The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

‘What? You ain’t using my hatch love, oh no…oh no oh no…no way…they’ll see you going out my house and come looking…’

  ‘Well how do I get out then?’ An exasperated Paula asks.

  ‘Back the way you came and I’ll stick those bricks back together.’

  ‘What? I’m not going back that way.’

  ‘You bloody are love, you ain’t going out my hatch.’

  ‘I am going out your hatch…now get it open.’

  ‘No…piss off back that way and lead them off.’

  ‘Nigel, I’m going out here and you can close the hatch after me.’

  ‘I said no.’

  ‘Nigel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got two guns and a big bloody knife and I will use one of them if you don’t open that sodding hatch, I’ve been attacked by bloody big spiders and shot a child in the face so don’t push me….’

  ‘Christ alright, take it easy,’ he holds his hands up as Paula points the rifle at him, ‘no need to get all threatening and violent, time of the month is it?’

  ‘Shut up and open that hatch.’

  ‘My wife was always like that when she was on the rag…’

  ‘Say another word and I’ll gut you,’ Paula hisses moving forward the ram the barrel into his bony chest. He nods quickly, goes to say something, gets prodded and glared at then thinks better of it and nods again. Moving quickly he unlocks the hatch and pulls it open, waving his hand for her to go.

  ‘Where’s the ladder?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ he whispers sulkily.

  ‘How do you get up and down then?’

  ‘I drop down and stand on the bannister to get back up,’ he replies as if the answer is obvious.

  ‘Right, okay,’ Paula moves to look down, ‘ er…have you got any batteries?’

  ‘Er….what size?’

  ‘Double A.’

  ‘Yeah, hang on.’ He moves off for a second, rummaging quietly before coming back with a box of four.

  ‘I only need two,’ Paula whispers.

  ‘Torch is it?’ He asks while tearing the cardboard packaging open.

  ‘Yeah the batteries went,’ she twists the end cap off, tapping the two batteries out. He hands her two new ones as she struggles holding the torch and the old batteries. Eventually he takes the old ones and pushes them into his dressing gown pocket. She slides the new batteries in and twists the end cap back on. A strong beam of light shines out as the connection is made.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispers.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies.

  ‘Sorry for saying I would shoot you.’

  ‘S’okay,’ he shrugs.

  ‘I’m off then, I will be quiet and sneak out.’

  ‘Alright, well have a safe trip, nice to meet you,’ he nods.

  ‘You too,’ she grips the edge of the loft hatch and lowers her body down, dangling for a second before dropping. The loft hatch shuts with a dull thud the second her feet touch the ground.

  Glancing up she shakes her head at the weird encounter before gently easing herself down the stairs to the ground floor.

  ‘Oi,’ a whispered shout comes from above her. She moves back up to see him leaning out of the loft hole.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go out the back door, there’s loads in the street out the front.’

  ‘Okay,’ Paula whispers back, ‘which way to the hills?’

  ‘What hills?’

  ‘The big bloody hills that surround the town!’

  ‘They don’t surround the town, the sea is on one side.’

  ‘Nigel!’

  ‘That way,’ he replies sulkily.

  ‘What way? I can’t see which way you’re pointing.’

  ‘Oh…yeah course…out the back and…well the back of the house faces the hills.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ the loft hatch closes again.

  ‘Nigel…Nigel…Nigel,’ she whispers urgently.

  ‘What?!’ The hatch cracks open.

  ‘Bye then,’ she chuckles mischievously.

  At the back door she gently steps outside and takes care to close it slowly, wincing when the lock snaps back into place. The fire still rages in the distance casting an orange glow into the sky which settles over the whole town.

  Straight line from here then and with a deep breath she sets off, once more clutching the sub machine gun.

  It takes time but eventually she reaches the outskirts, snaking through allotments and playing fields as she works back along in the direction of her truck. Coming in from a different angle now and several times she stops with worry, thinking she’s overshot the truck and moving back to search again.

  Finally reaching it she holds still for long minutes, scanning the area until sure the coast is clear and no traps have been set.

  Out the field and once onto the road she accelerates, leaving it several more minutes before switching the headlights on, and even then she only does the first click to put them on low. Paula drives for several miles along the main road, then turns onto country lanes heading away from the town. Lefts and rights, long stretches then more turns. Sweeping through tiny hamlets until she’s absolutely sure there is more than enough distance between her and the seaside town.

  Only then does she find a field on raised ground and choose her ground for the night. Driving the last few minutes with the lights off, then out the vehicle and onto the roof, scanning and listening for long minutes. With her eyes adjusting to the dark she can make out the hedgerows from the moonlight and satisfied the field is clear she exhales and relaxes.

  A few minutes later, with a cup of black tea and munching a few snack bars she goes over everything that happened. A whole town full of them and still no idea why. But they’re aggressive and hungry, pumped up and ready for the kill.

  She refuses to let the image of the children enter her head, forcibly removing them and applying her mind to the problem at hand.

  There is a reason for the massing. That is obvious and what’s also obvious is there are too many for her to take on. They’re too hungry, too mean and aggressive.

