The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  Holding outside the dormitory door, they take turns firing at the stairs and down the corridor, re-loading quickly to snap the guns shut as they frantically think of a way out.

  The storm increases in volume, power and energy. With the windows smashed the wind races through the old house, slamming doors and causing the window frames to tremble ever more violently. There’s the smell of burning in the air, smoke from an unseen fire.

  The radio on Jacob’s belt keeps crackling, Larson trying again and again to transmit to the gate guards, knowing they’ll be sober and well-armed. The static bursts with his repeated efforts but those repeated efforts start paying off as even without any words getting through the odd gunshot is clearly heard, the tone of Larson’s panicked voice and the fact there are repeated efforts to transmit made.

  Nick takes all this in, knowing the gate guards will be heading down soon which is the last thing they need. Fresh, sober men trusted to work the main gate will pose a very serious problem. These people have no care for the boys within that room. With the Doc dead and Larson spreading the word of how the Doc was a fraud, the men will want quick riddance of Nick and Jacob, and they’ll do it by any means.

  ***

  ‘What’s he saying?’ The men huddle together in the garden shed hastily erected outside the main gates to Chapsworth House. The storm outside rages with increasing fury, threatening to tear the flimsy shed apart.

  ‘No idea,’ one of the guards replies, ‘must be the storm fucking the signal up.’

  ‘Why’s he keep calling? Somethin’ going on?’ Someone else asks. Six of them all stare at the radio held by their group leader.

  ‘Pissed ain’t they, probably fucking about.’

  ‘Nah fuck off! They wouldn’t do that, the Doc has a radio…’

  ‘Shit you hear that!’ They all step in as another burst of static fills the room. They clearly hear the distinct sound of gunshots and Larson’s voice, broken, unclear but panicky.

  ‘Fuck, right…’ the leader stares round at the shocked faces, ‘fucking get down there. Tony, get the van.’

  ‘We all going?’ Tony asks.

  ‘Fuck yeah, someone shooting in the big house? Fuck yeah we’re all going,’ the leader replies, ‘don’t just fucking stand there you prick, get the fucking van!’

  Tony moves, pausing as a strong gust of wind pushes the thin, wooden door into the frame, preventing the man from pushing it open. Others join him, forcing the door ajar. Suddenly, the wind changes direction and removes the door from the hinges, pulling it high into the air where it dances on the currents like a feather, leaving several men face first on the floor.

  ‘Fuck,’ Tony gasps as the door is removed from sight. With the door gone, the wind decides the shed is the next thing to play with. Starting with the weakest part of the structure, the howling gale starts testing to see how much power is needed to take the roof off.

  The men stare up, hearing the creaks and groans from the timber ceiling above their heads. The whole structure judders with the power of the storm.

  A slight punch to the chest makes Tony take a step back, thinking some debris glanced off him. The others stare at him in utter shock.

  ‘What?’ Tony asks, ‘oh…oh fuck.’ Looking down at the end of the arrow shaft sticking out of his chest, he stupidly tries to turn to see if it’s sticking out his back, like a dog chasing its tail. The awareness brings pain, a searing agony that drops him instantly.

  Another arrow thuds into a second guard, pinning him against the side of the shed. Within a second or two, another arrow flies through the door hitting the same man, securing him firmly to the wall of the shed.

  Several metres away, and lost in the gloom of the storm, sits the Saxon, reversed towards the shed with the rear doors wedged open. Roy kneels inside the rear section, night vision goggles on his forehead as he stares out across the short distance to the guard hut.

  The crackle of the radio by his side bursts to life. It is a mass produced radio that was sold in the hundreds of thousands across the country. It also uses the same set frequencies over short range distance as the radios inside the house.

  Roy simply had to twist the dial through the stations to find the channel used by Chapsworth House. The static filled hiss of repeated transmissions told him something was going on. The gunshots and shouts he heard in the broken crackles told him even more.

  Decision made. Saxon quickly moved into position. The wind is exceptionally strong and the rain is hard but inside the vehicle the bow string is dry and the outside elements can be taken into account.

  The first arrow was a test. The men inside the shed had no clue that one single, long shafted arrow flew over the top as Roy watched for wind direction, fall and positioning.

  The next one was true, the bow held with the arrow nocked and ready. Breathing easy, hands steady and he waited for the door to open. When the wind ripped it away he had a clear sight to the interior. The first one taken down. The second one he put two into his chest just to be sure.

  Now he waits, knowing that the men have a choice for he can see the wind working at the structure. The shed was obviously put in place after the event happened when the weather was fine and glorious. It’s a nice shed but it’s been plonked down and not secured to the ground in anyway.

  Now, despite the combined weight of the men inside, it is in very real danger of being plucked away.

  What do they do? Do they risk being struck by another arrow or risk a nice night time flight in a garden shed.

  People are so stupid, Roy muses quietly, go out the back. The shed is thin, a few kicks will have you through the rear panels.

  Loosened, an arrow flies across the ground, the barbed point entering the eye socket of the man peering round. Holding his hand out Roy feels another arrow being pressed into his palm by Lilly kneeling silently next to him.

  Three down. The only problem is he doesn't know how many are in there. Five to seven he guesses, going from what Lilly said she could see and the size of the shed.

  ***

  ‘Oh fuck…fuck…shit…who is out there? What the fuck is this?’

  ‘Shut up! Shut the fuck up…’ the leader shouts as the three remaining men lie on the floor of the shed keeping well clear of the door.

  ‘Fucking arrows, someone shooting fucking arrows…like Robin fucking Hood…’

  ‘We gotta make a run for it,’ the leader shouts.

  ‘Fuck off John, you think I’m going out there.’

  ‘It’s a fucking arrow not a machine gun, he can’t get all three of us at the same time,’ John retorts.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ the third man shouts, missing the unintentional pun that would have been seized on and ragged senseless by a joking Cookey.

  ‘Well I ain’t going first,’ the worrier announces.

  ‘Use Tony,’ John shouts, ‘we get behind Tony yeah?’

  ‘Tony? He’s fucking dead you stupid cun…’ worrier shouts in panic.

  ‘That’s the idea,’ John roars, ‘they won’t fucking hurt him will they?’

  ‘Yep, nice one,’ worrier nods quickly, ‘fucking do it now then, go on grab him, you’re the closest…FUCK!’ Worrier cries as John reaches out to grab Tony’s ankle and finds an arrow appearing in Tony’s calf just inches from his grip.

  John huffs as he tugs Tony’s corpse across the floor, manipulating the dead weight to use as a shield.

  ‘Right.’ John and the third man lift dead Tony to his feet and hold him propped up, ‘we get Tony in the door then fucking go for it…we’ll go left and you go right,’ John shouts to worrier.

  ‘NO,’ Worrier shouts, ‘fucking leaving me on my own, ‘I’m going left with you and he can go right.’

  ‘Fucking hell you prick,’ John shouts in anger, ‘does it fucking matter?’

  ‘If it doesn't matter then you go right and us two will go left…I ain’t going right on my own…’

  ‘Fine, you two go right and I’ll go left,’ John sig
hs.

  ‘Your left or my left?’ Worrier asks.

  ‘We’re going to be facing the SAME FUCKING WAY,’ John roars losing his patience.

  ‘Alright, fucking hell John,’ Worrier whines.

  ‘Go left with me,’ John whispers into the ear of the third silent man.

  ‘What was that?’ Worrier shouts.

  ‘I said Tony is a fat cunt and he’s too heavy…you ready?’

  ‘No, but fuck it…I ain’t staying in here.’

  Tony is presented to the doorway, immediately an arrow thuds into his chest, rocking the two men holding him from the force of the impact.

  Worrier gets behind them as John gives a three count. Tony is pushed bodily forward as they scurry behind him.

  Ditching the body with a yell all three burst away to the left while yelling at each other to go right. The first arrow takes the silent third man through the neck, leaving John and worrier trying to run while pushing and shoving at each other.

