The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘Yeah, yeah definitely…’ Cookey mutters, both of them trying desperately not to think of the consequences of the other option.

  ‘I’m fucked mate,’ Blowers sighs deeply.

  ‘Really? I must have missed that, big was he?’

  ‘Very funny, come on…’

  ‘Where we going?’

  ‘Find a drink, I’m gagging.’

  ‘Kay, we get a drink then and grab a car yeah? Head back to the fort or should we stay here and look for the others?’

  ‘Drink first,’ Blowers steps off, still staring at the crawler who almost makes it to the top of the pile before slipping back down with a groan. ‘Drink first and then think about it,’ Blowers pulls his knife and stabs down, driving the point deep into the skull before placing his foot on the zombies neck and yanking the blade out.

  Cookey walks by, looking down at the bare arse of the zombie exposed to the air from the clothing torn away. He grins quickly, looking at Blowers with a sudden glint in his eye.

  ‘Don’t,’ Blowers groans, ‘please…just don’t fucking start…’

  ‘Ha,’ Cookey snorts, ‘give him a quick stab did you?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Blowers sighs, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m too tired,’ Cookey coughs and rubs his throat, trying to swallow and feeling the pain spreading across his forehead, ‘your legs shaking?’

  ‘Yes mate,’ Blowers replies, ‘feel like shit.’

  ‘We need to drink fuckhead, let’s head away from the town and find a house.’

  ‘Yeah great plan cockchops.’

  ‘What? What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘No seriously, it is a good plan,’ Blowers says with as much sincerity as he can muster.

  ‘Oh, thought you were being sarcastic.’

  ‘Me!?’ Blowers asks, ‘oh fuck it…I’m too tired mate, can we banter later?’

  ‘Kay.’

  Stepping over bodies and around the dark patches of gore, they move slowly away from the town, pushing deeper into the dark streets and away from the flaming town centre. With the car park already at the far end of the High Street, it takes them just minutes to reach the first residential street. Signs of devastation everywhere, not a window intact or a door not ripped off. Cars smashed up or burnt to a molten lump.

  Exhausted, they plod on in silence. If it wasn’t for the raging thirst burning they would happily fall down on the spot. But thirst, proper thirst, raging thirst takes over everything else. It pushes the body and fills the mind with a never ending claxon. All other thoughts are meaningless when the body needs water, feelings of loss and grief mean nothing, even the possibility of Mr Howie being killed or taken is now not the primary thought. Just the thirst.

  The days solid, strength sapping heat, the fires raging nearby, the fighting, the running and firing, close quarters battle have all taken their toll.

  Like the undead they kill, the two lads stagger up the first path to the dark house, clumsily kicking the broken door aside and threading their way through the hallway to the kitchen at the rear.

  Cupboards ransacked and emptied of food and a foul stench emanating from the fridge freezer are ignored as they go straight for the tap. One filthy hand twists the metal and they both feel a slight thrill as water bursts from the tap, cascading noisily into the stainless steel bowl. It’s the sweetest sound they’ve ever heard, and for a second they just stare down and watch the water flow. Cookey dips in, mouth already open.

  ‘Let it run,’ Blowers mutters, blocking his path, ‘you got a torch?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cookey digs a small flashlight from his pocket as Blowers retrieves a glass from a shelf. He fills the glass and holds it up as Cookey shines the torch into it.

  ‘Looks clear,’ Blowers croaks, ‘here mate,’ he offers the first glass to Cookey.

  ‘You have it,’ Cookey urges. There are more glasses but the act is symbolic, a gesture of their closeness and the sacrifice they would both make for the other.

  Blowers pauses, then slowly lifts the glass to his mouth, taking that first slow sip as the cooling liquid floods his parched lips and tongue. The water instantly soothes his throat and he can feel the chill of it tumbling down into his stomach. Reflex action kicks in and the glass is lifted higher as he downs it, opening his throat to take noisy gulps and letting the water spill down his chin.

  Glass drained, he slowly takes it away, opening his eyes to look over at Cookey and give him a satisfied smile. However, Cookey is already bent over the sink with his mouth stuck to the end of the tap, slurping the water as it runs.