  With decent forward planning and time to formulate she knows she could take them. With enough equipment she could attack them bit by bit and reduce their numbers with every night.

  But it’s late now, and after another frantic night she can feel the tiredness plucking at her eyes. She gets cleaned up, going through the same ritual as before and walking a fair distance away from the vehicle before urinating on the grass then pouring water on her puddle to reduce the smell.

  Cleaned, fed and watered she climbs into the back of the vehicle, pistol and rifle both within reach. Doors locked. Windows cracked just enough for air flow.

  Plans and ideas thought and realised become visual images mixed with the fleeting touch of a child’s hand as it falls away to the darkness of sleep.

  Nineteen

  Town to layby; hatchback parked and secured. Layby to field; Volvo parked and secured. Van opened, kettle on and he starts de-kitting. The compound bow, unused for the first night in well over a week is placed on the retaining hook on the wall. Arrows carefully removed from the bag and put away into a second quiver hanging from a hook next to the bow.

  Night bag placed nearby, long barrelled shotgun propped against the open sliding door. Sword in easy reach. Night vision goggles still stuck on his forehead.

  Doctors.

  They have doctors.

  This is profound, like a calling. Proper doctors that can look at his mouth and the tumours growing up his spine, although admittedly the pain in his back had now completely gone from the long walk about town but nevertheless, it was definitely still some kind of growth or mutating cells infected by a deadly disease.

  Not that disease. That disease didn’t bother him. Things that he could see didn’t bother him at all. They were zombies, overtly zombies. The undead. The walking dead. The risen. Biters. Crawlers. Feeders. They were overtly, visu
ally infected so that was different. It was the stuff you couldn’t see that bothered Roy.

  Over the last twelve days he’d got extremely proficient at hitting moving targets. Hunting with bows was illegal in the England, so getting target practise on a moving target was near on impossible. But, if somebody won’t go to the big thing then the big thing will have to go to that bloke instead. He scratches his head trying to remember the saying, or did it involve an elephant and that bloke from the A-Team?

  Hitting a moving target couldn’t be practised, so he did the next best thing and moved himself round the static target. Walking left and right, up and down. Circling, looping and twirling until he got better and better.

  Transferring those skills to the zombies was quite hard at first. Roy had got so used to moving himself, that suddenly being static against a moving target scrambled his instincts. So he moved too until he got the groove back.

  No, the zombies held no greater fear than having a finger cut off, or breaking a leg. Those things were regrettable but not fear causing. They didn’t inspire the terror that internal bodily problems gave him.

  And as for the insides of the body, since practising with the sword day after day he’d seen enough of them to become very familiar. Picking out the major organs of the foes he had slain. Discovering just how long entrails were and what eight pints of blood really looked like when it sprayed out.

  He’d been lucky as they were so slow for the first few days which meant he got regular practise with the sword.

  After smashing in the window of the local Blockbusters he’s grabbed every sword fighting film he could find and taken them back to watch on his laptop wired to a big caravan leisure battery. Most of them were useless but the big budget Hollywood ones were okay in the sense the actors had clearly been given training to look authentic.

  With practise he became proficient with not only the blade but with the weight and length of the sword, and by the end of the week he realised why this weapon had endured thousands of years. The more he read and studied the more he also realised just how effective a Roman army testudo formation would be against a horde of zombies. Shields locked together and a steady march and thrust. If it was effective enough against Barbarian armies ten times the size of the Romans then it would surely work against a few ropey old zombie folk.

  But, that would mean finding other people to hold shields, and that would mean talking to other people, which was something Roy had never quite gotten the hang of doing. Unless they were doctors of course.

  They have doctors. Roy realised his mind was spinning and working too fast from the exciting news. Good lord! Those doctors will be amazed at how he’s been able to function with so many deadly diseases and illnesses within his body. They’d probably keep him as a test subject and write papers.

  What first? Pack the van up and move out. But it’s still night and he doesn't like driving at night so maybe a cup of something soothing. No caffeine of course, that would raise his heart rate and blood pressure this late in the day. Caffeine was for the morning only. This called for Camomile, yes, a nice hot mug of relaxing Camomile tea. Maybe with some boiled rice to give his stomach something to digest. Rice had slow acting carbs so that was okay and it would mean he had greater energy levels in the morning.

  The tea doesn't have the effect he was hoping for. That feeling of nerves was starting to build, that fear that he would be seeing a doctor tomorrow and be given the bad news. Maybe a week to live? Two at the very most?

  Roy wondered if they had any stocks of the anti-depressant he was prescribed and stopped taking when the outbreak started. Maybe he should have got some from the pharmacy today. But he didn’t like taking them, they were just dulling his sense and making him slow witted. He didn’t need them, not now. He needed to be alert and switched on and besides, they didn’t do anything anyway.

  Maybe he was a bit more tense the last day or so, but that was to be expected with giant tumours and growths sprouting out all over his body, and his gums playing up. Thinking of which he automatically moves to his personal bag to grab his toothbrush and paste, commencing his thorough brushing technique while clutching the bottle or Corsodyl like a security blanket. After brushing vigorously he rinsed his mouth with clean water. Clenching his eyes shut as he spits it out onto the grass. Couldn’t risk seeing blood in his spit, that would just send him into full meltdown.

