by Perrin Briar
“It’s a new world,” Chris said. “Maybe it’s time for new beginnings. At least that’s what a wise woman once told me.”
Chris offered his hand to George, who eyed it and then smiled and took it. They shook hands. Chris hesitated about what to say next.
“What about-?”
“The past? Let it stay in the past, I say. What’s done is done. With the way the world is, we can’t afford to be consumed by our petty differences anymore.”
“Nathan doesn’t look like he’s going to forget anytime soon.”
“None of us will ever forget about what was taken from us,” George said. “It’s like trying to forget one of your arms. But we can learn to forgive. And don’t mind Nathan. I’ll keep an eye on him. His bark’s worse than his bite.”
“I suppose now it doesn’t matter if they don’t find a cure,” Chris said. “If we work together we could turn this place into somewhere safe for our children and grandchildren and their children, though it’s going to take a lot of work.”
George smiled.
“Luckily hard work isn’t something any of us are strangers to,” he said. “How about we get started on it tomorrow? We’ll have a good night’s rest and fill our bellies and work our damnedest.”
They came to the back of the farmhouse that faced toward the barn and field. There was a shed that backed onto the farmhouse like a limpet attached to the back of a whale. It was made up of damp wood that was warped and chipped.
“I forgot this old shed was here,” George said. “Fancy going to look at some of the old trophies?”
Chris shook his head.
“I haven’t been in there since…”
“Since that night,” George said. “A lot changed for me too since then. But maybe we ought to go in there, blow off the old dust and cobwebs. What do you say?”
12:51pm
The sky was overcast with dark grey, and wisps of black and white, a roiling mass of undulating clouds. It made the light from the fire at the bottom of the field shimmer like summer sunlight off a fountain, stretching the shadows of the camper vans toward them.
Maisie and Danny sat on the fringes of the woods on the trunk of a fallen elm, looking down the rolling field to the barn and encampment, only the farmhouse’s roof visible beyond.
“Do you think the others will be okay?” Maisie said.
“They’ll be fine” Danny said. “If they see anything they’ll come and let us know.”
“Why do you keep wandering off by yourself?” Maisie said. “I heard George talking about you before. It sounds pretty dangerous.”
“It’s not. Anyway, we’re all by ourselves now. It doesn’t matter if we live together at the moment or not. In the end, we’ll have to defend ourselves in any way we can, even if that means leaving the ones we love behind. So, I wander the woods alone, keeping my ears and eyes open, trying to learn how zombies move, looking for weaknesses.”
“Have you found anything?”
“Not really. Only that they are very, very stupid. I once hid up a tree and they were trying to get to me. I threw a pine cone, making noise somewhere else and they forgot about me and followed the pine cone, even though they saw me throw it and it was obvious there was nothing there.”
“Did you ever read World War Z? It’s got lots of information about zombies.”
“No. I’ve never read a book.”
“Why not?”
Danny shrugged.
“I can’t read very well,” he said.
“I can teach you, if you like.”
Danny smiled then, a big warm smile that turned his eyes into a pair of beautiful dark beacons.
“I’d like that,” he said. “I always used to see people in the local library reading and wondered what was so great about it.”
“What were you doing in the library if you couldn’t read?”
“Stealing.”
“Books?”
“Nobody I know wants books. But films, games. They used to rent them out in the library. I didn’t want to do it, but Dad made me. He said no one would suspect a kid like me. My dad doesn’t look like the most innocent person. And he isn’t. But I did it to put food on the table. I’d do the same thing now, but I suppose zombies don’t watch a lot of films.”
Maisie nodded. She drew a line in the dirt with a stick.
“I’ve got a question to ask you,” she said. “It’s about our two families. Do you-”
“-know why we don’t get on?” Danny said with a smile. “Yes. But that doesn’t matter now. It probably didn’t matter back then either.”
“But why do our dads hate each other?”
Danny turned away.
“I don’t know if I should say,” he said.
Maisie gripped him by the shoulders.
“Tell me,” she said. “Please.”
He looked up into her eyes and then away again.
“If Grandpa found out I told you…” he said.
“I won’t tell him. Please. Just tell me.”
“All right. But I don’t know all the facts, only what Dad told me.”
“Go on.”
“Your dad killed my uncle,” Danny said, so matter-of-fact it made Maisie blink. “Well, not really killed, but he went into a coma, and he’s still there. Dad says he’s as good as dead.”
“No…” Maisie said, shaking her head. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong. They were fighting in a boxing match, and your dad beat Tom, that’s my uncle. He never got back up. That’s why they hate him. But for your information, I don’t hate him. I don’t think Grandpa does either. It was bad luck, that’s all. I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it. It could have happened to anyone. Catch a man right, or wrong, and he’ll be out for the count.”
“When did this happen?”
Danny shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “A few years ago.”
“Why didn’t I hear about this?”
“Who’s going to tell the daughter of a murderer?” Danny said. “It’s not going to happen.”
“No,” she said. “You’re wrong. He could never do that. He doesn’t even like to hit zombies.”
“Maybe that’s why.”
