The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  I smile back. A slow reaction that I do not now, and perhaps never will, understand. I reach out and touch Nick’s shoulder, he screams with panic and fear. I grip him harder, squeezing and shaking.

  He slowly turns his head to look at me and sees me smiling. His scream drops off as tears roll down his face. He nods, slowly then faster and grins back, it changes his face. His eyes sparkle as he eases his foot from the accelerator and turns back to face the road.

  Outside the window is awful, just a black sky with faint hints of blue in the distance. Debris is still being buffeted past us but thankfully the weight of the vehicle and the distance we made seems to have kept us safe.

  Cookey and Blowers are both hanging on for dear life, Clarence has wedged himself in front of the girl we saved, I’d forgot all about her with everything going on. Lani is sat next to her with the girl clinging on to her for dear life.

  I climb over the seats, still unable to hear anything properly. A rushing sound comes from outside and my ears are ringing from the noise. Dave looks at me questioningly, I point to the GPMG and he nods. Climbing up I ease my head out of the hole and stare in wonder at the sky above.

  Then I twist round and see the truest wonder I have ever seen. The mushroom fireball is still raging away but diminishing and growing smaller. The sheer power of the pressured fuel has been exhausted and it’s just the flammable liquids left to burn out. I still can’t see past the site to the river but I can just make out the outskirts of the refinery. Already the surrounding area is a blackened wasteland of smouldering fires and twisted unidentifiable lumps.

  The folly of man hits home harder than ever. The one place left that could have kept us going for many years with fuel and equipment and now it’s gone. Blown to bits by a stray bullet and all the people inside incinerated. Shit. What have we done. Even now, on the very brink of our species being wiped out we still fight and kill each other out of greed and jealousy.

  Looking up into the blackened sky I see our future mapped out. Dark boiling clouds gathering that will be visible for many miles. The tremor alone would have been felt like an earthquake, the fallout from this will be catastrophic for years. But then no one will be here to see it. Fifty years from now the sea would have reclaimed some of the land. Plants and vegetation will grow back. Animals and birds will nest and continue and it’ll repair.

  Right now, looking at the sheer destruction we caused, it’s almost seems a good thing that we’re being culled. We’d fuck this planet up completely if we stayed.

  Twenty-Six

  ‘Harry you dumb ass motherfucker, which way we going now?’ Randall demands of the big ex-biker. His red bloodshot eyes looking even more awful above the long shaggy beard. He looks about as though contemplating then points away to one side, away from Portsmouth.

  ‘You sure now? Don’t be fucking sending us on no long walk,’ Randall looks about the area. They crossed the sea easy enough in the boat, taking it steady for risk of hitting something unseen in the water.

  With the bright moonlight they were able to make out the distinct skyline of Portsmouth city and use it as a guide, heading east along the coast away from anywhere that might be populated.

  By the early hours they were beaching the boat on a deserted shore and wading through the shallows to wait on the sand. Randall watched his men closely. The stupid chat between them was gone, Colin was the only one that made any form of observation or dumb comments. The others had become quiet and business like, doing exactly as bid.

  They all looked to Harry, waiting while he got his bearings and decided the direction. Then they set off, a group of hardened and experienced criminals marching along the shoreline in near silence.

  ‘Tell me about this fort? And don’t be giving me no one word answers…I need to know how we get in, which direction we come so don’t be just saying it’s big or shit like that,’ Randall glares at Harry. Harry glares ahead.

  ‘Back is on the sea, don’t know if there is a door, front has flat land for maybe a mile. Got two walls, both big and made of concrete. Big gate in the middle.’

  ‘Holy fuck, we can’t cross that flat land, they’ll see us coming…you know of any tunnels or shit?’

  Harry shakes his head rubbing the bottom of his beard against his chest.

  ‘Any other doors round the side?’ Randall asks, Harry thinks for a minute then shrugs.

