The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  Reaching the end of the passageway we stop before a wide lift, doors open and prevented from closing by the body slumped half in, the face chewed off, thick crusty blood pooled under the head and flies buzzing noisily in the enclosed area.

  ‘Stairs,’ Dave points to the end and a set of stairs leading down. Taking point again he leads the way and starts heading down into the depths of the ship. No power now and we have to pause and pull torches from our bags to light the way in the gloom. Two flights down and we come to another landing, more stairs lead down. Two sets of double doors, one clearly leading towards the front of the ship and into the big middle hold area, and another leading into a passageway running the width of the ship just like the last one.

  ‘Passageway first,’ I nod at the doors and move behind Dave as we repeat the motions, kicking doors open and quickly checking rooms. Most of these are private quarters with cot beds and small cupboards. Being below the main level of the ship there are no windows, no natural light. The torches illuminate ahead of us but just accentuate the dark patches and make the shadows look deeper. The ship is inert, lifeless. Our feet echo on the floor scrapes and scuff noises sound out as we move along. The kicks to the doors bang alarmingly and we all feel the tension rising. Heavy breathing and the air is significantly cooler down here.

  The corridor is cleared and we head back down to the stairs and the next double doors leading into the ships hold.

  Pushing through we enter into an almost pitch black room that must be almost the width of the ship and stretching out towards the front. The only light coming from the meagre grey of the open doors. We hold at the door for a few seconds, carefully listening but hearing nothing other than the creak of the ship. Square columns are stacked throughout the room. We shine our torches into the gloom and can see they’re pallets of goods wrapped in plastic, ready to be hoisted or lifted onto other vessels. With so many of them stacked throughout the room we can’t see further than a few metres.

  ‘Spread out,’ I say softly and wait until a long line is formed and we start pressing into the big room. Torchlight glances about, sweeping left and right. Soft footsteps and we make our way round the sinister looking columns. The doors closed behind us and the harsh torch light is only illumination now and that just makes the shadows seem deeper. Our footsteps echo softly, breaths exhaling, the rustle of trouser legs brushing as steps are taken. The slight clink of equipment. We advance slowly, one step at a time. We pass the first columns, heading further into the darkness and now feeling oppressed from the sentry like stacks of goods behind us. Torch light dances about, sweeping the ground and the columns all around us, each one of them much taller than a man.

  The smell hits me. Rancid meat left to rot. A truly awful stench of putrid foulness.

  ‘Is that smell from the food or the zombies?’ Cookey asks with a gagging sound.

  ‘Stay quiet,’ Dave whispers and I wonder if anything ever bothers that man.

  A sudden low groan holds us all in place. One long single groan and our hearts race at the unmistakable sound of an undead. We freeze stock still as the noise echoes round the room, none of us able to pinpoint the direction it came from. Glancing round I can’t even see the others that clearly, just bright orbs of light from the torches.

  Another groan rolls round the room. Low and deep. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up but I still can’t tell where it’s coming from but it sounds different to the first one.

  The beams of torch light sweep round quickly and I grip the pistol, raising it up to point into the darkness.

  Feet shuffling on the floor, heard but unseen. Groans straight ahead, then off to the left and then the right. Groans from all around us. A feeling of being surrounded. Our torches make us instantly visible. Beacons of light being circled by an enemy unseen.

  A piercing howl rips through the air as the twisted features of a zombie come running into view, drawn to my torchlight like a moth to a flame. The thing launches itself at me, moving quickly, head fixed and staring.

  ‘Shit, no light down here…not shufflers,’ I shout in warning and raise the pistol firing several times into the mass coming at me. The retort of the pistol is deafening in this enclosed space, the muzzle flash is blinding but I see the thing drop down to lie twitching on the ground. More shots ring out, single and double taps that drown any other sound out. My ears are ringing and I can’t hear them shuffle or groan.

  ‘Get into a circle,’ I shout, ‘on me, on me’ I repeat the calls and flick my torch on and off so they can find the way to go. More howls pierce the air as zombies rush into the light, a sudden transition from dark to light, teeth barred and heads already lunging forward. Shouts of alarm and pistol shots ring out. Bodies hit the ground as the undead are shot down. We get into our basic fighting circle, backs together and facing out.

