a car?” Ethan stood up and limped towards the window, observing the carnage. A feeder appeared suddenly at the window, staring back at him, scratching on the glass, trying to access the food on display.

  “I have nothing. Mr and Mrs Oliver have an old Nissan Sunny in the garages at the back, they’re three houses down. They didn’t leave,” Eve replied.

  Ethan limped to the back of the house with Eve following. “They know there’s food here, that we’re here. How many in the other houses?” Ethan demanded.

  “People? Twenty-five, maybe thirty-ish.” Eve racked her brain trying to think who had left, died or turned.

  Ethan tried the back door leading out to the small, well-kept garden, but it was locked. He scrambled around the nearby hook for a key and tried several before it opened. “We have to get out of here now. Show me the Oliver’s house.” He grabbed a hessian shopping bag and began flinging in any tin of food or packet he could find, desperate to get away with some supplies. Gently, he opened the backdoor and ducked his head outside. It was all clear, and they stepped out. The pair stood in the small garden. The noise of the helicopter was distinct over the groans and noise from the dead. Both looked around to see if they could spot the chopper, but trees and buildings blocked their view.

  “That’s it there, with the thatched roof.” Eve pointed at the small, detached cottage several houses away. The fences were small and ornate, easy enough to climb over, certainly easier than going out of the front door.

  Ethan led the way, his injured foot making the simple task harder than it needed as he threw himself over the fence in the least graceful manner possible landing on his side. The shopping bag spilled out most of its goods. Eve vaulted over with the skill of a gymnast, careful not to injure herself with her blade. Ethan was on his knees scooping up tins before standing back up, clutching his bat.

  They both heard the sound, but were unsure what it was until the first explosions rocked Thornhurst, causing them to dive to the ground. The rockets flew from their pods, landing cleanly on the street and surrounding buildings. Limbs flew in all directions, grey blood splattered against the crumbling walls and pieces of brickwork from the wrecked buildings.

  There was a brief pause in the assault, the smoke and dust cleared revealing the damage. The creatures that could, climbed back to their feet, others dragged their damaged bodies away, their instinct telling them to get away. Only a few of the beasts remained permanently down, significant head wounds or severed spines doing the job. The buildings fared little better, most at least lost their windows, several took direct hits leaving collapsed walls open to any wandering hungry monster.

  Eve and Ethan had just began to gather themselves as the 30mm cannon went to work. The shells weren’t as loud or as destructive as the rockets, but there were more of them as they again peppered the street and surrounding buildings. As she ducked down, covering her head, Eve found it hard to believe any of the dead would survive this onslaught. She looked up as the Apache Gunship flew over the village. The last of the empty cases dropped from the chain gun as it stopped firing. Its job done. The Apache and its crew were returned to base, perhaps for a bite to eat and a kip.

  Ethan climbed to his feet, checking himself for injuries, then the bag of food, his weapon, and then finally he looked too Eve. “You okay?” The words hissed out of his mouth with little care or concern.

  She nodded, and they continued their fence hopping until they reached the Oliver’s garden. It was immaculately kept, like many of the others. Small, but loved. Eve cautiously approached the back door and gently tapped on the glass, peering through, looking for any sign of life or death. Ethan wasn’t as patient. He gently pushed himself in front of Eve and tried the handle. To both of their surprise, the door opened. They entered the kitchen, wary of what they might find lurking around the next corner or on the other side of the next door. The narrow hallway from the kitchen led to the front door, the glass had been blown out and covered the hardwood floor. It crunched underfoot as the pair carried on walking to the living room. Mrs Oliver was perfectly still in her chair, a large shard of glass from the destroyed windows lodged in her throat, the blood staining her clothes and armchair. The net curtains were blackened by the fire and smoke that blew down the street outside. Mr Oliver sat on the floor in front of his wife, just as dead, having used a shard of glass to hastily cut both of his wrists. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a minute or two.

  “Where are the keys?” Ethan demanded. The situation hadn’t changed for him. He didn’t know these people, they weren’t friends or acquaintances, they were just more dead bodies.

  Eve was still in shock when the first creature lunged through the destroyed windows, the scent of the fresh blood too tempting to pass up. It was missing a piece of its jaw, and its body was peppered with wounds oozing grey blood. Seeing the two live specimens was even more tempting, and it moved towards Eve who stumbled back unprepared to take on the creature stabbing it twice in the chest with the knife to no effect. It pinned her to the wall and bit down hard into her shoulder. The pain was sharp, but the adrenaline kicked in and Eve shoved it back and plunged the knife into its skull, dropping it to the floor with her knife still embedded. Eve turned angrily to where Ethan had stood, but he hadn’t stayed to help. Two more creatures flopped into the house from the damaged window, quickly getting to their feet, eager to feed, forcing Eve to dash into the hallway and slam the door shut behind her. Eve looked for Ethan and just caught sight of him as he limped through the garden to the back gate. It wasn’t locked, but he fumbled, making hard work of the latch before it gave way. He didn’t look back as he swung open the gate and ran as fast as his injured foot would allow through the allotment beyond the small garden. Ethan didn’t get far before the first feeders, fleeing the carnage on the street out front, noticed him and gave chase.

  Two creatures, damaged from the helicopter attack, turned and looked through the gate, through the kitchen door and
straight at Eve. Both were covered with their own thick grey blood, but besides a missing left hand on one beast, they were in passable shape. They raced towards the house and Eve snapped out of her stupor, running to secure the door to the garden. The creatures slammed against the door trying to force it, but Eve had been too quick and bolted it shut.

  This was it. She had been bitten, was alone and surrounded. She was on borrowed time, but she found a determination that these damn things wouldn’t taste her again. The groans from the living room grew. More of the dead had entered through the windows for an easy meal. Eve poked her head out of the front door. Her village was a mess. Fire and partially demolished buildings, corpses and body parts, screams from the few who were still living, as they fought off the dead. They had taken Thornhurst. She didn’t think, she just ran. The street was full of obstacles from the helicopter’s assault. Eve could leap over or dodge around most, but the feeders weren’t so easily avoided. They tried to intercept her, reached out to grab her limbs, but Eve was too fast and agile for them. The village hall was in sight. It was intact and sturdy. It would be a peaceful place for her to wait, for her change to complete. Eve gave it everything she had, pushed as hard as she could.

  She reached the village hall and pulled on the door handle. Locked. Desperately, she pounded on the door, anxiously trying the handle, hoping it would open.

  “Eve, Eve!” A boy’s voice called out, but she couldn’t see where from at first. “Over here, I’m in the shed, quick!” Eve looked towards the storage shed and there he was, James. He was only fourteen years old, chubby and short. He was awkward in every way possible, more so around girls and Eve especially. A few years older than him, she had been his crush ever since she smiled at him as they passed in the street. Now, he was her willing saviour, and she didn’t need to look the gift horse in the mouth. She rushed to the door of the thick wooden shack and James bolted it closed.

  Eve took a moment to catch her breath. The shed was old but well-constructed, its solitary window was undamaged but the whole place was filthy. Cobwebs and dust covered the folding chairs, tables and other items normally used for the old summer fetes or Christmas fayres.

  “Are you okay?” James asked Eve, but he could see the blood.

  “No, I’m not. I can’t stay here, but I need a minute.” Eve touched her shoulder. It was sore, but the bleeding had mainly stopped.

  “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.” James was sad, pathetic and scared, just like Eve. “What are we going to do?”

  “I can’t stay, I’ll turn, turn like Claire did. Turn like they all do. I need to get my breath and then I have to go, but I’ll try to lead as many of them away as I can. Do you have a weapon?” Eve was already looking for anything useful, but unless she was looking to run a tombola, she was out of luck. James produced a potato peeler, small, blunt, rusty and nearly useless. It embarrassed him to offer it up. “You keep hold of that, I’ll be okay.” Eve looked out of the window. The road out of the village was mainly clear, having avoided the rockets and cannon fire. A few dead lurked, but not enough to dissuade her. “Good luck.” Eve went to make a break for it and popped the door open as two sets of hands entered immediately trying to drag it open. Eve instinctively pulled the door closed and wrestled with the creatures, kicking and punching until their grip loosened and the door slammed shut, bolt applied. “Shit!” she screamed in frustration.

  James cowered in the corner, the peeler held firmly in his hand. Eve checked how secure the door was, then paced around the shed, the sound of scratching and the groans from the dead going right through her. She stopped and began dragging the heavier bits of furniture and boxes in front of the door. “Help me, James!” He followed the order and started dragging what he could to the door. Within a few minutes, the door was obscured. The barricade wouldn’t stop the door opening, but it would slow them down if they got inside.

  Both were tired and frightened, they sat next to each other on the floor.

  “Why couldn’t you have got your dad’s shotgun?” Eve stared at the peeler. She knew what James would have to do, and it made her feel sick.

  “Will help come?” His voice quivered.

  “No. It won’t. If you want to live, you’re going to have to kill me before I change.” She felt angry. This foolish boy had thrown away his own safety for her, and it was a wasted gesture.

  “I don’t think I can, I don’t want to.” He shook, and the peeler fell from his grasp.

  “One of us will kill the other one,” Eve spoke softly and put her arm around James. “And I’m already dead.”

  Day Ten

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Even during the foot and mouth outbreaks, he’d kept his herd safe, but now, now he stood and watched them burn. It had only been a matter of time before the dead found them. A group of nearly thirty had shown up looking for a meal, and the cattle were easy prey. By the time John and Mark had reached them, those that weren’t dead were injured. After they put their rifles to work on the dead, they put them to work ending the misery of their beloved animals. Several hours of tractor work later, the cattle and the monsters had been heaped together and were ablaze. The two men had barely spoken since they first opened fire on the creatures, now they watched their world burn.

  “We should go to your mother.” John only had his wife and son left. He hadn’t seen her for a week and had no reason to remain at the farm.

  Mark nodded, what else was there to do?

  “Let’s load the Shogun up, head into the village, and see if anyone needs a ride.”

  * * *

  A few items of clothing, another shotgun, the rest of their ammo, some scraps of food and a photo album for Annie. The large four-wheel-drive car could easily take another two or three passengers if needed. John was tired and worn down. He allowed Mark to drive so he could concentrate on what was going on around them. The drive to Thornhurst didn’t take long, the roads were empty bar the odd corpse, either laying still on the ground or shuffling towards the car looking for food.

  “Pull it up here, son.” John hopped out and looked into the village. He couldn’t believe what he saw. “It’s done, they’re all done, Mark.”

  Mark left the driver’s seat and stared at the remnants of the village in front of them. A few buildings were intact, some had minor damage whilst others spilled out onto the street. The dead wandered the village. The noise of the diesel engine had alerted them to the farmer’s presence, but they would take a few minutes to get close. Mark took his Ruger and looked through the scope, turning the magnification to full. Some creatures were badly beaten, but mostly, the wounds didn’t slow them down. He recognised a few of the feeders as former villagers.

  “Should we go in, see if anyone needs help?” Mark continued to survey the village.

  “They’re beyond help now, let’s get moving.” John got back in the car but Mark still looked at the village through his scope, hoping that someone would make themselves known, that someone was still alive down there. Then he saw her, movement from a window, a blonde-haired girl.

  “Dad, I can see someone, there are survivors!” Mark was excited. They thought the world had ended, and this girl proved it hadn’t. John got back out of the car and Mark handed him the rifle. “The shed by the village hall, can you see her in the window?” Mark was desperate for his father to see.

  John took a deep breath and looked. The window was empty, nothing. “There’s no one there son.”

  “She was there!” The feeders had nearly halved the distance between them and farmers, both men were aware they would have to move off soon.

  John looked again, and he saw her, blonde with greying skin. Blood covered her hands and mouth as she placed both bloody mitts on the glass. “I’m sorry, she’s one of them.” He gave the rifle back to his son, who looked through the scope. He saw it, a hungry beast like the rest of them. He slowly lowered the rifle and climbed back into the car.

  “Let’s go t
o your mother,” John stated coldly.

  The car turned in the narrow lane as the nearest creatures were just metres away, the fresh meal agonisingly close. They couldn’t keep up and the car was soon out of sight. A few carried on, a few stopped and the rest slowly headed back home, to Thornhurst.

  About the Author

  I really hope you enjoyed “Thornhurst”, a small insight into the Deadweight world and another look at the fall of society. Working as a standalone story, it also takes place in a location that features in “The Last Bite”. When writing the concluding part of Deadweight, I really wanted to tell the story of how the village had succumbed to the feeders. It just didn’t fit with the main story. After writing it, I had intended on making it a part of “Little Nibbles”, a collection of short stories from the Deadweight universe, but again it didn’t fit. It was too long and would limit the number of other stories I could include. So, I decided to release it as a standalone novella, and here it is.

  If you haven’t read “Deadweight” or the follow-up “The Last Bite” - they’re currently available in paperback or on Kindle (and Kindle Unlimited) from Amazon. If you liked “Thornhurst”, I’m sure you’ll enjoy reading the complete Deadweight story.

  I’m currently working on my next novel, “The Time Travel Agency”. A touch of science fiction and a helping of cold war espionage. I’m really excited about moving away from zombies (as much as I love the undead) and hope you’ll join me on a trip to the 1980’s.