Dead Bones - Six Pack. The Ultimate Zombie Collection

by Ian Woodhead

  She had been inside a newsagent, congratulating herself for finding an unopened packet of cheese and onion crisps when she had heard the sound of pounding feet outside. She had looked around for a place to hide, but had ultimately ducked down behind a display of mouldy women’s magazines. She watched as three other scavengers ran into the shop. Through a crack in the shelf, she looked at their terrified faces and could tell that the men were being chased by something horrible.

  Before the three could even take another foot inside the shop, another figure dived through the open door at them. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream as the thing that was after them pushed his rigid fingers straight into the back of the nearest man with no real resistance. The scavenger went slack as she heard a wet, ripping sound coming from his insides. He hadn't even been able to scream.

  The other two had no problems shrieking as they ran past Aliza, heading towards the back of the shop. The other figure raced after them with a speed that was in no way human. As he passed Aliza’s hiding place, the pungent stench of decaying meat settled on her like a heavy blanket. She felt the bile rise in her throat as she prayed not to gag and reveal her shelter. She waited until the other two started to scream before running out of the shop. She had never heard such awful screams in her life, even though she had witnessed some horrific things up to that point. Each merciless scream pierced through her brain like a hot poker. Even though all she wanted was to be free of the shop, she turned around once more before stepping out into the street. The hunter was nonchalantly leaning against the counter on one elbow, covered in his victim’s blood and holding her bag of crisps. He raised his other hand and slowly waved, wiggling his fingers.

  “Are you okay?” Andy asked, gently rousing her from the horrid memory.

  She shook her head slowly as she bent down and picked up the foul scarf. When the lad got a little closer, she threw it at him. He caught it with one hand, recoiling from its foul stench.

  “Your refuge has been infiltrated by hunters. If we don’t get the fuck out of here right now, Andy, we’re all going to die.”

  “Oh, really? Which one?” Andy just grinned at her, stupidly. Maybe he was nothing but a useless git after all. She had a strong urge to smack this smiling idiot right in his head.

  “The one who Tim’s just had a fucking run-in with. Are you really that stupid?”

  He shook his head, once again stung a bit by her words.

  “You don’t know what you're talking about. If he was a hunter, Tim and both of us would be already dead.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?” she asked, a bit stung herself now.

  He dropped the scarf onto the littered floor and looked at her, no longer trying to mask his hurt and anger.

  “Why the hell should I? You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m making her death up. I saw the way you gazed at Mr. Fucking Wonderful with those puppy dog eyes. Shameless.”

  “Fuck you.” She snarled as she pushed past the boy and rushed over to the door. “You really are pathetic, Andy.”

  “Wait on!” he cried. “Where are you going? We’re supposed to be looking for the old guy.”

  She spun around, doing her best not to cry in frustration.

  “Well, he’s sure as fuck is not in here, is he? Fuck him, fuck everyone and most of all, fuck you. I’m grabbing my daughter and getting the hell out of here before that thing fucking eats us.”

  She turned around and rushed out of the door, letting out a huge sigh of anger, fear and hurt. Her mind was telling her that she needed to stop and tell everyone that they had a monster in their midst. Shout it through the whole place like a doomsday prophet announcing the end of a world worth saving.

  She heard Andy rushing after her, but she did not slow down. To hell with it, what was the point? He didn’t believe her, why would anyone else?

  She thanked God that the hunter's door was still shut, but there was no sign of Tim or Oliver. Aliza stopped, wanting to find them to tell them that they were in danger. Well, at least inform Oliver. As far as she was concerned, Tim could go get fucked. She would serve his arse up on a platter to that monster. Her stomach sank as she turned around and saw that her own door stood wide open. Aliza let out an agonized yelp and raced down the corridor into her room.

  She thought that she might simply die of fear when she saw the man leaning over the cot.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she screamed, more frightened than frightening.

  “She’s such a pretty young thing.” The man looked up and smiled. He was taking great delight in her obvious anguish. “So innocent, so tender.”

  She recognized him. It was the other man who lived next door with the stranger that had kissed Tim. Oh fuck, he was a hunter as well. Even though her heart felt as though it might beat right out of her chest, she overcame her fear and pushed past him to grab her baby. She felt his clammy hand rest gently on her shoulder. Aliza tried to wriggle from his grasp as she clutched Diane tightly to her breast, but he was having none of it. He tightened his grip just enough to keep her still, but not enough to hurt. The smell of decaying meat hit her square in the face as he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

  “You have nothing to fear from us, my lovely young woman.” He brushed his cool lips against her cheek as he released her shoulder. The man leisurely wandered over to the door, turning back as he laid his palm on the handle.

  “You really should lock this, love.” He smiled and licked his lips, his rotten tongue pausing for a moment for effect. “I could have been anyone, you know.”

  Andy had entered the doorway but moved out of the way allowing the man to pass. He hurried over to where Aliza stood, trying her best not to vomit, whispering reassurances to Diane and kissing her podgy cheeks.

