Zombie Survival: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by James King

  While the sight of the breached window, and of the creature standing in his own living room had at first frightened, and then disgusted Ted, now a strange coldness came over him. The enemy had attacked, they had invaded the house, the territory, and now it was time to act. For better or for worse, now it was time to make a stand. To fight, to survive – or maybe to die.

  Carefully, Ted rose up from the kneeling position that he had initially adopted. He raised the gun and took sight along it. The kill would be easy – his enemy clearly did not recognise the gun or the danger that it posed to it. And also it was close enough for the shot to almost inevitably be on target.

  But for a moment, Ted paused. For a split second of a split second, thoughts ran through his head, and threatened to weaken his resolve. Who was this man? What was his name? Where had he come from? What right did he, Ted, have to take this man’s life – such life as it was?

  Then swiftly, almost savagely, Ted pushed such thoughts away. If, in the old days, he had entertained such thoughts for less than a split second then it would have been enough to get him killed. When the enemy was armed and fast and dangerous then you didn’t think – you acted. This enemy was neither armed nor fast – but dangerous? Yes, they were dangerous enough. Their cold, blank, predator’s eyes, and their hanging jaws that were flecked with foam and blood said as much. And of course, their sheer weight of numbers which was their greatest threat of all.

  So he took aim along the barrel of the gun, aimed with expert accuracy and focus on the lolling, blank-eyes head, and then he squeezed the trigger.

  The sound of the gun firing within the confines of the living room was like a bomb going off. A flash of detonation, a deafening roar of barrels, the smell of burning and ignition mingling sickly with the heavy, almost tropical stench of decay that had invaded the room. Immediately, the man’s head exploded in a giant splatter of blood and brains, a kind of sickly poisonous porridge that fanned outward to spray the walls, and burst upward to spray the ceiling. It also splashed across the other figures writhing in the window frame, and their moaning seemed to take on a dismayed, perhaps even disgusted note. But it didn’t stop them writhing forward, slicked with blood and viscera, continuing to effect their mass invasion.

  The headless body paused for a moment, tottering and aimless, the hands clutching outward spasmodically, as though in an attempt to seize whoever had attacked it. Then its legs buckled, and it crashed downward to the floor where it lay twitching and bleeding its horror into the carpet.

  This entire process took only a couple of seconds. Then, once the body had fallen, there came a sudden whoop from behind Ted. He glanced around, quickly; annoyed that his attention had been distracted from what was happening in front of him. And there, in the living room doorway, stood Dave, his eyes bright, his face crazed; one hand balled into a fist, and pounding into the cupped palm of the other.

  “Whoooo – man!” Dave hollered inanely, “you got him, Ted – you really got him!”

  Behind Dave were the faces of Shaun and Jenny, lingering in the gloom of the hallway like a couple of sickly ghosts.

  Ted looked away from Dave and then back toward the window. And then he cursed himself for allowing his attention to be distracted for so long. Because already another of the creatures – dead men, zombies, whatever they were – had crawled across the window ledge. It rose from behind the couch: a woman this time, dressed in a filthy floral dress, pearls strung around her rotting throat. Behind her another body was hanging half in and half out of the window, squirming like some giant serpent in human form as it strove to make its way across the window ledge, heedless of the broken glass that speared it and clawed lumps of rotting meat from its body.

  Quickly, Ted reloaded. Then he took aim at the head of this newest invader. He squeezed the trigger, and once again the room was filled with the rifle’s roar and fury, once again the head exploded in a sickly burst of poisoned blood and infected brain, once again the body tottered, hands clawed the air, before it crashed twitching to the ground. And no sooner had that enemy been disposed of than another rose up from behind the couch.