  ‘INCOMING,’ Dave bellows as undead bodies launch themselves at us. Pistols fire quickly as we expend the valuable ammunition. They click empty and we’re once more back to hand weapons, fending off the savage frenzied attacks, swiping out with vicious swings and shouts of anger as the things lunge from the darkness. Holding our weapons one handed so we can grip the vital torches. Our circle spins and twists as more bodies come flying from the darkness to meet a grizzly end from heavy axe or sharp knife.

  ‘I’ve lost sense of direction,’ Clarence shouts out. We all have from the darkness and the spinning round. None of us are able to tell which way to go. Another zombie lunges in screeching with venomous hatred as Dave darts out and takes it down. More rush in from all sides and I grip the torch between my teeth so I can use two hands on the axe. Dave gets swallowed up in the darkness as the rest of us fight with desperation. Hand to hand combat with night-time zombies in the pitch black of an echoing ships hold. Grunts of exertion sound out as we lunge and swipe, trying to hold our circle.

  ‘Dave?’ I shout during a quick break in the fighting and removing the torch from my mouth.

  ‘Here,’ Dave shouts from the gloom.

  ‘Doesn’t really help mate,’ I shout back.

  ‘Be quiet please and let me listen,’ he shouts back and we all go silent, holding position and trying to make any noise.

  ‘Can you turn the torches off for a second,’ Dave shouts.

  ‘NO!’ He gets a chorus of replies.

  ‘Okay,’ he shouts back. The sound of bodies hitting the ground reach us as Dave somehow manages to move between them.

  ‘HERE ZOMBIES….HERE ZOMBIES,’ Dave shouts into the room, flashing his torch on and off, trying to draw the things to him. They kindly respond and we hear the wet ripping sound of his knives tearing flesh open followed by the thuds of bodies dropping.

  ‘Coming in….don’t shoot,’ Dave appears from behind a column and takes his place next to me.

  ‘We don’t have any bullets left Dave,’ Clarence says pointedly.

  ‘Well just in case,’ Dave replies.

  ‘How many did you get?’ Tom asks.

  ‘Eight,’ Dave answers instantly.

  ‘Oh,’ Tom says quietly.

  Keeping our formation we move slowly through the hold, stepping on and over bodies. Torches shining out and trying to find the way.

  ‘Over here,’ Blowers shouts, ‘there’s a switch to open the roof up.’

  ‘Will it work with the engines off?’ Tom asks.

  ‘Fucking try it,’ Cookey yells. We crab sideways, heading towards the side and a big red lever next to a large grey electrical box, a big white arrow points upwards with the word ROOF stencilled next to it. Reaching the side, Blowers grips the handle and pulls it down. Flashing lights and an alarm sounds out as a hydraulic whine starts up.

  ‘INCOMING,’ Lani shouts as more undead come lurching from the deep dark shadows. The sudden sight of them caught in the torchlight is terrifying. Ghostly white faces with dried blood and horrific injuries. Flesh torn open and clothes hanging off them. Clawed hands held out, and the red bloodshot eyes almost shining in the reflection fr
om the torches.

  We fight and kill as a tiny sliver of light forms in roof. More undead stagger as we hold our position and fight out. The gap in the roof widens as the blessed light starts shining down hurting even our eyes from the near pitch blackness of the hold. The light floods a small long narrow strip on the floor and I watch as a zombie runs from the darkness and crosses the light. As the daylight hits his face he slows instantly and starts to shuffle but passes back into the night and suddenly becomes animated again, howling and continuing his jerky running.

  We hold our position as the gap widens. Then a heavy thud sounds out from a body falling through the widening gap to land in the strip of light.

  ‘What the fuck is that?’ Nick shouts.

  ‘The bodies from the top, they’re falling through the gap,’ Blowers shouts in reply.

  ‘EYES ON,’ Dave roars and darts out to take a charging zombie down. More sickening heavy thuds as the bodies we killed on the deck fall through the doors pulling back.

  ‘Fuck it’s raining zombies,’ Cookey jokes, ‘shit watch out!’ we burst apart as a body falls inches in front of us. With no choice but to split up we move out trying to avoid the falling zombies and the ones still running in to attack us.

