The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  I go berserk and hack away, slamming the axe deep into the bodies again and again. Within seconds the lads are joining us, unable to restrain themselves to stand and watch. Our axes fly and dig into the corpses. Maddox runs in, Clarence hands him his axe and goes to work with bare hands. Grabbing bodies to heave them out and launch them back over the wall.

  Roaring with anger the giant demolishes them one at a time. Throwing adult sized cadavers like they are rubbish bags, sailing them over the top to land and crush those on the other side. We focus on the middle, clawing and hacking. Arms get coated with gore and the wall starts to erode as they push on with relentless energy.

  Two sides growling and fighting. We rip the middle out, opening up a hole through which we can see just a solid press stretching back into the darkness. Undead pushing and straining as they try to march towards us, driving that wall on.

  ‘MOVE NOW,’ I shout, we burst away left and right, ‘DAVE…’

  The gun opens up, aiming directly for the hole we created in the middle. The rounds whip through and start taking out the undead on the other side while we start working at the edges. Clarence gets another hole created and shouts for the GPMG to be brought to him. Children run down carrying the heavy weapon between them.

  Bodies get shoved into the gaps from the other side but Clarence just rips them out again before grasping the big gun, shoving the barrel through the wall and opening up. Strafing left and right. The pressure against the wall starts to slacken as the bullets tear them apart.

  ‘MORE GUNS,’ I shout, rifles get brought down and we copy the big man, shoving the barrels through the gaps to fire into the ranks beyond.

  ‘PULL BACK,’ Dave orders. We comply instantly, all of us pulling our guns out to start running back to our line. The wall collapses as we run, bodies falling down as they go back to full on straight charging but this time they’re closer, having gained a few metres from the wall.

  We get back and the line opens up, every single weapon firing on full. Meredith pulled away by Nick and she goes back into the Saxon to resume her poised standing. Glancing over and the second team at the stairs are fighting just as desperate as we are.

  Slaughtering hundreds of them again and again but they are endless. Arrows flick out and take out weaving runners that break free from the front but slowly they gain ground. Just inches at a time and they have to work to clear the bodies out of the way.

  Cookey jumps into the back of the Saxon, running to the front and within a few seconds the opening bars of Missy Elliott We Run This booms out. As with the girl the uplifting strong beat gives us a fresh surge of energy. It makes them angrier and they surge harder but we cut them down.

  ‘LAST MAGAZINE,’ Dave shouts.

  ‘ME TOO,’ Clarence adds.

  ‘DAVE, GET DOWN HERE…SAVE IT,’ I shout up. He nods and jumps up and onto the roof of the vehicle. I grab an assault rifle and throw it up, catching it one handed he lifts aims and starts firing.

  Clarence starts on his last magazine. Dave ends his first, knocks it out and slams another home, single shot firing and no doubt getting a head shot with each bullet.

  ‘WE’RE RUNNING OUT,’ Blowers shouts, ramming another one into his rifle.

  ‘MY TEAM IN THE MIDDLE WITH ME…MADDOX GET YOUR YOUNGEST IN THE VEHICLE…’ He bursts away, grabbing reluctant children and forcing them into the back of the Saxon. Paula stands with us, firing her rifle with determination.

  ‘You’re going with them,’ I shout.

  ‘Staying,’ she shouts back.

  ‘Nope, we’re going hand to hand in a minute…can you do that?’

  ‘Watch me,’ she growls.

  Roy comes into our group, firing arrow after arrow with an incredible speed. Robotic and fluid and they sail off with utter precision.

  ‘MADDOX, SEAL THE DOORS AND GET A DRIVER INSIDE IT.’

  ‘DONE,’ he shouts as he runs back and starts firing again.

  ‘ALMOST OUT,’ Clarence directs his fire into the middle, driving them back but they just surge and push on.

  ‘IS THE DOG OUT?’

  ‘WITH ME BOSS,’ Nick shouts.

  ‘DONE,’ Clarence stands up, grabbing an assault rifle he starts firing that but without the GPMG going they gain ground quicker now.

  ‘WE READY?’ I roar out, ‘LANI…’

  ‘Right behind you…’ she growls.

  ‘THIS IS IT…WE’RE GOING IN…AND WE DO NOT YIELD…HERE ME? WE DO NOT YIELD.’

