by RR Haywood
‘Young man,’ he nods once, his voice old but strong.
‘So were you forced out or did you volunteer?’ He stares back and takes a long withering look at me before he answers.
‘I volunteered, I am old and death does not frighten me. Now, let’s get this over with shall we?’ He starts climbing the stairs slowly, using the handrail. He reaches the top and pauses by the gate, blocked by the zombies standing there salivating messily down their chins.
‘Move back, let the man out,’ surprisingly the zombies do as bid and move away from the gate shuffling backwards but keeping their gaze fixed on him. The old man steps out from the gate and turns to stare down at me. Bushy eyebrows and wrinkled skin but the eyes are bright and intelligent, I notice his fists clenching.
‘There’s fight in the old dog,’ I smile at him.
‘I won’t fight you; you’ll hurt the others if I don’t do as you ordered.’
‘If I want them, I’ll take them. You fighting back won’t make any difference at all.’ His eyes stay fixed on mine, a glimmer in them. This old boy wants to go out fighting.
I nod at the zombies surrounding him, I can’t connect to them but they seem to understand what I’m telling them. Their groans rise audibly and they shuffle forward, pulling lips back and baring dirty yellowing teeth.
‘You filthy fiends,’ the man shouts and punches out surprisingly hard for such an old fucker. He connects and sends one flying back. I laugh at the sight and watch as he tries to skip round, punching out with straight jabs. Knocking my lovelies about like a bunch of walking punch bags.
‘Go on, get him,’ I shout out and they lunge in harder, he keeps punching out, knocking them back.
‘Ha, I boxed in the army,’ the old man shouts in triumph. I dart in and kick him hard in the back of the knee, he drops down with a loud yelp and I punch him hard to the back of the head, sending him sprawling onto the ground.
‘Take him, but not too much. This old fucker might be useful.’ I watch in rapture as my lovelies descend. My heart beats faster and I feel a growing sense of excitement as their teeth rip flesh from the backs of his legs and arms. One goes for the neck and I push him away with my foot. He cowers down, crawls back into the feeding pile. I wait for a few seconds until they’ve each had a bite then order them away. They respond and break apart, shuffling back. I crouch down and hold my face close to an open wound on the back of one of his meaty thighs. The smell of fresh blood makes my mouth pour with saliva. I reach my tongue out, gently touching the wound and savouring the taste. The urge to bite down is almost over-powering but I hold off, torturing myself with the knowledge that I can take that bite if I want to. Seconds pass as I gently lick at the wound, my tongue tingling from the metallic taste of it. It’s too much, I can’t resist, I bite down and murmur with orgasmic satisfaction as I chew on the still warm, soft meat.
Standing back, we gather in a circle, watching the body. The wound was bleeding openly but within seconds of the infection taking hold the bleeding slows. Then the limbs start to twitch and the body jerks a couple of times. He rolls over onto his back, his legs kicking out in spasm. He sits up and opens his eyes. The red bloodshot eyes of the undead.
‘Welcome aboard. Now get up, we’ve got work to do.’
Seven
‘Is it a boat?’
‘Yes Mr Howie.’
‘How the fuck can you see that from this distance Dave?’ He shrugs, never taking his eyes from the object berthed on the sand way off in the distance. Fair enough I guess. What else would it be stuck out on the sand like that? But for Dave to actually see it clearly is staggering, the man never ceases to amaze me. The tide has gone out, leaving a vast stretch of sand between the sea and the shoreline. Even the last hundred metres of the sea is too shallow for us to go into without risk of beaching our rib. We’ve already circled the end of the pier, a massive structure built on pylons embedded into the earth. The pier must be at least half a mile long and is shaped like a hammer with large buildings built onto the T section at the end. There was nothing obvious on the pier, no collection of boats tied up and no signs of life either. We moved off, keeping the shore on our right until we saw the dark object on the sand in the distance.
‘It must be his,’ Nick mutters quietly now the engine is just ticking over.
‘What makes you say that?’ Clarence asks.
