“You see? You have to get them in the head to kill them. Anywhere else won’t fucking work.”
Kylie watched the crazy struggle as Smiffy raised his boot above the gaping wound in its chest. “Watch this,” Smiffy said, then stamped down. His boot disappeared into the crazy’s chest with a crunch followed by a wet squelch, like someone stepping on a giant snail. The crazy’s arms shot up like they were spring-loaded, then just as quickly fell to its side. It gave out a rasping sigh, then lay still. Smiffy looked down as he pulled his foot out of the crazy’s chest and shook the gore from his boot.
“Well that’s interesting,” Smiffy said, frowning. “Maybe the movies got that bit wrong? Oh well, it’ll make things a lot easier, yeah?” He grinned. “Come on then, kid. Let’s get this fucking party started.” He looked around at nearby shops, as if he were getting his bearings, then pointed west. “This way, I think.”
Smiffy led Kylie through the dimly lit shopping centre toward the war memorial statue. They met a few crazies along the way, and Smiffy dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. Most he killed outright with a single slash of the chainsaw to the neck, others he had a little bit more fun with. One man in an expensive-looking suit and tie had his arms and legs hacked off and then left rolling around on the ground to die of blood-loss. Another, a short fat man with a beard, was left with his intestines spilling out of a gaping wound. Smiffy laughed as the man stuffed his own intestines into his mouth, trying to eat them. With others, Smiffy simply sliced off their outstretched fingers and drove the end of the chainsaw into their mouths, then declared them safe enough to come back to later to finish the job.
Kylie watched each death or mutilation numbly, accepting it as necessary but not wanting to get involved. Smiffy seemed mentally unstable, but whether he had always been like that, or if it was a result of the situation they were in, she had no way of knowing. Sometimes he would roar “Skumfuckers!” as he rushed forward to meet a crazy lumbering toward them, other times he would just slash at them with the chainsaw as he passed them by, almost as an afterthought.
When they reached the war memorial statue, Smiffy handed the chainsaw to Kylie. She took it without thinking, surprised at how light it was. Smiffy reached up to the statue and pulled a yellow and red striped scarf from the arm of one of the bronze soldiers. He stretched out the scarf in both hands, then kissed its centre before tying it around his wrist. Kylie noticed there was another identical scarf left hanging from the statue. Smiffy pulled it down and looked around at the mangled corpses littering the ground. Something seemed to catch his eye and he strode up to one of them. Kylie followed, not wanting to be left alone. Smiffy bent down next to an eviscerated body with tatters of yellow clothing sticking to it and looped the scarf through its exposed ribcage.
“Rest in fucking pieces, mate,” he said as he tied the scarf in a knot. Then he laughed and walked away.
Kylie followed Smiffy to the nearby exit, carrying Smiffy’s chainsaw in one hand and her golf club in the other. Crazies outside pounded on the door and snarled as they approached. Smiffy paused at each corpse he came to and bent down to peer at their remains before moving on. He stopped at one whose arms and legs had been chewed down to the bone, its chest torn open and emptied of its internal organs, its ruined face resembling a lump of raw meat that had been chewed and spat out. Smiffy seemed to recognise the corpse, but Kylie couldn’t see how. To her there was nothing to tell one mangled, half-eaten corpse from another.
Smiffy straightened up and looked around. He picked up a blood-soaked scarf he found nearby and wrung it out, then returned to the body and tied it around the bones of its wrist. He picked up the other wrist and dragged the body across the ground to where the other corpse he had recognised lay. He placed them side by side and arranged what was left of them in a more dignified pose, then stood over them and closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in prayer.
“Skumfuckers are in your town,” he said quietly, “we’ll smash your kneecaps and knock you down. Stick the boot in, stamp on your head. Mess with us and you’ll end up dead. So come and have a go with the Skumfucker aggro. Amen.” He crossed himself, like a catholic priest, and turned to Kylie. “They were my brothers,” he said by way of explanation. “I couldn’t leave them without their colours like that, it wouldn’t be right.”