  ‘Get in the light,’ I shout and move into the widening strip of daylight now stretching across the room. The rest get into line either side of me as we stand in the light dancing between the bodies sliding off the retracting roof. Zombies stagger in to attack but instantly slow as the light hits them, making our killing easier. The instant transformation is incredible. Quick moving beasts turning instantly into the drooling shufflers.

  It’s over within a couple of minutes. We stay within the light moving out and killing them off as they turn slow. Eventually we’re in full glorious daylight and once again surrounded by hundreds of bodies.

  ‘Now that’s worth knowing,’ Nick says with a full spin round, ‘no light so they didn’t know if it was night or day.’

  ‘By the skin of our teeth again,’ Cookey grimaces, ‘what was that you said Mr Howie about every half hour?’

  ‘Bloody fact Cookey, spread out and see what we’ve got here.’ With the light now shining down we move through the large hold, stepping over the bodies and examining the stacks and piles of goods. Most them food and cleaning materials. Engine parts, spare machine bits. Each column has a manifesto stuck to the side.

  ‘Tinned fruit,’ Tom shouts in an excited voice and starts attacking the plastic film, ripping it away to pull the boxes down onto the deck. We gather round and scoop the plain tins up, shoving several into our kit bags for later.

  ‘There,’ Dave points to a smaller pallet, a big wooden crate with a locked lid secured by a numbered security tag. He jogs over and kicks down on the clasp, snapping it free. Wrenching the top back he delves in and starts pulling boxes out, dumping them on the ground.

  Gathering round we give a low cheer at the sight of the wooden lids marked with 5.56, the standard size of ammunition for the SA80 assault rifle. Dave prizes the lids open and we find pre-loaded magazines wrapped in grease-proof paper.

  ‘Get as many as you can,’ Dave says quietly and rather needlessly as we drop down and start filling every spare inch of our kit bags with the magazines. Dave and Blowers load the two recovered assault rifles.

  ‘This is like Christmas,’ Cookey laughs, ‘any pistol rounds there?’

  ‘No,’ Dave replies lifting the boxes from the pallets and checking the lid of each before stacking them to one side. At the bottom of the pile two larger boxes form the base, both locked secured with multiple security tags.

  ‘Bingo,’ Clarence clearly recognises the boxes and bends down to rip the lids off with his bare hands. Pulling the new and shiny assault rifles out.

  ‘Oh look at them,’ Nick says in awe, ‘hello babies…oh we’ve missed you,’ he takes one of the weapons, his hands moving deftly over the weapon. He strips the plastic cover off and slides the bolt back, checking down the sights, hefting the weapon to his shoulder and then starting on the strap, getting it to the length he wants.

  ‘Have you used these before Tom?’ Clarence asks.

  ‘Not these, I fired the police weapons on the range during an assessment for the firearms teams,’ Tom replies.

  ‘Lani?’ Clarence looks to the woman.

  ‘No never,’ Lani shakes her head.

  ‘Boss, alright if I quickly run them through the basics?’

  ‘Crack on mate, here take these,’ I hand Lani and Tom a weapon each and watch as they step away with Clarence. He drops down into a crouch and starts running them through the weapons basic moving parts, naming each part separately.

  ‘This is a good day,’ I mutter to the rest of them as they strip the covers off and load their weapons, ‘a very good day.’

  ‘Apart from Nick breaking the pier and then setting our boat on fire,’ Cookey adds quickly.

  ‘Fuck you, I don’t know how that fire started,’ Nick retorted defensively.

  ‘I’m joking mate,’ Cookey said softly, ‘just don’t break this one.’

  ‘Fuck off Cookey!’ The banter starts as I think to how lucky this find was. But then it wasn’t all luck. It was us, planning and working out the best way to make our luck. We got the ship; we killed the zombies and risked our lives to get the prize. With these weapons we stand a much greater chance of survival and I’m already trying to figure out how to carry more of the ammunition with us.

  ‘Anything else down here?’ I ask Dave, ‘we could do with ammunition for the pistols and the GPMG.’

  ‘Fuck it, we might find another GPMG,’ Blowers adds hopefully.

  ‘How we gonna carry it all?’ Cookey asks.

