The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘New rules,’ she nods back.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose I can persuade you to give up?’

  ‘I was going to ask you that, give you a chance to surrender now.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then I kill you,’ she smiles.

  ‘In that case, forgive me if I don’t surrender.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I would love to shake your hand before we…’

  ‘Thomas, in truth…I would like that too, but it isn’t going to happen.’

  ‘Tom, please…just Tom.’

  ‘Are we on a date now?’ Paula laughs.

  He chuckles clearly, ‘I wish,’ he mutters, ‘you are very beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she takes the compliment with grace.

  ‘You’ve still got those guns.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Why have you never taken a shot at me? You’ve had chances.’

  ‘Didn’t seem right, not like that…’

  ‘And now? You could take a shot…you never know, you might get me.’

  ‘True, I could…but where would the fun be in that?’

  ‘Ha,’ he laughs again, ‘so what now?’

  ‘I run, you chase.’

  ‘You like being chased?’

  ‘Are you flirting with me Tom?’

  ‘I hope it’s me that gets to turn you.’

  ‘Do you now?’

  ‘One thing before we start, if it happens…no…when it happens, don’t fight it. It hurts more, just relax and let it take you.’

  ‘What does it feel like?’

  ‘Turning hurts, really hurts…you get a really bad pain in your stomach and the more you tense the worse it gets. Coming back is amazing, I’ve never felt so…so alive and, I don’t know….full of energy and vitality.’

  ‘Something to look forward to then?’

  ‘I know you won’t but please Paula, just give up…let me take you easily.’

  ‘No, thank you but no.’

  ‘Okay, but when it happens I will be there, I’ll do what I can to ease your turning.’

  ‘I appreciate that, but…I don’t want to come back, I don’t want to be one of them…if any of this means anything to you…if anything you just said is true then if you get me, kill me outright…don’t let me come back.’

  He pauses, nodding while she speaks, ‘okay,’ he replies in a serious tone, ‘I will honour that.’

  ‘Thank you…I’d best start running then.’

  ‘Yep, I’d best start chasing.’

  ‘Bye Tom.’

  ‘Bye Paula, good luck.’

  ‘You too.’

  She steps free of the last body and starts moving backwards, staring at Tom as he gives her a sporting chance, holding back for a few seconds. A tiny flick of his hand and his horde start running. She’s off, sprinting towards the door. Howling from behind her as the undead are finally unleashed. They can scent her, smell the perfume on her. They can smell her body and the piss she left on the road, but not fear. This woman doesn't exude fear.

  A few go down, tripped and snagged on the razor wire, cutting hands open on the broken glass but none of the injuries are enough to stop them.

  Paula reaches the door in plenty of time, pausing to look back and watch as the first undead clear the end of the bodies.

  Stepping inside she slams the door closed behind her, working at the bolt locks at the top and bottom. Having already tested them she found they were rusted and sticking. A can of spray lubricant and a hammer fixed that problem.

  Bolts rammed home she turns the big key in the middle lock and moves into the wide open space. A warehouse by design, and plans had been submitted for developers to turn the old fashioned brick building into modern mews style up-market apartments that could be sold on to idiots with more money than sense. Idiots who found living in exposed brick former warehouses exciting and edgy. Taking the thin torch from her pocket she presses the end button to illuminate the ground around her. Treading carefully she steps over the trip wires fixed between the thick wooden support posts and moves towards the stairs in the middle. At the base of the stairs she purposefully kicks one of the buckets over, sending thousands of small steel ball bearings over the ground. The next bucket adds several more thousand. Covering the ground between the stairs in a nice layer of bearings.

  She listens to the battering at the door, waiting for the first bolt to break. The wooden door splinters. The sound of wood tearing. On the first step and still she waits. At the last second, as the door gives she pushes the on button for the two high powered torches on the second step. Perfectly angled so the bright white beams are focussed at head height. The first undead forces through the broken door. His hands immediately covering his eyes from the harsh light, others push him in, jabbing him out the way. They too get dazzled by the sudden light, looking down but still running forward.

  Paula bursts out laughing as the first one goes down, losing traction from the bearings sliding underfoot. He goes over like a comedy performer, windmilling his arms then landing painfully on his face. The next one trips over the downed body, going over in a heap. More run in, slipping and sliding in all directions.

  Paula laughs harder, delighted at the impact the bearings are having. The fallen bodies scatter the bearings, clearing a partial route. Undead surge forward, hitting the trip wire that tips the buckets of dirty used engine oil down. The filthy sticky contents shower down onto the heads of the first two, covering their faces and bodies in the slimy foul gunk.

  Other veer round them, triggering more trip wires and more buckets of oil that plummet down. Tears of laughter pour down Paula’s face from the sight of the undead covered from head to toe in oil. They slip, trip and fall. Staggering all over the floor.

  First step, second, third, step over the fourth and onto the fifth. She races up ahead, again holding at the top, unable to stop herself from watching.

  The first undead reaches the bottom and starts powering up, howling with ferocious rage. He hits the fourth step, the fourth step that isn’t there and is covered in a thin layer of cardboard. His legs plummets into the hole, impaled on the sharpened stakes put underneath it. With his body blocking the stairs the others have to beat him out the way to pass. Using his head as a step.