  Ted raised the gun, sighted along the barrier, and squeezed the trigger. But even as the third invader fell, Ted knew that this was a hopeless cause. Usually, when you started firing at an enemy from a position of strength, then the enemy retreated, took cover, rethought their plans, giving you time to strengthen your defences. Not this enemy though. The more he fired, the more they attacked. He killed one, and then another took its place, and another, and another, and another. He could stand here all day shooting until his ammunition was exhausted, and they’d still be coming: slithering across the window sill, thumping down onto the floor, staggering up from behind the couch. No – an alternative plan was needed. And really – there was only one alternative, much as he despised it.

  Ted turned away from the window and to the others. He fixed them with a hard stare, hoping that they would be ready for what he had to say.

  “We’ve got to retreat,” Ted said.

  “Retreat?” asked Dave with a shrug of the shoulders, “retreat where?”

  “Upstairs,” Ted replied, “just as we planned. We’ve got the food and water. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a door between the hallway and the stairs that has a bolt on it. We can close that to deny them access to upstairs.”

  “But...” Dave shrugged, a despairing expression on his face, “...they’re only coming through into the living room. Can’t we just block the living room off somehow, stop them getting in to the rest of the house?”

  “We could have if the living room door was still on its frame, but it’s not. We took it off and nailed it across the window, just as we did with the kitchen door. That defended the windows – to a point – but it means we can’t isolate individual rooms in the house. And it doesn’t matter how many times I shoot them, they just still keep coming.”

  “Oh Christ...” said Jenny, “...the water though... what we’ve got upstairs... how long’s that going to last us...?”

  “I don’t know,” Ted replied, “long enough for us not to be killed in the next five minutes perhaps. Long enough to think things through, and come up with a plan B... or rather a plan Z...”

  “Ted – look out!” Shaun suddenly shouted.

  Ted spun around so that he was facing into the living room. Damn – he’d made a rookie mistake there, getting so absorbed in discussing short-to-midterm planning that he’d damn near forgotten the immediate threat. In the time that they’d been talking, two of the creatures had made their way into the living room. One had only just fallen through the window, and was tottering up to its feet from behind the couch. But the other had lurched its way around the couch, and was now less than five paces away from Ted. Ted brought his rifle up, jamming the butt against his cheek, and sighting along the barrel, his finger snaking around the trigger and then tensing, his entire body bracing itself for the impact of the shot – but then paused. He looked hard at the creature that was now less than four staggering, lurching paces away from him. It seemed smaller than the rest. And then he realised why it was smaller than the rest, and he swore – a feeling of utter horror in his heart.

  This creature was smaller than the rest because it was a child.

  A girl: perhaps somewhere around the age of ten. She wore a blue dress with a floral design on the front of it. The dress had no doubt once been pretty, perhaps a present to the girl from a doting mother or grandparent. Now, however, the dress was nothing more than a filthy rag that clutched around the tiny form. The girl’s hair, like the dress, was filthy and bedraggled, nothing but a slimy smear that plastered her head and shoulders like pond weed. And the girl’s face - once, he was sure, smiling, laughing, pure beauty - was now creased with snarling fury, the small jaws gaping, the mouth a running sore of pus and saliva, the eyes like dead buttons whose only expression was a famished, alien hate.

  But still, it was a child... and of all the things that h
e had shot in his time, one of them had never, ever have been a human child. Never ever could – in even the remotest possibility – have been a human child. Until now...

  And now, it was only three lurching paces away from him.

  “Christ sake, Ted, shoot it!” Shaun wailed from behind him.

  “Yeah, come on Ted,” said Dave, a horrified impatience to his voice, “come on man, shoot it. Put it away!”

  And then, suddenly, a hand fell on Ted’s shoulder. He jerked around, briefly startled, but the hand was gentle, reassuring, and he looked straight into Jenny’s face.

  “It’s not a child, Ted,” said Jenny, “it was once, but it’s not any more. It’s one of them now. Them... shoot it, Ted. Quick, it’s almost here!”

