by Ian Woodhead
In fact, this was the best way possible for him to acclimatise to the real things waiting for him outside this building.
“Are you okay, Peter?”
“I’m fine, Jackie,” he replied, nodding, surprised that his voice carried no quiver. “I’m just a little shocked at this thing’s injury, if you could call it that. Come and have a look.” He turned around and spotted Dawkins in the corner, he did not look well. Surely, the state of this shuffler could not have upset the sergeant, that man had breezeblocks for balls. Peter turned back around and looked down at the thing; the initial shock was wearing off now. Despite preparing himself for this moment, it had still stunned him to see a wild one up so close. This one still had its teeth in its jaw and nobody had ripped out its fingernails.
“Oh my God!” she gasped.
Peter gazed in fascination at the shuffler’s exposed cranium. Somebody or something had cracked it open like an egg.
“It’s fucking brain has gone.”
“If it helps, I don’t think it’s missing it.” Peter stared into the empty cranium, he had never heard of anything like this happening before. There were tiny fragments of its skull scattered near the thing’s shoes. Something had attacked this dead woman, that was obvious, but what Peter couldn’t grasp was what had happened to the missing organ? He wanted to believe that this mutilation was the work of the locals, he’d didn’t want to think what the weird bastards would want with a zombie’s brain, but that scenario was preferable to the alternative.
He stood up and gazed at the wall above the dead thing, noticing splats of organic matter sticking to the rotting plaster. No matter how he tried to reason it, the alternative gnawed away at his mind. Peter wandered over to the door that led into the next room and peered through the mesh window. He saw another one on the floor a few metres from the door.
“Are you still so sure to discount the possibility that we’re not just facing shufflers, Peter?”
How could he even respond to that question? Despite knowing deep down that she was probably correct, he was still having trouble in trying to cope with the horrible conclusion that even wild shufflers with their fucking brains missing were scaring the shit out of him.
“Okay, so maybe there’s more than just shufflers in the fucked up city.” He nervously looked up towards the ceiling, noticing that the dried up stuff continued all the way up the wall. Whatever had chomped on the shuffler had not taken the usual route out of here. Peter then glanced over at their sergeant. The big guy hadn’t moved.
“Fuck this,” Peter muttered. They still had a mission to complete. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door, noticing that the seal on this one was broken as well. “Jackie, you better stay close to me.” He put his hands on her arms. “Keep your eyes on the ceiling.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I noticed the stuff on the walls too.” Jackie nodded towards the other man. “What about the sergeant?”
“Fuck him,” replied Peter. “He’s only here as muscle.” Peter entered the dimly lit corridor, unable to keep his eyes of the other corpse splayed across the carpet. Just like the other one, this shuffler’s head now resembled a flesh-coated trophy.
“Just stay close to me,” he whispered.
“If you see any shufflers that are complete, remember to aim for the head,” Jackie whispered.
“I know how to put them down,” he hissed. It seemed ironic that the only member of their team who was a real soldier had just suffered some sort of mental breakdown. Dawkins hadn’t let that fact slip on the way here, boasting about his exploits in the North Korean war last year. He’d also shown Jackie all the scars that he had amassed throughout his long career in the US army on the journey over here. Peter felt rather proud that he was coping far better than the war hero was.
He jumped over the dead thing’s outstretched arms, trying not to imagine those emaciated limbs reaching out to grab his ankles. Peter’s gun fell from his hands when the door behind them slammed open. He spun around and saw the sergeant glaring at both of them.
“You’ve dropped your pistol, you fucking pansy,” said the sergeant.
Peter stared at the man, dumbfounded. This guy was acting as though there was nothing wrong with him. The sergeant marched over; he picked the gun up, and slammed it back into Peter’s limp palm.
“The safety is still on as well, you dumb fuck.” The man looked down at the corpse. “Jesus Christ, man. Are you sure that you have gone through basic training? That rotting shuffler down there has got more brains than you.”
