“Clever bastard,” he said to himself.
Cautiously he walked further into the house, to the back of the property where he came across a blanket covered body. Next to the body, written in soot where the words “R.I.P Skinny Jeans”.
“I can smell pork. Salty pork!” Sophie proclaimed, startling Nick with her presence.
“I thought I told you to wait outside?” he asked, leading her away from the body.
“Gaby needs her feed, she can’t wait any longer, she’s getting grumpy,” she informed.
Nick removed the rucksack from his back and pulled out a bottle of water, a baby bottle and some powdered milk before making up the formula and passing it to Sophie. Sophie’s frown and judgemental eye did not go unnoticed.
“You have no idea what you’re doing do you?” Sophie sighed, feeding her sister.
To Sophie’s surprise, Gaby took the bottle and drank from it greedily leading Nick to offer a smug look as a response to his young companion’s mocking.
“We shouldn’t stay for long, this place doesn’t look safe. The car outside is unlocked. The tyres are punctured which will make it difficult to drive but we can lock the doors. If I can start the engine then maybe the heater still works. That will keep us warm till morning. When Gaby has finished her bottle that’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow, we’ll find a new place, with no zombies!” he smiled.
Journal Entry 14
It had been several hours since Brittain fearfully opened up his home, allowing us to take over his living room as a result of my brother’s threat to kill him if he didn’t. I think I’ve mentioned before how people skills are not Butty’s greatest asset. Well scrap that because in this new world it would appear that his abrupt, no nonsense, tactless approach works a treat!
We had made ourselves at home in the living room which, with its large bay window, gave us a perfect view of the cul-de-sac and any danger that may come our way. In the several hours we had been here not once had our reluctant host come in to the room to talk to us, choosing instead to stand at the open doorway, biting his nails, twitching his eye and scratching his head nervously whilst watching Steven sleep, Dave smoke and Butty keep look out at the window. It was obvious our presence was causing him stress and attempting to put his mind at rest, I had tried several times to talk him into joining us so he could learn more about the motley crew that had invaded his home. Hopefully so he could see that we were actually good guys. But he would not acknowledge my requests with a response. Choosing instead to stare at us whilst twitching nervously. I was about to give it one more shot when out of the blue and startling us all, he rushed into the living room and quickly sat on the carpet next to me.
“OK, so I know who you are now. I’ve been watching you all for a while and I think I’ve got you all figured out. The man asleep, Steven, he is new to your group and has obviously been through an ordeal. I can tell by your body language that none of you know him very well and his quiet demeanour and shell shocked expression are enough to show me that something bad has happened. I mean look at him, even though he’s asleep he looks like he’s about to cry,” Brittain said quickly, with a twitch of his eye and the nervous scratching of his head.
Steven was well away, lost to a deep sleep he did not hear Brittian’s words. Instead he tossed and turned on the couch, mumbling something about a girl called Jess and multi packs of Mini Cheddars for £1!
“You in the window with the crazy look in your eyes and the copy of Busty Lovelies wrapped around your forearms; Butty is it? I know you didn’t really want to kill me but you would have done if you needed to. You’re the kind of person that does what needs to be done to survive and to protect your group. Emotion and morals don’t come into it,” he continued, pointing at my brother.
Butty kept his eyes on the window during his character appraisal, smugly nodding his head in agreement. That was two out of two so far for Brittain and considering his nervous and erratic appearance, I was pleasantly surprised by his near perfect descriptions.
“You with the sunglasses and headphones on, listening to that weird tinny music. Did you say your name is Dave? You chain smoke and act the way you do because you think it gives you identity. You think that if you didn’t act that way then people would know the real you and you’re scared that when they see how lonely you are, they won’t like you anymore and you’ll lose the small number of friends you have,” Brittain surmised.
Well Dave’s face was a picture. His jaw fell open so wide he nearly dropped his ciggie. I have only seen that expression on his face once before and that was when he asked someone to name the greatest Scottish band of the 80s and out of all the possible answers such as Simple Minds, Big Country and Deacon Blue, they said Wet Wet Wet!