  “You see there? Does that not prove my point, Aliza? If he was a hunter, we all would have been dead by now." He reached over and smoothed the baby's soft hair, trying to console Aliza. "Especially Diane.”

  Chapter Eight

  There were not even enough possessions to fill the small canvas bag that Henry was planning to take with him. He looked at the tiny sack and sighed. He had not really expected to fill it, but the reality of just how little possessions he had made him feel sad.

  His pride and joy was tacked up all around him, and there was no way that he could take this lot with him. Turning around, he gazed for the last time at his picture collection adorning the four walls of his apartment. There was no artistic preference, just a love of art. Van Gogh prints shared space with H R Geiger and cheap urban landscapes that he had managed to salvage from various discount stores.

  Henry loved his pictures more than anything else in this world. They reminded him of the time before the human world had simply keeled over and died.

  “We are all dead, we just refuse to lie down,” he said to Mr. Van Gogh but got no response.

  He walked over to his favourite painting and drew the tips of his fingers down Jacqueline’s poignant face. He lovingly caressed her cheek and stroked the long brown hair of his first love. He had no idea what the model was actually called, but it didn’t matter. She was Jacqueline to him, always had been and always would be. His family had had the same picture hanging over their fireplace when Henry was just a lad. That fireplace seemed to be a million years in his past, petrifying amongst the other relics of a long forgotten Utopia.

  Jacqueline was the first woman that Henry had ever fallen in love with. He believed that she might have been the only woman that he had ever truly loved.

  He had lost count of the times he had stood in front of that painting as a child and then later as a teen and stared into those beautiful dark brown eyes. She seemed to be the only person that had ever really looked at him, the only one to really see him. The warmth in those eyes betrayed the fact that she only existed in two-dimensional form. Henry looked upon the red velvet bench that gently cradled her buttocks and served as a support for supple white elbow. Jacqueline was a perfect woman.

>   Henry had also lost count of the times that he wished she would come to life and step out of the picture. He had vividly imagined her lithely stepping out of the parlour that she currently occupied into his childhood den. She would throw her arms around him and profess the love that she felt and tell him of the times she had watched him, longingly. They would embrace, her red lips pressing to his as his hands settled on her full hips.

  Henry had to physically shake off the vivid fantasy, telling himself that is was only that—a fantasy.

  He had never told anyone of his adolescent dreams in case they laughed at him. Henry had not even told his wife. He had wanted so badly to call their only child by the name of his true love. Jacqueline. But, oh no, the wife had already made plans. Their daughter was to be named after the wife’s mother. Henry had no say in the matter like most everything in his life after he walked down the aisle and said 'I do'.

  He tore his eyes off the painting, filled with regret and heartache. Henry picked up his canvas bag with the few meagre items that he had decided he couldn't live without, and made his way towards the apartment door. He felt a deep sense of loss, knowing how much he would miss his pictures. He consoled himself with the fact that he knew he would be able to pick them up again on his travels. He would search again for Jacqueline.

  This time though, he would start his collection well away from any other survivors.

  "Far away from anything that moves," he said again to the empty room. "This is worse than being married."

  Henry left the apartment and walked towards the stairwell, happy that he was blissfully alone on this level.

  He had definitely outstayed his personal welcome. It was way past his time to find somewhere else to hole up. This was something that Henry had been planning to do for weeks; he had just been trying to work up the guts.

  He wished he had left back then. If he had just quietly slipped away, then he would not have to deal with the crushing guilt that weighed so heavily on his heart. He knew that he was leaving the group in a world of shit, and part of him felt like a coward. The other part of him just wanted to get away and do his best to survive on his own.

  "Don’t be so daft, Henry,” he muttered. “You told them. You warned them all and showed them what to look for. Not your fault that they wouldn't listen. Nothing more you can do.”

  He choked out a bitter laugh. Since when the fuck did anyone listen to what he had to say? He ought to have those words etched onto his gravestone. 'Here lies Henry. No one ever listened.'

  He pulled open the door and descended the stairs leading towards his own exit and out of this madhouse. Henry felt another twinge of guilt. He reviewed some of the faces that he would be leaving. That nice young Aliza and her pretty little daughter, and Andy, the young lad who was so painfully sweet on her. In another ten minutes those faces and this place would be behind him and another chapter in his life would truly be over.

  “The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.” He sang from an old tune he remembered from the mid- 1980s. Henry remembered owning the compact disc with that song on it. Fuck it if he could remember who it was, though. Like most things in his life, it was a distant, hard to grasp memory.

  He continued down the steps, and his thoughts turned to the operation of this place he was now fleeing. As far as he was concerned, 'Mr. I'm so High and Mighty' Oliver could shove his little fiefdom right up his arse. That huge fuck ran this place like his own personal slave labour camp and Henry couldn't take it anymore.

  He pulled out his own key and opened the door that led out of the housing block and into the underground car park. Henry intended to help himself to a few supplies, just to keep him going until he found somewhere else to set up house.

