It struck Rod how quiet it was for a Monday morning. Being close to the Runcorn Bridge, he expected to hear the roar of heavy traffic as cars and buses transported people to work but there was no sound at all. Runcorn was still and not a twittering bird broke the silence.
He placed earphones into his cold ears, tightened the strap on his cycle helmet and jumped on his bike ready to start his journey when something caught his eye.
To his right, on a balcony at the top of Churchill Mansions looking directly at him was a man, dressed in black and drinking from what looked like a whiskey bottle. The man raised his arm and waved at Rod. Not thinking much of it he waved back, pressed play on his mp3 player and started to peddle away.
If Rod had stayed just a few seconds longer he would have watched as the man threw his recently deceased Grandmother over the balcony to the ground below.
The inspirational sounds of the Rocky anthology filled his ears as he headed out. If there was ever music to get his legs motoring on a cold morning it was the Rocky anthology and it wasn’t long before he possessed the Eye of the Tiger. So in the zone was he that when he passed under the arches of the Runcorn Railway Bridge he failed to notice the zombie chomping on the rotting remains of her dead cat.
He continued on his route, failing to notice the dead corpses floating in the Canal, the man jumping up and down on the head of his zombie wife outside the Railway Public House and the dying starlings on Picow Farm Road.
It wasn’t until he cycled onto Balfour Street that alarm bells started to ring and he realised that something was very wrong.
After cycling past several abandoned cars, he brought his bike to a halt and turned off his mp3 player, sensing that even having the Eye of the Tiger might not be enough to save him from the chaos in the road ahead.
A man lay dead outside the door of the Co-operative Supermarket. Ripping the dead man’s stomach apart was a large older lady, naked apart from the rollers in her hair. Behind them, further up the road, several of the undead crowded around another body only identifiable to Rod as human by its clothes.
Astride his bike, Rod vomited and the loud retching sound that accompanied his heaving was enough to alert the naked lady to his presence. She lifted her hands out of the dead man’s stomach and rose to her feet. Blood dripped from her mouth, down through the crevice of her huge swinging breasts and over her hanging stomach.
He wiped the trickles of puke from his mouth and watched in horror as the naked zombie waddled towards him. In his panic and eagerness to move, his foot slid from the peddle and he fell to his side. His beloved bike landed on top of him and his foot became stuck between the Boardman’s black frame.
He struggled for several minutes to free himself. With panic taking hold, the task took far longer than it should have and as a consequence, Rod’s naked older lady admirer was now almost within reaching distance.
He pulled himself together enough to free his foot from his bike just in time to use it as a shield, protecting himself from his wrinkly attacker.
He pushed the bike against her dry leather-esque skin and her large drooping breasts bulged through the Boardman’s frame like putty dough. She strained her neck, edging her snapping mouth closer to Rod’s face.
“Get away from me you crazy bitch!” he shouted, leaning forward and butting her brutally in the middle of her face.
Rod’s cycle helmet crashed into the woman’s mouth and nose, splitting her top lip and breaking her nasal cavity. This did little to stop her advances and she continued her pursuit, desperate to taste his fresh succulent flesh.
Summing up all of his strength, he ran into the woman as hard as he could, using his bike as a battering ram. Lacking any co-ordination, the old naked lady quickly tripped and fell to the ground landing on her back with the bike on top of her.
This was his chance to leave and he quickly headed further up Balfour Street only to be greeted by a one armed heavily tattooed transvestite shuffling towards him. He removed his cycle helmet and taking it in both hands, rammed it hard into the transvestite’s head, knocking him on his back.
The noise alerted the other zombies crowded around the torn apart body and they began to shuffle towards him. To Rod’s right was BJ & J Owens newsagents and the graffiti on the window said ‘No Zombies.’
“Zombies? Fucking zombies!” Rod yelled.
He looked to the shop door; the sign said ‘open’. It was his only option and he hastily entered.