  ‘Greedy fucker,’ Blower burps, ‘move over.’

  ‘Fuck off, go upstairs,’ Cookey gurgles.

  ‘Bastard,’ Blowers grumbles and pulls Cookey’s torch from his hand to shine a path back down the hallway and up the stairs to the bathroom.

  For long minutes the lads remain in silence, mouths stuck to the end of the taps as they slurp and drink, filling their stomachs with the lifesaving liquid.

  Energy starts to flow back into them. Normal cognitive function resumes as the pressing urge to stay alive abates.

  They strip tops off, letting the water run over their filth encrusted faces. Hands are scrubbed with washing up liquid and shower gel. Faces are rubbed and hair is rinsed through. Chests are soaped and rinsed off, neither of them paying any attention to the black water running from them onto the floor.

  Once cleaned, they drink more and Blowers heads back down stairs to find Cookey sat in the dark with his back to the units, the orange glow of a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  Blowers slumps down next to him, taking the offered smoke and lighter, shielding his eyes from the glare as he takes the first pull.

  ‘You smell nice,’ Cookey comments quietly.

  ‘Shower gel, found it in the bathroom.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You smell of fairy washing up liquid.’

  ‘That,’ Cookey replies, ‘is because I used fairy washing up liquid…but I am not surprised you recognised the smell of fair…’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Blowers cuts him off.

  ‘That water was fucking nice,’ Cookey says after a quiet pause of smoking.

  ‘Yup,’ Blowers replies, blowing smoke away, ‘I’m fucked mate, utterly fucked…I don’t think I can move for a minute.’

  ‘We’ll give it five then go back out,’ Cookey yawns, stretching his aching legs out.

  ‘Don’t,’ Blowers tuts then yawns himself, rolling his sore shoulders and craning his head to one side, easing the pain in the back of his neck from swinging the heavy axe so much.

  Whilst Lani convinces herself that she will rest just for a minute, the lads do the same and start to feel the tug as eyelids get heavier. There is no weakness here. They are young and strong but the body can only function for so long before it is ordered to rest by the brain.

  So rest is given, and breathing slows as they fall into a deep sleep that is close to being unconscious.

  Five

  The Roman Empire was strong and held power for a long time. Tribe and country fell before it as they sought to dominate the known world. Using military tactics still deployed in modern times, they fought battles with opponents many times their number.

  But then the giants came. They came from the north where the countries were cold and you had to be big to survive. They landed on the shores of England, saw the green lush fertile land and they took it.

  Nothing could stand before them. Physically huge with legendary strength. They fought with passion and feeling, they had honour and unity, and those genes passed through the generations and still to this day, the gene of those peoples is as pure as it was before.

  He stands a head taller than most. Shoulders wide and powerful, arms thick with muscle, legs solid and unbreakable. A warrior born and a soldier made through years of training and discipline. A sense of honour runs through him and a deep instinct to protect those unable to defend themselves.

  If time went back a th
ousand years and he was dressed in a sheepskin sleeveless jacket with course woollen leggings he would perfectly match the giants from the North. Now, in this modern time, he grips the double bladed axe and watches as Mr Howie is taken away.

  His keen eyes watch as the boss is ripped away deep into the ranks. His heart pounds, pumping his muscles with rich, oxygenated blood. Adrenalin pumps, testosterone pours into his system as his body makes ready to charge and take the boss back.

  But his feet do not move. Instead his eyes glance back to the children scattered in front of the Saxon. They still hack and kill with blind fury and they do deadly work but the giant knows these things will turn, and when they do, these children will fall.

  Conflict rages within him. Mr Howie must survive. He has an ability to unite the people around him into a fearsome machine, flawlessly using people’s strengths to cover others weaknesses. Without Howie’s power, the risk is they will falter and become just another band of survivors trying to get by.

  Movement catches his eye, Dave spinning to leap high and watch the direction Howie is taken. Clarence nods, a tiny movement done without conscious thought. Dave is going after him. As strong and as powerful as Clarence is, as much as he has the nature of the Viking Berserker within him, he knows he can never hope to match or equal what Dave can do.

