The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  Clarence and Nick are caught out, the protection of the line is gone and the undead surge in. Within seconds they’re separated and fighting individually. Clarence, being that bit taller, manages to keep an eye on Nick’s position for a few seconds, bellowing for the lad to join him.

  Overwhelmed and sensing he has just seconds to either do something or die, Nick follows the course of action taken by the youths and breaks out, pushing and fighting his way to the side to break free.

  Clarence watches him go and starts going after him but Nick moves faster than he is able and then he’s gone from view, absorbed into the darkness and chaos.

  ‘NICK?’

  ‘GO,’ Nick screams back.

  ‘GET TO THE FORT.’

  ‘GO…I WILL…GO…I’M OUT…’

  Clarence nods and starts running for the back of the vehicle, using his massive hands to simply swat the undead aside. With a leap he gains the back ledge and heaves himself up onto the roof, banging down hard on the solid metal casing, ‘GO ROY…PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN…’

  Roy heeds the order and pushes the vehicle harder. Ploughing the hard front into the bodies to batter them down.

  The undead try the same grounding tactic and move quickly to drop in front of the vehicle in an attempt to ground it out but Roy changes direction; simply turning the wheel to weave and snake through them.

  ‘Clever bastard,’ Clarence mutters wishing he’d thought to do that. Gripping the GPMG hole he watches as the front of the horde starts thinning out, craning his head to see hundreds and hundreds of them still charging after them. Nodding with satisfaction he wills them to keep coming, giving those that have escaped a fighting chance to get to safety.

  Finally they’re out, bursting the last few apart as the Saxon gains free ground and speeds up.

  Reminding himself that Dave went after the boss, he still feels the same sense of fear and desperation the others feel. The first time they’ve been split apart like this and they each feel it. That sense of loss, of strength and unity. The big man wills them to just hunker down and survive, find a hole to dig in and wait for him to come back.

  He pats the roof of the vehicle gently. The Saxon is as much part of the team as anyone else and between them, they are the strongest and they will come back.

  Nick shouts for Clarence to go, he knows those youths will need him if they stand a chance of surviving. He breaks free of the horde, swinging his axe to make a path of broken bodies. Once out, he sprints, pumping his legs as fast as possible to gain distance from the horde.

  The youths are gone, vanished from sight as they ran towards the darkest shadows. Nick gets into the side junction and keeps going straight for as long as his legs and lungs will allow. With a hasty snatched glance behind he realises only a few have come after him so he slows down and works to control his breathing.

  Head pounding with pain, the same effects felt by Lani and the other lads flood through Nick. Dry mouth, burning throat, legs shaking and the sweat no longer coming.

  Slowing to a walk he forces himself to take deep breaths, turning to walk backwards and gripping the axe as he watches them run down the road. His keen eyes sweep the small group, picking out the fastest and strongest. One sprints forward, streaking ahead of the others. Nick starts jogging backwards, hefting his axe and making ready. At the last second, he charges forward, taking the fight to the undead. Axe up and swinging, its head detached from the neck to roll off into the gutter.

  He spins round and swings out, slicing deep into a shoulder before wrenching it free and snapping the shaft back to ram the hard end into the face of one lunging in. As the undead starts to drop, he slams the blunt edge down, fracturing the skull and sending shards of bone into the brain.

  The next one is taken off her feet by the recoil of Nick’s previous swing. She sails through the air to slam down onto the windscreen of a car, the alarm warbling out noisily into the near silent street.

  Just a few left and Nick starts going backwards again, letting them come to him and chopping them down as they come in for the attack.

  With a long strung out line of chopped corpses, he works further into the quiet residential street. Hacking with increasingly tired and heavy arms, he takes the last few down and then stands with chest heaving at the empty street ahead of him.

