The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  He crawled from the road, through ditches and bushes. Delving deeper into the woods and further away from the road. He knew those things would come for him. They were monsters born from the worst nightmare and they wanted to eat his flesh. Exhausted and petrified he crawled for what seemed like hours. He found a stream and remembered something from one of his movies when he played a fugitive on the run from an evil prison warder, his character had gone through water in an attempt to get rid of his scent and stop the prison dogs from tracking him. Paco wallowed in the shallow water, scrubbing at himself and rubbing the brackish water over every inch of his body. With a raging thirst after so much running, he even drank some of the foul water and instantly regretted it, spitting it out and making himself retch, bringing more bile up.

  Soaking wet he crawled on and found a clearing with dead branches and foliage on the ground. He was beat, too exhausted to move another step. Covering himself with the branches and debris from the ground he lay silently, listening in terror at the sounds of the night animals creeping about. A fox calling for her cubs gave him palpitations and he screwed his eyes closed, praying someone would save him.

  With body and mind exhausted he fell into a fitful sleep. Imagining that if the evil monsters didn’t get him, then wolves or bears would sniff him out and start devouring his legs. He knew of the famous English weather too and expected to be dead from hypothermia or exposure within a few hours too.

  But England doesn’t have wolves or bears, and the weather was very warm, so warm in fact it dried his clothes out while he slept so he awoke to no more discomfort than feeling very thirsty and with a few cuts and bruises on his body.

  His body may have only suffered minor discomfort but his mind was a mess and no sooner had he opened his eyes and remembered where he was than the fear once more gripped him. The images of everything he had seen the night before running through his mind.

  The studio would be frantic with worry for him. There must be police and everyone out searching. This would be national news; no… it would be international news.

  He stood up and patted his pockets down, then remembered he was still in costume for the movie so didn’t have his phone with him. No wallet either. But he wouldn’t need a wallet, anybody would recognise him.

  The police must have got a grip of whatever happened by now. Some kind of chemical attack probably. Terrorists or something. Yeah, a terrorist attack with chemical agents that made everyone go crazy. Looking around he searched for the route he came in but everything looked the same. He had no tracking skills and couldn’t recall the direction he’d came from. His t-shirt was ripped and his tan trousers were filthy but at least he wasn’t cold.

  He set off expecting his legs to be shaky and weak, but they weren’t. The running had tired him out and he felt a little soreness in his thigh muscles but nothing more than that. He stretched his arms back and flexed his upper body as he walked. Getting the blood pumping and the muscles engorged just in case he bumped into any of the search teams out scouring the land for him.

  Paco walked all morning. He walked through the woods, then more woods. He crossed fields and streams, meadows, rolling hills and pleasant undulating rural land. But no roads. His sense of direction was hopeless. The sun was hot and he worried about getting sunburnt, not wanting to suffer the redness or ruin his perfect flawless skin.

  He was also thirsty, ragingly thirsty. So by the time he found the narrow country road and followed it for a few miles and saw the houses in the distance there was only thing on his mind. Water. Ice cold water and lots of it. It was all he could think off. It consumed his every thought. He imagined himself escaping enemy soldiers and running across the parched Sahara desert, finally seeing the dwellings and bursting in like a hero gasping for water. The home owners would be surprised to see Paco Maguire at their door and sure they’d sell their story for a good buck, but hey who can blame them. But he’d have to make sure they didn’t take any pictures until he cleaned himself up, that much was fair.

  He kept a close eye on the roofs of the houses in the distance and worked his way down the country lane. The birds were singing and it was a gorgeous day. Now the end was in sight he almost felt good. The feeling of escape, of being safe made him giddy. He would be a true hero now.

  Shit, but he’d run away. The studios didn’t have CCTV cameras anywhere near the filming lots, they were banned simply for the fact someone would sell the footage of the top movies being made. That meant, if he was the only survivor, that he could give an account of how he tried to fight them off but honestly believed they were sick and he didn’t want to hurt them. No, that wouldn’t work. They were killing each other and then chasing him. Got it! He’d say he led them away; he shouted and abused them to lure them away from the injured people on the set. They chased him and he kept them going so the others could get help. Yeah, perfect.

  The hedgerow was high but he got fleeting views of the village he was approaching. It must be afternoon by now. No cars though, and he’d expected to see helicopters out searching for him. Maybe he’d wandered far away from the search radius by now.

  He followed the gentle curve of the road and smiled as he saw the village just ahead. It looked small, just a few dozen houses all clustered together and stretching off down the road.

  He reached the first house. An old stone built cottage with a grey slate roof and a pretty garden covered in colourful flowers. He opened the white picket gate and walked up the narrow path to the wooden door, extending his hand to knock. The door was slightly open. He smiled and pushed it carefully.

  ‘Hi! Anyone home?’ he called out and listened for a response, getting his best smile ready for when the person came to the door and saw the famous actor on the doorstep.