“Dead or alive,” Barry asked, holding aloft his axe handle ready to defend himself if need be.
“Alive,” Rod replied, his back pressed up against the shop door.
“Right then young man, what can I get you?” Barry said, smiling at his would be customer.
“Get me? Some fucking answers would be nice. What the hell is going on out there? I’ve just been attacked by a huge naked old lady and a one armed transvestite,” Rod asked, his voice breaking with fear.
“Naked old lady you say, hmmm. How big were her breasts?” Barry pondered.
“Massive. They were hanging past her knees.” Rod replied.
“Oh she’s alright that one,” Barry informed. “Just as long as she didn’t have her teeth in you’d have been fine. As for the transvestite, his other arm is around here somewhere. One of my regulars came in earlier chewing on it.”
“I need answers. That sign, the one on your window?” Rod asked.
Barry proceeded to explain everything that he knew, detailing what had happened to him that morning. From the zombie paperboy, to his regulars that, instead of buying their usual milk and newspaper, wanted to get their hands on something more substantial, and meaty!
“I can’t stay here. I’ve got to get home. My girlfriend Mel, she’s at home sleeping, she doesn’t know. Wait, shit! She’ll be getting up for work soon. I have to leave.” Rod panicked, rushing to the shop door.
“I strongly advise you to change your mind and stay. You’ve seen what’s out there, it’s chaos. This is happening everywhere and it’s only the beginning!” Barry said.
“I have to try,” Rod replied placing his hand on the door handle ready to exit. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Here” Barry said, throwing Rod a hammer, “Take this. You won’t get far with just your fists and cycle socks now will you?”
“Thanks” Rod replied, “You know you really should lock this door.”
“Lock the door? Nonsense! Apocalypse or not I still have a business to run!” Barry said with a huge smile on his face.
Hammer in hand, Rod walked out onto the street. A crowd of zombies continued to pick away at the remains of their victim and he was once again faced with Neil, the one armed transvestite. To the left of Neil was an abandoned Ford Mondeo Estate with the driver door left open.
‘Perfect’ he thought to himself, only he would have to see to the transvestite shuffler first.
Rod had never hurt anything or anyone in his life but if he wanted to see his girlfriend again, he would have to make up for it.
Summoning the will to strike, he screamed loudly and swung the hammer hard into the one armed transvestite’s forehead. The blow was enough to put it down for good and he watched as blood trickled from the zombie’s open wound, mixing with its perfectly applied mascara.
Looking down at his victim, he felt a dull ache in his left wrist. He lifted his arm to see the sleeve of his cycle jacket was torn and below the tear his skin had been scratched. He looked again to the zombie he had just killed and below the finger nails of his one remaining hand, there was skin.
Did the skin belong to Rod? He didn’t have time to contemplate this right now as the noise created in killing his first zombie had alerted the hoard picking at the remains of the carcass further up the road.
He was about to make a move for the Mondeo Estate when he heard the scraping sound of something heavy being lugged along the road. He looked down Balfour Street towards the Co-operative supermarket and saw, stumbling forward, the large nake
d older lady with her right foot stuck between the frame of his beloved Boardman bike. It was a difficult thing for him to see. The bike that had taken him on hundreds of miles of adventures was being savagely mistreated and he wanted nothing more than to take his hammer and bludgeon the old bitch to death. He felt anger swell inside but he had to stay focused. He didn’t have time for killing naked old lady zombies, even if they did deserve it.
Instead, he quickly ran to the Mondeo Estate, climbed inside and locked the doors. To his delight the owner of the vehicle had exited in a hurry and left the key in the ignition.
He reached to turn the key and start the car when his vision began to blur and he felt sick and disorientated, the interior of the Mondeo spinning and spiralling.
