The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘The feeling is mutual,’ I growl back at them drop the assault rifle and start walking. Fists clenched at my sides. Unblinking and I do not feel fear. I refuse to be scared by these things. They are foul and unclean. I will not fear them. They will take my life but I will not go nicely.

  Pure unadulterated loathing, fuelled by an incandescent rage that exudes from every pore of my body. Blood pumps into my muscles. My heart beats fast and strong, thumping through my body. I become aware of everything at once. Of all the faces turned towards me. Of the hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed in my direction.

  They part and open a path. Perfectly straight and leading directly to the Saxon. As one they step back and wait. Their eyes are no longer fixed on me but staring up at the top of the wall, at the solitary figure stood there framed by the moonlight. Long hair hanging down and I would know that figure anywhere now.

  Marcy holds them back and without hesitation I start jogging down the path. Growls become louder as they shuffle and make small lunging motions. It feels she is barely holding them. The hunger is coming from them in waves. Evil intention pouring from the huge horde. They inch in, desperate to go for me. Glancing up she waves her arm, urging me to go faster, telling me she can’t hold them.

  I start sprinting, running as they creep in bit by bit. The vehicle is just ahead of me. Marcy drops to her knees, her arms outstretched to the sides, she screams with a long painful sound that rips through the air.

  Pumping my legs with everything I’ve got I reach the side of the vehicle. The undead block my way to the rear and to the front. While Marcy screams I start pushing them out the way, physically shoving and battering them back. God knows how she holds them back but she does. The scream grows weaker as I reach the back doors, clambering in as she cuts off and falls to the floor. The last door is slammed shut as the undead break free from the final hold she had and charge. Thuds and screeches as they impact on the vehicle all around me.

  Scrabbling in the dark I fumble my way to the hole and climb up, racking the heavy bolt back and taking hold of the machine gun.

  ‘TAKE COVER….FIRING…’ I scream out.

  ‘CLEAR,’ Dave roars back, his voice coming from my somewhere to my left. Before I squeeze the trigger I glance up to the top of the wall. Nothing there. Just the smooth unbroken line of the wall.

  With a snarl I pull the trigger and commence the slaughter.

  Five

  They come into view. A large solid wall of writhing figures charging down the street. Funnelled by the high walls and the long lines of flat topped vans parked nose to tail on both sides.

  They don’t think anything of it. But then they don’t think. They just see her, alone and stood there, waiting to be taken.

  Paula watches with interest, smiling as they get closer. She picked this road on purpose. It was perfect. High walls and one way in, the only exit is the door behind her.

  And now, at night, without the street lights on, it’s very dark. Too dark to see the thin ropes extended across the road.

  The front of the horde reaches the rope, hardly feeling as they push into it. Held at waist height she knew they’d just charge on, pulling the rope along with them. Two days and several practise runs to get everything set perfectly.

  The rope gets pulled along, unlooping as it’s spooled out. The ends of the rope are tied onto razor wire, coils and coils of shiny new razor wire.

  As the rope gets played out, it pulls the razor wire down from the top of the vehicles into the massed moving horde below. Solid continuous lines of deadly wire that slashes feet and cuts deep into limbs. The writhing mass starts slowing as they get tangled. The fury in them is so much they just push on, tearing themselves to bits in desperation to reach her.

  The wire finally pings taut as it runs out, the ends fastened securely to the vehicles tow bars. In the dark, the things are unable to see what is eating them, what the thing is that is tearing them apart.

  The front of the horde push on regardless. Mindless to the fact they are dragging the rope and wire further into the horde behind them. They screech in frustration, howling with violent rage. Legs and arms cut deep, veins sliced open. Fingers severed through.

  The undead at the front are unaffected and push on. But then they reach the layers of broken glass painstakingly put down. Bare feet get sliced deep. Glass embedding into heels and soles. Blood pours from cuts that are made worse with every step taken.

  Paula had planned for this, knowing the outbreak started late at night, when most people were in bed without shoes on. The things can withstand the pain but the body can only take so much punishment and blood loss before it starts to succumb.

  Several go down from nerves being cut through, rendering the feet useless to the brain. They fall down to be cut even deeper by the glass slicing into their flesh. The ones behind them keep going, trampling their fallen brethren harder onto the shards.

  The razor wire tangles huge swathes, rendering the ranks into a tangled mess that just tightens and cuts with every jerk and pull of their undead bodies.

  Paula nods in satisfaction at a job well done. But it isn’t over yet. The best is yet to come. She pushes her hand into the side pocket of her cargo trousers. Gripping the small plastic handle she pulls the flare gun out and aims it straight at the front ranks still getting cut to bits on the glass.

  She pulls the trigger, watching as the flare bursts out the end. Trailing a bright light as it arcs through the air and disappears from view within the horde. She cocks her head to one side, waiting for it.

  The woomph of the flames igniting is a solid noise. An instant reaction that bursts the road into light. The petrol poured over the ground from the ruptured fuel tanks of the vehicles may have dried somewhat but there’s still enough left to cause a huge fire.