“Sergeant, are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right. What are you talking about, Jackie?”
She shrugged. “Well, you sorta freaked out just then.”
He pushed past her, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. You’re getting as bad as Peter for imagining things.” He cocked his gun. “Enough chatter, we have a job to finish.” The man sighed, “You’re both imagining stuff.” He glared at Peter. “I told you she’d be a liability.” Dawkins held up his hand. “Don’t even think of answering back.” He stormed away, muttering.
“What are we going to do?”
Peter shrugged and grabbed her hand, “I guess we do our jobs, Jackie.” He looked behind him before hurrying to catch up with the sergeant. A dozen more corpses littered the corridor, each body they stepped over was in the same condition as the first two.
It took an effort to drag his eyes away from the mutilated corpses and from the gore streaked walls. Peter slowly blinked and focussed on the sergeant, he needed to stay on track. The queasiness he initially felt being in the presence of the dead had diminished, but the nagging doubt of what had done this to these things would not leave him.
“Are you okay, baby?”
Peter tightened his grip on her hand. He wanted to turn around and go back to the safety of the chopper. The man way out in front probably wouldn’t even notice if they did turn around. Dawkins was now staring at the floor and muttering to himself. He was repeating one word. It sounded like he was saying Raphael.
Jackie gasped. “Oh god, can you hear that, Peter?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I think our war hero is having a flashback.”
“No, I mean the low moaning.”
He skidded to a standstill. Yes, he could hear it. He hadn’t noticed it before. His attention was on Dawkins.
The sergeant rushed forward, growling. They watched the man disappear around the corner of the hallway. “Oh shit, do we follow him?”
Jackie dragged him back, “I say we go back, Peter. We’re not equipped to deal with this.” She looked past his head. “Dawkins!” she shouted. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
“You’re right. He cocked his gun.” You stay here, sweetheart. I’ll get him back.” Peter hurried around the corridor, listening to the sound of the moaning get louder. The man shrieked when he saw dozens of dead faces pressed up against the window of the fire door in front of him.
He spun around and almost shot his wife when she hurtled around the corner. The woman then looked up above Peter’s head and cried out in horror. “Oh fuck!”
Peter followed her gaze and saw a pair of boots disappear through a ragged hole in the ceiling.
She grabbed his hand. “It must be climbers! Come on, we have to get out of here.”
The sound of the fire door slowly opening reached his ears. He felt her pulling him down the corridor. He jumped over the splayed corpses, ran through the other fire door and into the stairwell. “Jackie, what about Dawkins? We can’t abandon him.”
Jackie whimpered as a horrifying shriek blasted through the thin walls. “He’s already died, Peter. We’re going to be next if we don’t get out of here!”
They ran up the concrete steps and pushed through the door and into the bright sunshine. “We need to go!” he shouted, waving his hands while staring at the cockpit. He turned and slammed the door shut and ran across the roof, not letting go of Jackie’s hand. He stopped dead, shaking his head in dis
belief when he saw the pilot’s body in three pieces in front of the cockpit. Jackie jumped when something slammed into the door behind them.
“What are we going to do now?”
Peter spun around, he raised his pistol and emptied the magazine into the door. Something crashed against the other side of the wood. “We have to call for help,” he gasped. Peter pulled out the clips and slammed in another one. “Here,” he said, giving the pistol to Jackie. “Make sure nothing comes through that door. I’ll call the others.”
“What if the thing is dead yet?”
“Then shoot the fucker until it is dead, sweetheart.” Peter hurried over to the helicopter, trying not to look at the red mess covering the inside of the glass.
Peter, oh my God!” screamed Jackie
He spun around and watched as a large pair of muscular black arms appeared from the side of the building behind the helicopter. He felt his bowels loosen as a four-armed monstrosity climbed over the edge. It looked over at the pair of them and growled like a rabid dog.
Peter raised his pistol again and pulled the trigger. The pistol just clicked.
