by Sam Lang
Severed
Volume 3: True Faith
by
Sam Lang
*****
Published by Trestle Press
Copyright 2012 Sam Lang
Kindle Edition, License Notes
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This book is a work of fiction. The
names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or
organizations is entirely coincidental.
*****
A Satisfying End?
London, England.
Andy fiddled with his scope. The long range rifle was perfect for a spot of light entertainment. He hunkered down on the roof and got comfortable. London was a hot spot still, with zombies everywhere, just how he liked it. A shambling form appeared in his scope. Ragged tracksuit bottoms were covered in dirt and grime and an old hoody covered the leprous form of the undead creature. It was at least six foot tall and fresh blood covered its face. The beast had obviously feasted recently. Maybe there were more people nearby? Its wretched mouth hung open exposing filthy chipped blood stained teeth. The eyes were vacant, staring at nothing, like all the undead. The only time they seemed to have any level of alertness was when they spotted food. Some primal urge seemed to awaken in them.
“Your last meal, you over-sized maggot.”
Andy slowly squeezed the trigger. The silence of the once busy York Terrace was interrupted by a single loud crack and the creature’s head exploded like an overripe melon. Andy nodded and smiled briefly. He whistled the tune to Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust and grabbed his rifle. Above him angry disapproving clouds held the promise of rain.
A quick dash down the stairwell and Andy was back in his flat. He disassembled the L115A3 rifle and stowed it back in the case. He boiled some noodles up on his little camping stove, adding a pinch of pepper and some curry sauce. He reached for his precious bottle of Tabasco sauce and added a few drops to the noodles. He savoured the noodles, eating every mouthful slowly and thoughtfully. He washed them down with a small bottle of water.
After tidying up, he grabbed his 9mm Browning pistol, an extra clip and two frag grenades, his old army favourites. Andy had been stationed at Catterick as a training instructor when things had gone bad. Amy, his wife, and his little boy Kieran had not been so lucky. They had been taken from him five years ago. He’d arrived home too late. He vowed as he stared numbly at their remains that he would take vengeance. His one mission in life was taking out zombies and he’d decided he’d get more of them in London than anywhere else. As well as rations and water he’d managed to get a good deal of combat gear from the armoury as his comrades one by one turned from the living to the undead.
The door locked automatically as he pulled it closed. He was down the stairs and out in the street within moments. He had the Browning out and the safety off as he walked up York Terrace West. His attention flicked back and forth with the alert professionalism of a trained soldier. He soon found himself on Troughton Road. Deserted cars were all over the street and houses lined either side. A wretched runt of a zombie feasted on something by the bumper of a Volkswagon. It made obscene grunting noises as it buried its face in the blackened mass, making a sickly wet slurping sound.
Andy crept up behind the creature and without a word put a single bullet in its head. It sagged lifelessly. The single gunshot had disturbed a couple of walkers further up the street and they shambled towards Andy with food on their mind, too brainless to realise the danger. He waited with tried and tested patience for them to get within a metre or two before blasting first one, then the other. They both hit the ground with a thud.
Andy walked on in the middle of the road keeping a wary eye out. Gunshots usually got some attention. Further up Troughton Road at the junction with Rathmore Road a group of about ten zombies milled around the gutted corpse of a small child. It was little more than a skeleton. Perhaps the creatures thought there would be more along soon. They groaned and milled in a circle occasionally bumping into each other. Andy stealthily crept up on them using abandoned cars for cover. He pulled the clip from a grenade and rolled it among the group of zombies.
“Adios boys.” He yelled as ducked back under cover.
A deafening, but brief, explosion filled the morning air. Andy peeked around the car to see the confused looking zombies crawling around on the floor, none of them now capable of chasing a healthy human. He reached for the handle of a cricket bat in his pack. He quickly smashed the skulls of any zombies still crawling around. Among the desolation of the dead zombies, Andy smiled with satisfaction. He spotted a living rose bush in a nearby garden. He sniffed the sweet scent of one of the roses and gently snapped it from the bush and stowed it into his pack.
Later, on Westcombe Park Rail Station, he used the last of his two clips on a number of zombies milling around in the station. During the course of the day, he had not encountered another living soul. He returned to his flat weary and footsore. He felt tired, but all in all he was pleased that it had been a productive and a satisfying day. Except it hadn’t been, not really. He felt bone achingly weary of it all. The constant killing and the loneliness. He did it with an almost mechanical efficiency. All the passion had gone out of his life and he’d had enough of it. The spiritual ache from the loss of Amy and Kieran seemed worse daily. Andy knew there should be an end to it. The day’s killing and the boom of the exploding grenade had given him an idea and for the first time in years, he felt happy that he now had a purpose.
The following morning, Andy awoke and stretched stiffly. Breakfast consisted of porridge made with water and powdered milk on his camping stove. It was warm and it staved off the hunger pangs. He needed fuel for the day, plain and simple. He ate quietly and mechanically, thinking of the day ahead. Today was the fifth anniversary of Amy and Kieran’s death. He wanted to mark it in a special way, as he did every year. This day would be uniquely special. Today would be a battle and he tooled up with all he would need for the oncoming fight, grabbing equipment and stuffing it into his pack. When he reached the base of the stairwell in his flat block, he grabbed his trusty mountain bike from the cleaner’s cupboard. The morning was cool but breezy. Andy took extra care cycling as he thought of his precious cargo. Walkers occasionally stepped out of the shadows towards him, but Andy was too fast for them. He skirted around the larger groups, it wasn’t worth the risk of going too close.
As he saw St. Paul’s Cathedral in the distance he upped his pace. Dead streets flashed by and corpses littered the capital. A sudden pothole snagged his front wheel and he found himself thrown over the handlebars and hitting the deck with a heavy impact. Groaning he sat up and shook himself. As he stood, an excruciating pain in his ankle brought him to the ground again. He felt his ankle, grateful of his army first aid training and it didn’t seem to be broken, most likely a sprain. A loud groan brought Andy to his senses and he looked up to see a walker looming over him. Training kicked in and he grabbed for the pistol holstered at his waist. The walker was upon him, stiff hands pulling at him as it leaned down to bite. Finally withdrawing the pistol he fired point blank into its gaping maw and the beast fell backwards.
Blood splattered him as it fell. Andy wiped his face with his sleeve quickly. Infection was always a real fear when you had close contact. Not that he’d have to worry about that for too much longer.
Andy stood once more and grabbed his bike. He winced at the pain. He leaned heavily against the bike as he limped slowly towards the Cathedral. With a sprained ankle he knew there was a very real risk from the walkers so he kept his pistol out with the safety off. Luckily, Andy made it to the cathedral steps without incident.
The outside of the once great building was blackened by fire and bullet holes had made it look ugly and scarred. However, the great cathedral was largely intact. He gasped audibly in pain as he limped inside. Pews were strewn everywhere and where once there was order, solitude and quiet, there was now only the chaos of disorder and destruction. Andy looked at the mangled wreckage of what had once been the organ behind the altar. Andy kneeled before the altar and withdrew a small cardboard tube from his pack. He removed the tape from the top of the tube and removed a single fresh red rose. He placed it lightly before the altar and gave a brief prayer. Tears streamed down his face as he kneeled for several minutes, gaining the courage to do what he must do. From his pack, he removed an old fashioned stereo player, the kind that used to be referred to as a ghetto blaster. He also removed a bundle of dynamite and from his pocket, his trusty Zippo upon which was emblazoned a skull and crossbones.
Andy started the CD player on the stereo and set it to repeat. He cranked up the volume to full. Amy’s favourite song had been the version of Mad World which featured Gary Jules. The haunting strains of this song now blasted from the stereo. The cathedral amplified the sound and it echoed beautifully around the ruined place of worship. The acoustics were perfect for amplification. Like a spider in a web, he slowly drew them in. Some were groaning and shambling, others dragging their ruined bodies behind them. Attracted by the noise and the vibration, the walkers slowly filled the cathedral. Amy had always insisted they go to church at least a couple of times a month, so this seemed a fitting way to end it. From his vantage point high in the wreckage of the organ, Andy watched them shamble around in circles, knocking into each other. When the cathedral was packed to bursting with hundreds of zombies Andy whispered, “I’m coming Amy.”
He lit the fuse on the dynamite and leapt into the hoard of flesh eaters as the music played on.
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow.
No tomorrow, no tomorrow.
On The Road
Judy looked across at the sleeping form of Zac. She was hypnotised by the easy rhythm of his seemingly untroubled sleep. The baby, as always, was near him within easy reach and snuggled cozily in a box, which was the closest the little traveller had to a crib. Holly slept fitfully on his other side.
Judy sighed as she thought about the day’s events. They had gotten into an easy rhythm and left Orlando behind without a single encounter. Finding reliable transportation proved to be amusing, yet also pitiful. Some ingenious person harnessed a one-eyed horse to one of those ridiculously tiny Smart Cars. The poor beast of burden looked lean and near to dehydration. Judy surmised from this that the owner had been missing for several days. Then she wondered why the zombies never seemed to bother the animals?
Each day since finding the makeshift carriage, they did in excess of forty kilometres in their journey along the Florida Turnpike. At least, it used to be the Turnpike. Now, it barely resembled a gravel road. The wide concrete lanes succumbed to an onslaught of native vegetation. Angry patches of saw grass and squatty palms caused Judy to muse how much this land must now resemble the days of the first Spanish explorers. Judy tried to get Holly to pretend she was a Conquistador as they rode inside the car. Zac led the horse along, outside and in front of them. Judy also credited Zac’s unbelievable stamina to the overgrowth of trees. She guessed the surplus oxygen strengthened all of their lungs.
They settled down each night shortly before dusk. Tonight they were in the back room of an old gas station. They had barricaded the door in case any random walker came wandering in. The weather held fine and Judy felt as safe as possible with her companions.