Kylie heard a wailing, feral cry and spun to face it. A woman staggered toward her, blood dripping from her mouth. Kylie instinctively raised her golf club, and held out the chainsaw for Smiffy.
“No fucking respect for a solemn occasion, these zombie bastards,” Smiffy said, stepping around Kylie and ignoring the proffered chainsaw. “Come on then, you rancid bitch, let’s fucking have it.”
The woman lunged with a hiss and grabbed Smiffy’s blood-stained shirt. Smiffy lashed out with the palm of his right hand and drove it into the woman’s nose, crunching through the cartilage. At the same time he hooked his left foot around the woman’s right leg and jerked it forward. She toppled backwards, pivoted around Smiffy’s knee, and he helped her on her way with a double-handed shove to the chest. She sat up and hissed. Smiffy kicked her in the face and put her back down. She rolled over and started to push herself up. Blood and teeth dripped from her mouth as she bared her lips and snarled. Smiffy kicked her arms out from under her and her face hit the wooden flooring with a dull thud. Smiffy raised his boot and stamped down on the back of her head, then kicked and stamped it repeatedly until her skull cracked open and she lay still.
Smiffy looked down at her for a full minute before turning away. He took the chainsaw from Kylie and, without a word, strode off back the way they had come.
14
Sally Jones did her best to soothe her baby daughter, but she just wouldn’t stop crying. Babies could pick up on the mood of those around them, Sally had read in a parenting magazine she flicked through in the maternity ward a few weeks ago. They knew when you were angry, they knew when you were anxious, and they responded accordingly. So it was no wonder baby Jasmine was picking up on the fear and hysteria of everyone around her.
For Sally it was the heat that bothered her more than anything. And the smell. All those people cramped inside The House of Fun, shoulder to shoulder, no space to move, sweat pouring from every gland. During the hours they had all been locked in there a few of the older people had soiled themselves, adding to the pungent aroma. And the longer they remained in their self-imposed captivity, the more likely Sally would lose control of her own bladder. She had hoped Jasmine’s birth would put an end to her need to relieve herself so often, but that didn’t seem to be the case.
The police woman, Sally couldn’t remember her name, urged everyone to remain calm, told them everything was going to be okay, that help was on its way and would be there shortly. But everyone had seen what those people out there were capable of. Seen with their own eyes the way they killed with their teeth and hands; what they did to their victims’ bodies while they were still in their death throes. Sally shuddered at the thought. It was only by chance she had been on the upper floor when it all started. Five minutes earlier and she would have been down there in all the chaos. All the killing.
Zombies, some people called them. Others argued they were mental patients who had escaped from an asylum. One man even said it was God’s wrath, that he was punishing all the sinners for allowing homosexual depravity to take place with wanton abandon. Sally didn’t see the point of speculating like that. It didn’t matter who or what they were, or why they were doing it. All that mattered was keeping her baby safe from them.
Sally was one of the last few to enter The House of Fun, just before the door was closed and bolted. She had to listen to the pitiful cries of those left outside, their frantic pleading to be let in, their wailing sobs when they were told to go away, followed by their angry shouts and thumping on the door for what seemed like forever. The police woman had told them to find shelter elsewhere, that there was no more room for them. Sally knew she was right, but
that didn’t make it any easier listening to them.
The police woman had pushed her way through the crowd to the back of the play area, and stood on one of the few remaining items of furniture not piled up against the walls as she tried to calm everyone down. Sally couldn’t help thinking how many extra people could have been saved if that furniture had been moved out onto the balcony instead. But it was too late now, the unlucky ones had given up all hope of being allowed in long ago, and had either found somewhere else to hide or fallen victim to the killers.
“Shut that fucking brat up, it’s doing my head in!” someone shouted.
Sally turned to look, ready to give the man a piece of her mind, but she couldn’t see over the people around her well enough to locate him. Others were yelling at him to show some manners, that they were all suffering and there was no need to be so rude. The man swore at them.
“Apart from anything else,” he shouted, “it’ll attract them fucking zombies. If she can’t keep it quiet we should throw her out before it’s too late. She shouldn’t have been let in here in the first place.”
