Holiday of the Dead

by David Dunwoody; Wayne Simmons; Remy Porter; Thomas Emson; Rod Glenn; Shaun Jeffrey; John Russo; Tony Burgess; A P Fuchs; Bowie V Ibarra

  The girl screamed and held her hand out to Bill.

  Bill stood for a moment looking at the squat girl, her thick fingers sheathed in cheap rings. One hand was out-stretched begging for help, the other was engaged in a futile attempt to slap her attacker away.

  Bill ignored her and walked on. He didn’t walk deeper into the chaos, instead, he skirted the edges, working around, dodging his way through. All the time, his neck craned, trying to get a better view, trying to spot what he was here for.

  Then he saw them. The woman was stumbling through. She was battling to get away from the station and, on her hip, clutched close to her, was a child.

  Bill eagerly kept his gaze on them as he pushed on. He slipped his hand down to his belt and pulled out his knife.

  Someone made a dive for him and he jabbed the blade deep into their eye. There was no squeal of pain only a wet slurp as he withdrew the blade and they slumped to the ground. Another person ran into him and Bill lashed out. This time they did scream. Bill pulled the knife out and let the injured man fall. He was still crying out in pain as Bill pressed on.

  Up on his toes Bill swept people from his path desperate to spot the woman and child.

  The worst of the crush was behind him now but he had lost track of them.

  Bill clenched his fist in frustration gripping the knife handle until his knuckles turned white. He had to find them.

  Ahead there was a bridge over the railway track that took traffic away from the station. He fought his way up to the vantage point and looked around.

  The slick bullet-shaped engine sat adjacent to the platform. The driver’s door was open but there was no sign of any staff. Bill looked over the railings at the station below. It was awash with blood and half out of carriage doors or crumpled in unnatural heaps lay the dead and dying. Old and young, male and female; people of every race and standing. Slaughtered. And around those fallen unfortunates, devouring the warm flesh, were dozens of cannibals.

  Bill gasped as he watched gore soaked people chewing down on the dead and injured. He’d seen people being bitten plenty of times before. When drunken brawls got messy, or as the last resort of an overpowered victim. But on the platform they were being devoured, skin from muscle, muscle from bone.

  There were still occasional screams and sobs from the unfortunates; some were even still trying to crawl away.

  It was a scene of horrendous carnage.

  “The world’s gone to shit,” Bill hissed.

  A moan sounded from beside him. Bill turned round to see a man drenched in blood shuffling towards him. His arms were outstretched and his hand was missing a good few fingers.

  “Fuck off,” Bill cursed, infuriated by the intrusion.

  This foul creature was nothing more than a distraction. He ducked under the man’s grasp and brought him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He then tipped the man over the railing of the bridge.

  He didn’t scream or call out as he fell. Silently he tumbled down and bounced off a carriage roof before slumping to the track below. His legs and arms were twisted at unnatural angles. But in spite of the horrific fall he didn’t lie still. The man on the tracks stretched his neck out in a motion reminiscent of a snake tasting the air. He looked up as if to get his bearings then heaving himself forward on his shattered bones he started to drag himself away as best he could.

  “Freak,” Bill spat out.

  He looked around trying to spot the woman and the child again.

  “There,” Bill smiled as he spotted the little girl.

  A few dozen yards away on a path just off the main road she was alone and looking distracted. She walked a few paces forward then stopped and looked back at a house.

  She turned round again and took a few faltering steps. Her cherub face was swathed with a deep frown and even from here Bill could tell she was crying. Her little hands clutched on tightly to the brown and white fluffy rabbit she carried.

  “What’s the matter honey?” Bill called after her in his sweetest tone.

  “Damn,” Bill berated himself.

  The noise of the chaos had drowned out his shout. He looked around worried that he’d drawn attention to himself with his impatience.

  The girl was oblivious to him wrapped up in her own world. She pulled the sleeve of her dress across her face soaking up the tears. Then she turned round and letting the stuffed rabbit drop to the ground she ran to the open doorway of the house.