“You’ve put the wrong clip in!”
He screamed as the creature sprang forward. Peter raced back over to his wife. He pushed open the door, hurtled through the doorway, grabbing Jackie’s arm. He jumped over the body and pulled her down the stairwell, hearing the thing above them growling as it tried to squeeze its bulky body through the doorway.
Chapter Three
Oh, this was just so awesome. He had honestly believed that the others were just having him on. He thought that, as per fucking usual, the bastards were just pulling his leg. Patrick Worthing ducked down behind the barnacle encrusted metal barrel and watched it shamble along the water’s edge. Every few steps the dead thing would lurch to a halt and moan at the waves crashing into its legs before continuing its erratic journey.
Patrick couldn’t stop grinning. His heart pounded hard against his rib cage. The thing was almost within range. In just another couple of its footsteps, Patrick’s scent would find its way into its nostrils. He pushed his long blonde hair out of his eyes. As soon as it knew that a nice warm human was within its range, it would shamble forwards, groaning in excitement. The real fun would then begin.
He would show those unbelieving bastards that he was ready and he was man enough to leave boyhood behind and finally show those clowns just how wrong they had been about his ability.
“Come on, you rotting bag of stinking shit, just a few more steps, you dumb fuck.” He glanced behind him, trying to see if the others were watching his performance. Patrick stifled a giggle.
That was such a stupid thought; of course they’d be keeping a close eye on him. They’d all be peering through the broken windows of their double decker bus, unable to keep their eyes off his initiation.
A delicious thrill shot up his spine when he watched the dead thing’s nose quiver. Oh yes, the fun and games were about to kick off. He so intended to give those doubting bastards a fucking great show. They’d be talking about this amazing contest for years to come.
Patrick straightened his knees, taking it nice and slow. He saw the thing gazing at the sea and resisted the urge to attract its attention with a quick whistle. He choked back a sudden cry as it began to turn its head towards him. The fear that he had managed to brush over now fought through the false bravado. His guts slowly twisted and knotted as it made eye contact.
“Don’t you dare lost your bottle now, lad. Don’t worry about the others; she’ll be watching you as well.” He picked up the ceremonial golf club, leaning against the barrel. He moved a couple of steps closer to the shoreline and waited.
The dead thing had definitely seen Patrick now. It had shed its slow, lumbering movements and hurried towards him. Judging by its dishevelled appearance and poor condition, Patrick guessed that it must be months before this thing had last fed. Patrick’s legs shook like branches in a gale as it lurched closer, moaning and growling. Yet, over the sound of the thing’s anxious sounds, he could still hear the bastard thing clacking its teeth together.
The rules of the initiation meant that Patrick was not allowed to move his feet until his adversary had touched some part of his body. If he panicked and stumbled back, or even hit it with the golf club before the dead thing made contact, the ceremony would be over.
Patrick would lose all the privileges he had gained since reaching sixteen. They’d remove his hard-earned status with the younger members of the group, and he would have to work his way back up again, fighting with boys two years younger than him. He would be seventeen in eight more months. Patrick didn’t think that he’d be able to take that kind of humiliation.
The dead thing was almost on top of him. He held his breath as the eye-watering stench, coming from the thing’s body made him want to gag. He tightened his grip on the golf club handle, it felt slick beneath his sweaty palms. Patrick tensed up and lifted the club above his head as the corpse lunged for Patrick’s neck. He smelled its fetid breath as it opened its jaws in readiness to tear out Patrick’s throat. It had yet to touch him. If Patrick so much as moved his foot an inch, this would be all over.
The thing then brushed its arm past Patrick’s chest. “At fucking last!” He slammed the end of club into the thing’s mouth, grunting in satisfaction at the sound of the metal smashing against its teeth. Patrick then dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way of its grasping fingers before jumping back up. Patrick scooped a handful of wet sand and threw the stuff into its eyes then ducked behind the creature.
