He angrily looked up to Nick who was smiling back at him. He didn’t see the point in complaining anymore and instead just shook his head at Nick whose response was to give him a thumbs up.
“There’s a present in there for you somewhere. You might have to turn him over though,” Nick said, taking another swig of Jack Daniels.
Kris approached the splattered remains of the dead man and kicked him over onto his back, only not all of him moved. What remained of the man’s upper torso was embedded into the ground and turning him over, opened him up like a cellar door.
“Ew nasty!” Nick shouted. “There’s a walking stick tucked into his trousers. I’d grab it quickly if I were you,” he added, pointing to the nearing zombies.
Kris could see the walking stick peeking out from the top of the man’s trousers. He reached for and freed the stick, albeit with some difficulty. The impact when the fat man’s frame hit the ground had pushed the walking stick into his flesh and the two had become one. Kris not only had to free it from the dead man’s trousers but rip it out of his thick fat laden leg.
“Can you not just let me in?” he asked of Nick.
“No can do I’m afraid. I’ve already secured all entrances and exits to the building. It’s just me and however many more of these dead fuckers are left inside. As soon as I’ve destroyed the last of them and thrown them over the balcony, there will only be me left and the building and all of its contents will be mine!” Nick proclaimed, lying through his teeth.
Kris wasn’t to know, of course, that he had yet to secure the building and with Sophie and baby Gaby now sleeping in his grandmother’s bedroom, he was anything but alone.
Nick, hearing a noise from within the flat, once again disappeared from the balcony.
With the walking stick firmly gripped, Kris was gearing himself up to dispose of his first zombies, the two girls from Greggs as they stumbled towards him.
Just as he was readying himself to strike…
“Look out below!” Nick bellowed as he launched yet another zombie over the edge.
Kris took several steps backwards, having estimated that the falling zombie would crush him if he failed to move.
He watched as a headless old lady fell from the sky, squashing the girls from Greggs.
“That was an old lady from down the hall. The bitch hated everyone and everything so taking a couple of zombies out with her dead body is probably what she would have wanted. Look, it’s been nice talking to you an’ all but I’m afraid I’ve got to leave you to it. I’ve got a lot of heads to bash before the tower block is mine. Good luck Kris, and just remember one thing and you will be fine. If it shuffles, smash it’s fucking brains in! Oh yeah, and if you’re heading where I think you're heading, watch out for the wildlife!” Nick shouted, waving goodbye then once more disappeared from the balcony.
Kris, with the other zombies approaching, quickly left Churchill Mansions, heading down to Mersey Road.
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The footsteps on the stairway grew closer and the groans louder. Fran and Katie stood waiting, samurai swords in hand, ready to defend themselves from whom or what was approaching.
The first thing they saw was a boot as it hit the top step heavily. Then the second boot followed and gradually their colleague Shaun was revealed, one hand clutching his stomach and the other holding his sweat sodden head.
“I don’t feel too good,” he whimpered.
“Christ Shaun you scared the shit out of us, I nearly stabbed you then,” Fran said, relaxing his nervous grip on the sword.
“Stab me? What are you talking about, what’s going on?” Shaun asked, bent over with pain.
“Walk through to the front of the shop and have a look, everything has gone to shit.” Katie said.
Shaun slowly and painfully walked through the doorway, out of Fran’s studio and into the reception area of LA Tattoo. He looked at the furniture piled up and lent forward to peer through a small gap between two chairs. He saw the children banging the decapitated head of the woman against the window then returned to the studio.
“I think I’m going to be si…” Shaun gargled, his mouth filling with vomit before he could finish his sentence.
Fran and Katie dove for cover, Katie under her desk and Fran behind his tattooing chair but their efforts to save themselves from the puke gushing from Shaun’s mouth was futile. They were both covered almost instantly and so too was everything else.
After several seconds, Shaun was empty and collapsed with exhaustion, falling face first into a pool of vomit.
