The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘I can’t watch,’ Cookey bleats heading for the door with Blowers right behind him.

  ‘Boss,’ Clarence shouts in alarm as Lani rolls into my feet. I try leaping over her but get tangled and fall down in a heap, scrabbling away as she writhes and squirms, kicking her legs out and bucking her body violently. She must be screaming with hunger behind that gag, the veins in her neck bulge out with effort and her muscles stand taut against her frame.

  Dave pulls me away, dragging me to my feet as we hear Nick shouting in the corridor, ‘She’s coming, she found a crawler on the other side.’

  ‘I thought you got them all,’ I look at Dave who suddenly looks aghast that he missed one.

  ‘Sorry, I thought I did, I’m really sorry Mr Howie, I promise it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Fuck!’ We leap over Lani rolling across the floor at us, clearly following the sound of our voices, ‘don’t worry mate, it happens.’

  ‘She’s here,’ the door bursts open as Meredith runs in, tail wagging and giving a high pitched bark at finding us hiding. Lani rolls harder, slamming her body into the frame of the cubicle. Meredith looks down at her, head cocked to one side. I twist away, unable to watch and catch a glimpse of Clarence doing the same thing. Lani keeps rolling, crashing into the wall then into the frame. Her legs kicking out as she growls and howls behind the gag.

  Meredith yelps with another high pitched bark as Lani crashes into the side of the room. I look round to see the dog watching Lani intently, her upper body down low to the ground but her arse in the air with her tail going crazy. Lani rolls again, a fast motion that shoots her body over the floor. Meredith barks and leaps over her, landing the other side to spin round on the spot then drop down again.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Cookey calls out from the door.

  Meredith creeps forward towards Lani, nose stretched out and her tail still going nuts. As Lani starts the roll she jumps back playfully then shoots forward again to push her nose at Lani’s head. Lani squirms and sits up in a fluid motion, Meredith bounds round her barking with excitement. I look at Clarence who just stares at me and shrugs.

  ‘Is she…?’ I start to stutter then watch amazed as Meredith gets close to Lani and sniffs her face, I hold my breath thinking this is it, this is the point that the dog realises Lani is one of them and goes for her. Squeezing my eyes closed again I feel a tugging on my arm and see Dave stood there pointing at the dog gently leaning in to nip at the gag in Lani’s mouth, her tail still wagging like mad like it’s a game. She pulls backwards and shakes her head gently pulling Lani with her who keeps murmuring with increasing volume.

  Dave darts in with knife in hand, his movement so quick that for a split second it looks like he’s going to cut her throat. Instead he deftly swipes at the material of the gag tied at the back of her head. With Meredith still pulling it, the gag comes away. Meredith drops it instantly and starts licking Lani round her face, tail still going.

  ‘Don’t let Dave kill me,’ she blurts out, her voice hoarse and rough.

  ‘Shit,’ I rush in and grab the blindfold, working at the knot to pull it free. Cookey and the lads pile in as Meredith keeps licking at her face.

  ‘Aah,’ Lani spits, ‘her tongue went in my mouth.’

  ‘Come here,’ Nick pulls the dog away.

  ‘Dave, cut her wrists,’ I say as I struggle with the knot tangled in her hair.

  ‘No! Don’t cut my bloody wrists,’ Lani yells with panic.

  ‘The tape, not your wrists…Dave cut the tape.’

  ‘She might go for us,’ Dave says.

  ‘I think we’ll be alright mate, there’s bloody six of us plus the dog.’ He drops down and pushes his blade through the tape between her arms. They pull away quickly and immediately she lifts her hands to the blindfold, pulling it roughly up over her forehead.

  ‘Get off, let me do it,’ she snaps, ‘you’ve got my hair caught.’ Grimacing she tugs it free, pulling several long black hairs from her head at the same time. Dropping the blindfold she starts rubbing her eyes, groaning in pain or pleasure, or quite possibly a mixture of both.

  ‘You were going to let the dog eat me,’ she shouts suddenly with anger.