  With those last ones killed the silence hits him hard. After the constant noise of the battle it doesn't seem real and for a second he wonders if he died and this is the afterlife. It just doesn't seem right. The stars twinkle bright in the night sky and the moon shines silver, the same as ever. The houses look normal and he realises the car alarm has stopped.

  Looking down he takes in the layers of gore on his hands and clothes. With a sigh he turns and walks further into the street, this area isn’t safe to stop.

  Two streets down and he picks a dark house with an undamaged front door, checking the rooms before he goes back to lock the door. Into the kitchen and he does the same as Cookey and Blowers, twisting the cold tap on to suck the water into his parched mouth.

  He drinks and drinks, sucking water into his stomach before holding his head under the tap to start washing the filth and dried sweat away.

  Legs shake as his mind sends signals that the danger of imminent death has gone. With trembling hands he scrubs and washes, using washing up liquid which gets into his eyes and makes them burn.

  Unlike the others, Nick has that last bit of strength left to strip off and scrub his top in the running water, rinsing the worst of the filth away before wringing it out and draping it over a chair. Then his boots come off, peeling away the stinking, sodden socks. Lifting one foot in turn he holds them under the water then makes his way upstairs to root through drawers until he finds clean socks.

  Sitting on the edge of a big, soft double bed he stares down at the filth on his trousers. Infected blood will be all over them so he strips them off too. His exhausted mind isn’t thinking straight as he strips off and heads back into the bathroom to wash his legs. Moving like a robot, he finds himself back in the bedroom, unable to remember the last ten minutes.

  Drunk on water and drained to the point of passing out he sinks back, feeling the softness of the bed envelope him. The smell of laundered sheets drift into his nose, clean and dry now. Where are the others? Are they alive?

  It takes little more than a few seconds before his mind shuts down.

  Lani sleeps with her back to a grimy wall in the car park. Cookey and Blowers side by side in a dark kitchen. Nick flat out on a double bed in a quiet dark house. Meredith sleeps with ears pricked and listening.

  Two more of the team are within the car park. One small man that walks slowly back up the ramp. In his hand he carries a double bladed axe and over his shoulder he carries the unconscious form of his leader.

  He stands at the top and sweeps the view of broken bodies. There will be weapons here, so he gently rests Howie in the corner and moves quickly round collecting all the fallen weapons.

  Moving back to Howie’s side ,he works through them, ejecting magazines as he looks for rounds. Between all the dropped guns he scavenges enough unused rounds for a few full magazines, loading two of the weapons up and pocketing the rest. Back on his feet he straps the two rifles to his back, then manhandles Howie up and over his shoulder before squatting down to scoop the axe up.

  Pain doesn't factor, exhaustion doesn't matter. He feels the same as the others but Dave is different, he just ignores it and carries on the same as before.

  Carrying the heavy load he makes his way quietly down the stairs into the street and then away from the town. Each step is taken as gently as possible to prevent causing discomfort to Howie and slowly he gets into the side streets.

  Like Nick he finds a dark house and gets inside, laying Howie down on the sofa before checking each room.

  Back at the front door he stares out for long seconds, listening intently. He lets his mind absorb the natural sounds as he glances up to view the same sky that Nick look
s at.

  Like a sentinel he stands strong and quiet. The team are separated but they’ve been taught well and they’re capable. They’ll survive. Dave knows this.

  But will Mr Howie survive? Will he come through whatever happened to him before Dave found him?

  A rare look of worry settles on his face as he glances back into the lounge doorway. Sighing, he quietly close the door.

  Six

  “Oh no” said the brown bear, how will I eat my porridge now, I will have to find another spoon. So the brown bear set off to find another spoon…’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m hungry Dad.’

  Holding the picture book open on his lap, Andrew looks down at the young face staring up at him. Pain shoots through his heart at the thought of his child going without food for another day.

  ‘I’m sorry but we’ll have something in the morning.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Pardon,’ Andrew asks, surprised at the question.

  ‘Where will the food come from Daddy? We don’t have any and you said the shops have all run out.’

