The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town

by Peter Mckeirnon

  “She’s happy isn’t she?” I said sarcastically.

  “Dad, this is my friend, Louise. She’s a Goth,” Emily replied.

  Louise turned her head from the television and looked at me.

  “We are all going to die,” she said, then turned her head back to the television and continued flicking through the channels.

  It’s the end of the world and I was trapped in a room with a back that was refusing to work and the world’s most depressed teenager. Perfect! But at least I had found my daughter.

  There was a man in the room also, washing dishes in the kitchen area of the staff room. He was in his mid to late fifties, sported a moustache and had the greatest cardigan I have ever seen - the kind that would make Starsky & Hutch jealous.

  “Emily thank God you’re safe. If I could move I’d hug you. Where are we?” I said through gritted teeth as tight pulling pains running up my back as I attempted to adjust my position.

  “We’re in the staff room at school. We managed to secure it once we realised what was going on. How did you get here Dad? I’ve been worrying about you. We found you almost passed out in the hallway with a zombie on top of you. You were nearly dead!” Emily said with concern in her eyes.

  “I’m with my friend Dave, he’s outside putting on a song and dance routine for the zombies in the playground. We need to get out of here, it’s not safe, this place is surrounded,” I said, trying and failing to sit up.

  “Oh I think you’ll find that we’re quite secure here Mr Diant. There is only one way in and that door is locked. We have running water, electricity, toilets, a fully stocked vending machine, milk in the fridge and food in the cupboards. As you can see we even have a television set. I think we’ll be fine here till it all blows over. Cup of tea Mr Diant?” asked the man with the moustache as he filled the kettle with water.

  “Who the hell is this moron?” I asked.

  “That’s Mr Kelly, he’s the headmaster of the school,” Emily replied.

  “Please Mr Diant, you can call me Robert or Rob. My friends call me Rob,” said Emily’s headmaster.

  “Ok Robert. Do you really think this room will keep you safe? That this thing will just blow over and the world will go back to normal? You should take a look outside. Society has quite quickly turned to shit. Not half a mile from here I’ve seen people kill each other trying to get away from this thing. Just to get here, my friend and I have killed 3 zombies and as people, I knew all of them. How long do you think you’re little vending machine will stay full? And what will happen when the electricity fails, which it will? And the water you’re using, how long will it be fit to drink? How do you know this thing didn’t start from the water supply? If you’re happy to stay in this room, like a rat in a trap, then that’s fine with me, but I say we get out of here.” I replied, slightly more defensive than maybe I should have been but this guy was a stiff and I was in too much pain to tolerate him.

  “Darren Pickstock,” Mr Kelly said sternly.

  “What’s he banging on about?” I asked Emily, who did not reply, instead she lowered her head, looking at the floor.

  “Suzanne Jackson, Alison Knox, Paul Turner…” Mr Kelly continued.

  It became clear what Mr Kelly was doing. It had perhaps been rather presumptuous of me to assume that Dave and I were the only two that had suffered.

  “Paula Louise Wain, Katie Davis, Ashleigh White and her sisters Jessica White and Louisa White…” he continued.

  Mr Kelly was unrelenting with his name listing. My daughter kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground. Even the Goth girl stopped flicking through TV channels.

  “Melanie Baker-Owen, Kathryn Gill, should I continue Mr Diant?” said Mr Kelly.

  Man I felt like I was back in school being told off for talking during an exam. I had made a massive mistake in mouthing off like that and I was being firmly put in my place and in front of my daughter too.

  “There are over one thousand students in this school. Do you know how many I know by name? Every single one of them. You’re not the only person to have suffered Mr Diant,” Mr Kelly replied. “How do you think we came to secure this room? Luck? We have lost many children, teachers, dinner ladies, classroom assistants and office staff over the last few hours. Your situation is not unique,” he said.

  “Look I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was wrong,” I replied sheepishly. “Emily I’m sorry, I, I didn’t think,” I said to my daughter.

  “It was horrible Dad. I was in PE…” Emily began.