  Ted glanced around, and saw that Jenny was right. The child-thing was less than two paces away now. Its eyes blazed sheer hatred, and its teeth snapped together like a trap. Its hands clutched outward, the fingers hooked into the claws of an animal, rather than the hands of a child. No... Jenny was right... it wasn’t a child. It was just another one of them. Just another vessel for whatever disease or demon had wrought this monstrosity.

  Hurriedly, Ted took a few steps back so that he could achieve a better aim. He sighted along the barrel, aiming the muzzle directly at the small creature’s head. His finger snaked around the trigger, and then he squeezed. Once more the room was filled with the roar of the rifle’s barrels, a brief flash, the burning smell of the gun’s discharge. And the child-thing’s head exploded. It was a smaller explosion than the others had been: the destruction of an apple rather than a pumpkin. Then the body tumbled twitching to the blood-soaked carpet. For a second, Ted gazed upon the stilling body, and once again saw the pale blue dress, the pretty floral pattern now dappled and splattered with blood and matter. It was this one image that revolted him more than all the rest of the carnage, and he fought his rising gorge down.

  Another sound. A stumbling, a lurching. Ted glanced up, and here was another zombie that had made its way in through the window behind the child: lurching, its clutching hands extended. Once again, Ted swung the gun around, aimed, and fired, and once again there was the explosion of viscera, the stumbling lurch to the floor. And then another zombie, and once again the same performance enacted, while yet more writhed across the window frame.

  Ted glanced around at the others stood behind him.

  “Alright,” said Ted, “I think it’s time to - ,”

  He was going to say retreat, but his final word was lost beneath a huge rending crash that came from all around the house. The sound of glass shattering, nails squealing, wood being snapped and destroyed. He fled out into the hallway, and threw his bugging gaze up toward the window that lay at the end. The board that they had nailed across it was moving, being pushed away from the wall. As they watched, it shuddered, snapped in two, and then fell away from the wall onto the floor below. And then a seething forest of arms and clutching hands burst through the ruptured window.

  Ted threw his desperate gaze toward the kitchen, peering through the doorway, and he saw that exactly the same thing had happened there. All his hammering of a few moments ago had been ineffective against the relentless pressure that had been applied from outside. Now the board lay in a shattered and twisted ruin on the kitchen floor, while the window was again a writhing mass of cadaverous bodies that fought and struggled to gain access. Their stench invaded the house, a sickly odour of putrid flesh, a monstrous aroma of opened graves and noxious rotting juices, rendering the atmosphere on the ground floor of the house almost un-breathable. There was no hope now. It would only be a matter of time before the ground floor was crawling with these monsters.

  Ted turned to the others. “The stairs!” he shouted, “now!”

  Nobody argued. They fled toward the stairs, Jenny first, then Shaun, then Dave, Ted bringing up the rear. For a moment Ted paused on the stairs and gazed backward. From this angle, he couldn’t see into either the kitchen or the living room, but he could see the hall, and saw that two of them had already made it through the window, and were lurching, seemingly aimlessly, along the carpet of the hallway. He considered shooting them, but decided against it. What would be the point? Shoot these two and others would take their place. And anyway – he didn’t have an infinite supply of ammunition. There may come a time when he would have greater need of it.

  And so, with a bitter curse, and one final glance at these invaders that had now laid claim to the ground floor of his home, Ted seized the door that connected the bottom of the stairs to the hallway, and brought it crashing home. It slammed firmly into the doorframe, the lock clicked home, and then Ted threw the two bolts, top and bottom. It was big door, heavy, and made of stout oak, and the bolts were large, wrought iron. A firm enough barrier you might have thought – but would it hold firm against these invaders? It would have to, for now. At least until they could come up with an alternative plan. And then another plan. And then another plan after that – until such time as they were all out of plans.

  Ted turned and pounded up the stairs, toward the others, and away from the sounds of devastation below.