  ‘NEVER,’ they scream back.

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘Yes Mr Howie.’

  ‘You ready Dave?’

  ‘Yes Mr Howie.’

  ‘HAVE IT….’ Casting my now empty rifle down I take my axe up, roaring as the rifles are dumped and weapons drawn. Roy rips his mask off and drops his rucksack, pulling his sword out with a look of utter violence etched onto his face.

  The clatter of weapons as they fall to the ground, knives, axes, blades, sticks and chains get pulled out. We scream with terror and fear and rage and then we charge.

  Oh we charge.

  Adults and children who refuse to give in. Maddox proud and strong with a long bladed knife in hand. Dave going low with his arms out behind him, knives reversed. Meredith streaks as she is finally allowed to attack them.

  Lani right with me. Clarence striding on with Nick at his side. Blowers and Cookey together as always.

  Oh we charge.

  Dave leaps higher than I have ever seen him go, his arms stretch out and he turns in mid-air to face back towards us and as he drops down I see a huge grin on his face. He plummets deep within their ranks and sets to doing what Dave does best.

  Meredith goes low and drives in between legs as though working to get near Dave. The two of them explode out and start attacking from within as the rest of us hit the line.

  Axe out and swinging, taking heads off as we all drive deep to create more damage. The flush of real battle surges and powers us on. The music set on loop and it blasts out as we fight and hack. Youths driving blades into eye sockets and dancing around them. Maddox fights like a demon, stabbing and pushing them aside with his strong arms. Paula uses a big commando style knife, stabbing with utter fury.

  Roy swings the sword with glorious energy, driving them back as he slashes and lunges, showing what an amazing weapon the sword is in the right hands.

  Blowers and Cookey fight with that brutal efficiency they’ve learnt so well. Always at each other’s sides and despite the constant abuse they give, neither of them will allow anything to happen to the other.

  Lani ducks and weaves, as graceful as a ballet dancer. The meat cleaver slices and whispers across throats.

  Me? I hack and chop and slice and just batter them down and slowly, ever so slowly I start to feel that sensation coming over me but they too seem to sense it and the intensity explodes as they rush forward towards me. Every undead focusses on me, all of them coming my way. Then they start swirling, not individually but on mass. Like a giant Catherine wheel made up of ranks of undead. Some lines go one direction and other thick lines go against them. Confusion all around and I start to get swallowed up, getting swirled and pulled further into the ranks by the ever revolving lines. My axe flies left and right, forward and back as I cleave them down but they pay no heed and just keep rotating round and round, literally drawing me into their ranks.

  I hear my name being called by many different voices but they get further and further away. My feet run to keep up with the pace, desperate not to trip and go down. I yell for Dave, Lani, Clarence and I slash and hack but deeper and deeper into their ranks I go.

  The ground drops away and I’m at the top of the vehicle ramp. They’re driving me down into the murky, gloomy depths. I try to hold back and stand my ground but it’s impossible and no matter what I do I get sucked down the ramp.

  Dark here and only the tiniest sliver of moonlight gets through. The heat and stench are unbearable. So many rancid decomposing bodies all pumping he
at out. My space gets smaller and I lash out round and round trying to drive them back.

  Fury and rage spill out of me as I get carried down. I refuse to go any further and focus on those on the ramp above me, not letting them get close enough to push me down.

  They surge in harder and faster, low growls and the flash of red eyes picked out by the moonlight. Desperate and sweating so much, alone and isolated getting sucked further down and away from my team.

  Against the wall now, pushed hard, battered by bodies slamming against me. Buffeted left and right and trying to swipe out at anything I get the axe into. The side of the wall is rough and I get rammed into it again and again.

  Hands start grabbing at me and in the dark I can’t see who or where from but I twist and buck, kicking out as my axe swings and digs deep into flesh.

  Something hits the back of my legs and I go down, landing on my back to cycle my legs up and around. Kicking out and still waving the axe but the space gets increasingly smaller as the hot fetid bodies push into me.

  One above me bearing down. Just blackness now, pitch black and I’m screaming in utter desperation trying to batter it away. It gets heavier as it pushes down on me. My axe blade bites into the stomach ripping it open then something grasps the shaft and yanks it away, snatching it from my hands.