  ‘Load a lifeboat, get to shore and find a vehicle… easy,’ Blowers shrugs.

  ‘Or we take what we can now and come back later’ Cookey argues.

  ‘What’s the point in that?’ Nick asks, ‘just take everything we can now like Blowers said.’

  ‘Someone else could have seen us getting on here, especially with that ferry boat pissing smoke out like that, we might lose it if we leave it here,’ Blowers continues.

  ‘Okay,’ Cookey nods, ‘yeah fair enough then, makes sense,’ the lad concedes.

  ‘Mr Howie, I can take Blowers and start searching for the armoury while you check the other stacks here?’ Dave offers.

  ‘Okay, do that mate. Nick, Cookey you start checking the other stacks. Hang on, we’ve got those radios. Use them.’ We all reach for the radios on our bags and switch them on, each one blaring out with a second of static before locking onto the signal.

  ‘Shout if you get any contact,’ I call out as they start moving away.

  ‘You too Mr Howie,’ Dave replies and they move off swiftly. Nick, Cookey and I start moving round the remaining stacks, checking the typed manifestos.

  ‘Dave to Mr Howie, radio check over.’

  ‘Howie to Dave, loud and clear over.’

  ‘Dave to Mr Howie, likewise out.’

  ‘Cookey to Blowers radio check over.’

  ‘Blowers to Cookey, loud and clear over.’

  ‘Cookey to Blowers does this take you back? Being surrounded by seamen?...over.’

  ‘Dave to Cookey, radio discipline from now, out!’

  ‘Sorry Dave,’ Cookey replaces the radio and I have to turn away as I giggle gently and once again ponder how the lads can make the word “Dave” sound like “Sarge”.

  Looking over I see Clarence shaking his head at Cookey with a wry smile and trying not to laugh too before turning back to Lani and Tom.

  The stacks all contain rice, pasta, flour and basic ingredients. Cleaning materials, soaps and bleaches, disinfectants and scrubbing pads. Tinned food, lots of tinned food. One pallet even contains replacement uniform and boxes of new boots. We strip that one apart and root through the boxes, but they’re all high visibility stuff and big clumpy steel toe capped work boots. Before too long Clarence has got Lani and Tom dry firi
ng and changing magazines, shouting out when they do so. He drills them over and again and I watch as the intelligence shows as they grasp the basics with ease.

  ‘Blowers to Mr Howie over.’

  ‘Howie to Blowers, go ahead.’

  ‘We’ve got RIBS here, all ready to go for launching, we can load them up and use them over.’

  ‘How will we get them off the ship over?’

  ‘There’s a bit hatch thing here with a winch, we can open it and lower the boats down over.’

  ‘Roger, where are you, we’ll start bringing the stuff through.’

  ‘Go to the end, through the doors and down the corridor, I’ll meet you there over.’

  ‘Okay mate, on way,’ pushing the radio back on my belt we all converge on the boxes of ammunition and try to take one each, which is easy for Clarence but the rest of us end up sharing one box between two and moving through the hold towards the end. By the time we get there, Blowers is already in the corridor, grinning widely and nodding his head for us to follow him.

  Down the short passage and through another set of doors into a wide open room containing two army Landrover’s, bicycles and a big powerful looking RIB with an oversized rubber skirt and a mean looking engine on the back. Four hooks; two at the front and two at the rear connect the RIB to long chains hanging from a winch and the wall next to the boat looks to be a roll up shutter. Moving quickly, all of us feeling a strange sense of oppression from the dark inert ship, we dump the ammunition crates and head back into the hold for more. Dave and Blowers head off to complete their sweep for the armoury in the hope of finding ammunition for the GPMG.

  ‘Nick, see if you can get that door open,’ I point at the rolling shutter and the complicated set of controls on the wall for using the shutter and the winch and an extended vehicle ramp used for the vehicles to be driven. Using his torch, Nick examines the controls and pulls levers up and down. Eventually he finds a manual override and starts winding a hand winch, the shutter creaks, groans and starts lifting slowly as a thin sliver of welcome daylight floods in. Taking it in turns with Tom, the two of them winch the door open as the rest of us load the boxes onto the floor of the RIB, trying to keep the weight balanced.