  He was fully aware of the repercussions, but he didn’t really give a shit. That pompous fucker could take his draconian rules and go fuck himself with them. Henry had played by those rules for far too long. Besides that, how could it be stealing when he had brought most of the stuff in anyway? It seemed to Henry that he would just be taking his cut of the spoils that he had pirated for Oliver to hoard away, the food and supplies that Oliver used to keep tight control over his own personal herd of sheep.

  It seemed ironic that he had brought in more supplies than people. Hell, he had brought in more paintings than people.

  His mind turned again to the girl and her adorable daughter. He really did feel guilty about leaving them in all of this mess. He would miss the little girl's beautiful smile.

  'Perhaps I ought to go back and at least warn those two. It’s the least I could do,' he thought to himself. He slowly shook his head.

  “No, I can’t” he said aloud, convincing himself that what he was doing was the right thing.

  If Henry ventured onto the main habitat zones, he would be caught; that was a certainty. He never went up there and his presence would cause suspicion. If Oliver spotted him, he would know that Henry was up to something. If he happened to run into Oliver's creepy sidekick, Tim, God knows what he would do. Henry hated Tim with a passion. He could see the worst type of monster in that lad's eyes. There was no infection or enhancement that could be used as an excuse for that fuck. He was nothing but a bastard that enjoyed inflicting pain. Tim thought that he had power in this place, but he was nothing more than Oliver's fucking lapdog. Pathetic. His thoughts turned back to Aliza.

  “Give the girl some credit, Henry,” he muttered. He told himself that she had been out there longer than most of the others. Aliza would have seen the signs. She would have no problem being able to spot the intruders. She and her baby would survive.

  “Shit, why don’t you just fucking stop lying to yourself, you coward?” He felt hot tears running down his cheeks as he chastised himself for his own weakness.

  He was a coward. He was sneaking out like a bandit in the night. He knew that if he ventured back up there, those things would know. They would drag him into some secluded area, pull him to pieces and suck his bones dry. Henry just didn't have the guts to face that possibility, even if it meant saving Aliza.

  His roaming skills may have been effective against hiding from other survivors and the roaming dead, but he knew that he stood no chance against hunters. He may as well grab a megaphone, paint his body neon green, and yell 'eat me!' at the top of his lungs. Not that he would need to yell, since those creatures could pluck the very thoughts from inside your head. He needed to put as much distance as possible between him and them. That was the only way to survive.

  Henry ran over to the first caravan, thankful to see that the lights were still blazing. He was trying so hard to figure out who may have brought those beasts into their sanctuary.

  Henry stopped by the door to the caravan, remembering his last human haul. He thought back to his last two survivors, specifically. The two men had been all wrapped up in scarves, both looking as though they were dead on their feet. He had noticed how strong they seemed to be for having been trapped out there with no food and how they had seemed to be communicating with each other without saying a word.

  He felt his gut slowly sink like a rock to the bottom of a pond.

  “Oh my god.” He whispered. “I brought them back. I’ve fucking killed everyone.”

  He turned the handle and slipped inside the caravan, blinking at the intense white light that filled the room. The two scientists hunched over some foul smelling lump of flesh secured to a metal tray…didn’t even bother to look up. They were totally engrossed in whatever type of nazi-esque experiment they were conducting. That suited Henry just fine. He had no desire to be scrutinized by their beady little eyes at the moment. Despite their apparent detachment from the rest of the group, they were not idiots. They would see the guilt etched all over his face, and he wasn't so sure that he would be able to explain it away.

  He passed the bottles and beakers containing various bits of dead human flesh and stopped by the large metal cage that he had brought back from a pet shop a few days ago. The pair had practically begged him to
get it. Even though he had not wanted to, he had lugged this beast of a cage all the way back to the refuge. It was one of those metal contraptions that was designed for a large dog, a Rottie, or a German shepherd. They had insisted that they needed it for something of a similar size. Henry had been a bit suspicious, but had still complied with their request.

  He crouched down and peered in between the metal rails, looking at the sleeping occupant.

  “Don’t get too close, Henry. Bub2 has been getting rather devious of late.”

  Henry nearly jumped straight out of his skin. The fuckers had been paying attention, after all. He kept his eyes transfixed on the thing in the cage that the scientist s had given the name Bub2. He had no idea why they called the captured boy that, and he had never bothered to ask. They did seem to find it hilarious, though.

  The boy in the cage opened his one good eye, saw Henry staring in at him, and dived towards the bars, thrusting both arms through the gaps. Henry tumbled back, falling square on his arse. He had just narrowly avoided the ragged nails of the monster raking down his arms.

  “Fuck me!” he gasped as his backside connected with the floor.

  “What part of be careful did you not grasp, Henry? You were quite lucky there, old fellow.”

  Henry turned his head to see the pair of them standing behind him. Even after all these months of witnessing their smarts, he still found it hard to believe that these two boys had huge brains packed into their heads. He had always thought of academics as old curmudgeons with wild white hair and grumpy attitudes, looking like barely washed vagrants. These two lads didn’t even look old enough to shave their chins, much less save a dying world.

  He had no idea where Mark and Nigel had come from. They had already been here when Henry joined the group, and he had never questioned their existence.