  Without a weapon I heave and push at the heavy body plunging down onto me, imagining the mouth open and the drool ready for the bite. My hands claw at the stomach, feeling the edges of the ragged wound. Gripping and tearing the flesh open and it doesn't matter that I’m surrounded by hundreds, possibly thousands of them. This one will not get me, just this one is all that matters right now so I push my fingers deeper into the hole and grope at the warm sticky entrails within the stomach cavity.

  My fingers grasp and twist, pulling wet things out but still it comes down at me. Intestines get yanked out and I fight harder, both pushing him back and trying to rip his insides out with my naked hands.

  So hot I can hardly breath, sensations all over me as bodies buffet and feet slam into my sides. One of them trips and lands on the one on me, the weight is too much and they crash down crushing my chest. Twisting and shaking as they try and break free, my hands out of the stomach and groping for the creatures neck. I feel the jaw line and the spiky stubble then move my fingers up to the eye sockets, it thrashes and tries to bite down but I push my thumbs into the eyes, feeling the pressure build up until they pop and spray hot liquid over my face.

  I get a hand down to his stomach wound and find another hand is already pushed into it. Our fingers grip and slide against each other as we fight and struggle. The undead gnashing his teeth so I drive my forehead up to head-butt its nose, feeling the crack as the bone breaks and a shooting pain from the impact.

  Blood pours down and soaks my face. I twist and shake, desperate to avoid the blood going into my mouth. The hand in the stomach rips free and I feel bony hard fingers searching for my mouth. Teeth clench and I growl with increasing panic as the digits push to open my mouth.

  Sharp nails scratch against my teeth but I keep my mouth clamped shut, pain flares from my jaw and my mouth opens as an involuntary reaction. Fingers get inside, prising my jaw open further. I bite down and feel my teeth sinking into flesh and bone. Hot liquid bursts into my mouth to drip down my throat.

  Then something else is pushed in. Something hot and beating and spraying blood. The heart ripped from the first undead is shoved into my mouth, still warm and the beats die off as the final bit of energy is expended.

  Bloody tissue, thick and firm, hot and sticky with metallic arterial blood pumping into my throat. Drowning I try and swallow it down and keep fighting but my vision starts to go. Unable to breath from the weight on my chest and the heart jammed into my mouth. Tears pour down my face and I reach out to feel a throat, gripping and squeezing with every last ounce of strength I have.

  My grip fails, hand dropping weak from lack of oxygen. No pain now, my body is shutting down to try and keep the brain alive. But it’s too late. I’ve ingested so much blood and infected gore that within a few minutes I’ll be one of them, waiting for the whisper of Dave’s knife against my throat.

  I think of the lads smiling and laughing in the back of the Saxon. I think of Tucker and Jamie and Curtis. Blowers and Cookey so close to each other, Nick so clever and eager to help. I think of Clarence and how he chose to come with us and be part of our team. We were special. We were something unique for we didn’t run or hide. We all knew the risks and here I am, succumbing to the greatest risk of all.

  I think of Lani so beautiful and graceful and my heart soars one final time as I think of that kiss we had. Images race through my mind, Marcy and Sergeant Hopewell, Ted and others from the fort. Big Chris grinning with his white teeth stark against his black beard. Sarah, my sister, taken so horribly and I see her smiling face, my parents too, grinning and laughing as we sat round the table having Sunday dinner.

  Then I think of Dave. That special man that saved me so many times. We’ve killed so many of them, but none of it would have been done without Dave. The way he stuck by me through thick and thin, always by my side. He will be heartbroken at this, that he didn’t protect me but he will go on. He will give that protection to the lads and with Paula, Roy and Maddox they will live and succeed.

  A final fleeting thought enters my head as I slip away. That there are so many undead streaming past me towards the roof that this could be it, maybe they won’t survive and even Dave will be taken out.

  Darkness descends. Final and infinite darkness takes me and I am no more.

  Thirty Nine

  ‘MR HOWIE?’ Dave roars, the loudest he has ever roared but there is no response, just the intense sounds of fighting from all around. This shouldn’t be happening. Mr Howie is the one to fix this. That is fact. Dave knows this. Since he first saw Howie fight back in Boroughfare, then the way he led them in Salisbury, Dave knew Mr Howie was the one to make this better. It was intrinsic and undoubted. Dave had to protect Mr Howie so Mr Howie could fix it.