“Shut up, you heartless old bastard,” a woman shouted.
Others voiced their own thoughts of the man, everyone shouting at once. A few agreed with him, though most disagreed. Sally felt a warm glow at their support for her and baby Jasmine. That there were still decent people in the world. There were calls for the man himself to be expelled from the play area, along with anyone else who agreed with him, and sporadic fighting broke out as they argued, causing the tightly packed crowd to undulate as those nearby tried to avoid being hit by a stray fist.
“Stop it!” the police woman shouted, clapping her hands for attention like a teacher in front of an unruly class. “We need to stay calm and civilised. I know it’s not ideal, all of us cooped up in here together like this, but we can’t allow ourselves to—”
Her voice trailed off, drowned out by screams of panic when someone started banging on the entrance door. Sally felt her chest tighten, a few drops of urine leaking from her vagina. She raised a hand to her mouth and gasped, clutched the baby to her chest and tried to back away from the door. But there were too many people pressed up around her to get far. The police woman was shouting something, but the words didn’t register. The pounding became more intense, drowning out all other sound. The door shuddered in its frame, the bolts holding it in place rattling with every thud.
The door started to splinter. It was just a small crack at first, near the bottom hinge. Then the hinge broke away and the bottom of the door buckled inwards. Grasping hands reached through the gap, groping at the feet of those standing there. Sally pressed herself as far back into the crowd as she could to get out of their reach.
A few people nearby tried to push the door back into place, stamping on fingers and wrists as they did so. But they were no match for the pressure from outside, and the gap beneath the door became wider and wider, the top hinge straining against the weight. They called out for help, and more people surged past Sally to join them. Sally stood immobile, unable to tear her eyes away from the door as the top hinge started to buckle and twist. She knew it wouldn’t be long until the hinge gave way, and there would be nothing to stop the killers from surging inside.
15
Snarls and moans could be heard coming from somewhere inside Mothercare. Kylie hurried past, wanting to get as far away from them as possible, the golf club with the knife attached to it held grimly before her like a scythe. She stopped when she realised Smiffy wasn’t following her anymore, and turned back to the shop. Smiffy stood near the doorway, peering into Mothercare through the broken shop-front window.
“Leave it,” Kylie said, “we need to get back upstairs.”
Smiffy grunted and waved Kylie away with his free hand, the scarf tied around it trailing. He raised the chainsaw in his other hand and crunched over glass to step into the shop. Kylie watched nervously, expecting hordes of crazies to swarm over Smiffy at any second. She swore to herself, unsure whether to leave him behind or not, then turned and took a few steps away. Tortured screams echoed from somewhere in the distance. Kylie swore again and turned back to Mothercare.
“For fuck’s sake, let’s get out of here,” she shouted.
“Skumfuckers!” Smiffy yelled from inside Mothercare.
The chainsaw revved, and Kylie listened to it slicing through flesh, grinding through bone. She stepped closer to the shop front, ready to run if her worst fears were founded. A thick trail of congealed blood led inside Mothercare, as if something had been dragged across the carpeted flooring and out of the shop. Clothes racks and shelves had been toppled, their contents scattered. Kylie peered around the doorway.
Smiffy thrust the chainsaw into a young girl’s face, silencing her in mid-snarl. The girl hung from the end of the chainsaw like a rag doll as Smiffy lifted her off her feet and flung her at a group of crazies crowded around a closed door to one side of the shop. The girl’s head disintegrated when she missed the crazies and hit the wall a few feet away from them. The crazies took no notice and continued banging on the door as if nothing had happened.
Smiffy ran toward them. He was almost upon them when one turned with a startled roar and lunged forward, hands outstretched. Smiffy held the chainsaw out before him and laughed as the crazy impaled itself on it. The crazy’s teeth gnashed at Smiffy’s face as it pushed itself closer to him along the length of the spinning blades. The chainsaw erupted from the crazy’s back in a shower of blood and flying lumps of flesh. Smiffy wrenched the chainsaw up into the crazy’s chest, slicing through vital organs, and kicked out with his foot as he pulled the chainsaw back out of its body. The crazy fell back. Smiffy went for the remaining crazies.