  ‘FUCK!’ John yelps in pain, going down from the arrow sent into his meaty thigh. Clutching the wound he writhes in pain as another one strikes his other leg.

  ‘COME BACK,’ John roars as worrier makes good his escape. The third arrow hits his right arm in the bicep, pinning the limb to his torso. Pain explodes from the three barbed shafts sticking from his body.

  A pause then the fourth takes him through the neck, severing his wind pipe and opening the main artery.

  With the weight suddenly removed, the wind plucks the shed from the ground and casts it about for a few seconds before deciding to slam it against the big solid wall. It smashes to pieces, the noise lost in the thundering boom overhead. The bodies within fly off to land on the sodden lawn, water gathering all about.

  In the Saxon, Roy holds ready to fire. The one that ran off went away from the house. The chances are he’s running as fast as he can and won’t stop until he runs out of breath.

  ‘Can you drive?’ Roy asks gently, his tone one of complete calmness, ‘take us down the road to the house, go quickly but carefully.’

  Lilly moves quickly, clambering over to drop into the driver’s seat. The engine is still running and she pulls the Saxon round in a long wide circle to face back towards the House.

  Through the gates she navigates the driveway, going as fast as she dares without headlights, the frequent flashes of lightning illuminate the grounds enough to keep on the right route.

  Roy fastens his leg quiver using the thick Velcro straps. Selecting his chosen arrows, he quickly runs his hand down each one checking for any signs of being warped.

  ‘Go for the side,’ Roy shouts, remembering what he was told earlier.

  ‘The front door is open,’ Lilly shouts back as the front of the house comes clearer into view.

  ‘Side please,’ Roy replies. The radio still crackles with panicked transmissions. He can make out a male voice screaming for someone called John to get his fucking arse down here, gunshots clear in the background noise, sharp cracks of rifles and solid bangs of shotguns.

  Should be interesting, Roy thinks as he tests the string for any moisture. This will have to be quick, out of the vehicle and into the side door. Can’t afford to stand in the rain and get the string wet.

  Always wanted to use this, Roy checks the small lightweight box on the bow, watching as the pure straight line of the green laser shines out. With the night vision goggles on, the light from the laser red-dot sight is perfect. Not something he ever used when hunting the zombies as he didn’t want to give his position away but close quarters within a house should be ideal.

  ‘Stay here…’ Roy calls out as the girl brings the Saxon to a jarring halt.

  ‘No way,’ Lilly says, already over the seats.

  ‘You’ll get in my way,’ Roy says bluntly, ‘people in there are shooting guns and I don’t need someone else running about.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ Lilly hisses.

  ‘Idiot,’ Roy growls, ‘stay behind me then and don’t say a word. Stay quiet and don’t get in my way.’

  ‘Fine!’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nick’s pistol, he gave it to me.’

  ‘Do you know how to use it?’

  ‘Yes thank you,’ Lilly answers primly, ‘Nicholas showed me how.’

  ‘Okay, just don’t shoot me.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ Lilly mutters then immediately feels a stabbing pang of guilt, ‘Roy sorry I didn’t mean that…’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Roy sighs, ‘come on, let’s find your brother.’

  Fifty Nine

  It matters nothing, this speed and ability to kill is rendered useless against so many. Already we’ve killed and killed but a quick glance at the outer wall shows they’re still coming over in droves.

  The wind is so strong now, violent gusts take people off their feet to sail a few feet in the air before they land heavily on the soaking ground. Undead and human alike are chosen and plucked away. The water on the top of the wall gathers in deep puddles making the ground treacherous. The thunder is so loud we can’t hear the shouts of each other. The flashing of intense light make it hard to see.

  Noises boom all around me. The thunder echoes off the big concrete walls but another sound starts to rise, a crashing noise that to becomes more regular as it builds into a distinct sound of its own.

  One word from Dave explains it, his voice being the only thing remotely audible above the wind, ‘WAVES.’