He focused his eyes on the gear stick and his vision started to steady, but intense pain penetrated from his arm. He pulled back the sleeve of his cycle jacket to reveal that what only a few moments ago was a small scratch on his wrist had turned into a deeper wound filled with yellow puss and pink ooze. He could feel heat running from the wound and spreading up his arm. He had to get this treated and feared if he did not, he wouldn’t make the journey home and more importantly see Mel. His best option was Heath Road Medical Centre, a short car journey from Balfour Street.
With his vision now clear, Rod started the Mondeo Estate and headed towards the medical centre and hopefully, treatment for his wrist.
Journal Entry 5 – Continued
“You’re wondering what to do with me aren’t you?” Rod said, concerned.
“You’ve been scratched lar, that means you’re infected. Be it five minutes or an hour from now, you’re going to become one of them. Judging by the kip of ya it’ll be sooner rather than later lad,” Dave replied.
“Maybe we could remove his arm - that might stop the infection from spreading. Rod, can we see your wrist?” I asked.
Oh man it was nasty. Clotted blood pulsed up and down inside the deep wound and dark veins protruded from the scratched area, stretching out from his wrist reaching up his arm.
This was not looking good for the poor fella. If we were going to remove his arm, we needed to do it quickly and even then, would it really work?
“Nice idea Ace but what are we going to remove his arm with, our teeth?” Dave said.
“Very helpful Dave. Do you know sarcasm doesn’t suit you?” I said.
“Yes it does, it’s one of my best features. My smile being my best,” Dave said, giving the biggest grin you have ever seen, exposing his disgustingly brown, nicotine stained teeth.
“Christ Dave, close your mouth, I’ve seen zombies with better dental hygiene than you,” I said.
“Do you two mind, my life is in the balance here!” Rod interjected.
“We could use this,” Jonathon piped up, waving a saw around.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I asked.
“I found it. There’s a tool box over here next to the filing cabinets. There are all kinds in there, screwdrivers, nails and this saw. They must have been doing some DIY,” Jonathon said.
“Well if we’re going to do it, it needs to be soon. Look at the veins in his arm lar. The infection is spreading quicker than herpes on a Friday night down the Bank Chambers,” Dave said.
For those of you not familiar with the delights of the Bank Chambers, it was a nightclub in Runcorn with a reputation for attracting ‘unsavoury’ characters. The place had been shut down more than Mega Upload.
“I’ll do it,” Jonathon eagerly offered, making his way towards Rod with saw in hand.
“Hold your horse’s scrappy doo, Rod hasn’t agreed to this never mind who will do it,” Dave said.
“Do it.” Rod said through gritted teeth.
“Are you sure now? There is no guarantee that this will even work; the infection may already have spread,” I said.
“If it’s the only chance I’ve got of surviving and seeing Mel again then I want it done but please, do it quickly,” Rod replied.
“Well if we’re going to do it we should knock him out first. If we don’t, the pain will…”
THWACK!
Before I could finish my sentence, Jonathon had taken his cricket bat and whacked Rod over the head. From the impact of the blow, Rod had fallen to his side and blood began to gush from a newly obtained gash on his forehead.
“Oops, bit hard that,” Jonathon said.
“A bit fucking hard?” Dave yelled, checking on Rod to see if he still had a pulse. “You’ve killed him you daft prick!”
Dave was right, Rod was dead. Captain ants in his pants had been too eager to help and instead of knocking him out, had accidentally killed him.
“It was an accident. You said knock him out so that’s what I tried to do,” Jonathon said, his face drained of colour.
“Yes, I said knock him out, not kill him!” I shouted.
“Well I’ve never knocked anyone out before! How was I to know how hard to hit him?” Jonathon replied, almost in tears.
“It was an accident Dad; it could have been any one of us. Have any of you ever knocked anyone out before?” Emily asked.
“We should go Ace. Grab as many medical supplies as we can and leave,” Dave suggested.