He crouched low and swung the chainsaw at waist height at the one closest to him. The chainsaw ripped through the crazy’s torso, spilling its intestines as it fell. In one fluid movement Smiffy jerked back the chainsaw and thrust it between the legs of another crazy. He straightened up as he wrenched the chainsaw up through the crazy’s groin, screeching through its pelvis and up into its stomach.
Another crazy grabbed Smiffy from behind and moved in to bite. Kylie called out a warning, but it wasn’t needed. Smiffy spun around, holding the chainsaw in both hands. The chainsaw ripped out of the first crazy’s stomach and tore into the second crazy’s side. Smiffy roared as he used the momentum to slice the crazy in half.
The remaining crazy bared its teeth and hissed. It raised its hands and formed claws with its fingers, then lurched at Smiffy. Smiffy tilted the chainsaw sideways and rammed it into the crazy’s mouth, then pushed it down its throat. The crazy stumbled back, its arms flailing, as blood and teeth flew from the chainsaw’s spinning blades. Smiffy jerked the chainsaw to one side and it erupted from the crazy’s cheek. He whooped and spun a full circle with the chainsaw held out before him, then slashed through the crazy’s neck. The crazy’s head toppled to one side, held on by a few tendons as blood geysered out of its neck. Smiffy laughed as the crazy fell to its knees and toppled forward. He swung his leg back and kicked the crazy’s head. Tendons snapped and the head rolled a few feet across the carpet before it came to a halt. Its lifeless eyes stared at Kylie accusingly.
“That’s the fucking way to do it,” Smiffy said. He turned to leave, and smiled at Kylie standing by the broken shop-front window as he walked toward her. “Fucking smart or what?” he said. “Stick with me kid, we’ll soon get rid of all these fucking zombie bastards.”
An odd sound, like a cat mewling, came from behind the closed door. Smiffy turned back to it and cocked his head to one side. “What the fuck’s that?” he asked, and walked up to the door and put his ear against it.
Kylie walked into the shop, curious herself at what might be causing such a sound. Smiffy twisted the door handle and pushed, but the door was locked. He stepped back and kicked it. The door rattled in its frame, but held strong. He kicked it a few more times, then gave up and used the chainsaw to cut around the lock b
efore kicking it again. The door flew open and slammed back on its hinges. Smiffy stepped inside and revved his chainsaw.
Kylie was about to join Smiffy when she tasted the strong stench of piss, shit and blood coming from the room. She gagged and held her hand over her nose and mouth as she turned away.
“Get in here, kid,” Smiffy shouted. “I reckon I might need some help with this.”
“What is it?” Kylie asked.
Smiffy switched off his chainsaw and Kylie heard him put it down on something. “Come and see for yourself.”
Kylie forced down her revulsion and stepped into the room, still covering her mouth and nose. It was a store room, about ten feet by twenty feet, and toppled cardboard boxes littered the floor. She stepped around them gingerly and headed to where Smiffy stood crouched over something in one corner of the room. As she got closer she saw it was just another dead body surrounded by a pool of blood, and wondered what was so special about it. She had lost count of the number of mutilated corpses she had seen that day, and now looked at them with a casual detachment.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Kylie asked.
Then she heard the odd mewling sound again. It came from the corpse behind Smiffy. Kylie climbed over the remaining boxes blocking her way and looked down. A naked woman stared up lifelessly, a thick pool of blood spreading from between her legs. In the crook of one arm, wrapped in what Kylie assumed was the woman’s clothing, lay a blood-encrusted baby. Its deep blue eyes seemed impossibly large for its tiny head as it looked up at Kylie and whimpered, its bottom lip quivering.
Kylie leaned her golf club against a nearby box, then bent down and picked the baby up. She felt resistance as she tried to cradle it to her chest, and opened up the bundle of clothing it was wrapped in. The umbilical cord was still attached, the other end disappearing into the woman’s huge, torn vagina. Kylie looked at Smiffy. Smiffy nodded.
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