  “Wait,” Bill called after her.

  Slipping his knife back in its sheath he jogged across the bridge down to the house the girl had entered.

  The moment he walked through the door he could hear her. The girl was sobbing.

  “Mummy,” she wept. “Mummy wake up,”

  Bill entered the hallway to see the little girl rocking the woman’s arm. She lay sprawled on the floor her eyes open, motionless. A pool of blood had drained from the wound on her wrist. It was a messy lesion, all ragged and chewed up.

  “It’s all right Bill’s here to take good care of you,” Bill offered.

  “She told …” the girl gulped in air. “She told me to go away.”

  Tears were streaming down the child’s face.

  “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” she looked at her dead mother. “I’m sorry mummy, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK; just you come with Uncle Bill,”

  “Daddy’s not coming,” the girl looked up at Bill. “We waited but he didn’t come. Then the people screamed and hurt my ears. Mummy told me to give her a big hug and squeeze her tight.”

  The little girl let go of her mother’s arm.

  “Even when the lady bit her and biting’s naughty ‘go in time out’,” the little girl wagged her finger as if she were telling someone off.

  “That’s OK; come here to Uncle Bill,” Bill offered his hand out.

  “I’ve not to go with strangers,” the little girl said.

  Losing his patience, Bill snapped, “Come here!”

  He grabbed the little girl. She screamed and kicked out.

  Bill could feel the small muscles struggling against his hold but for all her energy she couldn’t break his grip.

  Bill wrapped his arms around the girl holding her close to his chest.

  A hand got free and lashed out at his face but Bill quickly parried the attack and had her in his grasp again.

  “Oh you’re feisty,” Bill sneered as he walked to the door.

  The child was wriggling furiously and Bill had to change his grip to keep hold of her.

  “I’m going to enjoy you,” Bill grinned feeling the child’s small body grind against him.

  “I won’t make the same mistake I made last time,” Bill promised. “I won’t be quite as rough with you my dear.”

  “Mummy!” the girl cried out.

  “Sorry darling Mummy’s not around to help you …” Bill froze.

  He sensed something moving behind him.

  The girl in his arms stopped squirming.

  “Mummy?”

  Bill turned round.

  Mummy was on her feet her skin drawn, her mouth gaping wide.

  She cast an expressionless gaze around the hall before setting her lifeless eyes on Bill.

  With a reptilian hiss the mother lunged at them. Bill dropped the girl. The child squealed as she hit the ground.

  He grabbed his knife and flipped it open.

  The child’s mother grabbed at him.

  With a primal grunt Bill lashed out. The knife slashed across the woman’s face splitting her cheek and nose wide open. The pallid skin peeled open but no blood poured out.

  Unfazed by the slash, the mother grabbed Bill by the shoulders and pulled herself in.

  Her mouth stretched open as she prepared for the bite.

  Too close to swing the knife Bill rammed the blade up into the bottom of her jaw. The knife ripped through the muscle and tendons and erupted from her tongue.

  The dead mother clamped her mouth shut ripping i
nto the flesh in Bill’s neck.

  Bill screamed and pushed her away but as he did a chunk of his skin was left hanging from the mother’s mouth.

  A spurt of blood came gushing from the wound. Bill clamped his hand around the gash instinctively trying to stem the flow. The blood was pouring out through his fingers cascading down his arm and slopping onto the floor.

  Bill’s eyes widened in panic.

  “You crazy bitch,” Bill spluttered.

  The woman endeavoured to chew and swallow the flesh between her teeth but the knife lodged in her palate made that impossible. Instead the mouthful of minced flesh dropped onto the floor with a wet slap.

  Her mouth empty she leant back in for another bite.

  Bill grunted as he struggled to fend her off. One hand pressed against his neck, the other punching out. But as the warm blood pumped from his neck the room started to spin and Bill’s blows weakened.

  A third bite found Bill’s flesh, then a forth.