  Decision made. The soldier once more makes the rational and right decision, over-powering the urge of the heart.

  ‘MADDOX,’ Clarence roars, spinning round to pick out the adults nearby, ‘GET EVERYONE BEHIND THE VEHICLE…NICK?’

  ‘Here,’ Nick screams back from a few feet away, slicing his axe into the back of a male undead.

  ‘Get on the GPMG and make ready.’

  ‘What about the boss?’

  ‘NOW!’ Clarence bellows, ‘Dave is going after him, get on that gun.’

  ‘The others…’

  ‘Nick,’ Clarence glares over, ‘we have to get these kids out while we can…we’re going now…’

  Nick spins round, viewing the children armed to the teeth as they hack and slaughter away. They look ferocious and deadly but it was only a short time ago most of them were crying and looking terrified at the body parts being flung out and the fucked up laughing from the undead. Clarence is right, the team might be splintered but Dave is going after the boss and the others are hard enough and experienced enough to fight their way out.

  He nods and starts back, threading his way through the youths towards the vehicle already loaded up with the youngest picked by Maddox.

  ‘What?’ Maddox shouts as get closer to Clarence, the flush of battle is evident on his face, a long bladed knife held tight in his hand, thick blood dripping from its blade.

  ‘Get everyone behind the vehicle facing out. ROY…get behind the wheel and get ready to drive…PAULA get inside with Roy…’

  ‘Why?’ Paula demands.

  ‘Protect the kids inside, the two of you,’ Clarence barks as he starts pushing children to the back of the vehicle, ‘NOW…MOVE NOW…GET BEHIND THE SAXON.’

  ‘Come on,’ Roy tugs at Paula, pulling her towards the vehicle.

  ‘I can stay outside and fight,’ Paula shouts.

  ‘He’s right,’ Roy replies, ‘get in.’

  ‘No Roy,’ she pulls her arm free.

  ‘Just get in,’ he urges in the same calm voice, half ushering and half pushing a protesting Paula towards the door.

  Maddox works with Clarence, ordering the children to the back. Darius, Jagger and Mohammed quickly work out what is needed and run back and forth, getting the strongest kids to the outside facing out and the youngest behind them.

  ‘HEADLIGHTS….GIVE ME LIGHT,’ Dave’s voice booms across the top level of car park. Roy fumbles with the controls, finding the switch to flick the lights onto full beam. The engine rumbles into life and Nick shoves his way through the packed interior to climb up and make ready with the machine gun.

  ‘Roy, just keep going straight and don’t stop,’ Nick shouts down, ‘if we keep momentum we’ll punch through.’

  ‘Got it,’ Roy shouts back, his tongue probing along his gum line at a new sensation and a possible swelling at the back, ‘is my Corsodyl here anywhere?’ He asks mildly.

  ‘Look at me,’ Paula snaps, ‘open,’ she adds as he turns to face her. She shines a torch into his mouth, quickly glancing to the top, bottom and sides, ‘nothing there Roy, looks clear.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Totally,’ she nods with sincerity.

  ‘NOW,’ Clarence bellows. The GPMG commences firing, eliciting a yelp of alarm from the young children crowded into the rear. Nick aims high for a short burst, giving a warning shot to any of the team still within the ranks of undead.

  Roy pushes his foot down, feeling the immense power and weight of the vehicle as it pulls away with a throaty roar. Nick holds for as long as he dares, grimacing with fear while praying the team aren’t in the way.

  ‘NOW NICK,’ Clarence shouts.

  He squeezes the trigger, feeling the solid recoil of the weapon as it starts thudding. Sending the large calibre rounds whipping through the ranks. Bodies burst apart as he focusses on a narrow section immediately in front of the vehicle. With the weapon slaughtering them down, Roy increases the speed. Driving into the ranks and watching with delight as the solid front wings batter the zombies away.

  ‘I fucking love this vehicle,’ he shouts, earning a quick puzzled look from Paula. She turns back, watching with interest as the power of the heavy machine gun cuts swathes of zombies down. Heads exploding, chests bursting apart, limbs torn off.