Now that he wasn’t pinned to one spot, he could show his captive audience just how good he was in putting these things down. It growled in frustration and tried in vain to follow his movements. Time and the elements had not been kind to the foul abomination’s body. Patrick skipped back and swung the club low, catching the backs of its legs. It stumbled forward and fell like a cut tree into the sand. He laughed as it reached out, attempting to grab Patrick’s foot.
What a sad pathetic creature, he had no idea why he had been so worried. He kicked its hand away. “You foul once human animal,” he shouted, making sure that the others could hear his voice. It was so important to complete his speech correctly. You trespassed on our island. There is only one penalty. You died once. You can now die twice. This is our home and your kind are not welcome here.”
Personally, Patrick thought the speech was as dumb as rocks. He kept that piece of information to himself. Apparently, open disagreement with the rules for their group was not allowed.
The dead thing, scrabbling around the sand like a turtle on its back, obviously had no idea that Patrick had just read out the thing’s execution order. He looked along the shoreline and saw the others climbing through the windows of their bus. Patrick breathed deeply and smiled to himself, he had done very well. He saw the object of his masturbatory fantasies wave it him. He waved back at Allison Smith. The girl was a full year older than him, with her long raven black hair, flawless face and large breasts, Patrick guessed that he wasn’t the only young man who had dreamed of running his hands across her naked body.
“You’re all mine,” he whispered. Patrick waited for the others to get a bit closer before he raised the club above his head. It was time for the fun bit, the deathblow. Patrick smashed the club down upon the back of its head, a huge grin plastered across his face when he heard the skull crack.
Oh, this feeling was just divine. He had done it. The others were all nodding in honour. Patrick had passed their initiation. Patrick was now a true member of the group and, more importantly, he had earned the right to mate. He smiled at Allison, feeling his heart burst when the girl blew him a kiss. She was rightfully his and she knew it. He couldn’t wait to feel her warm mouth wrapped around his…
“Fuck, man, look out!”
Patrick cried out in sudden pain when he felt the thing sink its teeth into the back of his ankle. “You motherfucking bastard!” he screamed, you’re supposed
to be dead.” He jerked his leg back, gritting his teeth when a lump of his flesh tore away. Patrick spun the club around and slammed the handle through the dead thing’s eye socket and into its brain. “You dirty cheating cunt!” he hissed, feeling hot tears running down both his cheeks. “That’s not part of the game.”
“Oi! What the hell are you lot up to?”
Patrick and the others crowding around the corpse jerked their heads towards the enraged man storming down the concrete steps.
“I’ve told you bloody clowns not to piss about on the beach thousands of times.” The man looked over at Patrick then at Allison. “Does your dad know you’re down here, little miss?”
Patrick spat at the dead thing before hobbling over to the fiver teenagers. He grabbed Allison’s hand. Fuck, this wound was painful.
“Trevor, he’s been bitten,” Allison said.
The man stopped in front of Patrick and crouched down. “You’ll be fine in a few hours, lad. The pain will soon dissipate.” Trevor sighed. “Look, I’m not that much older than you lot you know. I do understand just how important you think all this bonding stuff is for you kids. I used to be one, believe it or not.”
Patrick heard Allison stifle a giggle. He sneaked a glance at her, so wishing he could brush his lips against hers. He noticed the others had grouped around him and Allison; he was no longer the outsider. Patrick honestly believed that he had failed the test when that fucker had bitten him. It seemed that was not the case.
Trevor might only be just few years older than Patrick and the others in his group but as far as they were concerned, he was just like the rest of the Dullards.
“You lot are special to us, and I know that you’re all resistant to these thing’s bites but even so, you shouldn’t go take unnecessary risks.” He paused, looked at them and shook his head. “Why do I even bother to open my mouth? None of what I’m saying is getting through to you. This is pointless. Fuck, I sound like my mum now.” He looked directly at Patrick. You’ve all seen the teaching movies, unlike you lot, we didn’t have to make our own entertainment.