The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘TAKE THIS,’ the big man shoves a bottle into his hand, Paco lifts it to his lips expecting water but getting a syrupy liquid instead. He gulps it down greedily, the liquid cascading down his chin.

  ‘FALL BACK….KEEP FIRING.’

  Paco feels the glucose and sugar hitting him, the instant carbohydrate working wonders in snapping his mind back to reality. He’s walking behind the group, not knowing he was walking but taking steps all the same. The monsters are still charging, some of them coming straight and others weaving across the road. He can see they are only just being held back and getting closer every second. Two others running across the road and climbing a fence, one of them with an axe in one hand and an assault rifle in the other, the smaller man just carrying an assault rifle.

  ‘CAN YOU USE A GUN?’ The huge man with the bald head shouts at him, firing one handed while holding a pistol towards Paco. He takes the gun, a 9mm pistol. The weight and feel is familiar to him from so many action movies. His fingers switch into auto-pilot as habit of hand kicks in, ejecting the magazine, checking the rounds before slamming it back home and sliding the top back to engage the first round.

  He lifts his arm, tracking one of the monsters and firing easily. The thing drops down but he hardly notices, already raising his aim for the next one.

  ‘CLARENCE…WE’RE GIVING TOO MUCH GROUND, WHERE ‘S CHRIS?’ One of the young men shouts from the front.

  ‘ON HIS WAY.’

  ‘HE BETTER FUCKING HURRY UP OR WE’RE FUCKED.’

  Paco doesn’t know who Chris is, he doesn’t know who any of these people are, but suddenly he’s wishing that Chris, whoever he is, hurries the fuck up.

  FORTY-FOUR

  She makes noise at the entrance to the den. He sealed it off, preventing her from being with him. She throws herself at the door again and again. Her body weight slamming and vibrating the frame, rattling the windows.

  Her head cocks slightly to the side as she hears him pounding away, the things running after him. She doesn’t understand his intentions. This is a mistake. Separation of the pack is a mistake. She must be with him.

  Running into the front room she leaps at the window, watching the things as they pour past the garden. So many of them. They want her man just like they wanted her little one.

  She can see them but she can’t get to them. An invisible wall is in her way. She backs up and throws herself at it, bouncing off from the thick frame holding the double glazed windows in place.

  Through the window she can see as the last of the things stops and stares into the house. She makes noise, warning it to stay away from her pack leader, urging it to come for her, willing it to fight. The thing is joined as more of them drop back and stare into the window.

  Their numbers grow outside in the street. They pause, waiting for more to drop back before moving towards the house, swarming over the low wall and pouring through the gate. She stays at the window, making noise and leaping up to try and get to them.

  They attack the windows, throwing themselves bodily but bouncing back of the thick panes. They persist, slamming fists, elbows, feet and heads into the panes. They start to fracture, giving under the constant bombardment.

  She hears bangs coming from the front door and barks her fury at them. Come for me, come in here and see what waits for you. I’ve killed many of you and I will again.

  Pure instinct drives her on. She runs to the front door, nose down to the very bottom and barking constantly. The hairs on her back standing up, her feet planted wide apart. Tail curled up.

  She wants to be with the man. She needs to be with her pack, protecting him. He is alone now and the things will be going for him.

  The dog turns again to head for the windows of the front room, her eyes catch sight of the open back door. She bounds outside into the enclosed back garden. A six foot fence but with ivy coated trellis on the top of that making the height even higher, too high for her to jump. The fence circuits the perimeter of the garden, trapping her within. No escape, no way of getting out to her man until the things beat their way inside. Smashing noises in the house, the sounds of heavy repeated thuds at the front door.

  Inside the house she runs between the front door and the lounge windows, barking and snarling as she leaps at them, her paws clawing the glass and frame.

  FORTY-FIVE

  ‘You okay?’ Dave asks me as I land heavily the other side of the fence, losing my balance and stumbling down into the flower bed.

  ‘Fine, fine…keep going,’ getting to my feet we run across the lawn. Dave leaps to the top of the fence, almost vaulting it. I on the other hand hit it almost full on, the fence wobbles dangerously as I scoot my arse over the top and land the other side.