“No,” Maisie said, tears in her eyes. “No, that’s not possible.”
“It’s what Pa said. He said your father should get locked away for what he did, or someone should give him the same fate.”
A rustle in the bushes.
Danny and Maisie shot to their feet. Something was coming, and it was coming fast. Danny reached for the sand wedge golf club he kept at his waist. Maisie bent down and picked up a large rock that fit in the palm of one hand. Without her armour on she felt vulnerable and exposed. The foliage parted and Shane burst out, swiftly followed by Tiger and Lily.
“Shane?” Danny said. “What’s going on?”
“They’re coming!” Shane said, breaths coming in heaves, his face pale and white from exertion. “And they’re coming this way!”
“Who are coming?” Maisie said.
“Zombies!”
1:13pm
The shed door creaked, opening on squeaky hinges, stuttering against their effort. Darkness yawned back at Chris and George, the overcast skies letting in no natural light.
Chris reached up and pulled on the overhead string. The light blinked on, revealing the small shed was packed with crates and boxes. The light faded, turning urine yellow, and then blinked and went off altogether.
“I’ll go get the torch,” George said. “I’ll be right back.”
He went, leaving Chris alone. He moved into the darkness, the daylight picking out the skeletons of the crates. Hands out in front of him, he felt his way along the boxes. Then the door creaked shut behind him, and he was in total darkness, the kind that surrounded you and pressed in from all sides. He began to edge his way back toward the door.
Chris could hear his own breathing in his ears, loud and measured. He heard a footstep, gently placed
to make as little sound as possible. Chris stopped. His eyes scrubbed the darkness but couldn’t make anything out.
“Hello?” Chris said out loud. “George? Is that you?”
Then he saw the faint glow of the light bulb filament above his head, glowing like a single worm in dark soil. Another footstep, and the stranger couldn’t have been more than a few paces ahead. Chris reached up and felt an invisible force field, which he knew to be the glass bulb. He could feel the warmth of it against his fingertips as he twisted the bulb and the filament flickered, revealing a figure behind him, and then flashed on completely.
Chris turned in time to see Nathan behind him with a heavy wrench in his hand. Training forgotten in an instant, Chris hunched away from the figure in self-defence, a pleading gasp escaping his lips. But no strike came.
“Pa said the light was broke and I should come in here to see if I could fix it,” Nathan said. “But I see you fixed it yourself.”
“Yes,” Chris said, regaining his composure. “Thank you. Though I think you came a little over-prepared with a wrench.”
Nathan stepped up close to Chris and glared at him.
“I’ve got my eye on you,” he said. “I don’t trust you. Not after what you did. Pa might have forgiven you for what you done, but I don’t. I won’t never forget.”
“Neither will I,” Chris said.
Nathan blinked and leaned back, surprised at Chris’s admonition. Catching himself, he lowered his thick brow down in anger again.
“You watch your back,” he said. “Because one of these days I’m going to be there with this here wrench.”
Nathan turned, startled to find George standing there. George smiled and slapped Nathan on the back.
“I see you got it fixed,” he said. “Well done. So, how about we find these trophies?”
They searched amongst the boxes. The ones on top were full of photos of old families and forgotten toys. They stacked the boxes along the opposite wall.
“Ah,” George said, having opened a box halfway down the stack. “Here we are.”
He pulled a collection of trophies out of the box. They were all gold or silver, an assortment of figures balanced on the top.
“These are all yours,” George said. “Regional Champion 2006. National Champion 2008. You were going places. Then again, so was Nathan. He loved fighting, you know. My Tommy.”
“He was good at it.”
“Not as good as you.”
“It depends on the day. I often wonder what would have happened if I’d woken up feeling different that day. If I hadn’t felt so confident.”
“As I recall, Tommy felt the same way. All fighters do. If they didn’t they wouldn’t be much good at fighting.”
“It was an outlet,” Chris said. “A way to let out my frustrations of the world.”
“You had a lot of pent up aggression,” George said.
“Anger helped, but the training was just as important.”
George smiled.
“Phil always did think you had something special about you,” he said. “That’s why he put in a lot of effort into training you.”
“I suppose I let him down too when I quit.”
“You should never have given up.”
Chris seemed surprised to hear that from George.
“Tom was good,” Chris said. “The best I fought.”
“I’m sure he feels the same way about you.”
Chris picked up a trophy. It had a golden bareknuckle boxer on it, standing on the balls of his feet.
“This is yours,” he said. “Or, rather, Tom’s.”
“He didn’t win. It’s yours. Besides, it’s just an empty cup. We haven’t got room for useless things anymore.”
George laid his hand on Chris’s shoulder.
“It’s not your fault things ended up the way they did,” he said.
“Then whose fault is it? I was the one in the ring with him. I was the one hammering him, the one who didn’t stop when he was down.”
“Tommy would have done the same to you had he had the chance. And you had kids. He had none. My Tommy would have felt terrible about what he’d done to you and your family if it was the other way round, believe me. Worse than you do now because then he’d have to think about the children he’d let grow up without a father.”
Chris hung his head and closed his eyes.
“I killed him,” he said.
“He’s not dead.”
“As good as.”
“The doctors said he might wake up.”
“In this world? I think I’d rather stay asleep.”
“Even so,” George said. “He’s still alive. And you haven’t fought a fight since. You blame yourself. But it’s time to get over it now. I miss my Tommy. Nathan’s not a bad boy, he just doesn’t know how to think for himself. Most of his children are the same. Except for Danny. He’s got a head on his shoulders, all right. A bit too philosophical and deep for my liking, but a good boy nonetheless. I fear I might have caused a rift between Nathan and me with my constant badgering, but what can I do if it’s the only thing that gets through that thick skull of his? I’d like to see Tommy one more time, before the end.”
A scream, fuzzy with distance, came from outside. The blood drained from Chris’s face. He dropped the trophy.
“Maisie,” he said.
1:27pm
The house was dark and dingy, and the walls were stained from where rain water had seeped in through the gaps on either side of the window frames. Pigs trotted after Maisie, touching their noses to Maisie’s hands the way they always did to get a treat. Their tiny piglets followed in their mother’s haste. Maisie and the others crouched down, careful not to step in any of the excrement on the floor.
“It stinks in here,” Shane said, wrinkling his nose.
“Shh!” Maisie said. “They’ll hear you!”
“I heard stories about this place,” Shane said, peering around at the building’s gutted innards. “They say it’s haunted.”
“Better in here than out there, don’t you think?” Maisie said.
Shane turned and looked at the surroundings. He wasn’t so sure.
“We shouldn’t be in here,” he said.
“No,” Maisie said, shaking her head, “we shouldn’t be out there with those things. And be quiet! They’re coming!”
A human-shaped shadow with head sagging grotesquely to one side fell onto the algae-green window. A second shadow joined the first, and a delicate feminine hand pressed against the glass, wiping away a thin strip of algae. A third and fourth shadow emerged, their groans growing in volume, trembling the glass in its flimsy frame. As the awkward bodies rubbed against the glass, the algae was removed one strip at a time. Wholesome sunlight broke through the gunk, revealing the zombies’ dresswear; a navy smoking jacket, a flowery dress, a turtleneck sweater. Shane whimpered and backed away from the window.
“We have to go,” Danny whispered. “They’re going to see us.”
A piglet approached the front door and sniffed at the gap of light that spilled from the jagged corner. The door snapped open and a gruesome hand covered wrist to fingertips with blisters snatched the piglet. It squealed as it was dragged outside, and then silenced with a crunching bite and spilled blood.
Maisie got to her feet, kept crouched down, and crept into the next room. It too was empty, but the square stained outline of removed kitchen cabinets and exposed gas lines belied its former purpose.
The front door in the living room creaked open and footsteps thudded and dragged across the front room floor. There was a low groan, and the family of pigs grunted and trotted into the kitchen, sniffing Maisie’s ankles. The shifting in the next room grew louder, closer. Maisie ran into the next room. Pieces of carpet fluff dotted the area amidst pig excrement. Once they were all inside, including the pigs, Maisie shut the door and locked it.
“Let the pigs out,” Danny said.
“No,” Maisie said. “They’re my friends.”<
br />
“They could save us, if they manage to get the zombies to chase them away. If they don’t it’ll at least give us a few extra minutes.”
Maisie looked at the floppy-eared Gloria at her feet and her heart broke. Maisie patted her on the head.
“I’m sorry, Gloria,” she said.
Maisie opened the door and ushered Gloria out. The piglets followed their mother. Maisie locked the door again. There was a scratching sound from near the bottom of the door. Gloria’s trotter. Then a snorting sound that, to Maisie’s ears, sounded desperate. The groaning grew louder, the expelled air of a hundred weary souls. The pigs snorted, and then squealed in alarm. Trotters tapped on the wooden floor, away from them. A piglet squealed, and was once again silenced with a crunch. The remaining pigs squealed, and the groans grew so loud and deep and sorrowful that the doorknob in Maisie’s hand vibrated. Gloria squealed in pain, and the sound disappeared into the next room, and to silence, whether it was due to distance or death, Maisie couldn’t tell.
Danny gestured for them all to be silent. The groans grew quiet. The children listened intently to the sounds from beyond the door. Silent. Danny unlocked the door and opened it slowly. He poked his head out the door and looked left and right.
“Are they gone?” Shane said.
The groaning began, from one torn throat, and then a dozen, two dozen, rising like a great storm. Danny shut the door and locked it.
“They’re still out there,” he said. “And they’re coming this way.”
“We’re trapped!” Shane said. “We’ll never get out of here! We’re dead!”
“Shut up, Shane!” Danny said. “We can climb out through the window.”
He grabbed the handle and twisted it. There was a snap and the handle broke off. He tossed it aside and grabbed the doorframe with his hands. It wouldn’t budge. Shane joined him in the effort. It had been jammed shut for so long it didn’t seem to remember how to open.
“See?” Shane said, giving up. “We are trapped in here!”
“We could break the window,” Danny said.
But even as he spoke, lumbering shadows converged on the window, darkening the rooms and their hearts.