  Bill screamed, the flashes of pain hurling back the encroaching blackness. He tussled with the mother trying to prise her off, trying to get away from her gnashing teeth. Thick sheets of blood poured from his wounds. He struggled for breath. Faint and exhausted Bill slipped and tumbled to the floor. He landed with a splash in the pool of fresh blood, his vision fading.

  As the black edges closed in he could see a pretty little girl framed by the summer sun outside.

  She slammed the door shut blocking out the light.

  Bill reached out a hand silently pleading for the girl and as he did the dead mother fell upon him snarling and biting and clawing.

  The little girl ran screaming from the house. She ran as fast as she could.

  Blinded by the panic and the tears she ran and ran just like her mummy had told her.

  Suddenly from nowhere an arm grabbed her from behind.

  “Calm down,” a gentle voice said. “Calm down.”

  The little girl looked up into the face of a young lady. Her hair was almost the same colour as hers and she wore a sparkly silver piercing in her lip.

  “Are you OK?” The lady asked kneeling down to meet the child’s eye level.

  The little girl sobbed, “My mummy …”

  The tears robbed her of the rest of her words.

  “Shhh,” the lady comforted. “It’s OK, it’s OK.”

  The little girl swallowed hard and slowly the sobbing subsided.

  The lady smiled. “My name’s Sarah, what’s yours?”

  THE END

  CHERRY

  By

  Tony Wright

  When the apocalypse came, Cherry Davis awoke from pleasant dreams of the holiday to come. A romantic getaway with Dave to Alicante was only a day away and her bags were all packed.

  Excited, she sprang lightly out of bed and padded into the bathroom. Flicking on the light with the pull switch brought back remnant images of sunning herself on the beach, sipping long, cool drinks and holding hands with her man on moonlit walks through the surf. She could almost feel her skin glow with happiness as the usual morning ablutions washed the last shreds of sleep away.

  It was only on returning to the bedroom, a towel wrapped loosely around her head, that she felt something wasn’t right.

  It was too quiet.

  Looking through the window, she saw no traffic. No buses, no cars.

  At this time of the morning, there would normally be a long line of people waiting at the bus stop across the road, reading papers, discussing the previous night’s TV shows or nodding along to iPods, but today there was no-one.

  A puzzled expression furrowed her brow as she saw thick trails of smoke pointing accusingly at the overcast sky in several places on the horizon.

  She wandered over to the small TV on the dresser and flicked it on.

  No breakfast news sprang to life on the screen, just a static message, white wording on a harsh blue background, which read:

  EMERGENCY BROADCAST MESSAGE.

  STAY AT HOME, AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

  Cherry pondered this for a moment. There had been scattered reports of rioting in several cities on the news over the previous few days. Sudden instances of violent crime had broken out. This had been explained, by the authorities, as unrest due to unpopular government cuts after the financial crisis that had gripped the world over the last couple of years. Had these incidents escalated into chaos overnight?

  Cherry picked up her mobile phone and retrieved Dave’s number from the contacts list.

  No tone, no ringing. The phone appeared to be dead.

  Dropping the phone, Cherry hurriedly dried and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Pulling on pink Converse and her leather bomber jacket, she opened the front door to her flat and stepped out into the cool air.

  Cherry wrinkled her nose as a smell of burning stung her nostrils. There was also something sickly sweet that she didn’t recognise. The rioters must have really gone to town, she thought.

  She decided, without a better plan, that she would first try to find Dave. He was a security guard at Mad Joe’s Carpets on the industrial estate. It wasn’t far and maybe he’d know what to do.

  As Cherry stepped onto the pavement, she started as a black cat appeared in front of her. There was something clearly wrong with the animal. It was dragging a bloodied leg behind it.

  ‘Here, puss,’ Cherry said, holding out a hand. She hated to see any creature in distress.

  The cat stared at her warily and mewed pitifully. As Cherry approached it, she could see that the injured leg had marks on it. Teeth marks! She was no expert, but she could swear that they were human!