Fran and Katie rose to their feet and stood silently, shocked at what had happened. They wiped the bile from their eyes and looked at each other.
“Shaun? Shaun, wake up,” Fran said whilst gently rocking his lifeless colleague with his foot.
Shaun did not respond.
“Do you think he’s dead?” Katie asked, fearing she knew the answer to the question already.
Then a horrendous noise entered their ears as Shaun broke wind, filling the studio with a smell so bad it could curdle custard.
“Judging by the smell I’d say he’s still alive,” Fran replied, screwing up his face in response to the stench.
“I’ve got to get out of this room. My skin is stinging from the puke and I feel I’m getting a nose bleed from the smell,” Katie complained as she stepped over Shaun, walking towards the doorway to the reception area.
Shaun’s hand reached out and grabbed her left ankle, pulling her to the ground. She turned to face him, her arms holding the door frame separating the studio and reception area.
Dripping with bile and saliva, Shaun’s face appeared gaunt and hollow. Skin grey with visible dark veins, he chattered his teeth together snapping at Katie’s ankle.
She tried desperately to wriggle free from his clutches but his grip was strong and using the hold he had on her, he pulled himself up to her leg and bit deep into her ankle.
Katie screamed for Fran to help and she began to kick Shaun repeatedly in the head with her free leg, his face becoming more disfigured and bloodied with every kick. Unfortunately for her, this did little to deter him from chomping on her ankle.
“Fran, help me please! Katie cried.
Fran, who had so far watched in disbelief as events unfolded, ran at Shaun and booted him hard in the side of the face, causing his colleague’s jaw to break, freeing Katie’s ankle from his putrid mouth. She recoiled into the reception area and Shaun turned to face Fran, rising to his feet with his jaw loose and hanging.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Fran yelled.
Shaun groaned as he stood upright then let out a petrifying croak from his disfigured mouth. Blood, teeth and spittle flew through the air.
Fran now knew that Shaun was one of ‘them’. Like the kids and the pet shop owner at the window, he had changed, he was a zombie. He reached for his sword and positioned himself in a defensive stance. Shaun slowly approached and Fran felt the adrenaline flow through his body.
Then there was the noise. It started as a small rumbling sound that gradually increased in volume, shaking the ground steadily and then the walls.
Fran glanced to his tattoo equipment as one by one, inks jittered along his work table, falling to the floor. He looked back to Shaun who was now within touching distance. He raised his sword to strike when suddenly the rumbling became so loud it was unbearable, causing him to drop the weapon and place his hands over his ears. No sooner had his hands touched his head he felt himself propelled backwards and something large and heavy pinned him to the ground.
Then silence, no more rumbling. He felt the cold winter’s air on his face which was in stark contrast to the warmth that filled his upper body.
He looked up to see sky. The shop ceiling and roof had collapsed and bricks had fallen on top of his lower body, trapping him. From what he could see, very little remained of his studio but the wall separating it from the reception area was still largely intact. Near the doorway t
o the reception was the large jet engine of a Boeing 737 and poking out from beneath was the crushed hand of his undead colleague.
“Katie?” Fran coughed. “Katie can you hear me?”
There was no reply. He tried desperately to free himself from the rubble but his strength was failing. He realised he wasn’t going anywhere without help and to make matters worse he had no feeling from the waist down.
“Help! Somebody please help!” he pleaded.
Then a noise; something began to move behind the wall in the reception area.
“Katie! Katie is that you?” he asked.
Through the broken doorway, Katie appeared and like Shaun, she too had turned.
Grey of skin and sunken eyed, she clambered over the rubble towards him. He frantically reached out for something, anything he could use as a weapon to defend himself but there was nothing and the reality of impending death washed over him like a cold shower.
She climbed on top of him and opened her mouth ready to eat her first meal as a zombie. With death imminent, all Fran could think of was Kris and how much he really wanted a sausage roll.