  ‘This is a mother-fucking perplexing issue right here…how the fuck we gonna get in?’

  ‘Why not just knock on the door and ask,’ Colin says with an innocent grin.

  ‘Are you really that stupid?’

  ‘We can talk, we just knock and…’

  ‘Hey yeah that’s a real good idea Colin, say you people with your guns can you open up and let us mother-fucking brain eaters in please…holy shit man, that’s got to the dumbest fucking thing you’ve said so far…how the fuck are you still alive? You should’ve have been terminated at birth you dumb fucking retard…’

  ‘Well it was only an idea,’ Colin replies with huffily.

  ‘And a stupid mother-fucking idea at that…don’t speak…no don’t say a mother-fucking word or Harry will start using your fucking teeth to comb his beard.’

  They walk on in silence. Randall brooding as he thinks of how to get inside the fort. The hunger inside him is immense, a strong urge to rip and tear, to destroy and dominate. The going is hard and as the sun rises into the sky they all feel the intense heat bearing down on them.

  Around sweepings bays of golden sand they walk, the clear blue waters lapping gently at the shore. Green fields and meadows border the beach. A perfect summers day in an idyllic setting. Birds swoop amongst the sand dunes that roll gently away into the distance. Gulls cry and float serenely on the warm currents of air. Rabbits, already feeling braver from the lack of human contact, run and bounce through the grassy dunes.

  Twelve days of no people and the sand looks virginal with no signs of footsteps or sandcastles. No screaming children covered in sun-cream being chased by harassed parents with bright red sweaty faces.

  All of the beauty of the area is lost on the men. The urge to feast, and to please Randall, are the driving factors. Nothing else matters now. They could be walking through a barren wasteland of scorched earth and their reaction would be no different.

  Hours pass as they march on, hugging the shore and keenly watching the distance for signs of the fort.

  They see it easily. A large edifice stark against the surrounding organic nature of the area. Sturdy walls built high on a spit of land that juts out into the sea.

  Randall pauses his group, knowing they will be spotted if he continues straight along the shore. He leads the men away from the sea and into a beachside residential area of large houses, cafés and restaurants. All of them looking empty and dark.

  Hidden from view they make their way through the roads and lanes, catching glimpses of the fort in the distance.

  As they get closer, Randall realises the spit of land the fort is built on forms a bay that separates them with a wide expanse of water. The spit stretching much further into the sea than the rest of the shore line.

  They can either work their way round the bay and come in from the north, or go across the water and enter into the flatlands. A boat would be no good, too easily seen by any lookouts. Coming in from the north is just the same, a group of large built men walking through that flat ground would be instantly visible. The south is an option, coming up to the fort from the seaward side.

  ‘I surely hope you dumb-fucks can swim,’ Randall mutters without taking his eyes off the glittering surface of the water.

  ‘I can’t,’ one man replies in a flat tone.

  ‘Then you best be good at drowning quietly,’ Randall stares at him intensely, the man nods without showing a flicker of emotion.

  Randall takes them through gardens and grounds to the shore line, holding the men in the cover of the trees before sending them down one at a time to ease themselves into
the sea with strict instructions to only keep their heads out of the water.

  He watches as the first one goes down, running bent over until he reaches the edge and wading through the shallows to the deeper water. The man keeps going, not flinching once as he walks until only his head is showing then turns to wait.

  Randall hangs back, waiting with the one who said he couldn’t swim. As the last one runs out he draws his knife and stares at the man. They lock eyes. The man shows no fear or concern at being confronted by Randall holding a blade.

  ‘Can’t risk you making noise,’ Randall says quietly.

  ‘Okay,’ the man replies. Watching as Randall jabs the point of his knife forward, thrusting it deep into his stomach. The man looks down at the handle sticking out and Randall’s hand gripping it. Still he shows no reaction as Randall starts turning the knife slowly. Twisting the blade deep within the man’s gut.