“Alright smart arse pipe down. If I wanted to be psychoanalysed I would have got married! And this music isn’t weird. It’s ‘The Lexicon of Love’ by ABC, one of the finest albums ever made. You kids today wouldn’t know a good song even if Martin Fry rocked up in his gold suit and sang it to you! It’s all One Direction these days and that bloody Kanya West or whatever her name is. Over produced drivel from fame hungry no marks. You want to treat your ears to a Walkman and a mix tape of some of the finest music from the greatest decade of all time, kid. The fucking 80s!” Dave snapped.
“And you, John,” Brittain said, looking at me, “You’re the glue that holds your group together. Without you, none of you would be here. Why else would they all be following you on a suicide mission to find your daughter? ”
I can’t say I was completely happy with him calling the search for Emily a suicide mission but he’d done a pretty good job sussing us out by all accounts. Not that Dave would agree and Butty seemed to have enjoyed his character assessment greatly judging by the proud expression on his face. I’ve never known anyone to take delight in being basically called an emotionless loon before but that’s my brother for you!
“Well I need a drink after listening to that load of old shite. Lonely my arse! Got any booze in this house Europe, or whatever your name‘s supposed to be?” Dave sulked, exiting the living room in a nark.
With Dave gone, Steven snoring and Butty’s attention taken with the window; Brittain, with more confidence in our company, began to press me for information about the world beyond his front door. It’s hard to believe this kid had spent most of his life inside his house; his only connection to the outside world being the internet, and television. When your only source of information is the bilge and scare mongering forced upon us by mainstream media then it’s no wonder his illness never improved. At first I held concerns that telling him everything that had happened to us would send his agoraphobia into overdrive and he would lock himself away in a cupboard for the rest of his life but then I thought, ah fuck it, what harm could it do? So I told him about Dave and I watching our boss become a zombie after shitting himself to death. Then how his head separated into two halves and I got my feet lodged in them like a pair of slippers. Then how we drove into my daughter’s zombified friend and the impact separated her head from her shoulders and we watched it roll down the road. How we, ahem, ‘saved’ my daughter from the hordes of the undead at the school and made it to my brother’s place to find he had nailed zombie body parts to the house and stored a mountain of undead corpses in his back garden. Then how Butty and Dave risked life and limb to go shopping for cigarettes; Dave with a giant mayonnaise stirring paddle for protection and Butty with a lampshade around his neck and shin pads on his forearms. I then told him about the house fire and the bastard that killed Jonathon and how we were now looking for my daughter after she ran away to get revenge.
So much had happened in the last few days that the most hideous of situations are starting to feel normal and details were rolling of my tongue matter-of-factly. It took me a while to notice the poor kid had turned green and it was describing the mountain of decomposing zombies in my brother’s back garden that proved to be the final straw. Brittain gagged and heaved heavily then a noi
se left his throat not too dissimilar to water bubbling through a blocked drain! He ran out of the living room holding his mouth in an attempt to keep the vomit in. By the horrendous sounds, he had just about made it to the kitchen sink before his hurling commenced!
“Good work little brother. I think it’s safe to say that the kid won’t be stepping outside anytime soon. Five minutes talking to you and his phobia and anxiety is the worst it’s ever been. It wouldn’t surprise me if he zips himself up into a suitcase and stores himself away for eternity,” Butty remarked.
“Where do you think Emily is?” I asked with concern, ignoring his smart arse remarks.
“Oh she’s close I can guarantee it and like us, she’ll have no doubt found a place secure for the night. She’s a clever girl is our Emily and even with revenge on her mind she’ll know it’s too dangerous to be out at night. With the power out visibility is poor and let’s not forget how cold it is. If a zombie doesn’t get you then the weather will. Try not to worry John, I know it’s hard but she’s a survivor just like the rest of us Diants. Always has and always will be,” he replied.