  The flames scorch up, bursting high. The brightness so harsh she has to shield her eyes from the glare. The smell of burning flesh reaches her within seconds. The hopeless tangled undead with mashed up feet now being burned alive. Well, not alive, she muses…burnt undead. Who cares, she shrugs.

  Paula watches the street, knowing she can reach the safety of the door within seconds. The flames die down as the fuel burns off. Just the clothing on the bodies left alight. A rancid smell of burning meat fills the air, not just meat but foul meat. Meat that has gone off turned green and started to decay.

  The seven P’s. She had planned for this and fastens the white mask over her mouth, securing the elastic straps behind her head. She also knows the heat and odour could make her eyes water, so she places plastic lensed clear safety glasses on and starts forward.

  Not one of the things remains alive. All of them either burnt to a crisp or suffocating from the lack of oxygen as they lay writhing on the floor.

  Gruesome twisted remains blackened and gnarled. Razor wire biting deep into part cooked limbs and roasted torsos. Bare feet cut to ribbons by the glass, those cuts and wounds then cauterized by the searing heat.

  She reaches the front, taking care to watch for any crawlers. The MP5 secured round her neck from the strap and held ready.

  If only she’d had the guns that night. How a little object like a pistol could have changed everything. Clarke wouldn’t have come near her if she’d been armed. But then she’d never have realised she can fight back. She’d never have discovered her ability to kill without hesitation.

  That first night she’d stayed in the offices, quietly hiding and waiting for something, but not knowing what it was. When dawn finally arrived she noticed the change, the sluggish movements of the people outside. Back then, she still thought of them as people. That mind-set had changed within a few hours. They weren’t people, they were things.

  Paula observed the shuffling walking. She watched the speed they moved at. How the heads rolled and seemed unable to be controlled. There was no cohesion or co-operation between them and no apparent communication either. They bumped and knocked into each other every few seconds. They were listless and ungain
ly.

  Using the first floor windows to lean out and shout, she led them from the front of the building towards the back. The process took ages as they stumbled so slowly. The crowd beneath the window grew larger by the minute, as the things from both the front and back came to stare up at her. In the bright daylight, and only being a few feet above them she could see the injuries clearly. A mass of ragged bite marks. Red, bloodshot eyes. Blood and gore everywhere. Broken limbs, heads split open, large chunks of flesh torn away. Injuries that would kill or incapacitate normal people.

  Leaving the office was easy. Running to her car was also easy. By the time the things had seen her break for freedom and turned round, she was already at her mini, climbing in and locking the door.

  She aimed the car for the town centre, which again in hindsight wasn’t the best thing to do as it put her in danger. But that short drive opened her eyes fully to the devastation. Bodies everywhere. Corpses torn apart. Entrails from stomachs laid drying in the sun. Huge patches of blood. Window fronts smashed in. Cars abandoned in the street and those things everywhere, staggering, shuffling, stumbling in all directions. Groups, couples and single ones.

  The bingo hall where her mother had been was in the very centre of town, an area she couldn’t reach because of the huge horde gathered in the precinct. Sitting in the car with the engine idling, lips pursed, eyes scanning the crowd she knew, just knew her mother was gone. An instinct made from common sense and what her eyes were telling her.

  When her mother shuffled into view, a large wound on her neck and the same distinctive movement as the rest, Paula showed no reaction. Simply absorbing the view and nodding gently to herself.

  She drove away feeling numb. The shock of everything happening so quickly was too much. Her own flat was inaccessible. Hordes and groups were everywhere. The sheer numbers of them were staggering. How so many had been taken in such a short space of time was incredible. Still dressed in now filthy, blood-stained office clothes she drove out of town, simply not knowing where to go.

  The crying was done that day. Parked up in the country-side she sobbed and wailed. Beating her fists against the car. The unfairness of it all. The loss of life. The shock of Clarke attacking her. The self-pity was poured out and finished.

  The woman that sat in the car sobbing slowly began to feel a change from the self-pity as a knot of anger started to build. Anger that her mother who had worked so hard all her life to raise Paula and should now be enjoying her retirement had suffered such degrading pain. Anger at the years of hard work and dedication not getting her anywhere. Anger at not being taken seriously. But one thing was sure, that feeling at beating Clarke was good.

  This event was worldwide; the news reporters said that last night. So it wasn’t just a case of waiting for help. There was no help coming. The end was here and thrust upon her through no fault of her own, and within hours of it starting she had already been humiliated and abused.

  Determination settled within Paula, that she wouldn’t allow that to ever happen again, and that feeling of defeating Clarke; it wasn’t the thirst for violence but the sense of victory. Defeating a stronger force by using intelligence and cunning. And the violence didn’t have the effect she thought it would have. She didn’t feel sickened or disgusted by it. It was natural and done from necessity and if she was to survive this, she would have to be prepared to do it again.

  One thought evolved into another, processes and images flashing quickly through her mind. An inner strength was forming, one that accepted what had happened and now chose to deal with it.