  The taste of the Corsodyl had an almost immediate effect of making Roy feel better. The familiar minty chemical taste swilling side to side.

  Done, finished and still his mind races with the news. He grabs the compound bow, pauses, puts it back and pulls out the longbow instead. It required far greater effort and skill than the compound so the soothing effect would be better too.

  With the night vision goggles still planted across his eyes he nocks the first arrow and lifts the bow, feeling the pull of his muscles as he stretches his right arm back. Loose and the arrow flies off, embedding into the post some twenty metres away.

  First shot and he took it steady, easing his muscles into work. Second and third shots were the same, letting his body get the feel for the heavy draw of the bow. Slowly he warms up and as he does so, he steps back increasing the distance to the post. The string is pulled back further, the arrows fly faster, the swish of the string followed an instant later by the dull thud of the arrow head striking the thick wooden post.

  Further back he goes and now with his muscles warmed up he increases his rate of fire. They say that the English bowmen at the battle of Agincourt could fire ten arrows a minute, which was one arrow every six seconds. But that was mass firing into the air without picking the target. He couldn’t hope to match one every six seconds, not at night while aiming for a post now seventy metres away. No, the best he could do was one every ten seconds unless he really got into the groove, then it might drop down to one every eight seconds.

  His mind emptied of everything apart from the arrow; that was all that mattered. He switched posts when the first one became too full, picking a thinner one to stick it full of arrows. Working from the top and keeping them in a straight line going down as low as he could see.

  Roy couldn’t afford many arrows before the outbreak and constantly had to keep stopping during his target practise to collect his arrows. Looting the store at the club house had yielded more arrows than he could ever fire. So he kept going, loosing arrows until his arm ached and his shoulders tired. Depleting the nervous energy, numbing his mind into a state of relaxed bliss.

  It did the trick and after collecting his arrows he heads back to his van.

  The bed was made up, thick roll mats with a sleeping bag rolled out on the van floor. A small 12 volt oscillating fan wired to a battery kept the air moving when the doors were closed. Lying on his back with the shotguns and the night vision goggles within reach he starts to drift off. Dreaming of doctors in pristine white lab coats holding stethoscopes while nodding at him with a perfect bedside manner.

  Twenty

  Nausea swims through her head and stomach. Sweating through the night until eventually with the dawn of the new day she relented from the oppressive heat and flopped down onto the grass outside to sleep in the cooler night air. The heat in the vehicle was just too much and she knew that staying in there would mean no sleep, and in turn that meant lack of alertness and general fatigue which wouldn’t do.

  There was just no air. It felt stifling to the point of being extreme. Paula thinks of the sea, of the cool waters drawing the heat from her body as she plunges in. A swimming pool, a cold shower, a lake, reservoir, bloody hell a big puddle would do it now.

  Instead she settles for stripping off and pouring bottles of water over her head and body. The water was warm but at least a couple of degrees cooler than the air so the effect, although only marginal, was still there.

  With the stove heating her water for morning coffee she washes her hair, massaging the suds deep into her scalp before rinsing off. Just the act of having freshly was
hed hair made her feel cleaner all over, the fresh smell gave her a sense of being civilised and human.

  Grabbing a small bowl she fills it with more water and a sprinkling of washing powder before dropping two of her black vest tops in to scrub them with her hands. Rubbing the material to scrub the stale sweat and dirt away.

  The thought process of the horde within the seaside town being too big had started to wane during the night. There wasn’t too many of them, it just seemed that way. But with the right planning they could be taken and the sense of challenge was there. It didn’t need a full on attack, the principle of taking smaller bites out of them was still there.

  That was the plan for today; go back and start planning the attack. Work out which part to attack first, draw a list of equipment and supplies she would need then head off into the surrounding towns to find them. It could be done, there was no reason to run away and hide. Not now, not ever.

  The tops were wrung out and draped over the already hot roof of the vehicle. The thin material would take minutes to dry out in this weather, until then she pottered about, brushing teeth, cleaning nails, drinking coffee and eating tinned food. She checked the weapons as much as she could, wishing she knew how to strip them down and clean them. They couldn’t be that hard to figure out but the risk of doing something wrong was too great. The vest tops were turned after ten minutes and after packing the rear of the vehicle up she was ready but the tops were still damp. They would start to smell musty if she put them on now. Instead she wedges them into the top of the rear windows drives off in her bra, knowing the movement of the warm air will finish the drying off.

  Out the field and she starts heading back towards the seaside town. Thirteen days today she mused. Tomorrow will be two full weeks since the apocalypse began and how the world had changed in those two weeks. What would it be like in another two weeks, or in two months? Would there be anyone left?

  Not a cloud in the sky, just a vast unbroken blueness that seemed to stretch on forever. The heat was like nothing she had experienced, energy sapping and awful, making her want nothing other than to find cool shade and sit down to do nothing.