  ‘We need to get into the street and find the numbers,’ I shout as Dave runs at the next fence, he swerves off and heads to the back door, trying to handle but finding it locked.

  ‘Your axe,’ he shouts. I throw it over to him. He catches it easily, dropping his rifle and slamming the heavy metal end into the pane of glass, raking it round the frame to remove the shards of glass. He reaches in, feeling for a lock to undo.

  ‘Key locked, no key,’ he calls out and climbs through the empty pane. I pass my rifle through, then the axe and finally myself. Ungainly and the polar opposite to Dave’s graceful movements. Fortunately the end result is the same with both of inside the house, running towards the front door.

  Dave gets there first, as expected. The key in the lock on the inside. He goes to unlock it, pausing to glance at me as we both make the connection between this door locked on the inside and the back door locked with no key.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ A man shouts from the top of the stairs brandishing a cricket bat.

  ‘Sorry, emergency…we lost our dog,’ I shout as Dave gets the door open. We sprint out, down the path and into the garden. The front door slams behind us a few seconds later. Feeling guilty from smashing in the back door of what must be one of the only occupied houses we move away, heading up the street.

  ‘What number was that?’ I ask Dave.

  ‘I don’t know, I thought you checked it.’

  ‘Er…nope, what’s that one?’ We both run to the next house, stopping to shine our torches at the front door.

  ‘No number,’ Dave replies, our torch beams strafing the door and front walls.

  ‘Fucking wankers,’ I mutter with indignation.

  We run to the next house and stop at the gate, again shining our torches at the front door.

  ‘White Gates,’ Dave reads the wooden sign on the wall, ‘no number.’

  ‘Fucking wankers!…they don’t even have white gates…must be the next street if these are all named.’ Jogging down the street we keep checking the front doors, finding them all to be named instead of numbered. At the junction we pause, the sound of loud thuds and shattering glass gives us direction. We head towards it, seeing a mass of bodies illuminated by the moon, assaulting the front of a house. Undead throwing themselves with unbelievable ferocity at the windows and door. As we get closer I watch as one of them stands in front of the thick double glazed glass, pulling his head back and ramming his forehead repeatedly into the panes of glass. They fracture, large spider web cracks forming. He keeps going, driving his bloodied skull into the thick glass, fracturing and smashing it bit by bit.

  ‘We can’t shoot in, we might hit the dog,’ Dave says quickly.

  ‘Round the back then, we can shoot out.’

  ‘Roger,’ he replies leading the way up a garden path a few doors down. The front door is locked and secure, a solid UPVC door. Dave drops down, kicking at the panel at mid centre of the bottom half. Sat on his arse with his feet cycling back and forth, raining blow after blow. The panel comes free, the whole of it simply falling into the house.

  ‘How the?’ I whisper as he peers inside before pulling himself through.

  ‘Kick panel,’ he replies. Again I have to pass my kit through before I squeeze through the hole, Dave stan
ding facing away to cover me until I get through.

  ‘I’m in.’

  ‘This way,’ he says leading us through the dark house towards the back. We find the kitchen door closed but unlocked and head out into the garden. Another six foot high fence, I throw my axe over and swing the rifle round onto my back, I back up so I can take a running jump at it.

  Dave vaults it easily again like a cat. My running jump gets me most of the way up. My hands pressing down on the top to lever the rest of my body up. The fence groans with a splintering sounds them gives way, crashing down with me still on top of it.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whisper to Dave, picking myself up from the debris and pulling fence panels from the straps of my bag.

  ‘Listen,’ he stares at me. I strain my ears, hearing a dog barking furiously. The sound mixed in with the repeated thuds and bangs.

  ‘Go!’ I urge him as I run at the next fence. Thankfully this one doesn’t collapse under my weight and I manage to get myself over.

  ‘Oh fucking hell,’ I mutter at the sight of the much larger fence. The barking and thuds loud and clear now.

  ‘Must be in that one,’ Dave nods at the high ivy covered fence looming over our heads. The noises suddenly escalate. Glass shattering noisily and we hear the dog snarling as it attacks something.

  ‘They’re through,’ I call out, spotting a garden shed in the corner I head towards it. Using my axe to smash the door open. ‘Dave take the end,’ I grab the ladders inside the shed, trying to yank them free, bungee cords hold them in place and I curse with harsh language as my fingers fight to get them off.

  ‘Got it,’ Dave pulls the end, dragging the ladder from the shed and running across the lawn to prop them up against the fence. The top of the ladder slams against the fence, a foot too short. Dave scales up, levering himself over the top and dropping down the other side.

  I go next, feeling the wobble as the ladder slides on the hard compacted ground underneath it. Reaching the top I straddle the edge, just weak trellis that sways and rocks underneath me. I drop my legs down, holding onto the top spoke and closing my eyes as I let go. The drop isn’t that bad, just jarring more than anything.

  We’re in a garden with the same high fence on all sides. The back door open and the sound of fierce fighting coming from within. Both of us sprint to the back door, gaining the kitchen just as the front door bursts open and the undead start pushing through.

  Dave starts firing instantly, it takes me a few more seconds to swing my rifle round from my back and take aim. The dog is out of sight in the front room but we can both hear it snarling and attacking the undead as they come through the windows.

  ‘AIM HIGH, THE DOG MIGHT COME OUT,’ Dave shouts. I take aim at head height, single shot only and aiming into mass of bodies trying to push through the now open doorway.

  Heads explode, bodies flung back from the power of the rounds slamming into them. We edge forward slowly, firing quickly into the mass.

  ‘MAGAZINE,’ I shout and scrabble for the next full one in the pouch on my belt, ramming it home quickly and pulling the bolt back.

  ‘COVER ME,’ Dave shouts, he crouches down, crabbing down the hallway towards the lounge door, kneeling at an angle and firing his weapon into the room. I keep firing at the front door. Every one killed is instantly replaced. The zombies are possessed, more ferocious than I have ever seen them. Body shots go unnoticed apart from the power of the bullet forcing them back. Only head shots drop them.

  Dave shouts and quickly changes his magazine, shouting that it’s his last one. He picks his shots, firing into lounge. The end of the gun making tiny adjustments as he aim and fires.

  ‘MAGAZINE, LAST ONE,’ I shout, kneeling down to quickly change. Dave draws his pistol with his right hand, half turning and firing one shot at the front door with the hand weapon, then the next shot with the assault rifle into the lounge.

  ‘GET THE DOG OUT,’ I scream, pulling the bolt back and firing the last magazine of my assault rifle into the front door.

  He disappears into the lounge as I move up the hallway. Shots ring out from within the room, the dog snarling and barking. I reach the doorway and glance inside just in time to see the dog leap at the smashed in window, snapping her mouth shut onto the throat of an undead clambering bodily through the gap. She grips it between her teeth, shaking her head violently and tearing a huge clump of flesh from the neck. Blood spurts out thick and fast, coating the already sodden floor. The undead struggles for a second before slumping down half in the gap. Dave shoots over the top of it as I empty my magazine into the front door. The fallen bodies again form an obstacle, giving us just a few seconds back down the hallway.

  I whistle and urge the dog to come with us. The thing is massive, easily one of the biggest dogs I have ever seen. Paws like a lion, standing broad and high she looks wild and feral. Blood dripping from her panting mouth. Her lips stretched open to show the row of deadly teeth coated pink. Her hair is standing up and tail curled up over her back making her look even larger.

  She looks at me, big beautiful soft brown eyes with no sign of the red bloodshot look of the undead.

  ‘Good girl, come on…good girl,’ I smile at her watching as her tail twitches which maybe a wag or a pre-cursor to ripping my head off.

  Backing down the hallway I push the now useless rifle round to my back and draw my pistol. Firing at the undead as they scrabble and claw to climb over the bodies mounting up. Dave does the same, firing with ruthless precision directly into their heads.