  Her mother was gone, she had seen that first hand. That would also mean the rest of her family was taken too, and probably everyone she had ever known. If any of them were still alive she had no way of contacting them.

  Alone she would be vulnerable. Men like Clarke would take whatever opportunity they had to take what they wanted. There was no law anymore, no one to rescue her.

  The very thought of being rescued triggered a defiance in her. Why should she need rescuing? She was more than capable of defending herself, not just defending herself but attacking those things and killing them. The more she thought about it the angrier she became. Anger at the years she had spent working so hard and sacrificing so much of her life and for what? So this could happen.

  For the next few hours she sat in her car with thoughts pouring through her mind. A realisation formed that was first dismissed as fanciful and stupid; fight back and kill them. It was ridiculous and dangerous. No, what she should do is find somewhere to hide, find other people and have safety in numbers.

  But the thought of being with others depressed her soul instantly. What Clarke had done sickened her with disgust. The weeks, months and years being kept on the office floor, the endless comments and being seen as a sexual object, a lesser life form. What Clarke did is the same as what many other men will do given the chance. The feeling of being helpless, the terror that gripped her when Clarke defiled her with his fingers, of being forced to give something that was hers.

  The longer she sat there the more she realised she could fight back. She could start killing them. Why run and hide. Be strong and never let anything like that happen again.

  In the office her workload was far greater than anyone else’s and she had developed methods of managing that workload, strategies of prioritising and developing coping mechanisms.

  When faced with multiple projects that required an enhanced focus she used varying techniques to break the tasks down. What was essential? What was secondary? What were the objectives and the aims? What would she need to carry out those objectives? How would they be done?

  The task in front of her was the same as any other; something that needed to be accomplished and with the right planning it could be executed the same as any other project.

  As with many other times when faced with a complex situation, she reached for her bag to pull out the notepad and pen.

  Tapping the pen against the notepad she thought about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs theory and the five elements that formed his triangle; each one of the elements needing to be fulfilled in order for a person to feel complete in life.

  Thinking of the actualisation of the problem in terms of a problem solving exercise started to settle her mind. Viewing herself as a separate entity, someone looking in from the outside.

  The first element was physiological, the basic needs for human survival. Breathing, water, food, sex, shelter. Take any of them away and humans die, but that’s as a species and not as an individual. The sex is negated instantly. This plan was not about continuing the species by coupling with the first bloke that came along. This was self-survival so it came down to breathing, water, food and shelter. Breathing was sorted instantly, the contagion didn’t appear to be airborne and the air felt clear. Water and food should be easy, with so much of the population decimated and if she moved quick enough she should be able to gather enough supplies to last a while. Shelter, well in this weather it was more about protection from the elements of the hot weather. Clothes, sun cream and staying hydrated would fix that.

  Safety was the next one up in the ever decreasing triangle. She was safe right now. Sat in the car with a clear line of sight all around her but that wasn’t what it was about. There would be no doctors or hospitals now, no ambulances either. If she gets injured she’s on her own. Financial security was out the window so that just left her own personal safety. Which would mean taking whatever precautions possible and risk assessing each threat as she went along. Some risks would have to be taken, that was fact. But with awareness and forward planning; those risks could be minimised.

  What was next? She tried to picture the diagram in her mind, was it Love and Belonging or Esteem? Frowning she thought back to her empowerment courses and tried to visualise the image on the screen. Did it matter? Love and Belonging were gone. Devoid. Negated. Obsolete. Fucked up and fucked off. Esteem wasn’t that far behind Love and Belonging either. The only Esteem that could
be garnered was by the self; self -esteem and self-respect. She would know if she was failing. Paula’s internal observations, only too quick to berate and chastise would see to that. Whatever was to be done now was for herself. Screw everyone else. This was about her, doing what she wanted.

  Now the biggie, the grandiose element she knew was coming, a subconscious longing to get to this one quicker. Self-Actualisation.

  ‘The desire to accomplish everything one can…’ she intoned the mantra with an ironic smile that it never got her anywhere before. Maybe she was too hungry for success? Too determined to be seen as a human and not just defined as female. If she had relaxed and accepted herself as a woman would that have made a difference? The difficult thoughts were cut off quickly as it promoted an uncomfortable glimpse at her life, that possibly she had taken it too far.

  What did she want now? The safety element would have to be taken care off, after that it was down to what she actually wanted. And that was to kill as many of those things as possible. Why? Shaking her head she couldn’t fathom why she wanted to do this, but it was there, and it was strong. A desire, an urge, a need.

  Doodling on the page she ran through the hierarchy of needs in her mind and then thought of essential items only. How and where to get them, priorities were established. While thinking she reverted to doodling the same cobweb into the corner of the page, something she had done since her early school days.

  That was better. It was written and laid in a rough but logical format. Presented on a page and therefore a plan. It didn’t need an overhead projector or a slideshow. It was basic but it did the job and most importantly, it gave Paula a thing, a real tangible thing that could be stuck to. A plan that needed action.

  With a growing sense of resolve she started the drive back into town, avoiding the centre and heading straight for the retail park on the cheaper land to the outskirts.