Earlier that day, they had come across a hand-painted sign offering sanctuary for travellers. It made promises of food, shelter and water. Luckily, Judy thought, zombies can’t read. She guessed they had to be drawing near to Miami. The thought of a safe place and other people taunted her sense of security at this lonely highway pit stop.
In the morning, Judy looked for any more of the hand-written signs. The one from yesterday had been weather worn and looked to be a couple years old. She did not know if she wanted to find other people or not. What comforts might a secure community truly offer her, Judy wondered.
As the grandiose high-rise hotels of Miami Beach and the surrounding cities became visible on the horizon, Judy watched for more signs. She saw plenty of billboards beckoning her to purchase products that no longer existed. She saw the occasional “End is Near” graffiti and long-silent pleas for help painted on windows of now empty storefronts. Judy tried to talk to Holly about different advertisements they saw. The girl’s silence did not indicate whether she remembered that previous life. The slick, bright colors used to be Judy’s game. She had once been responsible for convincing people to get the things they did not need.
That memory collided with a sight she did not want to see. An EZ-Thin billboard loomed over them at the edge of the city. It had been scorched, most likely in the riots of the final days. Judy’s stomach churned. EZ-Thin diet pills had been her baby. She conceived the whole “New You” campaign that got people hooked.
In her mind, she caused the end of the world. That’s a lot of guilt for one person to bear, she chided herself. Besides, Bueller is the one who faked the trials and pushed the pills to market.
“What’s that?” asked Zac. He interrupted her painful recollections.
A smaller, hand-made sign had been attached to the pole holding the EZ-Thin billboard. Judy read the words, fighting back an unexpected hopefulness.
We are still here!
The Ocean Sapphire Hotel
across from Lummus Park
Don’t take MacArthur Causeway!
This piece of tattered cardboard did not look nearly as old as the first sign. Judy mused how these survivors chose this post for hanging their invitation.
“What do you think?” asked Zac. He looked like he already made up his mind.
“How far is it?” asked Judy.
Zac looked at their surroundings. He must have had a good memory or an innate sense of direction. He said, “We are close to Pompano Beach, so I guess maybe another forty miles if we stay close to the Interstate. Or we could go down through the city.”
Judy did not know how she felt about that second suggestion. They had been lucky so far, but in her travels she found that zombies had their own little pockets in the cities.
“If we could make our way out to the shore, we could follow the A1A the rest of the way. Then we would only have to watch one side. One side would be protected by the ocean,” Zac continued.
Judy hesitated.
Zac pressed her, “If Matthew came this way with Liz, I think he would have went for other survivors. I’m going to look for her there.”
Judy almost forgot about Liz. She almost forgot about Zac’s entire motivation. If Liz still lived, he would most likely die trying to find her. For a minute, Judy got turned around in her head. Something about Zac made her want to be only with him and the kids. For a minute, she hoped they were the only ones left on the planet. Judy had gone from being defiantly independent to completely dependent since meeting this boy. He was still a boy as far as she was concerned.
“Alright,” said Judy. “Let’s go to the beach.”
A Day at the Beach
Cutting through Fort Lauderdale took longer than Zac had hoped. Their horse stepped in a pothole and broke its leg. The accident almost overturned their car as well. Zac shot the horse as much out of anger
as mercy.
The echo of the single gunshot caught the attention of one walker. The former surfer still wore his wetsuit, although the rubber sleeves and legs had been shredded over the years. He hobbled toward them while they gathered their things from the now useless Smart Car. When the undead dude came close enough, Zac wrenched free a rusted stop sign. He swung it like an axe, cutting the hungry creature’s head in half from the top of its left ear to the bottom of its right ear. The top of its skull fell to the ground with a splat. Zac’s mind raced back what felt like a thousand years to a distinct memory. The skull splatted the same way a pat of butter once did when it hit the tile of his old kitchen. One glob stuck to the ground, unmoving. Before the body collapsed, a tangle of seaweed spilled out of its gaping mouth.
Zac decided that the weather ravaged Dania Beach would be the best place to spend the night. He explained to Judy that they still had twenty or twenty-five miles to go and it would take longer on foot. At least it was a straight shot, now in sight of the ocean. When they settled down for the night, Zac thought about the surfing zombie. He wondered why it would have been eating seaweed. Did zombies have memories of their past lives, he wondered. Why else would that creature have been in the water?
Bright sun skipping across the ocean woke Zac before he was ready. He did not regret it when he spotted a flock of oversized terns, hopping and pecking closer to their shelter with each breeze. From the looks of these birds, one could easily carry away his baby boy and Zac would not allow that. Risking the attention of any scavenging undead, Zac shooed the birds away. It surprised him that they flew off with such little fuss.
Half a day’s walk brought them to the once famous Art Deco district of Miami Beach. The pastel colors faded over the years with no one to touch up the paint. Broken windows hinted at the damage caused by at least one hurricane in the last five years. Somewhere along this row of high priced, gaudy buildings stood the Ocean Sapphire. At one point, this luxury hotel had become a home for a group of survivors. Zac suspected it was probably empty now. Between the giant birds and indefensible weather, who in their right mind would want to live on the beach?