  “Oh my God it was like the worst PE class EVER! Hockey, I mean, can you believe it?” Louise added turning to face us for a second before returning to flicking through the television channels, her eyes just visible from behind her long dark fringe.

  “Louise you don’t like doing any kind of sport,” Emily replied. “Anyway, we were all playing hockey… well, I say all. We had to play five a side because not everyone had turned up which was strange. Even my friend Jane hadn’t come to school and she’s never off sick,” Emily said.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her the reason Jane never made it to school was because she turned into a zombie on the bus ride in, murdered a bunch of other school kids and ate the bus driver. Oh, and we killed her by removing her head!

  “Mr Bignall was refereeing. Well, he was supposed to but he was too busy being ill. He kept excusing himself and running outside. He wasn’t the only one either. Five–a-side hockey turned into three-a -side hockey because people kept throwing up. Then I noticed that Mr Bignall looked different. His skin had turned a whitish grey and his face was full of veins. He staggered back into the sports hall and flung his arms around one of the girls, dragging her to the floor. He was ripping the skin from her face like a child opening Christmas presents. It was horrible Dad. The others ran for the exit in fear but the kids that had been throwing up had blocked the doorway. One of them had the same pale complexion as Mr Bignall and she reached out to another kid, grabbing her leg and biting into her calf muscle. Then the other sick kids dove on top of her. They ripped her stomach open and guzzled her insides like they hadn’t eaten a meal for a week,” Emily explained, her voice shaking as she recalled the horrific events.

  “We were trapped in the sports hall with what we now know to be zombies blocking our way out. I took my hockey stick and I bashed Mr Bignall over the head with it again and again until he was dead. Well, dead again. Can zombies die twice? Anyway, I killed him and then I grabbed Louise who was crying in a corner…”

  “Hey hold on Emily, I wasn’t crying, that would be like so lame. I had something in my eye ok,” Louise interrupted.

  “Well, whatever, I grabbed Louise and we fought our way out of the sports hall. It was just after that that we found Jonathon.” Emily continued, pointing at the boy guarding the door.

  “Hi, I’m your daughter’s er, your daughter’s friend, pleasure to meet you,” Jonathon said, his arm outstretched to shake my hand.

  I didn’t return the gesture. To be honest, I didn’t like the look of him and I wasn’t buying for one second that he was just my daughter’s ‘friend’.

  “He’s your friend?” I asked Emily in disbelief, who nodded in reply without making eye contact. “But he’s wearing skinny jeans? And look at his long hair; he looks like he spends more time brushing it than you do with yours.”

  “Dad if it wasn’t for Jonathon I might not be alive right now,” Emily added.

  “Oh Jonathon, you’re my hero!” Louise added, fluttering her eyelids, mocking Emily.

  “Shut up Louise,” Emily blushed.

  “Louise and I left the sports hall and oh my God Dad it was awful. There were kids screaming and running everywhere. I just wanted to go home and the most direct route would be to leave through the school’s front entrance and across the car park. Only, blocking our path was Mr Barton and Miss Rimmer. Well, what used to be Mr Barton and Miss Rimmer. They were both shredding apart a year 8 student like a tear and share garlic b
read,” Emily informed.

  She’s always had a way with describing things. She’s the only person I know that can inform you of someone being eaten alive and make you hungry for Italian food at the same time.

  “Our newest members of staff. Such a shame,” Mr Kelly added.

  “Last in first out eh?” I said.

  Everyone looked at me appalled at what was, without question, a terrible joke.

  “Sorry about that, my brain and my mouth aren’t always connected and I’m prone to inappropriate outbursts during stressful situations. It’s a family thing but luckily for Emily here, it appears to have passed her by. If you think I’m bad you should meet my brother and I’m rambling now so I’ll shut up. Again, I’m sorry.”

  I really needed to get some pain killers!

  “Do you often make fun of the dead Mr Diant?” Mr Kelly asked.

  Again, he made me feel like I was back in school. I thought it best not to answer and instead lowered my head in shame.