“You’re right, everyone grab what you can then we’re leaving. It’s getting dark and it’s too risky for us to be out on the streets. Besides, my brother will be waiting. Jonathon, I know it was an accident and you didn’t mean for him to die but from now on you don’t do anything without running it past me first. Without you, both my daughter and I would probably be dead, I understand that. But if you continue to keep rushing in the way you do, it’ll be you getting us killed,” I said to Jonathon who stood motionless, focused on the cricket bat in his hands.
Emily comforted him. I know what he did was an accident. Jonathon’s a good kid but really, what was he thinking? No, scrap that last bit. He wasn’t thinking. He heard me say “… knock him out...” then attempted to do just that, only very BADLY!
We were too busy scrounging around for medical supplies to notice that Rod was no longer dead dead, but dead undead, and was greedily eyeing up the human pick n’ mix before him.
It was Emily who first noticed Rod of the Dead had risen to his feet and was about to wrap his arms around the traumatised statuesque like Jonathon. She was the first to react too, screaming her boyfriend’s name then jabbing her hockey stick into Rod’s face, sending him stumbling backwards and falling into the filing cabinets behind him.
The noise alerted Dave and I to the newly turned zombie’s presence and my retro chain smoking friend was about to make sure that Rod’s resurrection was a short one.
As Rod of the Dead moved towards Jonathon, Dave ran at him and booted him with force in the side of his head which sent him back to the ground. But Dave wasn’t finished yet. He opened the bottom filling cabinet drawer and emptied out its contents.
Grabbing Rod by the hair, he quickly forced his head into the open drawer then repeatedly slammed it shut. With the speed and ferocity in which he smashed Rod’s head it didn’t take long for him to die, again.
Dave wiped his blood soaked hands and face on the shirt of Rod and lit a cigarette.
“Take what you can, we’re leaving,” he said.
The road to my brother’s house was uneventful compared to everything we had experienced up to this point. Apart from us, there was no ‘living’ activity on the streets. We did notice many abandoned cars and several houses that had been boarded up, no doubt containing residents that had decided to stay put rather than attempt to flee and outrun the apocalypse. Unfortunately for the occupants, their houses had been surrounded by many of the undead and the numbers continued to grow.
Zombie stragglers shuffling along the road would occasionally sniff the air intently, and then follow their decaying noses to where the fresh meat was hiding.
Then there were the birds. Dead birds lay everywhere we looked. Starlings, pigeons, crows, magpies… come to think of it, I ha
dn’t noticed any birds in the sky at all since those starlings dropped to their death outside the mayonnaise factory. Hang on a minute….
…That’s better. I almost threw up in my mouth then. With everything that has been going on I had forgotten how much I hate the white gloopy devil condiment and accidentally thought about the stuff. Even writing the word triggers my gag reflex. Sorry about that. Back to death and destruction!
When Dave drove on to Weston Road the scale of the zombie outbreak became very apparent. It was now dusk and the tall houses to our left threw looming shadows on to the road.
To our right was a low stone wall and behind that a sheer drop of almost 20ft down to allotments and Weston Point housing estate. Weston Road was a picturesque area of Runcorn and from its elevated position you could look out towards the neighbouring town of Widnes and further afield to Merseyside and the city of Liverpool.
On a clear day, it was a beautiful view, just as long as you didn’t look left or your eyes would be greeted by the biggest chemical plant and incinerator you had ever seen.
“Can you stop the car?” I asked Dave, who pulled the Thunderbird over to the side of the road and we all left the vehicle to get a better look at the destruction caused since the outbreak.
From our position we could see that the Silver Jubilee Bridge, or Runcorn Bridge if you’re a local, had been almost destroyed. Something big, probably an aeroplane by the damage caused, had crashed through its middle, breaking the arch of the bridge and causing the Runcorn side to fall into the River Mersey. Only the Widnes half of the bridge now remained.
Widnes was alight. Black smoke emitted from the flame engulfed housing estates of West Bank and beyond.
Merseyside looked the same. Pockets of fire had broken out across the county making it look like the areas of Hale, Speke and Liverpool were communicating through smoke signals.
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 13