  Shit, no bloody way. It surrounds the fort on three sides so I risk a quick glance at the sea and see that Dave is right. I though the storm above our heads was bad but that’s just noise, water and light. Yeah the lightning has killed a few already and blasted some minor chunks from the wall but the sea, that is a raging beast alive with an intense hatred.

  The undead lay siege on one side but the sea does the three sides. It throws huge, rolling waves with no discernible pattern that slam and crash into the walls. Now I’m aware of it I start to hear just how bad it is, even feeling the vibration beneath my feet as they slam into the wall.

  That staggers me. The fact that waves are hitting the outer wall with such ferocity that I can feel it while standing on the top of the inner wall is incredible.

  I gain several moments’ peace before I glance back to the rear of the fort. Spray erupts over the edge of the wall every few seconds. Those walls are several meters high, the sheer power of the waves renders me speechless.

  A surge of undead occupies me for a few seconds. I remove one head and spilt the others apart with my deadly axe. I move back a few steps and look again to the sides. With only the lightning to see by, I get such brief glimpses but they show me just how dangerous this whole environment has become. The sea is challenging us, probing at this tiny spit of land sticking out as though it shouldn’t be here. The sea doesn't want this land here; it wants a nice gentle curving bay without any protrusions. It starts working to remove it, like a carpenter sanding down a bulging knot on his otherwise perfect length of wood. But the sandpaper doesn't do it quick enough so he breaks out the power tools, plugs them in and laughs like a maniac.

  The sea comes at us on all three sides. Bursting higher and higher as those waves become bigger mountains and deeper valleys.

  It gets so powerful that I’m not the only one seeing it now. All across the top of the wall, men and women glance at the waves bursting higher, at the huge crashing noise each surge of tidal water brings.

  The undead don’t care but keep coming as the wind gets worse and starts plucking them off the outer wall. The storm has just increased massively, like what we had before was the entrée, the starter soup in nature’s restaurant. The bowls have been cleared, the main course is coming.

  What comes defies belief. It is an act of god, of Mother Nature at her very worst. What power we as mankind thought we possessed is nothing. We are but a speck of dirt in comparison to what she can do. Elements, just elements is all they are. Wind, rain, thunder and lightning but they are
combined and unleashed to their full majestic might and we are nothing.

  I realise now we have been humoured throughout our history of so-called domination of the planet. She could remove us anytime she wishes to do so. Atom bombs, wars, mining and taking away the vast resources of oil, gas and coal, all of those things are tiny compared to what she can do and what’s more, I get the strong impression this, what I see now in front of me, is nowhere near the fullest fury she can reveal.

  Waves take the spit of land. One minute they’re crashing into the walls then simply it’s as though the sea swells and they go over it. Huge rolling mini tsunami’s burst across the spit from both sides to meet in the middle with an explosion of water and noise.

  Bigger they get and more they come, one after the other in a relentless ceaseless surge of tidal immensity. The pounding against the walls increases, the vibrations beneath our feet physically shake us. The wind, playful before, becomes spiteful and mean and we have no choice but to drop down low. Dave is shouting but the noise is lost, his breath gently taken away by the gusts.

  The undead take the full brunt. Refusing to lie down, they continue surging towards us and the defiance they dare to show Mother Nature sees her wreaking vengeance with awful precision.

  First, the waves surge past the front of the outer wall. One minute the ground is covered in bodies charging towards us, the next and there is water and nothing more. All of those bodies, all of those thousands of undead are swept casually away.

  Next, she shows displeasure at anything trying to stand up. Even crouching down we’re being rocked and moved but standing and you become a kite to be played with. Undead are lifted and taken high into the air, tossed about on the twisting conflicting currents.

  Crawling to each other we grasp wrists and legs as we hang on for dear life. Weapons down and nothing matters now, the battle is done. Clarence is the anchor we all aim for and gradually we build something heavy. Maddox and his crews head towards us, snaking across the ground with windswept faces full of fear and awe. Dave down low simply grabs the big man’s wrist and stares out to see everything going on, his face alive with interest as he watches something inherently more powerful and deadly than he.