Sleep did not find me easily that night. It was extremely dark in Brittain’s living room with the only light coming from Butty twitching open the curtains every now and again to check for zombies. My lack of vision seemed to heighten my other senses and the muffled conversation between 80s Dave and Brittain coming from the kitchen was keeping me awake.
I could hear clanging of glasses and drunken blabbering’s from Dave. Having found Brittain’s booze he had decided to get well and truly oiled and had taken it upon himself to try and cure our host of his agoraphobia.
“Listen Kid, this agoraphobia, it’s all in your head. You sit at home watching the news and it’s all doom and gloom. Murder, rape, robberies, terrorist attacks… and with modern technology there’s barely any reason to leave the house at all. I’m sure you’ve been living quite comfortably, Ace. You’ve had your TV and internet to keep you entertained and I bet you’ve been ordering your shopping online for a home delivery haven’t you? More and more people work from home these days too, have you been doing that? I’ve got this mate, Kenny his name is. Fat fella with a bald head and a moustache. Always sweating and he snores when he’s awake. You know the type. Anyway, he runs a telephone sex line from his home. Big June he calls himself. He has a voice changer program on his computer that he connects to his telephone line which makes him sound like a woman. He makes a fortune talking dirty to perverts all day for £2.50 per minute. If only the sticky palmed wankers knew that Big June was actually Big Kenny and they’ve been stroking one out whilst he tells them the things he’d like to do to a Jaffa Cake. What I’m trying to say is you’re a victim of society Kid but society doesn’t exist anymore and your creature comforts are gone. What are you going to do when your food supplies run dry? Or when zombies come crashing through your windows and doors. Are you going to starve yourself or just sit there whilst the dead fucks eat you? Come on Brittain kid, wake up and smell the decay. It’s time for you to make a change. There’s a world outside your window and it’s a world of dread and fear, but it’s your world kid and it’s yours for the taking!”
You won’t believe how long I lay there trying to place where I’d heard, “There’s a world outside your window and it’s a world of dread and fear”. The hours I should have spent sleeping so I would be fresh for another horrific day looking for Emily were instead spent battling with my memory to remember where I had heard those words. By the time I’d remembered it was from the song from Band Aid, I was angrier with Bob Geldof than I was with Dave.
After several hours of muffled conversation and drunken laughter the air fell silent and I finally drifted off to slumber land. Mr Sandman was about to take me away to Never Never Land when a prehistoric growl brought me back to life with a start and I stumbled around in the dark attempting to find a weapon. Before I could ask Butty what it was I heard it happen again, rumbling through the floor and up my feet making my legs vibrate.
“Relax John, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s Oliver Reed next door. Have you never heard a drunk man snoring before?” Butty said, parting the curtains to peep outside.
“That’s Dave?” I replied in shock, the walls trembling as he snorted out another deafening snore, “I can’t sleep with that going on. I’ll have to wake him up.”
“No point little brother. You’d have a better chance waking a sedated elephant and even if you did he’d probably go straight back off and start snoring again. Just close your eyes. You’ll soon get used to the noise,” he suggested.
Well I tried to block it out but it was impossible. Every snort and grunt made my brain rattle. Dave’s snoring was relentless and what made it worse was Butty didn’t seem to care, he just sat in the window all night keeping look out, occasionally moaning that my restlessness was breaking his concentration.
As soon as the morning broke I decided to wake the fucker up. We had to make up lost ground and I was damned if Dave was going to sleep off his hangover. If I was awake then so was Sleepy Beauty!
I stormed into the kitchen to find Dave, wearing sunglasses and sat on a chair with his head resting on a table, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Over his ears were his ever present headphones. Snoring his frigging head off!
“Dave!” I yelled, slamming my fist down on the table for added volume.
To my surprise, Dave woke up instantly and like a reflex, lit the cigarette and began smoking.
“Morning Ace! What time is it? Are we off to find Emily?” he said, with a chipper tone.
Incredible. One night’s heavy drinking with only a few hours sleep and he’s as right as rain, ready to face the world. I could kill him sometimes.