  ‘Holy fuck,’ Randall whispers, his eyes locked on the man he’s stabbing, he pulls the knife out and watches as a thick stream of blood soaks the front of the man’s top, a bright crimson stain spreading quickly across his stomach. The man just stares down at it. The knife is plunged in again, a deep thrusting motion that drives it up to the hilt. Randall draws it out and stabs again, then again. Aiming all round the stomach and then the sides.

  The man drops down as his internal organs are pierced. The infection unable to contain the damage being sustained to the host body.

  Randall goes with him, a wild look in his bulging eyes as he stabs and stabs, sinking the knife into the soft flesh and relishing in the violence of killing someone who shows no reaction.

  Eventually he stands back, chest heaving and dripping blood from his soaked arm. The man lies still, his eyes staring up at Randall as his life blood drains away.

  ‘Motherfucker,’ Randall shakes his head, ‘you do die quietly don’t you…if I’d known that you could have come with us…sorry buddy.’

  ‘I understand,’ the man replies. His eyes close slowly as he slips away, dying for the second time.

  Shrugging and shaking his head Randall turns round and heads down to the water, he crouches like the others and quickly wades in. Taking care to sweep his legs along rather than bringing them up and down.

  Within a couple of seconds he’s out into the deeper water, feeling the relief of the water cooling his sun baked body. He drops down to soak his face, coming back up as the water drains down from his head, dripping from his beard.

  With the knife pushed into his waistband he kicks out, lifting his feet from the sea floor and gently kicking his way towards the opposite shore.

  He glances about, seeing the inmates doing the same thing. They go slowly, all of them using some form of breast stroke to avoid lifting their arms over the surface of the water. This close, the heads look distinct against the smooth natural colour of the sea. But from a distance he knows they’ll be very hard to spot, especially with the bright sun reflecting off the sea.

  They reach the other side without issue, stopping when they feel the bottom of the seabed coming back into reach of their feet.

  ‘Wait here,’ Randall whispers, telling the men to pass it on quietly. He swims forward, keeping his body low in the water until the very last second then quickly rising up to run crouched into the long grass of the verge.

  He drops down onto his belly then starts crawling away from the shore. The high grass ends within a few metres of the shore, forcing him to hold still and watch.

  To his left is the ruined housing estate, the twisted blackened stumps of houses and buildings. The flatlands look vast from his position with no form of concealment. To go across here would be stupid.

  Looking across to the fort the raised earth banks obscure his view of the main gates but he can see the high walls, sheer in design with no way of getting over them without a rope and making a lot of noise.

  He edges backwards, snaking his way through the grass and back into the water swimming south, heading away from the land and following the contour of the spit of land as it stretches out into the sea.

  Several of them hated the water and detested swimming, with memories of cold municipal community swimming pools from their school days and being forced to dive down to grab a brick while wearing pyjamas. But now they swim without complaint. Content to follow Randall.

  The small beach disappears as the spit of land goes into deeper water. The side of the fort lunging straight into the sea. This means they can get closer, swimming just feet from the wall and reducing their chances of being seen. They follow the long wall as it curves round to reveal the long back section. A large collection of boats are moored up away from the fort, all held in place by anchor chains plunging down into the depths.

  Keeping close to the wall they make their way along, going as slow as possible to avoid making any noise. Randall in the lead with the others strung out in a long line.

  The rear door comes into view. A solid wooden thing built flush into the wall and without tools they would have no way of getting it open. A narrow shore has been created around the door, just enough land for the people inside to walk out and move a few feet to the sides.

  Randall pauses a few metres from the door, treading water and examining the wooden structure. He works out which side the door is hinged on, and that it opens outwards. Perfect.

  He moves gently to the land, using his powerful arms to pull himself out of the water. Without speaking he motions for the men to come closer, pulling them up easily and then waiting while they flatten themselves against the wall. Their wet bodies smearing the concrete and dripping water onto the sun baked ground.

  The last one is pulled out, Randall gets against the wall, having to stand closely cramped with the other men so there’s enough room. He gets to the side of the door and grins.

  All he needs now is some dumb-ass motherfucker to stroll out and take a piss.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘We’ll have to dock in the Portsmouth ferry terminal.’

  ‘And why is that a problem?’ Marcy asks.

  ‘This boat has different dimensions to the fleet used for the Portsmouth route, the dock is purpose built to the sizes of the vessels.’

  ‘Oh so are we too big or too small?’

  ‘Too wide, the length is not an issue but we may have a gap at the front…the other consideration is that there may already be a vessel in the dock.’

  ‘What do we do then?’ She stares ahead out of the bridge window at the inky black sea and the first signs of dawn showing against the horizon.

  ‘Find another dock,’ he replies, she looks at him quickly, unsure if he was being sarcastic. So hard to tell with the flat monotone voices, she shakes her head, convincing herself he was just answering honestly.

  She turns round as the bridge door opens, blinking at the sight of Reginald walking through with April.

  ‘What on earth have you got on?’ She asks with a puzzled smile.

  ‘Life jackets,’ Reginald replies stiffly, ‘I took the precaution in case of a disaster at sea , here I’ve got one for you.’ He holds up a bright orange flotation jacket.

  More communicators walk onto the bridge, all of them wearing the same orange life vests. Marcy stares from one to the other, amazed at the sight.

  ‘Reggie…it’s a perfectly calm sea in the middle of the summer and we’re moving between the Isle of Wight and Portsmouth…with absolutely no other ships moving anywhere…at all…’

  ‘Be that as it may, there are still precedents where accidents can occur and I thought it wise to take this simple step to prevent any loss of life…yes I can see you find this highly amusing but really you should be setting an example to the others.’

  ‘I’m not wearing a life jacket Reggie.’

  ‘This is fundamental personal protective equipment when on board a vessel at sea…’

  ‘We’re not at sea Reggie, we’re crossing the tiny bit of water between the Isle…’

  ‘I think you will find that re
gardless of the voyage or the intended destination we are technically at sea…Captain…is this not the case?’

  ‘Yes,’ the captain replies…’I mean no….that is most definitely not the case.’

  ‘You willed him to say that!’

  ‘Reggie I didn’t,’ Marcy laughs.

  ‘He said yes then he paused and said the opposite…and you had that look on your face.’

  ‘What look?’

  ‘That look…the I’m willing someone look.’

  ‘I don’t have a face for that.’

  ‘You do, she does doesn't she April?’

  April pauses, staring first at Marcy then at Reginald, ‘no she doesn't.’

  ‘You did it again! This is really most unfair…and I have to ask you to stop willing people at will…it is a special thing that should be used properly and not for mocking me.’

  Marcy bursts out laughing, tears rolling down her cheeks, ‘I didn’t that time…honestly I really didn’t…’

  ‘Oh stop it now.’

  ‘I really didn’t…April said that herself.’

  ‘Great,’ Reginald huffs with a sulky tone, ‘two of you mocking me…I suppose everyone will start doing it now.’

  ‘Oh Reggie, come here…I’ll put it on if it makes you feel better,’ she laughs, taking the life vest from him.

  ‘It’s not a matter of making me feel better, it’s a matter of safety.’

  ‘We’re zombies Reggie…safety doesn't really factor into what we do.’

  ‘First of all…the term is living challenged and not that zed word…second, my name is Reginald and there is no reason why we should not be incorporating basic health and safety measures into our actions.’

  ‘Good god Reggie….this is the apocalypse…the end of times…I don’t think health and safety matters one bit anymore…ah look, it doesn't fit,’ Marcy says, having shrugged her arms through the holes she attempts to pull the zip up, her breasts refusing to be squashed flat enough. She breathes out and tries again, yanking the zip which just makes her boobs wobble in the low cut top she’s still wearing.