  Paula runs through, onto the first floor and round the corner, heading for the second flight of stairs at the far end. Torch light bobs as she goes, picking out the sharp nail ends hammered through the planks laid down.

  At the next flight she again pauses, just long enough for the first one to reach the top of the first stairs and see her torch.

  Powering on she races up the second flight, listening to the howls as the undead step onto the nails. Thumps sounding out as they fall down heavily.

  At the top she stops, shining her torch at the length of wood propped between the wooden door and the frame, holding the door open. She goes low, crawling very carefully under the piece of wood. On the other side she grasps the string attached to the wood and moves away.

  Before the first one reaches the top she shines her torch up, checking the elastic bungee cord attached to the inside of the door and stretched across the top of the stairs to the wall on the other side, is still in place. She’d practised this again and again, winding the bungee tighter and tighter until it slammed the door closed once the wood was removed. Only when she was sure she had the correct tautness did she drive the long bladed knives through the door, the sharp points poking several inches clear on the inside.

  Holding the string she plays it out as she works her way carefully along the room. Thudding of feet on stairs, she holds the torch up, waiting for the first body to appear. When it does she holds that second longer, waiting for it to take a step towards her. Paula yanks the string, pulling the wood away. The door slams shut as the undead runs through. Instantly impaling the body on the knife points.

  ‘Yes, COME ON,’ she screams in triumph. Perfect, bloody perfect. Howls and roars rip throu
gh the building, screams of frustration at being slowed down from their prey.

  The final flight of stairs and Paula grips the torch between her teeth, placing her feet on the plinths either side of the steps. Using the handrail she quickly climbs up, shuffling her feet along the plinths to avoid using the actual steps. Each one with a nice surprise waiting. The first step covered in grease, making it nice and slippery. The second with broad headed nails upturned. Anything she could find went onto those steps, broken glass, another one covered in the bearings.

  At the top she spins round, turning on another two high powered spot lights and waiting for the first to arrive and loving every minute. She grasps the first homemade spear, just a length of round wood with a small sharp knife taped to the end. With a grunt she launches the spear down as the first body comes into view. It hits central mass, just an annoyance more than anything but enough of a distraction for the undead to slip on the first step. It’s face landing on the broken glass of the third step.

  More behind it, trampling the first one down. She launches spear after spear, stabbing them backwards. A bowling ball gets launched down, heavy rocks, stones and bottles. They slip backwards, cutting themselves to ribbons, slipping on the bearings to tumble back into the press of bodies behind them.

  Paula hears Tom roaring from in the building, his voice now very aggressive. More missiles get launched down, house bricks, breeze blocks, then larger items; chairs, tables, tool boxes, step ladders. Anything to slow them down and cause misery.

  Everything works perfectly. The stairs become clogged as the undead at the front can’t fight their way through the constant barrage, and unable to go back due to the press behind them.

  ‘COME ON,’ Paula screams, letting her rage go.

  Her efforts slow them down but they don’t stop them. Still they come on, utterly fixated with taking her down.

  She runs through the top door out onto the flat roof and the sticky hot night air. She slams the door closed and rams the locks home. Knowing the thin door will give easily she moves quickly. Making the final preparations.

  At the edge of the building several thick planks stretched across the void to the flat roof of the next building forming a bridge. She looks down at the three storey drop and moves into place.

  The door starts being battered from within, when it gives the undead pour through with unfettered rage. Seeing Paula at the far side of the next flat roof they race to the edge and start across the planks. A few topple off and fall, unable to use enough fine motor skills to negotiate the narrow walkway.

  Tom runs through the broken door, consumed with the chase. All thoughts of respect gone from watching the last of his horde being ripped to shreds by trap after trap. He’ll rip her apart, kill her slowly and enjoy every second of it. There she is, trapped on the other flat roof with no escape route left. The cocky bitch assumed the traps would kill them off.

  He reaches the planks, starting across and leaping off. It’s only when he takes his first few steps onto the new roof that he realises Paula would have never left the planks there. She would have pushed them away.

  He stops dead, spinning round with a roar, bellowing at the last two undead to get back off the planks. They stop mid-way, trying to negotiate the tricky act of turning round.

  Tom screams with rage at the sight of Paula running from behind the broken door on the first flat roof. She reaches the planks and heaves the ends. The first plank goes, slipping from the edge to tumble down, clattering to the ground. The two undead balance precariously on the remaining planks. Paula heaves on them as they start back across towards her. She pushes with every ounce of strength, another one slips from the edge just as the first one leaps onto the roof. The second undead tries to leap but finds the plank he’s standing on is no longer there, he plummets down with a long howl that only ends when his body impacts on the ground.

  Paula spins round, drawing the pistol as she goes. The undead has gained his feet and is coming at her with a snarl. She fires, repeatedly pulling the trigger. The loud cracks sounding out clearly in the still air. The undead gets driven backwards from the power of the rounds. Paula runs at him, screaming with fury. She pushes the end of the gun under his chin and pulls the trigger one last time, blowing the back of his skull off.

  As the body slumps down she spins to face the other roof, at the remaining horde now stood at the edge watching her. The mannequin dressed in similar clothes and left at the far end now kicked over in anger.

  Breathing heavily, chest heaving and a determined glint in her eye she stares across at the horde. At Tom as he glances down at his feet. He lifts a foot up and looks down, sniffing and casting about.

  Realisation hits him as Paula uses a lighter to ignite the material poking out the top of the bottle of petrol.

  She pauses, just long enough for the wick to flame up. Without a word she launches the bottle high, watching as it sails through the air, coming down on the other side with a smash. The wick ignites the fuel, the fuel ignites the other fuel. The other fuel that was poured across the roof.

  ‘I WIN,’ Paula bellows across the gap as the flames take hold, spreading quickly across the entire flat roof.

  The undead move about, unable to go anywhere. They start attacking the door, trying to fight their way through and away from the flames.

  Seven P’s. Paula had already chained the door closed, using big padlocks and thick chains. It would several men with sledgehammers over ten minutes to beat that door down.

  She lights another bottle and sends it over, then another. Each one sailing through the air to smash on the ground. The contents just add to already high blaze taking hold.

  Paula looks down at the remaining bottles. She didn’t know how much of the fuel would dry and evaporate in the hot weather so compensated with plenty of Molotov cocktails.

  She watches in satisfaction as the bodies burn. Tom screams out in terror and pain, yelling for Paula to save him. The repartee they exchanged earlier was pleasant but Paula was under no illusion of how dangerous he was. Wave after wave of undead had been sent against her over the last eleven days. With one she destroyed he took more. Finding survivors and turning them, just to send against her.

  Paula destroyed every single one of them. Thousands of undead killed not just by her hands but by her intelligence and cunning, by her ability to forward plan.

  An undead crawls out of the door behind her. This was planned for too. Knowing some would be left crawling about.

  She moves over to the side, picking the sledgehammer up she left there. She waits for the crawler to get closer, letting him waste his energy before she uses hers. The heavy end of the hammer implodes the skull on first strike.

  At the door she listens, hearing more scrapes and groans as they keep pushing on, crawling and dragging themselves to her.

  Thick smoke drifts over from the now high flames across the gap, with a final glance she smiles and nods before moving back into the darkness of the stairwell.

  A few minutes later she emerges from the door at the bottom. The bloodied end of the sledgehammer drips as she casts the thing aside. Every single one of the remaining undead had been killed on the way back down. All of them apart from the one impaled and stuck to the back of the door. How he was still alive she didn’t know, but he was stuck fast, so she left him there to think about the consequences of his actions and made her way outside.

  The street stinks of death, of burnt flesh and sickening odours that fill her nasal cavity, forcing her to put the white mask back on. The stronger smell of smoke wafting down from the burning building also reaches her. The fire will take hold in this dry heat, with no services racing to the scene to extinguish the blaze it will probably take most of these old buildings out. That’ll be nice for the impaled undead. First being stuck to the back of a door and then roasted slowly alive.

  Paula threads her way through the charred bodies, using her torch to shine down and avoid the razor wire. She pauses every few metres, sc
anning round and listening in case of traps or surprises. No noise, no movement, nothing.

  She knows she’s won. The sense of victory is there and has been hard earned. Once free of the foot traps she picks her pace up. Switching the torch off and using the moonlight to make her way out of the street. Pistol in hand she moves quietly, nothing on her rattles or squeaks, just the soft tread of her shoes on the surface of the road.

  The four wheel drive was left several streets away, parked and locked in amongst a row of other untouched vehicles. As she gets closer she presses the clicker in her hand and waits in the shadows. The vehicle clicks audibly and flashes the indicators just once. An annoyance that was now very dangerous, but not knowing how to disable it she had to plan around it. Unlocking the vehicle and waiting to see if it attracted unwanted attention.

  When nothing happens she moves down, feeling a greater sense of relief with each step. The secure rear section of the four wheel drive pick-up is stacked full of food, water, first aids kits, weapons and clothes.

  Drive out of the town, find a country spot, get washed and changed then sleep. That’s the plan and right now it feels lovely, knowing the task she set out to do has been accomplished. This town is rid of undead. There might be the odd one or two, but for the most part, they’re gone, dead, killed, cut down by one former twenty-six year old accountant.

  She opens the driver’s door and shines the torch onto the back seats, checking nothing has crawled in while she’s been gone. Unlikely with the vehicle being locked but the seven P’s apply to everything.

  Satisfied, she slips the rucksack off and clambers in, feeling the relief of sitting in the big leather seat. Paula yawns and stretches, feeling a general ache in her limbs, a heaviness that comes from solid exertion day after day. The key is pushed into the ignition as she notices the piece of paper stuck under one of the windscreen wipers. Not a piece of litter, not debris blown up, but a folded sheet held firmly in place. The tiredness is gone instantly, fully alert now. Her mind works the problem. Someone has put that note there. That means someone could be nearby, watching her now. She’d be expected to clamber back out and take the note, that would expose her.