  ‘Well,’ Andrew smiles, ‘I will just have to find some won’t I.’

  ‘When Daddy?’

  ‘Tonight, I will find something yummy tonight.’

  ‘But…’ the child stares with frightened eyes.

  ‘Hey now,’ the man soothes the child, ‘Lilly will stay with you and when you wake up there will be something nice to eat.’

  ‘Like sweets?’

  ‘Maybe not sweets but…’

  ‘Cake?’

  ‘Well maybe not cake either but something, something nice I promise.’

  ‘You promise Daddy?’

  ‘I promise,’ Andrew closes the book and leans forward from his chair beside the bed. Kissing the boy on the forehead, ‘now go to sleep and have nice dreams.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ the boy yawns and smiles up at his father.

  ‘And remember, what happens if you wake up in the night?’

  ‘Don’t make any noise and don’t call out,’ the boy replies sleepily.

  ‘Good boy,’ Andrew kisses his son’s head again and gently moves out of the room, leaving a single small candle burning on the dresser. With thick curtains and even thicker blankets fixed across the window he knows none of the light will escape, and the candle will be blown out as soon as the boy nods off.

  Moving quietly across the landing of the large flat he stands in the doorway of the lounge, the soft flicker of candlelight dances across the walls. Desperately hot, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and starts wringing his hands, knowing what he has to do and dreading it.

  ‘I’ve got to get food,’ he says quietly, stepping into the room he looks down at his daughter using the meagre light to read. She looks up with an instant worried look, her brow knotting in concern.

  ‘Wait till tomorrow,’ she whispers.

  Shaking his head and wringing his hands, he then realises the worry he is displaying to his daughter, quickly dropping his hands to his sides before smiling broadly. It’s a fake smile and he hopes she won’t notice the lack of humour in his eyes, ‘Neither of you have eaten today,’ he replies.

  ‘We can wait till tomorrow,’ she repeats, ‘and you didn’t eat yesterday so I should go out…’

  ‘No,’ he cuts her off firmly.

  ‘Dad you’re exhausted…I can find something just as…’

  ‘I said no,’ he snaps, holding a hand up.

  ‘Dad,’ she pleads with an urgent tone, ‘you look terrible, you haven’t slept for three days, I can go and find something.’

  ‘Lilly, I said no,’ he repeats with an increasingly firm tone.

  ‘Well where are you going then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he shrugs, frantically thinking of where to try next. All the houses locally have been looted, the local shop was cleared out the day after it happened and now, twelve days in, finding food is getting harder.

  At first he was simply running to one of the many local houses to raid the kitchen but increasingly, he found someone had got there before him and taken everything edible. He knew he’d have to go further out but that meant exposing himself to greater risk and the thought of leaving his children alone terrified him more than going out.

  ‘Dad, I haven’t been outside for what…twelve days now…please let me go,’ Lilly begs. Even in the dark shadows of the doorway she can see the deep bags under his eyes. His face looks ashen and sallow, his cheeks sunken from lack of food and sleep. His hair looks greyer than ever before and the normally jovial, kind, loving man was slowly being replaced by a nervous wreck barely holding it together.

  He doesn't reply but just shakes his head. Thinking of where to try next, which street to go to and trying to remember where he last saw those things. But the lack of food and sleep are taking their toll and his mind finds it harder to fix onto anything more than a simple thought process.

  ‘Your mother wouldn’t want that,’ he says at length, ‘she will never forgive me if she found out I left you alone. When she gets back, she will ask if I left and you know I can’t lie to her…’

  ‘Dad,’ Lilly says softly, ‘Mum isn’t coming back, she’s gone Dad…’

  ‘No,’ he hisses, ‘she will come back…I promised William she’ll be back.’

  Standing up slowly she crosses the room to stand in front of her father, folding her arms as she gets ready for the conversation again.