  ‘Hi, anyone there?’ he called again and frowned when there was still no response. He pushed the door open and peered into the small quaint hallway. Stepping in he called and banged on the door. Nothing. Whoever lived here had gone out and left the door unlocked. Still, this was the countryside and hardly the Bronx or South Central.

  He walked into the hallway and through a lounge area with floral sofas and china plates on display above the fireplace.

  ‘Say…anyone there?’ he called again. He saw another door leading to a kitchen and the thirst took over. Striding through he found the faucet and turned it on. No, wait the English call it a tap. He smirked as he ran his hands under the icy cold water cascading noisily into the stainless steel basin.

  A small china cup was upturned on the draining board; he rinsed it out, taking care not to catch someone else’s germs despite the dryness of his mouth. He filled the cup and drank it down in three big gulps. The water was perfect. Cold and soaking into his parched mouth. He felt the chill as it ran down his throat and into his stomach. He drank more and kept drinking. Filling the tiny cup again and again, gulping it down. Turning his head he saw a pint glass inside a glass fronted cupboard and pulled it out, filling it up and then turned to lean against the sink as he sank it down in big noisy gulps.

  The feeling was poetry. Pure poetry. He lifted the glass higher and higher, letting some of the water spill from his mouth and down his front. His head tilted back as the glass was pushed higher and the contents drained into his greedy mouth. Eyes closed in ecstasy he lowered the glass and gave a big belch.

  ‘Oh hi,’ he said startled as he opened his eyes and saw the figure standing in the doorway. Then he took in the details. The blood encrusted mouth and the red bloodshot eyes. The ragged wound in the neck and the head lolling from side to side. There was drool coming from the mouth and mixing with the blood, making little pink trails of spit drip from the chin.

  Paco gripped the glass and froze in utter fear as the creature shuffled slowly towards him. An old lady dressed in a white gown now heavily stained with blood and filth. He couldn’t back away. He was already pressed into the kitchen sink.

  ‘Stay back,’ he yelped in a high pitched voice, ‘please…please stay back….�
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  The woman shuffled slowly towards him, her movements uncoordinated and jerky. Walking stiff legged and groaning like a sick dog.

  Paco spun round, searching for a way out. The window. He leant over the sink and pulled the lever up and pushed the window open. He looked back and cried out as the woman kept coming towards him. Clambering on the sink he dropped the glass which smashed on the floor and then sent the draining rack and crockery flying as his large bulk forced itself towards the window. In his panic he tried to go head first but his wide shoulders jammed in the frame.

  Crying in fear he turned and twisted sideways, squeezing through as the woman inched closer. He got his legs out and watched in horror as the woman’s bare feet stepped onto the shards of glass. He heard the crunch and watched as blood started pouring from her feet. She didn’t even flinch but kept coming. He cried out again and dropped out of the window, landing in the flower beds of the back garden and backing away from the building expecting her to be clambering out the window after him.

  Paco ran onto the lawn and then round in circles as he realised the garden was fully enclosed with a solid high fence on all sides.

  He was trapped and panicking. He ran back across the lawn and saw the patio doors leading into the dining room. He raced over and pulled them open. Knowing he had no choice he sobbed as he ran through the dining room and collided with the zombie woman now shuffling into the dining room. His solid frame sent the little old lady sprawling but he still screamed in utter terror as he hurdled the flailing body, running through the hallway and back out through the front door.

  ‘HELP!’ He bellowed as he ran through the gate and into the quiet street, ‘SOMEONE HELP…’ He saw figures in the distance and started towards them, then stopped as he saw the same jerky manner of their walking. The blood stains were clear as day on their pale skin and nightclothes. Old people. Lots of wrinkly old people all covered in blood and shuffling in his direction.

  The fact that they were slow now didn’t register with Paco. The mind numbing hysteria that gripped him held him rooted fast to the spot. A groan behind him and he twisted round to see the woman from the cottage now exiting the gate. She was in the road just metres from him. He backed away from her with a look of horror crawling across his face. Tears once more streaking down his cheeks.

  He took several faltering steps before turning and seeing the group of monsters coming from the other direction. They were quite a distance away and shuffling along very slowly but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was trapped. The old woman was one side and the other old people were the other side.

  He couldn’t escape. They would get him. They would lunge and leap, howling like demons and tear him apart.

  He sobbed and wailed, stamped his feet and spun one way then the other. Then he saw the garden path of the next house and the front door standing open. Without further thought he ran through the garden and into the house. Slamming the door closed behind him. He ran through the rooms blubbering and knocking into furniture, expecting to see the demon monsters coming at him. He stumbled through to the back door and out into the garden. The same high fence but this time he jumped up to look over. It looked clear. He clambered the fence and ran from garden to garden, scaling high fences and brick built garden walls. Running an entire assault course with the speed of a Special Forces soldier. He didn’t think to get tired. He was too scared.

  He ran, vaulted and climbed. He ran past garden sheds full of good heavy weapons. Some of the houses had shotgun cabinets within them. Every house he passed held weapons and supplies. He ignored the lot and kept going. One thought pressing into his panic filled mind. Run away. Run away from the monsters.

  Minutes later and breathing hard he scaled the last high fence and dropped deftly down onto the verge of another country road. He scurried about and found the junction of the road he had been on minutes before. The horde were still there, still shuffling slowly towards the point they last saw him.

  A lucky escape. The monsters almost had him. He turned and ran. Heading back into the safety of the countryside.

  SIX

  DAY TWO

  The dog followed the trail through the quiet residential streets. The stillness of the hot air served to enable her ears to hear better. The lack of breeze meant the scent trails stayed in situ for a long time.

  There were many trails here, all of them heading the same way. She tracked and moved across the road, sweeping left and right and picking out the many different tracks. She knew the horde was big so when it came into view it posed no surprise to her.

  Outside a den the things were gathered and waiting. There were people within the den.

  She moved to the far side of the hard ground and stared from the shadows of a large tree. Movement from the den. High up. Faces peering out. A woman holding a little one. The things wanted the little one. She sensed their hunger.

  A low growl sounded in her throat as she watched the window. The dog could see the fear on the woman’s face. She watched closely as another little one appeared next to the woman and looked down at the things. One pack leader with little ones. She couldn’t go outside and fight the things or the little ones would be left undefended. The den entry was blocked. The things were many in number.

  She trotted out into the sun and watched the woman show a reaction. The woman pointed at the dog and the little one waved.

  Instinct kicked in and the dog made noise. She made loud noise and waited for the things to turn and look at her. They were slow so she made more noise. She wanted them to come for her and away from the den. They didn’t move away from the den so she killed them. All of them.

  She started with the closest and jumped up high to tear the throat out. Then she leapt from body to body and with each one she got quicker as the method became better practised. Bodies dropped with jugulars ripped out, blood pumping onto the ground in thick pools. She worked steadily and felt the heat bearing down on her. It took time but the work was done. They were killed and the entrance to the den was made clear.

  She moved out from the street and across the hard ground into the shade of the tree. The smell of blood overwhelmed everything else. It coated her paws and the front of her coat. Her tongue was dry and swollen and her chest heaved as she fought for air to cool down. The woman looked down into the street. Still holding the little one but with one hand covering her mouth. The little one stood next to her was waving again.

  The woman opened the window and made noise. The dog knew the tone was friendly so she went closer and looked up. The woman made more noise. So did the little one. She wagged her tail and sat down. She looked up and continued wagging her tail. The woman made more noise and went away. The dog moved back to the shade and rested. The woman came back and made something fall slowly from the window. It was big and the woman waved her hands over it. She went over to the den and watched as the thing came down through the air. It landed on the ground and she saw it had water inside. She drank the water. She drank deeply and felt the coolness of the clear liquid as it quenched the thirst and cooled her.

  The dog moved to the den entry point where there was shade and rested out of the sunlight, lying down with her head resting on her paws.

  She stayed there for the rest of the day, only moving out when the undead staggered into the street and then returning to drink the water and rest in the shade. She cleaned herself between kills, licking the blood and gore from her hair.

  The single mother inside the house had watched with trepidation as the dog had first appeared and started attacking the things gathered outside. She thought the dog must be one of them. Infected with whatever disease that made everyone go mad. When the dog savaged them all she held her hand to her mouth and tried to cover her son’s eyes while still holding the baby. As the dog leapt from body to body she realised it wasn’t eating the things. It was simply killing them. As the last one fell the dog checked around before moving over to the shade of the front door. It wagged its tail and barked
up at them. Despite being one floor up she could clearly see the dogs eyes were clear and normal and nothing like the eyes of the things that had been outside all morning. She found an old plastic bucket and filled it with water before lowering it down, watching with interest as the dog rushed over and noisily lapped the water down with a long pink and normal looking tongue.

  All day she watched from the window as the dog moved out and took the undead down before quickly trotting back to the door and drinking from the bucket. She wanted so much to let the dog in but it was a huge dog, very powerfully built with massive paws and huge white teeth. They wouldn’t stand a chance if the dog turned inside the house and she couldn’t take that risk, so the door stayed closed.

  The bodies were everywhere and the scene grew more gruesome as the day wore on with a seemingly endless supply of the undead shuffling down the road.

  She had watched during the night as the street outside her house first became a warzone and then turned into something from a horror film. She bolted the door and pulled all the curtains closed in the downstairs rooms then taking her children she barricaded herself into her bedroom armed with a large kitchen knife and constantly dialling the emergency services.

  By early evening the mother thoughts turned to escape. Low food stocks in the house and she knew that with two mouths to feed plus the baby they would soon run out. They needed to get out and find somewhere else. Find other survivors, or somewhere that had food. Her car was parked in the narrow lane at the back of the house. If she could quietly get to the car she could slip away and head away from the town. As the hordes gathered during the morning her hopes of getting away grew slimmer, simply through fear of opening any doors with such a large mob outside. But now, with the dog taking them down they could get away.