  But for first time in his life he left a nagging sensation of doubt. That he got it wrong. That Mr Howie is being pulled away from him to a place that Dave, despite his amazing talent for killing, simply cannot get to.

  For every undead that he kills, more surge in front of him. He fights harder and faster than ever before. Utter sheer brutality at lightning speed as his hands flick and dance, cutting throat after throat open.

  He weaves and swerves, ducks low and leaps high. Gradually he gets deeper but still they push in and prevent him. The swirling patterns they make are confusing but Dave knows Mr Howie has been taken to the ramp. He doesn't question how he knows this, just that he does. Mr Howie is in that direction, so that direction is the one Dave takes.

  A growing feeling of dread builds in his stomach, a tiny knot of fear that blossoms and spreads through his entire body. Dave doesn't feel fear so the feeling is intense and electrifying. It scares him which just makes him faster and harder, that maybe the faster he goes he can escape the truth that is battering into his head. That Mr Howie is gone, he has been taken.

  Dave is scared, fearful and above all else he feels a burning rage. Inhaling long he starts to roar, the drill sergeant voice growing louder by the second.

  ‘I AM DAVE,’ he bellows, his voice carrying far and wide. He reverts to the tactics taught to him, scare the enemy, make them fear you. ‘I AM DAVE…I WILL KILL…’

  Pushing on he fights and kills, just a blur of arms that spin, ‘I DESTROY… I KILL…I AM DAVE…’ But still they drive into him and block his path.

  Dave is expert at killing and in the long battles they’ve had together, he knows the undead fear Mr Howie. They wilt from him and show tiny reactions that they don’t do to anyone else. Dave can kill more than any man alive but they don’t fear him, they fear Mr Howie. But Mr Howie has been taken. Mr Howie is alone and isolated. Mr Howie trusted Dave and Dave has failed.

  ‘I….KILL…I
….DESTROY….’ The voice floats clear and deep. Mr Howie showed him respect and kindness. Mr Howie offered genuine friendship. Mr Howie sacrificed himself that day at the motorway service station and no one has ever done those things for Dave. In the services he was just a deniable asset, a machine that was deployed against the enemy. He didn’t have friends and he did what was asked. But Mr Howie chose to fight alongside him. Mr Howie chose to have Dave as a friend. He chose to take Dave with him that night in the supermarket.

  He was the one. He was going to fix this. What went wrong? It failed because Dave failed. Mr Howie is now dying a slow painful death because Dave didn’t do the one thing he was meant to do.

  Pain inside his heart, sorrow in his soul. A feeling of emptiness grips his gut. Tears brim in his eyes and spill down his cheeks but still he fights on. Because that is all he knows to do.

  Clarence casts about, being a head higher than most he saw Howie being sucked into the ranks and bellowed after him. Fighting to try and save him but they were too strong and the swirling motions made them too difficult to fight through. Those near the front got strung out and separated, youths got taken down and trampled. Others fought their way free to stand apart from the mass an stare in horror at what was happening.

  Clarence tried again and again to get into them but their motion and constant movement made him confused and lost. Slamming his axe round and round he cleared space but Howie was gone from view. The same sickening feeling spreads in his stomach, the same pain in his heart that Dave feels. Howie is gone.

  Howie wasn’t an army officer, he was just a supermarket manager but he was the greatest leader Clarence had ever followed. His ability was immense and something about him drew all these survivors to fight with him and for him.

  Now he is gone. Taken and alone. Fighting for himself just to survive but without all of them with him, he cannot hope to live.

  It’s lost. Everything is lost.

  Tears stream down the lad’s faces, utter fury erupts from them as they plunge in again and again. Fighting without mercy but they cannot make ground. They cannot get into the masses to go after Mr Howie. Blowers screams with frustration, Cookey grits his teeth and Nick fights with wild abandon. Mr Howie saved them that day in Salisbury. He didn’t have to do anything but he fought through that huge horde and then led them to take the Saxon. That man led them day after day and they followed him because of who he was, because of the way he spoke and the sheer passion he projected. They, along with Dave and Clarence, sense his loss. They sense the increasing distance between them.