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“What the hell happened here?” Kris said to himself as he walked along Mersey Road towards a body almost completely stripped of skin and muscle.
He carried on walking, as further along in the road lay another dead man. Similar in appearance to the first but completely frozen. He felt a knot in his stomach as he looked upon what remained of the man’s face. He knew him. Even after having the majority of his features stripped Kris knew him to be a regular at LA Tattoo and it was he that had missed his slot that morning.
With zombies following, he felt it best to not stay in the same place for too long so began to move with the intention of continuing along Mersey Road, heading back to Regent Street and LA Tattoo.
He hadn’t moved more than two steps when he heard the manic quacking coming from the embankment. He turned to see a large gaggle of angry geese with coats of blood stained feathers waddling his way.
Now he understood what the crazy bastard at Churchill Mansions meant by “Watch out for the wildlife!”
As he turned to run his vision was filled with the sight of an airplane, an EasyJet Boeing 737 heading towards the Runcorn Bridge and where he was situated. No matter how hard he tried, his legs failed to move and he could do nothing but watch as the airplane dropped in altitude and crashed through the bridge arch before continuing to his location.
He continued to watch, frozen in fear as one of the engines separated from a wing and flew over his head, hurtling towards Runcorn Old Town.
The last thing Kris felt before he died, before the plane crashed into him, was the zombie geese as they surrounded his body and began pecking ferociously at his legs.
The last thing he saw before he died was the pilot of the plane through the cockpit window, being ravenously ripped apart by a zombie stewardess.
Journal Entry 5
Dave drove us away from the zombie massacre at the school. I looked at Emily through the rear view mirror. She looked devastated, having allowed herself a few moments to reflect on recent events. She had not only witnessed her school friends die but for them to come back and try to eat her. That’s more than enough to mess up anyone’s head. Then for her to lose Louise the way she did had to have been distressing. Plus I still hadn’t told her that the car she was travelling in was used to separate the head from her friend’s shoulders. Somethings are best left unsaid I suppose!
Dave drove us to Heath Road and stopped the car. It is a long road with a steady incline. On the left are medium to large sized semi-detached houses. On the right the same but there is also a fire station and, directly ahead, a medical centre.
Now I want you to close your eyes and imagine what you believe to be a typical post zombie apocalyptic street. Got it? Well that’s exactly what Heath Road looked like. Abandoned vehicles in the road. Some on their side, some upside down, some on fire and some already burnt out. One car had ploughed into the front of the first house on the left. The driver, after apparently losing control, had driven the vehicle through the front window of the property. Beyond that on the right hand side of the road was a three car pile-up with several zombies to the side of the crash ripping into the dead body of a passenger that had attempted an escape. Just beyond that was a smouldering transit van and from it crawled the burnt remains of the driver as he tried desperately to join the other hungry zombies ahead of him enjoying their tasty roadside snack.
To the right of the mayhem was Heath Road Medical Centre. With my back still causing me problems, I suggested a quick stop off to loot any medical supplies we might find.
“Dave, we should check out the medical centre up ahead. If it hasn’t been looted already they may have painkillers, antibiotics, bandages and anything else we might need. Plus, I could really do with something to ease this pain man, my back is in bits,” I said.
“You got it Ace,” Dave replied, driving the Thunderbird around the wreckage and pulling into the car park of the medical centre.
The car park was empty but for a Ford Mondeo Estate and the door to the centre was open. This wasn’t looking good. The car and the open door suggested any supplies contained inside may have already been looted or even worse; the people doing the looting were still there.
“What do you reckon Kidda? Someone in there?” Dave asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Jonathon interjected, leaving the vehicle with cricket bat in hand, jogging over to the Mondeo Estate.
“A fiver says he doesn’t make it through the rest of the day,” Dave said, offering a small wager on the young lad’s life.
“Dave, have you even got a fiver?” I asked.
“No. That’s how confident I am that Skinny Jeans over there is going to get himself killed if he carries on like this,” Dave stated.