“How are you not feeling like shit? There’s a near empty bottle of whisky next to you and you’ve only had about four hours sleep. Why are you not hungover? I’m sober as a judge but due to your horrendous snoring my head is banging like I’ve been on an all-day drinking session with Ozzy Osbourne!” I moaned.
“I never get hangovers John, it’s just another reason why I’m so fucking awesome. Speaking of awesome, I was having a brilliant dream till you woke me up. I was at one of those conventions where you get to meet famous people. It was called ‘Totally 80s’ and every actor and musician that made that decade great were in attendance. I was in heaven Ace, that was until zombies turned up then things went from great to fucking spectacular!” he beamed.
I had no interest what so ever in hearing Dave’s dream but he was intent on describing it to me and I was too tired to protest. Plus I figured I might as well get it out of the way now or I’ll be getting sound bites about it all bloody day!
“So, I had just left the house to go to work and for some reason I lived next door to BJ & J Owen’s Newsagents and I decided to pay Barry’s a visit to buy a few packs of tabs, when I saw a flyer on the door for something called ‘Totally 80s: The Ultimate 80s Convention’. Now people say that smoking heavily can make you impotent but right there and then I had a chubby the size of a fucking moon rocket. There were people down the other end of the street using it to limbo dance kid. There was no chance I was going to work that day!”
“Oh yeah, my dream took place before the apocalypse so there were no zombies shuffling about. Just the normal brain dead useless cunts we all knew and hated.”
“After buying my tabs from Bazza, because even the allure of meeting my heroes does not get in the way of me and my smokes, I left the shop to find that I was no longer on Balfour Street but inside a huge exhibition hall. I mean this place was big Ace. Imagine the space between your ears and times that by one hundred. That’s how big this hall was and it was decorated with 80s movie posters and memorabilia but for some reason known only to my brain, greeting me at the front of the hall, was a 20ft statue of Tina Turner and she was mid dance whilst screaming down a microphone. You know the dance move kid. That one where she walks around like she’s shit herself and is desperately look
ing for a toilet. But that wasn’t the weird part. The strange thing was that every couple of seconds, Tina would fart and a packet of Benson & Hedges shot out of her arsehole. Also she wasn’t wearing any knickers and instead of pubic hair she had dry roasted peanuts. Now I’m no dream analyst and for the life of me I don’t know why she was parping out tabs. But I can only assume that Tina’s peanut thatch had something to do with Nutbush City Limits. It is her best song after all.”
“I walked through Tina’s legs and entered the main area, pocketing a few packs of B&H as a windy gust fired them out of her Golden Eye. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Movie and music stars filled the arena and I was the only average Joe there. To my left, Mike Score who is the lead singer with Flock of Seagulls was asking Jermaine Stewart if he could borrow some mousse for his hair as it had lost all of its bounce and was getting in his eyes. Jermaine didn’t have any though. He was busy drinking cherry wine whilst stalking Madonna, telling her to put some clothes on. I had a quiet chat with Mike Score and told him he was barking up the wrong tree with Jermaine and if it was hair product he was after then he needs to talk to Bonnie Tyler who was getting pissed at the bar with the cast from Time Bandits.”
“Everywhere I looked I saw more and more famous people, all mingling with each other and the best thing of all was they had time for me and had no problems answering all of my questions. For instance, did you know that Chuck Norris’ beard has its own agent and actually earns more money that he does? Me neither! And that Belinda Carlisle was actually born in Carlisle and her hair is made from Shredded Wheat? It’s true! She told me in my dream. Whenever she wants a haircut she washes her hair in milk and hires a group of small children to eat it.”
“I was having a great time, shooting the shit with the stars then all of a sudden a fuck off siren sounded and Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet, who up to this point had been swapping make up tips with Steve Strange from Visage, told me that it meant the public were about to come in. I was fucking gutted, lar. There I was hob knobbing with the stars from the greatest decade of all time and now I had to share them with the great unwashed. “I think George Michael must have sensed my upset as he offered me a joint but I punched the greasy bastard in the face and told him to do one.”
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 36