  “So the only thing between us and the exit was Mr Barton and Miss Rimmer and just as they noticed both Louise and me, Jonathon appeared and took them out with his cricket bat,” Emily said.

  “They had a good inning,” Jonathon said, tapping his cricket bat on the floor then performing a mock swing.

  “Nice, I see what you did there,” I said, approving of his dry humour.

  I still wasn’t keen on the kid though. Any kid that introduces himself as my daughter’s ‘friend’ but is clearly more will have to work harder than that to win me over.

  Yes I know he saved Emily’s life but what can I say? I’m a hard man to please.

  “Jonathon Buckley, I’ve told Mr Diant and now I’m telling you. Do not make fun of the dead. These people were your peers, show some respect!” said Mr Kelly, giving Jonathon a stern telling off.

  “It wasn’t too difficult really. The back of Mr Barton’s head completely caved in after one shot but Miss Rimmer took a couple of beatings before she went down.” Jonathon added, ignoring Mr Kelly.

  He was slowly growing on me.

  “Jonathon!” Mr Kelly yelled, slamming his fist down on the table unit in the kitchen area.

  “So, Jonathon saved both me and Louise and took us to the staff room for safety. Mr Kelly was already here. As far as we know this is it. Everyone else is either dead or a zombie,” said Emily.

  We couldn’t stay here. Yes the staff room was secure for now but how long would that last? There was one way in and one way out. The door Jonathon was guarding was already coming under pressure by the banging of zombies stumbling against it. It wouldn’t hold out forever and what of 80s Dave? I couldn’t leave him outside, alone. Not after everything he had done for me.

  “We can’t stay here. That door won’t hold out forever. You know that noise you can hear? That thudding up against the door? It will only get worse. More and more of them will come when they realise we’re in here and when that door finally gives out, what then? What’s the plan? Because from what I see we have nowhere to go. Our best bet is to leave now while we still stand a chance,” I said.

  “My dad is right. We need to leave. It’s our best chance. We should go to Uncle Butty’s house. He’ll know what to do,” Emily added.

  “I am the headmaster of the school and I say we stay here. It’s our best chance of surviving until the police or the army get here and sort out this mess. As for you saying this door isn’t secure… utter nonsense! These doors are as solid as the foundations of this school.” Mr Kelly said, whilst marching over to the staff room door and banging on it in a demonstration of how sturdy it was.

  “See, nothing is getting through this door, nothing,” was to be Mr Kelly’s last words.

  Well, as long as you discount his screams as two flesh shredded arms came smashing through the door, grabbing him by the throat and snapping his neck.

  The zombie held on to Mr Kelly, as it forced its head through the newly made hole in the door.

  Louise screamed and dove behind the television as we watched the zombie strain his head through the hole in the door and rip an ear clean from Mr Kelly’s head. Well, if there was one thing to get me moving, it was that!

  It’s funny how easily you can forget about pain when you’re about to shit yourself. I jumped to my feet, grabbed Emily’s hockey stick and repeatedly jabbed at the zombie’s forehead; breaking skin, then skull, then finally brain.

  “Ouch!” I whimpered as my posture stiffened with the swift return of back pain.

  Emily helped me back to the sofa whilst Jonathon moved a cabinet in front of the now broken door. Louise? She was still crying behind the television.

  “Well that settles it, now we have to leave,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m with you Mr Diant, we need to get moving. It won’t take long for the zombies to realise we’re here now.” Jonathon said.

  “My friend is outside with a car. If we can get to him, we can go to my brother’s house. We’ll be safe there, trust me, he’s been looking forward to this day his whole life. Emily do you think you can stop your friend from crying? That kind of noise will only attract unwanted attention.” I said.

  Whilst Emily comforted Louise, I painfully rose to my feet. This wasn’t going to be easy but we had been compromised and now leaving was the only option. Luckily for me, I had Emily and her, ahem, ‘friend’ Jonathon. I just hoped we could make it to 80s Dave and that he was safe.