Jonathon had moved away from the Mondeo and was now at the open entrance to Heath Road Medical Centre, motioning for us to join him. Then he walked in! I was quickly coming to the conclusion that this kid was fearless.
“Ready that fiver Ace, it could be pay up time,” Dave said, exiting the Thunderbird and grabbing his battle paddle.
Dave, Emily and I reluctantly left the relative safety of the vehicle. Emily had to help me out of the car as my back started to seize up from sitting in the same position for too long. I desperately needed some pain relief.
We cautiously entered the open doorway and like everything else we had encountered that day, it was not a pretty sight. In the patient waiting room stood Jonathon, surveying the bloodshed.
Three lay dead sprawled over the waiting room chairs but these were not ordinary dead folk, they were zombie dead folk. Their complexion gave that away.
To the left of the waiting area, behind a desk and Perspex window, slouched against a wall, lay two dead zombie receptionists. Their faces were so badly bloodied and disfigured only dental records would identify them.
Beyond the waiting room was a small corridor with several doors on either side. One led to a doctor’s surgery, one to a nurse’s surgery, two doors for male and female toilets and one door, at the very end of the corridor, was marked ‘staff only’. This door had been left open slightly, a bloodied hand print smeared across its middle.
Jonathon made a move towards the corridor and the open door only for Dave to grab him by the arm.
“Not so quick Skinny Jeans. As much as I would really like to win a fiver from my good friend John, I’d rather have you alive than dead. Don’t be so eager all the time Kidda. You never know what or who’s waiting around the corner,” Dave whispered to Jonathon who heeded his words, albeit reluctantly.
Together, we walked forward towards the open door. Dave led the way, followed by Jonathon and then myself and Emily, who was still helping me hobble along, acting as a human walking stick.
Dave pushed the door so it opened fully, revealing a man sat on the floor slouched against the wall, fac
ing us, next to a filing cabinet. He was surrounded by opened bottles of pills and blood soaked bandages. The wrist of the man’s left arm was heavily bandaged and in his right hand he held a blood stained hammer. The man was unconscious.
“Do you think he’s dead, Dad?” Emily whispered.
“I’m not sure,” I responded, observing the man. “He could be, he looks pretty beat up.”
“If he is dead, bagsy first dibs on that hammer,” Jonathon said excitedly eyeing up the weapon.
“You’re dangerous enough as it is, I’m not sure you can be trusted with a hammer as well as a cricket bat,” I said.
“See those socks over his trainers? Cyclists wear those. Same goes for his leg warmers. What’s a cyclist doing driving a car?” Dave asked, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll try and wake him and find out.”
Dave tapped the man on the top of his head with his battle paddle.
“Oi! Lance Armstrong, wake up lar!” Dave said.
The man began to stir and groggily opened his eyes. It took him a few moments to realise where he was and that he wasn’t alone. He lifted his hammer clumsily, lacking the strength and co-ordination to hold it with any determination.
“Hey it’s ok, we’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” I asked softly, trying to calm the injured man’s nerves.
“Rod, my name is Rod,” he replied. “Jesus, my arm, I can feel something burning through my arm.”
“Hi Rod, my name is John. This is my friend Dave, my daughter Emily and the kid eyeing up your hammer over there is Jonathon. Can you tell us what happened to you?”
Race for Life
Rod Hay opened the door to his house and exited with his road bike. Black frame with red trim and handle bars, Rod’s bike had taken him on countless adventures.
A keen cyclist, he had taken part in many charity bike rides which is why at 7am on a cold Monday morning he was out on the streets, rubbing warmth into his bib shorts and thermolite warmer covered legs, ready to start training for his second coast to coast challenge. The journey would take him the length of England in two days to raise money for Halton Haven Hospice which aims to care for people within the community suffering from life limiting illnesses. He had been fundraising for Halton Haven for several years and he knew that to continue doing this, early morning training sessions would have to become a regular occurrence.
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 12