  ‘Dad, you have to tell him the truth, how long can we stay here for? The food is running out and the water could end any minute, we don’t even know if it’s clean anymore…’

  ‘Of course it’s clean.’

  ‘No, it looks clean but there could be anything in it now, we did a lesson in biology and the teacher said…’

  ‘I don’t care what your teacher said, the water is fine.’

  ‘Okay,’ she softens her tone, ‘what about Mum? She isn’t coming back Dad, we have to accept that and find somewhere else to stay.’

  ‘Lilly, we are not leaving. How will she know where we’ve gone to? How will she find us? We have to wait here until she…’

  ‘Dad please,’ Lilly pleads, ‘you said there’s no food, we haven’t eaten today and you haven’t eaten for ages…it’s not safe here. William can’t make any noise, he can’t go outside…he looks ill Dad, have you seen how pale he is?’

  ‘We just have to wait,’ he replies quietly. Lilly stares at him, sensing his resolve weakening. He usually would have bitten her head off by now for pushing the point so much.

  Seizing the chance she presses on, speaking in a low but urgent tone, ‘We’re too close to the town here, they stagger past all the time, what if they hear us? We can leave a note for mum and tell her which direction we’re going. Tell her we’ll get to someplace and wait there for a week.’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘The harbour where the boat was kept,’ she replies quickly, referring to the small inlet on the coast where her father used to keep his speedboat. But that was before the recession, and before he lost his business, and before they had to move into this flat because of the house being repossessed and Mum going back to work while Dad became increasingly depressed.

  ‘She knows where that is, and it’s in a rural place with only a few houses…leave a note saying we’ll go there every day at twelve and wait an hour…’

  ‘You’ve thought this through then,’ he comments drily.

  ‘Yes,’ she keeps going, sensing he is really listening this time, ‘we’ll take the first car we can find and just drive away. We can get food on the way and we might like meet other survivors or families…there might be soldiers or something.’

  ‘Lilly, you haven’t seen what it’s like out there,’ he whispers.

  ‘If it’s that bad then why are we staying here?’

  ‘We are waiting for your mother,’ he replies in a tone that implies she is being stupid, which forces Lilly to take a deep breath a
nd stare in sadness at the father she loves so much. She thinks about his rapid decline since he went bankrupt, the depression and loss of self-esteem and now this; left on his own to take care of a young child and a teenager.

  They have been cooped up inside the flat since the day it began. With her mother working nights at a care home, something she hated but the rate of pay was higher than the day shifts, Lilly and her father watched the events unfold on the television. Watching at first with almost amused interest at the crazy people running around biting each other.

  But, as with many millions who watched the same news channels, they soon edged closer to the television. Watching as country after country fell to the violent epidemic sweeping across.

  Then it was upon them. The town centre exploding which such ferocity that her father went into virtual meltdown, running between the rooms with his mobile and landline, trying over and again to call the police and the care home.

  The internet went down with the phones, then the television channels stopped reporting. Her father tried to tune the radio in the kitchen but it was a digital thing with pre-set channels and try as he might, he couldn’t figure a way of tuning it across the frequencies.

  So they hid and stayed quiet. Taking a chance the next day, they to fortified the flat. This consisted of sticking blankets over the windows and shoving some furniture against the front door.

  Days passed slowly as Lilly’s father tried to hold it together, pacing from room to room as he constantly took his glasses off to clean the lenses on his shirt tails. A medium built man with medium brown hair that was greying as rapidly as it was receding. A slight paunch showing the middle aged spread and he was every wealthy business man suffering from the recession and plunging into depression.

  Lilly, being fifteen, was old enough to know what was happening outside. William however, being six, was not. So at first it was a game. Hiding quietly and pretending to sneak about. William loved the game and became the ultimate spy, crawling between rooms with a ski mask over his face. Rolling under the windows to avoid the spy satellites and the mystery and wonder of using candles at night was amazing.