  EIGHT

  Ted hurried into his bedroom where the others had gathered. He went straight to the cupboard where he had stored the gun, and peered inside. There were three boxes of cartridges in there: one that he’d already opened and used, and another two unopened. Good: there was enough ammunition to be going along with, but he would still have to be cautious with it, and not go blasting away left right and centre. He took more cartridges out of the box, stuffed some in his pocket, and then reloaded the rifle.

  Somebody was saying something but, in his intense concentration upon the rifle and its cartridges, Ted hadn’t caught what they were saying.

  “Ted – hey Ted - man, listen up – Earth calling!”

  Ted glanced up from his freshly loaded gun, and gazed at the speaker. It was Dave, his sweaty unshaven face hovering close to Ted, the fear burning so hot off him that it was like standing close to a high voltage lamp.

  “What was that?” Ted asked, feeling distracted, feeling annoyed that yet again he was being imposed upon.

  “The door, man...” said Dave, “...the door at the bottom of the stairs. Will it hold?”

  Ted nodded slowly, “yes. It’ll hold.”

  Dave offered a sickly smile and shook his head, “you don’t sound too convincing man.”

  Ted paused for a moment, gazing at Dave. Then he glanced at Jenny who stood off to one side of the room, her face pale and shocked, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, and her shoulders hunched as though against a chilling wind. And then he glanced across at Shaun who had taken up his usual post by the window. He had been peering through the window, but now he looked back into the room, his huge, fearful eyes peering first at Ted, then at Dave, and then back at Ted again. And Ted could feel the panic rising in the air like a foul and deadly mist – and why not? They were trapped on the upper floor of the house with limited food and water and nowhere left to run. Why wouldn’t panic start its wildfire amongst them? Why wouldn’t fear build, like electricity between charged particles, mounting toward some ultimate current of insanity? He would just have to do his best to diffuse it, to douse it, to disperse it...

  “The door will hold,” said Ted, his voice firm in the bedroom’s fetid air, “its strong oak, and the bolts are cast iron. If they used something as a battering ram then I suppose that they could cave it in, but they don’t seem to be that smart to me. If all they do is lean against it and beat on it, then it’ll hold firm. We’re safe as can be up here.”

  Dave had been looking hard at Ted as he uttered these words. Now Dave broke his gaze and turned away. He put his hands to his head and massaged his scalp, the hair seething and hissing beneath his fingers. Large sweat patches stained the armpits of his shirt, and his smell was one of unwashed fear.

  “Oh man...” said Dave as he paced to and fro like a caged animal, “...oh shit... I can
’t believe this... we’re stuck up here... fucking trapped, man...”

  “Dave...” said Jenny in an attempt to soothe him.

  “I mean - the water!” said Dave, suddenly stopping his pacing, turning around to Ted, and holding a finger out as though in accusation, “the fucking water man! I mean – how long’s that going to hold out? I mean, what we got? A few jugs, a few buckets, a couple of basins... how long is all that pissy little lot going to hold out?”

  “Long enough - ,” Ted began, but Dave cut him short.

  “Long enough? Long enough? And how long’s that going to be? As long as a piece of string - ?” and Dave uttered a mad cackle, “– long enough, he says. Oh yeah, sure, fine. The door will hold out good. The door will hold out great. The door will hold out for all eternity, even while we’re falling to dust having died of de-hi-fucking-dration!”

  “Dave – this isn’t helping!” said Jenny, striding forward, an angry expression on her face, her hands still rammed into her jacket pockets as though to prevent her from hitting somebody.

  “Not helping?” said Dave, offering his crazed glare to Jenny, and then his mad little laugh, “oh sure, you bet – it’s not helping. But what is going to help, huh Jenny – huh? What exactly is going to help us in this fucked up situation...?”

  Suddenly, Shaun groaned. Ted glanced around at him, and saw that the young man had gone back to gazing through the window, perhaps to distract himself from Dave’s less than encouraging antics. But clearly, he hadn’t liked what he had seen. His bulging eyes peered through the glass, down at what was transpiring below. And he groaned again: