by Ryan Colley
Among The Dead
Part Two:
Fear No Evil
Ryan Colley
AMONG THE DEAD: FEAR NO EVIL
Ryan Colley
KINDLE EDITION
Copyright 2019
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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com or Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, events, or places are purely coincidental; any references to actual places, people, or brands are fictitious. All rights reserved.
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Edited by Ashley Conner
www.ashtheeditor.biz
And Monique Happy
www.moniquehappy.com
Cover art by oliviaprodesign
DEDICATION
As always, this is for my mum, sister, and partner.
My grandparents, who are always awesome.
As well as the various Stubbs in my life.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Ashley Conner and Monique Happy for their amazing job editing.
Thank you to everyone who proofread and beta read for me.
Finally, a thank you to you, the reader – you beautiful person.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PREVIOUSLY …
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
Broadcast One: Shaun, Frank, and Barbara 1
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
Broadcast Two: Church of the Midnight Sun
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
Broadcast Three: Shaun, Frank, and Barbara 2
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
Broadcast Four: Tony with the Truth
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
Broadcast Five: Aidez-moi – Help Me
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
Broadcast Six: Shaun, Frank, and Barbara 3
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
Broadcast Seven: Wartime Broadcasting Service
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
Broadcast Eight: Shaun, Frank, and Barbara 4
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PREVIOUSLY …
I made an idiotic and selfish decision. Possibly the worst of my life. I left my mother and sister to fend for themselves when the dead began to walk. For what? To save Alice, the love of my life. It all seemed so simple – I would turn up at her house in Essex, during the apocalypse, and I’d be the hero. It didn’t work out how I had planned. But I made a friend on the way – Officer James Morrison. He was an upstanding man of the law, and he was truly incorruptible.
In the face of the undead, he remained true to who he was. We became close. We became brothers. He was killed by a drunken disgrace of a human – General Harrington. I had sworn to kill him, and I intended to keep my promise.
I made my way through the living hell that was London, where nearly all life ceased to exist, and all the way to Essex. It wasn’t the oasis I’d built it up to be. It wasn’t any better than London for that matter.
I made it to Alice’s house. I was injured and had a huge shard of glass sticking out of my leg. I walked up her blood-strewn driveway and to her front door which had been left ajar. I could hear movement inside …
CHAPTER 1
I slowly pushed the door open, one hand clamped tightly around the pistol.
Oh God.
The horrific stench hit me first. It was something I could never get over, regardless of the numerous times I’d encountered it. It was the smell of death. A miasma that no words could describe. Rotten meat. They’re just words. There’s no way words could describe it in a way that another could even begin to comprehend it. Yet those were the only words to describe it. Rotten meat – it didn’t even come close. There were so many other foul odours mixed with the death. Urine. Faeces. Blood. Clinical words to describe a non-clinical situation. I couldn’t think about it.
The second thing that engulfed my senses was the blood! Blood was everywhere. I had never seen so much of it and prayed I never would again. Was there even enough blood in a human body to spill that much? No … there had to be multiple bodies. The blood was deep and had begun to soak into the skirting board, climbing up the walls into the wallpaper. Pushing the door caused waves in the blood which rippled and lapped over the lip of the frame and escaped into the outside world. The house looked as though blood had leaked out of the walls and flooded the hallway, as if the walls were crying at the horrors it saw.
On the floor was a body, front down and face obscured. Dread and terror submerged my mind, almost sending me over an edge I knew I could never return from. I had no idea who the body belonged to. It could’ve been anyone. Was it Alice, the woman I’d travelled so far for? Or another of the Kingsley family, whose death would leave her feeling broken? I didn’t know.
Another figure was draped over the body. It looked like a caring mother figure from the way it leaned over the body. It was almost protective. However, the caring figure was clearly anything but. It was undead. Tatters of a blue nightgown hung heavily from the woman’s body. The piece of ruined, bloodstained clothing was too big for her frail body. The weight of the blood made it appear as if the gown was trying to escape her. She was older, probably could’ve been someone’s grandmother. Her skin was loose and her breasts were sagging. No, her breast was sagging. Where the other breast once had been was now a bloody gash of a wound, as if it had been ripped from her when she was still alive. More than likely it had been. Most of her hair had been torn out at the scalp. A flap of bloody skin fell away from the skull, moving each time she did with a wet slap.
And, oh God, the zombie did move and showed no signs of stopping. It moved to dig its fingers into the bloody crater of the dead person’s back and pulled pieces of offal out. It jerked the ichor-covered strips up to its mouth, shovelled it in, and chewed mechanically. Several pieces fell into the bloody stew on the floor and made a loud slopping noise. As loud as it was, it did nothing to distract me from the terrible grinding noise that the zombie made when chewing. The sound of teeth on teeth. Bone on bone. The undead woman barely remembered how to chew. Yet it did its best to carry on.
The door continued to swing open as I let go and stared in horror. It finally stopped when it hit the wall with a thud. The zombie snapped its head towards me, and I was reminded of a cat and the way it would turn its whole head rather than move its eyes. Its jaw went slack and the innards it had been chewing fell f
rom its mouth and to the floor. Wet thuds resounded from where the flesh impacted with the blood. I was unable to move, terror gripping me. The zombie stared just for a moment, before its face twisted into a snarl. Its blackened lips pulled back over its broken teeth. The gash across its face, which exposed the sinew and bone beneath, seemed to tear further and grew wider as the zombie began to howl. Primal rage controlling every action of the creature. It climbed to its feet, congealed blood pulling away in globules as it made its uneasy ascent, and staggered towards me. I was still frozen but couldn’t understand why. I had faced the undead so many times before! If it had been any faster, I would’ve been a dead man. Fortunately for me, the zombie kept slipping on the bloody floor, followed by the occasional stumble because of its uneven and uncoordinated steps.
Fear finally released my hand and I was spurred into action by thoughts of my imminent demise. I yanked my machete up high, the weight a familiar comfort, and a sudden calmness came over me. Just as quickly as I’d brought it up, I slammed it down. The machete crashed into the skull of the undead, splitting it like an overripe melon. And just like an overripe melon, the putrid innards spilt out and onto the floor in front of me. Blackened brain mixed with reddish-brown gore. If I had any sustenance in me to vomit out, I would have. Starvation had its advantages, I suppose. My machete was wedged in the skull of the zombie, like a twisted version of The Sword in the Stone. I placed one foot on the zombie’s neck and pulled my machete out with such force that, had there been any onlookers, they would’ve crowned me the next King of Britain. Flecks of rotten brain matter flicked up and daubed me. I panted, adrenaline leaving my body with each heartbeat and exhaustion beginning to take over. The wound in my leg felt heavy, and I was hungry. I needed to stop. I just needed a break, but I knew I wouldn’t get it anytime soon.
I heard shuffling behind me and wheeled around on one foot, the slick blood on the floor nearly causing me to slip over. I saw a few undead heading towards the front door, so I grabbed the door and slammed it shut, then slid the bolt across. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would provide me some time to do … whatever it was I was going to do.
As I looked down at the two corpses, the reality of the situation hit me hard and I dropped my machete, submerging it in blood. I gripped and rolled the zombie I’d just killed off of the other body. I felt my chest tighten and breathing quicken as the moment of revelation grew nearer. As I rolled the second body over, it squelched in the blood.
Please don’t be Alice. Please don’t be Alice. Please don’t be Alice.
I was relieved by the disgusting mess that was once a human. Although half its face was gone, part of its skull was caved in, and most of its chest cavity had been pulled away, I could see it wasn’t Alice. It was another young woman who I’d never seen before. I let go of her body the moment I realised she held no significance to me. Relief flooded through me, but it still left the question of where was my Alice?
I picked up my machete, blood slick on my hands, and stepped over the dead woman, ignoring her glassy gaze. I walked further into the hallway, to the left, and into the lounge. Empty. Barely any blood, just the leftover devastation which was expanding from the hallway. No one was in there, alive or dead. I had a quick glance around the room, and something was niggling away at me. I continued looking around the familiar room but couldn’t put my finger on it. Something was definitely amiss. I hated the cryptic sensation. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. I crept onto the next room but didn’t dare to call out for someone in case others were in the house. Then I moved towards the kitchen.
Alice’s kitchen was huge. I mean massive. I could probably get to maximum running speed from the length of it! It was modern, with up-to-date worktops and an expensive cooker. The sort of kitchen I had wanted to own someday. A faint hope that the world would return to normal and I would own a kitchen like that still glimmered deep inside me. The tiled floor, which I’d slid across in my socks many times, was also slick with blood. I had my machete raised and could already see the source. A zombie stood at the far end of the kitchen, staring out the window. I doubted it was admiring the once perfectly pruned garden.
I sprinted towards it, making huge bounds as my feet pounded the tiles. I sunk my machete into the back of its skull before it’d even begun to turn around, splitting the skull and destroying the brain. It collapsed to the floor. At first glance, I thought the zombie was Alice’s father, Mark. It was short, frail, and grey-haired like Alice’s father. However, her father wasn’t a butch undead woman. I felt bad mistaking a woman for Mark but doubted he would mind considering the circumstances.
I checked the two smaller side rooms for any sign of the Kingsleys. The dining room and pantry were devoid of life. Nothing indicated their presence, yet something still felt wrong. I ignored the mysterious feeling and moved back to the hallway and towards the stairs. I couldn’t hear any movement above. No creaking of floorboards or shifting of the house, so I ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. I could hear the undead outside, thumping against the door. It wouldn’t be long before the house was breached. Would I still be inside when it was?
CHAPTER 2
I stood on the landing. Four doors were in front of me in a horseshoe shape. The door to my immediate left was Mother and Father Kingsley’s room, Mark and Lydia. The next one over, in front and to the left, was Alice’s room. Next to that was the spare room, in front, to the right, and used for storage. The door to my immediate right was the bathroom.
I knew from past visits that all the rooms were about the same size. Both bedroom doors had artwork and a name stuck to the woodwork which indicated whose room it was. The landing I stood on was so narrow that two people would struggle to pass each other. The only thing on it was a bookshelf. It wasn’t the biggest of gaps and I would have to walk sideways to fit through it, but that also meant the undead would have to come at me one at a time.
All the doors were closed. That worried me. Not because closed doors were out of the norm, but because I didn’t know who or what was on the other side. I thought – hoped that if there’d been any undead in one of the rooms, then they would’ve stirred at the commotion downstairs and alerted me to their presence. I still clutched the machete, which was the best comfort blanket available. I placed my hand on the door handle of Lydia and Mark’s room.
“Nothing ventured,” I sighed, twisting the door handle, “nothing gained.”
I pushed the door.
And nothing was gained. The room was empty, as in no one was there. It looked like it had been torn apart. Could there have been looters already? I doubted it. It seemed too early for that, and nothing of value seemed to have been taken. I moved onto the bathroom next. When I opened the door, my heart jumped into my throat and adrenaline flooded my body. Similar scenario to the first room.
I headed towards the spare room. I was leaving Alice’s room until last, knowing I was delaying the inevitable. When opening the spare room door, my heart barely made any irregular movement. It didn’t even skip a beat. I suppose there are only so many times your system can be shocked before it becomes desensitised. Maybe if I survived long enough my body would just get rid of that feeling altogether?
I stared into the spare room curiously. I still had the feeling that something wasn’t right. The room was a mess. The cupboard was tilted over and the contents of the drawers were strewn everywhere. I couldn’t shake the unmistakable feeling that something was wrong. But it wasn’t the mess. It was something else. I could feel the solution creeping around the edge of my brain, teasing me with the almost-answer before darting back into the recesses of my mind. Dammit.
I left the room and moved on to Alice’s. The thought of something amiss was bothering me. It was frustrating, even more so in a scenario as crucial as the one I was in. I stared at Alice’s door. I didn’t want to open it. There were so many reasons for that. What if Alice wasn’t inside? What if it became painfully obvious what her fate was? What if it became clear that I would
never know what happened to her? Different scenarios. Different outcomes. With all those potential futures, I didn’t know which one I wanted. The preferable outcome would be that Alice and her family were sat comfortably in her room with enough food and weapons to survive for a long time. That didn’t seem likely. The worst-case scenario … well, with the dead walking, it’s obvious what that was.
While the door was closed, hope remained alive. The moment it was opened, reality would become apparent. Nonetheless, no matter what outcome I desired, I had to open the door to answer any of my questions. I walked forward, mouth dry and hand trembling. For the second time that day, turning a door handle seemed to be the hardest decision of my life. I turned the handle, hands slick with sweat. The door swung open slowly, revealing what future I would be living in.
What I liked about Alice’s room was that it was the perfect representation of everything she was. She was a lover of music and singing, and there were huge stacks of CDs for her favourite bands and musicals. These, however, were scattered across the floor. The cases lay broken and discs everywhere. Little knickknacks of things she liked, such as Disney princesses and Tinkerbell. I had bought her a charm bracelet once upon a time, and that also laid on the side.
Other bits of jewellery scattered on the floor, on her desk, on the shelf. Memorabilia from various events. Programmes from the theatre, gig tickets, graduation photos – things Alice wanted to remember. The cardboard box of goodies I had posted to her was sitting in the corner next to the bin. The contents were still in there. Good to know they had made it to her. The clothes cupboard wasn’t tipped over as it had been in the other room, but the clothes were strewn over the floor.
On the ceiling, there were brown-stained smudges. I smiled briefly at that, the memory coming back to me vividly. Alice had bought a small chocolate milkshake for her five-hour drive home from Bristol. I never understood why since she didn’t even like chocolate milkshake. She got home without drinking it and forgot about it. Apparently she lived like an animal, because she found it a week later. At that point, it was out of date and the bottle was bloated. Without a second thought, she threw it into the bin in her bedroom. Even later again, she heard a small rumbling from her bin. She said she had looked at it in confusion and worry … before rancid milkshake exploded onto her ceiling. When she told me about it, I couldn’t stop laughing. Several times a year, Alice would say that she would repaint her ceiling, but she never got around to it. I guess she would never get around to it.