  ‘You’re one of them, we thought you were trying to get us,’ I say.

  ‘How would I do that exactly, taped up and stuck in a toilet, you’re bloody idiots…all of you damned bloody idiots.’ Taking her hands away she stares down at the ground, stretching the muscles of her face, opening her mouth wide, ‘oh that’s better, it’s really bright in here.’

  ‘You’ve been blindfolded for ages,’ Clarence points out.

  ‘Really? Was I?’ Lani snaps back at him, ‘give me a minute, my eyes hurt.’

  ‘How come you can speak?’ I ask, ‘you couldn’t speak before…’

  ‘I don’t bloody know, can you give me a minute please,’ she snaps again.

  ‘Take your time,’ I reply softly.

  ‘I will, after you tried setting the dog on me.’

  ‘We didn’t want to kill you,’ I reply.

  ‘Dave did, he kept bloody offering…’ Lani retorts.

  ‘Well…shit I don’t know…we thought…holy fuck!’

  ‘What?’ She stares up at me.

  ‘Your eyes!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fuck…fuck…’

  ‘WHAT?!’ She looks up at the lads who blanch at the sight of her, mouths dropping open, ‘oh…are they that bad?’

  ‘Fuck,’ I repeat again, ‘fuck…’

  ‘Stop saying fuck,’ Lani snaps, ‘you must have seen thousands of them by now.’

  ‘Lani,’ Clarence stares down with a stony face, ‘come here,’ he bends over and lifts her easily to her feet.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fuck…’ I repeat again.

  ‘Stop saying fuck!’ She wails.

  ‘Look,’ Clarence steers her to the smudged mirror on the wall above the hand wash basins, Lani squints at the light then leans forward, with her legs still bound Clarence holds her steady.

  ‘Fuck,’ she mutters at the sight of herself, ‘oh fuck…’ She turns away blinking and rubbing at her eyes before going back and checking again, ‘fuck…’ she uses her fingers to stretch the eyelids away, rotating her pupils left, right then up and down.

  ‘They’re normal,’ she gasps, ‘they’re normal…white and brown and….fuck!’

  Nine

  One main road through the middle. An old fashioned shop with a red awning over the door on the right side. Smaller roads leading off to side streets with stone built cottages and pretty front gardens. An average village centre in an average part of southern England.

  And no sign of the things. Not one. Not anywhere. Paula purses her lips and leans forward resting both her hands on the top of the steering wheel. Where is everyone? Having driven through once she saw front doors hanging open, some dried stains on the ground presumably from pools of blood. But nothing other than that. Cars still parked on driveways and everything looks pretty normal. Even the shop doesn't look smashed up or damaged.

  Several minutes go by and still no sign of anything. Eventually she presses the horn, sending a loud honk into the perfectly still air. With a good line of sight to the front and rear she waits, expecting to see them stumbling from somewhere, but nothing. Not a thing. No movement.

  She presses the horn again, longer this time. A determined honk sounding out, I’m here…come and get me…I’m fresh and juicy and nice to eat.

  This doesn't feel right. The village is small but the doors to the houses have been opened and with the blood stains it means people have been taken here. So where are they? Paula starts the engine and crawls along at a slow speed. Watching either side, bending down to look out the passenger window trying to detect any movement. She keeps pressing the horn, giving regular honks to draw them out.

  Biting her bottom lip she stops the vehicle and climbs out, wincing at the heat. Standing at the side of the open car door she looks up and d
own the deserted street. She switches the engine off and listens intently, turning her head to stare up and down the street, scanning the houses. Nothing. Nothing at all.

  Her eyes fall on a blue van parked on a driveway, vans run on diesel, so does her vehicle. She scans about again checking the area. Might as well take advantage of the quiet, she gets back in and drives to the house, parking alongside the van. The house looks empty, the front door ajar and presenting the dark hallway inside.

  Pistol in hand she stalks towards it, moving with fast determined steps. No point in messing about, get in, find the keys and get back out. Pushing the door open she holds for a second, listening and staring at the tidy clean interior. No nasty smells, no flies buzzing everywhere, no sign of death or those things.

  Moving through the rooms she works her way to the kitchen, finding a row of metal hoops fashioned from a wrought iron decoration fastened to the wall and each one with a set of keys hanging down. She takes the set with the biggest black plastic fobbed key and heads outside, pressing the key clicker and nodding as the van doors click unlocked.

  Paula had no idea how you got fuel from a vehicle, and with the internet down she had to rely on finding an old book from an abandoned house and reading the section carefully.

  Now, with the length of hose pushed into the van fuel opening she makes sure the tube is long enough to be below the level of the fuel tank and gets the container ready. Lips wrapped round the end and she starts sucking, drawing the air from the tube while watching as the fuel starts to rise in the opaque tubing. She drops down, keeping as low as possible, the fuel hits her mouth with a bitter acrid taste. Wrenching her head away she spits it out, holding her thumb over the end of the hose to prevent it going everywhere.

  It tastes awful, really awful. She pushes the hose to the plastic container and removes her thumb, listening as the fuel starts to pour inside. Leaving it there she goes back to her vehicle, retching and gagging on the way. Yaks coming from her stomach at the taste of the fuel in her mouth. Ignoring the bottles of water she grabs a warm can of coke, pouring the sickly sweet content and swilling it round her mouth before spitting it out.

  With the fuel can filling up she pulls the hose free and uses a funnel to pour the diesel into the fuel tank of her own vehicle. Smiling with satisfaction of planning ahead and making sure she had the right equipment to do the job.

  Paula repeats the action until no more fuel comes out the hose, draining the van fuel tank and replenishing her own. Back in her car she turns the ignition on and grins broadly as the fuel gauge rises to almost full.

  ‘Yes!’ Slapping the top of the steering wheel from the joy of doing it herself. It was easy and now she’s got almost a full tank of fuel.

  ‘Couldn’t get bloody promoted though, oh no…not good enough for promotion Paula, not ready for it yet…maybe next time eh?’ Shaking her head she drives away, feeling a sense of purpose and pride.

  Out the village and back into the long twisting country lanes, arm on the window sill and once again enjoying the breeze blasting by. Looking at the map, the next village is a quite a few miles away and looks about the same size as the one she just left. Just another ornate selection of country cottages looking all picturesque and homely. The sort of place anyone would want to live, especially city fold who’ve worked hard for long years and grown sick of the traffic and constant noise.

  Coming out of a long sweeping bend she spots something on the road ahead of her. Something low down and moving along. As she gets closer she makes out the form of the woman, dressed in a nightshirt ripped, torn and filthy. The thing crawls along, using just her arms to drag her onwards, the legs feeble and unmoving suggesting a spinal injury.

  Paula holds behind it, driving slowly along as she watches it keeps going, the skin on her legs is scraped off, bright red glistening wounds that crawl with maggots and flies landing to feast and lay more eggs. The thing pays no heed, simply dragging along, cutting her flesh to pieces on the rough surface of the road.

  The vehicle bounces as she drives over the body, looking through the rear view mirror at the now inert corpse. With barely a glance back she pushes on trying to work out where it was going.

  Something about the crawler makes her think. It was so intent on getting somewhere. They always just stood about at the last place they saw a survivor, or gathered in large numbers in the centre. They only kept going when there was something to head towards.

  Paying more attention to the immediate area she notices the verges look trampled, the grass flattened and branches sticking out from the hedgerow are snapped or bent. They must have come this way, it’s only a narrow lane but there must have been a lot of them if they had to use the sides in addition to the road.

  What made them all come this way? For a second she considers if they were coming after her, but the thought is dismissed as quickly as it forms. Her town is back the other way, north not south. Something else is making them head this direction.

  The next village comes into view. The standard main road through the middle with a small collection of shops in the centre, the shops are larger with a butchers and mini-market. It still looks pretty with the stone walls and flower beds bursting with colour, although on closer inspection she notices the flowers are now wilting from the heat and the colours not so vibrant. Another few days and they’ll have dried up and died, just like everything else.