  Behind the vehicle the youths move quickly to keep up, travelling at a half running pace while facing out. Within a few seconds the Saxon is deep within the undead. Clarence watches as they change, the energy pulsing through them.

  ‘GET READY,’ he shouts to those around him, ‘STAY CLOSE AND KEEP MOVING…’

  Faces contort with rage, the hunger takes over as the infection makes the horde ready. A split second later and they’re charging, thundering into the sides of the vehicle and the lines of youths facing out.

  Several children go down from the initial impact, overwhelmed by the ferocity of the attack. The rest fight for their lives, trying hard to keep up with the vehicle while fending the zombies off.

  Maddox moves amongst them, shoving youths into gaps that open up as children get taken down.

  Into the tunnel and the ranks press tighter, the vehicle gathering speed which causes the youths to run faster. Clarence feels the urge to shout to slow down but he knows speed is the essence now and they must maintain the progress.

  Within the enclosed tunnel, the fighting eases off until they reach the first opening for the second level. The Saxon batters huge sections of undead out to the sides, who then thrust back in to attack the strung out lines at the rear.

  Nick fires intelligently, knowing the last magazine is being rapidly depleted and trying to hold back for when they reach the bottom.

  Down they go, turning round the circular road to descend ever closer to the ground level. The youths pant and gasp for air, sweat pours from faces and hands become slick as they grip weapons. Children trip and fall from the broken bodies underfoot. Maddox, Darius and the older ones run to drag them up and get them going again.

  Clarence takes the far rear, holding the huge following off with his almighty strength, swinging the double bladed axe with his grip right at the end of the shaft as he makes full use of the length of the weapon.

  Counting off the levels he knows they’re on the final section now, praying to any god listening that they can punch through the thick horde at the bottom.

  Nick stares with unblinking eyes as the road twists round to reveal the bottom access ramp. Thick ranks push forward and drive into the opening, desperate to prevent the vehicle from leaving.

  Nick sees the opportunity, with the height advantage and the position he attempts to do a Dave and sweeps the aim at head height, watching with satisfaction as
skull after skull pops open.

  Seeing the dense crowd, Roy knows speed and power is the only way through. Pushing his foot down onto the accelerator he surges the vehicle into the crowd, slamming the hard front into the front ranks. Nick switches back to firing directly in front, cutting a path for Roy to follow.

  As soon as the back end of the vehicle leaves the relative safety of the tunnel, the undead once more surge into the lines at the rear.

  Maddox jumps onto the back of the Saxon, heaving himself up to look ahead. There are too many to fight out like this but up ahead are two side junctions, one either side of the road.

  Dropping down he works to the middle of the lines, ‘WHEN I SAY,’ he shouts, his voice rich and deep, ‘STARBURST…YOU GET ME? YOU FUCKING STARBURST AND DO ONE…’

  ‘What?’ Clarence shouts.

  ‘We don’t stand a chance like this, trust me…’ Maddox replies. The crews cannot stand toe to toe with so many adult zombies coming in like this, their strength won’t hold out. But they’re fast and nimble, years spent legging it from police and angry shopkeepers, other gangs or whatever threat they perceive.

  Maddox stares to the side, willing the junction to come into view.

  ‘ALMOST OUT,’ Nick shouts. He keeps the pressure up, doing his best to cleave a route for Roy. Then it’s done. The weapon clicks empty and without a further thought he prises himself out and shouts for someone to pass his axe up. Grasping the shaft he scurries across the back and drops down to land within the lines, quickly moving to the back to fight with Clarence.

  ‘They’re starbursting,’ Clarence grunts.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘This lot, they’re gonna leg it when Maddox says…LISTEN IN,’ he shouts, ‘STAY LOCAL AND WE’LL COME BACK FOR YOU OR HEAD SOUTH TO THE FORT…’

  ‘NOW,’ Maddox clocks the first junction coming into view, ‘GO…STARBURST…GO…’ The lines breaks as the youths do what they do best and make like they were never here.

  Small bodies that duck and weave through the packed ranks, scooting between legs. Heads down and legs pumping. They burst away in every direction possible. Some don’t make it and get taken down instantly. Some get several strides only to be savaged but many break out. Council estate living giving them good skills.