  Duck for Cover

  Becky could not remember a time when she had ever been so ill. Her entire body hurt from the smallest of movements. A slight tilt of the head gave a migraine so powerful she felt like someone had lit a fire within her brain. Stillness was unfortunately not an option, as illness brought with it sickness and Becky had spent the majority of the night hugging the toilet, projectile vomiting preventing any chance of rest.

  During moments when sickness eased and she was afforded some much needed rest, she would turn to her mobile phone wearily. Her tear soaked eyes strained to see the small clock in the centre of the glass screen and desperately she begged for time to speed up, for it to be 6.30am when her husband Phil would be home from work.

  The one thing Becky was thankful for was her baby daughter Gaby who, at ten weeks old, was a brilliant sleeper and had remained snoozing since before the onset of her sickness.

  The small amount of strength Becky could muster was being used to hold on to the toilet; she wasn’t sure if she possessed the energy to tend to her daughter should she require comforting or need her nappy changing. She was also fearful that this sickness could be contagious and should she pass this on to her baby and that Gaby may not have the strength to recover from something so severe.

  Becky could never forgive herself if something happened to her children.

  Becky’s oldest daughter Sophie could hear her mother’s moans and had wanted to leave the comfort of her bedroom to help but Teddy had become poorly also and she dare not leave him. Teddy was Sophie’s best friend and he had barely left her side since her father gave him to her shortly after she was born seven years ago.

  Teddy had been there for everything. Sophie’s first words, her first steps… she loved him dearly and now he needed her to be there for him.

  Phil was tired and it was with grateful relief that he finally placed his key in the door to the home he shared with his wife and two daughters.

  It had been a long and difficult shift, made even harder by the bug that had struck over half of the warehouse staff, leaving him to do the majority of the work on his own.

  He was a forklift truck driver for a large pharmaceutical company and had not had a day off since his paternity leave finished following the birth of Gaby.

  Phil had not taken two steps into his hallway when he heard the retching and moaning coming from the bathroom at the top of the stairs.

  “Phil!”

  He heard Becky cry his name and he deflated, knowing very well that rest was now out of the equation.

&nb
sp; “Coming.”

  With heavy strides, he slowly walked up the staircase, the bathroom becoming more visible with every step.

  The door to the bathroom was open and the bright light was difficult on his eyes as he approached from the dark stairway.

  When his eyes adjusted the first thing he noticed was how disgusting the wooden floor in his bathroom was. Large gloops of sticky brown and green fluid covered the solid oak flooring.

  Phil couldn’t make out what it was at first, then the smell of puke hit his nostrils and he gagged, almost adding his own contribution to the vomitorium that was once his bathroom.

  The first thought he had was one of despair. He had spent a full day laying that surface after Becky had insisted on having real wooden flooring. He would have been happy with laminate as it was cheaper and looking at his flooring now, it would almost definitely cope better with pools of acidy barf.

  Beyond Phil’s ruined flooring lay his wife. She clung to the toilet like her life depended on it. His despair over his precious floor subsided quickly when he saw how ill she looked.

  “I was aiming for the toilet,” Becky whimpered.

  She looked frail, her head, too heavy for her neck, swayed slightly as she struggled to lift it from the toilet seat. Phil looked at his boots apologetically then entered the bathroom to comfort his wife.

  “How long have you been like this?” he asked, pulling her sweat soaked hair out of her pale, tortured face.

  “Too long. I’ve been texting you, didn’t you get any of my messages?” Becky replied, pausing mid-sentence to empty her mouth of excess saliva.

  “No, my phone isn’t working; I haven’t been able to get a signal all night. You need a doctor; I’ll get one out on call.” he replied as he made to leave the bathroom.

  “No I’ll be fine really, I just need to rest. I don’t need a doctor,” Becky said.

  Becky was a nurse and to Phil, that made her more qualified than him on matters of illness. So against his better judgement, he did not call for a doctor. Instead he brought her water, painkillers and a sick bucket then helped her to their bedroom so she could try to rest.