  No movement though. No things staggering or shuffling about. The same as the previous village, devoid of life, empty and eerie with silence.

  Paula goes slow, taking time to look at the sides of the road and spotting signs of heavy foot traffic. Trampled flowers and a blood stained solitary shoe left in the middle of the road.

  She drives through to the other side, turns and heads back. Examining every window and door, looking at the cars and front gardens. The same as before, doors opened, blood stains here and there. One of the houses has a corpse across the threshold of the door but even from a few metres she can see it’s rotting and decomposing.

  Stopping the vehicle at the shops she waits for a few minutes, listening quietly and scanning the area. So quiet she can hear her own breathing and feel the beat of her heart. With one hand on the pistol grip and the other on the hilt of the knife she makes her way slowly across the road towards the mini-market. The door has been forced open, smashed in with shards of glass littering the ground. The windows are still intact and displaying faded sun bleached signs. Dark patches on the ground indicate blood loss here. She draws the pistol keeping it low as she crunches over the broken glass.

  Holding at the door she peers inside, listening and looking, waiting for anything to move. Nothing, no noise, no sounds, no movement. She steps into the looted interior, looking at the empty shelves. Every food item has been taken, all the toiletries and cleaning products gone. Just magazines and newspapers left

  Out the village and back into the country lanes. She follows the route on her map, taking bends and junctions until she reaches a much wider main road. A signpost points to Bereford in one direction or her town the other way.

  Bereford. That was quite big. Not anywhere near the size of her own town but big enough. She takes the turning and heads on, still watching the sides for signs of foot traffic. The verges look intact but then the road is much wider here, plenty of room for a large group to walk down without the need to go on the verges.

  Taking it easy, Paula drives the route, slowing to look at the houses and buildings at the side of the road. Another corpse lying forlorn and forgotten at the side of the road. Rancid and decaying with the skin eaten away by creatures and birds.

  The buildings become more frequent as she gets closer to the town. The spread from the urbanisation spilling out over many years of growth. A mile out from the town she spots a group of them in the distance. Their movements and manner signalling exactly what they are.

  Slowing down she drives up slowly behind them, a large group spread across the road. Maybe fifty or sixty and
all of them moving towards the town. Keeping her distance she watches them for a few minutes. They’re walking faster than normal for the day, a clear and determined pace. Not fast, but certainly quicker than normal. She drives closer, watching them to see for any reaction. They don’t turn or glance back but keep on towards the town.

  Closer now, just a few metres away from the stragglers and still no reaction. She pushes her foot down on the clutch and revs the engine; making noise to alert them she is there.

  They keep on so she eases forward and bumps into one of them, thudding him down to the ground. She brakes hard and quickly reverses away, convinced they will now turn and start attacking her.

  The rest keep going, the one on the floor just rolls over and starts getting to his feet, not bothering to look in her direction. With a frown she accelerates and runs him over, feeling a slight jolt as both front and rear wheels crush him into the road. Again they just keep going, ignoring her completely.

  Paula takes another one down, shunting it hard then braking and watching as the body flies forward into more of the things, knocking them to the ground. The rest of the group push on, leaving the others writhing on the ground. Paula drives over them, veering and turning the wheel to get as many as possible and then reversing to get the ones she missed.

  The numbers get reduced as she picks them off, using the big chrome bull bars at the front of the four wheel drive to smash into them and crush them under-wheel.

  With only a handful left they reach the edge of town, the fields giving way to rows of houses, street lights, roofs, line markings, sign posts and urbanisation everywhere.

  They get taken down too, run over and killed. An easy fifty count done without the need to get out of the vehicle. It was good but time consuming and lacked the finesse of some of the other big kills she’d done.

  Leaving the broken bodies behind she drives through the main road, looking at the desperate signs of fighting and suffering.

  Bereford obviously saw some hard action when the event happened. A large population all living in a relatively small area.