  Who would do such a thing? She wondered and whistled softly at the cat. As she approached it, it hissed loudly and scratched her outstretched hand.

  She cried out in pain and withdrew her hand. Small beads of blood appeared in the scratches.

  The cat jerkily away as a cursing Cherry wrapped a handkerchief around the bleeding hand.

  The sound of a wildly revving engine broke the unearthly silence.

  As Cherry looked up, a police car careered madly around the corner and came up the street towards her.

  The driver was clearly not in control. The car scraped along a garden wall, sparks flying into the air as brick hit metal. One tyre was deflated and the wheel rim gouged deep into the tarmac.

  As the car flew past, Cherry saw that the driver, a young uniformed constable, was fighting with someone in the passenger seat.

  Her mind showed her a last look at the terrified man as his attacker tore into his exposed throat with his bared teeth. The front windscreen splattered with blood as the car mounted the kerb and smashed squarely into a house. It stopped instantly as the bonnet folded in on itself. The occupants were thrown through the smashed windscreen straight into the house’s bay window.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Cherry breathed, eyes wide and staggering backwards in dismay.

  She turned and hurried along the road, not daring to look back.

  South Gosforth Metro station was quiet as the grave. Cherry hesitantly stepped onto the platform to find not a soul in sight.

  Sighing heavily, she was just about to leave the platform when she heard a train approaching.

  “Thank God!” she exclaimed with obvious relief. Perhaps there was some semblance of normality left.

  The train came around the corner into her field of view. It was going too fast, she realised and instinctively jumped back from the platform’s edge.

  A great whoosh of wind flowed through the station as the train, without slowing, passed at high speed.

  Another grotesque tableau was played out before her as she pressed herself against the station wall. Flames and smoke billowed from several of the carriage windows and dark, burning shapes were beating frantically at them. Then she heard the screams. The desperate cries of many people trapped, dying and doomed. She could not imagine hearing anything so disturbing ever again.

  The train creaked and lurched a
larmingly as it rounded the bend out of sight and Cherry was left in stunned silence, alone once more.

  Choking back a sob, she gathered herself together and left the station, making her way through South Gosforth and down the bank, towards the Haddricks Mill roundabouts. The eerie quiet was punctuated by distant shouts, explosions and screams.

  Despite these disturbing sounds, she didn’t see another soul until she drew close to the Brandling Villa pub. Cherry saw a small group of men standing outside the pub. They watched her carefully as she drew near.

  One of them stood up and approached her.

  ‘Stay back!’ he said roughly. ‘Are you one of those things?’

  Cautiously, Cherry said, ‘What things? You’re the first people I’ve seen all morning. Well apart from the policeman and …’

  ‘We’ve got a live one,’ the man said to his companions, grinning now.

  ‘Not a bad one either, Bobba,’ a small weasely man in the group said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Bobba, leering. ‘Okay boys, grab ’er!’

  Cherry’s confusion turned to fear. The world had gone to shit and now these people wanted to abduct her?

  As two of Bobba’s men grabbed an arm each, Cherry screamed.

  The men dragged Cherry into a garage behind the pub. They had clearly been busy. Boxes and tins had been stacked in one corner and a grimy mattress lay in the middle of the damp concrete floor.

  Weapons of various descriptions were stacked in another corner; pick axes, clubs, knives, even a couple of shotguns.

  ‘Strip her,’ Bobba said with a lurid wink at Cherry.

  ‘No!’ the terrified woman cried.

  Bobba, a bulky man with a shaved head and an almost visible aura of body odour, went first, informing his compadres in no uncertain terms that he was not one for sloppy seconds. Nobody argued with Bobba.

  As darkness fell, Cherry was left alone, locked in the musty-smelling garage, with her torn clothes barely covering her shivering body. The hand that the cat scratched earlier throbbed awfully. She removed the now filthy handkerchief to reveal skin that was tinged green/black. She managed a pitiful whimper then passed out.