‘The tide has only just gone out, which means the boat was taken in towards the land and beached. Otherwise the boat would be a lot closer to the shore. That boat got stuck there as the tide went out. ‘
‘Makes sense,’ I say.
‘The sea bed here is smooth sand, once the tide comes back in that boat will re-float and get pulled all over the place, probably into the pier.’
‘So that must be either his boat, or someone else that decided to come for a daytrip. What are the chances of that?’
‘Not very likely Mr Howie,’ Nick replies.
‘Okay mate, let’s shoot along and see if we can see the other’s boats anywhere. It might give an indication where they went.’ Nick pushes the lever over and once again the engines roar into life, lifting the front of the boat up. I catch a glimpse of Dave gripping the rails but staring hard at the boat on the sand.
‘I’ll have to move out in case of sandbanks,’ Nick shouts, turning the wheel and angling us away from the shore line a little further. Dave keeps his eyes fixed on the beach, Blowers and Cookey do the same, having ditched the jokes for a while. I should have brought some binoculars.
More haste less speed or something like that. No, more speed less haste. Don’t they mean the same thing? I shake my head to clear the confusing thoughts and focus on the beach. A town is built onto a steep hill at the end of the pier, big old Victorian buildings painted white. Church spires and tower tops fixed to the tops of roofs. It does look beautiful and old. Something from long ago, a distant time when things were built for beauty and not just for their practical worth or cost effectiveness.
The town gives way to a large green open area running alongside the golden beach. That in turn ends abruptly at a high wall that towers over the sea. We keep moving on, looking hard for any signs of boats. Another town alongside the shore now, no pier this time though. It looks to be just a small village and I figure the Island will have loads of these all round the coast, which could make our hunt very hard. We follow the coast as it sweeps round a long curve, more beaches bordered by green area’s come into view but still no sign of boats.
‘HOWIE,’ Clarence is shouting and pointing in the distance to another round fort built into the sea, this one looks smaller than the other two and is built a lot closer to the land. I nod at Nick, motioning for him to head that way. He powers on some more, glancing down at the fuel gauge. The boat flies across the water and within minutes we’re again circling a fort. This one looks like the first, old and derelict with big signs warning people to stay off and the same style of locked gate. I shake my head and turn to face the others.
‘Isn’t there a harbour anywhere near here?’ Blowers calls out, ‘if the tide is out now, it might have been in when they got here. They could have gone right into the harbour….if there is one.’ I shrug my shoulders.
‘Try back towards the pier; we’ll check the other side. We’re so far out from shore we can’t see a bloody thing.’ Nick nods and spins the boat round again, powering on and we slip into silence; drowned out once again by the loud engines.
A few hundred metres from the pier Dave is shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand and waving the other in my direction. I tap Nick on the arm and he instantly pulls the lever back, gliding the boat to a slow pace.
‘Over there, looks like masts,’ Dave shouts out. I look ahead but can see nothing of any detail from this distance.
‘I can’t see anything,’ I call down.
‘There is something there, a wall coming out onto the beach,’ Cookey shouts.
‘Might be a harbour wall,’ Dave adds, keeping his e
yes fixed in that direction. Looking round I see that the beached boat isn’t that far away. Darren could have been aiming for the harbour when he got cut off by the receding tide.
‘We’ll go for it here then. Nick, get us in as close as you can and we’ll wade in.’
‘Got it,’ Nick points the boat towards the shore and powers on enough to push us forward until we’re in the shallows. The sandy sea bed is clearly visible through the clear water. The boat grinds against the bottom and Nick cuts the engine before moving back to pull it out of the water.
‘Have a look for an anchor,’ he shouts. We all start mooching about, realising the seats lift up to reveal cupboard space within them.
‘Is this it?’ Blowers lifts a heavy metal looking thing shaped like a cross, a long rope attached to the end.
‘No, that’s the flare gun,’ Nick replies in a sarcastic tone.
‘Alright Captain Blackbeard, keep your hair on. Do I chuck it over then?’ Blowers asks.
‘Yes mate, it might help,’ Nick says, fiddling about with the engine. Blowers chucks the anchor over and Cookey bursts out laughing, causing Nick to spin round and see Blowers going red in the face.
‘Fucking idiot didn’t tie it on,’ Cookey says, still laughing.
‘Piss off Cookey, I’m not into seamen like you.’
‘Who chucks an anchor over without tying it on first, and you joined the Royal Marines too.’
‘Cookey get fucked, and I was only in the Marines for a few weeks.’
‘Why? Did you lose their anchor too?’
Dave shakes his head, his bag already on his back. He jumps over into the knee high water and lifts the anchor back into the boat which prompts Cookey to stop laughing but Blowers to start.
‘Lost the anchor did I?’
‘Yeah well, you still chucked it over without tying it on.’ Cookey retorts. Dave ties the rope on and drops the anchor down into the sea again. By that time we’re all ready and sliding over the rubber inflated skirt into the warm sea. I scoop water into my hands and wash my face, within seconds the hot sun has dried the water and I feel the tightness on my skin from the drying salt.
It takes several minutes to wade through the shallow water and start crossing the sand and I’m sweating freely already. After the constant noise of the engines, the silence is profound. Looking about I think of the gorgeous weather and how packed this beach would have been before the event happened. It goes on though, the beach is still here and the sea comes in and goes out. The seagulls fly down to snatch at the crabs scuttling about. Life goes on. Maybe we’re just one species that has come to a natural end. Maybe that’s what happened to the dinosaurs, the giant meteor that wiped them out was carrying a zombie virus that turned them all into undead dinosaurs. That would have been a good film; Jurassic Zombie Park.
We walk close to the boat left on the sand and I can see what Nick meant now. The boat is resting as though dropped by the tide. It wouldn’t be like that if it had been floating about for a few days. Someone has been here very recently and Darren is the logical choice. Which means that Dave was right; he is going after the women and children. The thought makes me focus harder and without words being spoken, we all increase our pace.
Dave was right. The wall is part of the harbour, long white masts stand to attention, some with flags hanging limp in the still air. As we get closer we can see that with the tide out, the bottom of the harbour has a thick layer of mud so we skirt round the outside of the harbour wall and walk up through the soft sand and onto the promenade. Finally standing on firm ground with the sun drying our wet trousers each of us, apart from Dave is already hot and sweaty. We walk along the promenade silently, looking all around in case of any undead lurking about, waiting to lunge and bite. None of us trusting that they will be the same slow shuffling daytime zombies that we might expect.
Reaching the harbour entrance we walk along the high outer path and stare down at the myriad of boats and yachts moored up to the pontoons. There are many boats here, of all shapes and sizes and none of us have any idea what vessels they used to transport the members of our group.
‘Any ideas which ones they used?’ I say quietly.
‘Hang on Mr Howie,’ Dave replies quietly. He jogs down one of the steep ramps to the pontoons and runs the length of the closest one, back onto the main walkway and up the next one. Half way up the third he drops down to examine something, picks it up and looks about before heading back towards us. He hands over a shiny, metallic object.
‘It’s a police badge,’ Clarence remarks, ‘like they have on their hats.’
‘Ted! The canny old bugger, he would have left it there on purpose,’ I exclaim with a smile.
‘So they came in here then?’ Blowers asks, looking about as he speaks, ‘which way now though?’
‘Dave, if you were leading them, where would you take them?’ He doesn’t hesitate before answering.
‘I would have shot that man on the fort and taken that.’
‘Okay…Clarence, what would you do?’
‘Stay away from the town, it’s a big group and very vulnerable. I would head away from denser area’s and try to get rural, somewhere defensible where I can hole up for a couple of days at least.’
‘Ted was in the services and he’s a switched on bloke. Plus they’ve got the Navy captain with them. I reckon he would do the same thing. So that’ll be that way then,’ I motion down the beach, away from the town and the pier. Clarence nods back firmly.
‘Movement,’ Nick mutters, we turn round to see him facing back on the promenade towards a children’s fairground built onto a big grassy area.
‘Where?’ Dave asks.
‘In the fairground, a couple of figures moving about.’
‘Zombies?’
‘Can’t tell from here, just saw them flitting between the gaps in the fence.’ Nick replies.
‘More from the other direction,’ Cookey says quietly. I look down the promenade and see a horde moving towards us, unmistakable in their slow jerky movements.
‘Ten,’ Dave answers before anyone asks.
‘Opposite,’ Clarence says, more coming from across the grass. A reasonable sized horde clustered together but spreading out.
‘I think Smithy has prepared a welcome for us,’ Blowers comments under his breath.
‘We’ve got the sea behind us, well a big muddy harbour anyway and zombies on three sides boxing us in. Run or fight? What do you fancy?’
‘It’s too hot to run anywhere,’ Clarence rumbles, ‘and besides, they’ll only follow us anyway.’
‘True, fight it is then. Let’s move out from here, I don’t fancy scrapping next to these high walls,’ I say, looking down at the squidgy mud beneath us.
Walking out of the harbour and onto the grassy area I see more zombies coming from the direction of the fairground, at least another ten.
‘Twelve,’ Dave says, correcting me as if he knew what I was thinking, which he probably did.
‘Fuck me, that makes it about thirty of them and six of us,’ I say.
‘Thirty three,’ Dave says.
‘So how many is that each?’ I start doing the math in my head.
‘Five and a half each,’ Dave replies instantly.
‘Half each? How are we going to do that then?’
‘We could each take our five each and then share the left over’s,’ Cookey says.
‘What’s that? Three left over if we take five each?’
‘Yes,’ Dave says.
‘How are we going to share three between six of us?’ I ask.
‘Take them as pairs?’ Nick offers.
‘Okay, yeah I like that. Actually, we got three lots coming at us and three pairs, how about a friendly wager between gentlemen?’ I say.
‘I’m up for that,’ Clarence smiles back, the others are smiling and nodding.
‘Right, teams? I guess it will be Blowers and Cookey, Nick and Clarence then me and Dave.’
‘Not fair,’
Blowers replies quickly, ‘you’ve got Dave and Nick’s got Clarence and I’m stuck with the bum lord here.’
‘Fuck you Blowers, Mr Howie can I swap please?’ Cookey says.
‘For fuck’s sake, Clarence are you okay with Cookey? And Nick you go with Blowers.’
‘Still not fair though, Nick remarks, ‘you’ve got Dave so you’re bound to win, er no offence Clarence.’
‘None taken.’ He rumbles.
‘Fuck me backwards, okay Dave you’re only allowed to use one knife.’
‘Okay Mr Howie.’
‘No, no knives at all makes it fair,’ Cookey says, Clarence is smiling and shaking his head.
‘Dave, no knives at all.’
‘Really?’ Dave asks.
‘But, that means Clarence can’t use weapons either,’ Nick says.
‘No hang on, that means you and Blowers get to use weapons, while me and Mr Howie are handicapped with partners just using their hands,’ Cookey says, getting a glare from Clarence and Dave at the same time, ‘er but that’s fine though…’ he adds quickly.
‘Right, we agreed then? Dave and Clarence no weapons unless they deem it appropriate, in which case the bet is off. First pair back here with all their zombies dead is the winner.’
‘What about the loser?’ Clarence asks.
‘Er, the loser has to make the first brew for everyone when we find somewhere suitable, happy?’ They nod back in agreement.
‘Clarence, if Cookey tries touching you just tell him to stop, he gets a bit touchy feely gropey when he’s excited,’ Blowers says in mock earnest.
‘You’re such a twat Blowers,’ Cookey says with a long sigh. We break apart, Blowers and Cookey exchanging more insults and abuse as we turn to face our sides. Dave and I walking slowly towards the horde coming across the grass. Dave looks almost sulky.
‘What’s up with you?’ I ask him.
‘I like knives,’ he replies in a downbeat voice.
‘I know mate, it’s only for this time. You can use them again next time.’