  The dog takes up her barking again, an incredibly deep noise that resonates round as much as the gunfire in the enclosed space.

  ‘Fuck it! My radio is on my bag, did you bring yours?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  We pull back further towards the garden. The things are pushing at the bodies now, their combined weight and utterly venomous thirst for destruction driving the corpses inside. I change magazine, ramming the new clip home and moving a couple of steps towards the door to fire into the pressing mass. My heart sinks at the number of undead behind the wall of cadavers. Too many, far too many.

  One magazine left in my pistol, I ram it home and slide the top back. Dave goes forward firing individual fast shots, aiming for their heads. Each of his bullets slam home, taking the skulls off and sending the foul beast to hell. But it isn’t enough.

  ‘How many you got left?’

  ‘Last one,’ he replies, ‘got knives though,’ he gives me a quick smile before stepping in shooting his last magazine into them. ‘I’m out.’ He steps back re-holstering the gun.

  ‘My last one now, you take it,’ I hand the pistol to him which he takes without complaint.

  ‘Get your axe into that fence Mr Howie,’ he shouts before turning to fire. I run out the back door, swinging my axe into the fence. The thing isn’t the cheap thin feather board fences that everyone else uses. Oh no, this wanker has had a proper fence built. Thick sturdy boards at six feet in height with that shitty trellis on the top.

  ‘Fucking Alan Titchsmarsh,’ I yell in fury as the axe bites into the boards. I hack away, hearing Dave place his shots slowly and carefully. More gunfire in the distance, the assault rifles cutting the other horde down.

  This is desperate now. Even Dave might struggle to hold them back, they’ve changed again, evolved and become stronger and wilder. Roaring I swing the axe down, biting into the wood and wrenching it back. The boards split, slowly smashing under the blows.

  ‘I’M OUT,’ Dave bellows from inside.

  ‘COMING,’ I shout and start towards the door.

  ‘KEEP GOING,’ he shouts back. The image of him right at that point will stay with me forever. Shoving the pistol into his waist band he pulls the knives from his back. The points of the blades down towards the floor. His wrists flicker as they’re suddenly rotated and turned, the blades now pointing upwards against his forearms. The dog next to him, standing fierce and proud, her head low.

  They both turn back to the
door, both of them growling, quivering with anger, waiting for the attack. Wild animals full of pure killing instinct. Shit, I could probably sit down and have a cup of tea. Nothing could get through them. I’ve been with Dave since this started, seen him kill and kill again with such ease. But now, with that huge beast of a dog next to him…well, it’s something else. The poor zombies are fucked. Then I remember why we’re here in the first place and the extreme importance of that animal, the dog I mean, not Dave. That dog has pure untainted blood that we need.

  The thought drives me back to the fence, the axe once more swinging down into the boards. Slowly it’s beaten down, a hole through to the next garden forms slowly. I hack away making it big enough for me to squeeze through.

  ‘INCOMING,’ Dave screams from inside the house. The sounds of battle reaching me.

  ‘WE’RE THROUGH,’ I shout back as the dog appears through the door, walking backwards and lunging back in. I start forward seeing the back of Dave spinning and twisting as he fells anything that comes at him. The hallway is packed with them, deep and dense. Their drive is too much, pushing Dave and the dog back into the garden.

  ‘GO GO,’ Dave shouts, just about holding them at the doorway.

  ‘Come on, good girl, come on…’ I whistle and pull at the dog by her neck. She fights against me for a second, desperate to get at the undead. I keep shouting and pulling, she relents and turns with me, letting me guide and get her through the hole. I drop down onto all fours and start backing through it, pausing when just my head is left poking out.

  ‘CLEAR…NOW DAVE…’he breaks free, turning to sprint across the lawn. I jerk back just in time as he dives through. Scrabbling to get his legs in. I’m already up, the axe held ready as Dave gets clear. I swing down at the first head that comes through, the blade biting deep into the skull killing it instantly. Another appears above it, clawing and thrashing through the hole. I swing in, slicing into the face and cleaving the skull open. As I free the blade the dog lunges in, savaging the remains of the skull with her teeth.