I looked around the rest of the sparsely decorated quarters. The sofa, which folded out into a bed, was spotted with oil and grease marks, and the table in front of it was covered in skin magazines, and a few empty cups that were stained with age old tea rings. There was an ancient television set that had one of those big backs in one corner that was also soiled with oily fingertips. We used to watch it on our lunch breaks when the big sporting events were on when we were between jobs. The picture used to freeze every couple of minutes on it so much that it would drive me insane. But I wished that I could have it for only one minute to see if there were any updates about whatever the hell was going on from the newsreader in the bulletproof vest.
I took myself and my water out into the main garage. I crossed the floor, rounded the BMW that I had replaced the starter coil on just over a week earlier, took the first aid box from the wall, and then went into the office and sat down in the beat up leather swivel chair that squeaked under my weight. I opened the box on the desk in front of me and then cleaned my neck, face, and hands with a couple of antiseptic wipes. I closed the box and set it to one side with my water. I foolishly tried the phone in the hope of it having a dial tone – but once again I got nothing on the other end.
The log book in front of me had a half dozen jobs written inside it, most of which were due to be done over the coming days, and two of which were for supposed to be on my friends’ cars. My two best friends. The both of them were amateur boxers – real tough bastards too. If I was still alive then the two of them had to be too. But getting to their houses was too much of a risk, and they would have surely thought me to be dead if they were still alive.
I ran my fingertips over the writings and felt overcome with emotions. The writing belonged to one of my bosses Willie. He and his brother Con ran the business, and I made up our trio. They had given me the job on the spot when I had answered an ad in the paper for a small yet busy garage looking for a dedicated apprentice years before. Three days after the both of them sized me up and asked me a few questions I began my apprenticeship, and had worked with them ever since.
Both men were nearing retirement age – Con was two years closer than his younger brother. The both of them loved their work, but had cut back over the past while. The recession played its part, but the two of them wanted to spend more time with their kids and grandkids. They had both promised to sell me the business at a reasonable price, and when they said they were gone they would be gone for good. I had been practically running the place alone the last couple of months before all of this shit happened anyway. The two of them worked staggered weeks when we were busy, and took long periods off when we weren’t. But I always had enough work for myself to guarantee a regular weekly wage.
As bosses went they were the best. They never treated me like shit like some other apprentices I knew, or spoke to in college over the years. They were generous at Christmas and holidays, and they still loved their porn magazines. They worked hard over the years to build up a great business, and I was proud and honoured when they said it could be mine.
But now all that meant nothing. Behind me their overalls hung on the wall. Even if the country was to survive whatever the hell this was, their boiler suits would never be worn again. Their past had been wiped out, and my future was in ruins. In many ways they were the closest things I had to any sort of male paternal figures in my life. That was why I felt so emotional. I hoped that both Willie and Con had gotten their families out of the country in time. And if they were dead, I wished they were dead in the old fashioned way and not walking the streets looking to rip people limb from limb.
I closed the log book and went back outside to the work area. I went to the BMW and ran my fingers over the hood. It was only 3 three years old and in immaculate condition. The last I remembered it had a full tank of diesel too. But trying get to the medical centre in it wasn’t a good idea. It would attract way too much attention. The fuckers would swarm me as soon as they heard the engine.
My skin began to prickle when I thought about the medical centre again. Getting there was of course my main objective. But my chances weren’t good. The dead and the odds were well against me. And even if I did manage to make it there, who was to say that I wouldn’t be shot on site by the guards thinking that I was one of the infected? But what if the guards and the whole centre had met the same fate as the things outside? What if Lauren and my grandmother had become…
I shook my head and pushed those thoughts from my mind. The only thing getting me through all of this was the thought that the both of them were inoculated and safe inside that building, while perhaps telling the guards that I was going to show up, and not to mistake me for a zombie. They were probably just as worried about me as I was of them. If I was careful, really careful, I could make it there and convince them that I was one of the normal ones. Then I could join them and sit out this shit, as the leaders and experts got this whole thing under control.
But how could there be any sort of experts when it came to something like this?
I doubted whether there was. I wondered too if the government had enough reserves left to restore order, and disinfect the country. I doubted that even more. But that was something else I needed to believe in. The hope that everything would be ok. The hope that we would get through this unnatural disaster eventually, and sooner or later, things would get back to normal.
I returned to the living quarters and looked through the dirty net curtains without pulling them back. The infected streets were empty. But it didn’t make me feel any better. The thought of me being the last man on earth entered my mind.
Eric Ward the Omega Man.
I choked out a manic laugh. I moved closer to the window and caught the smell of the dead.
Was I the last man on earth?
I guessed that I’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 7
I stood at the back door of the living quarters ready for the outside once again. I had changed into my boiler suit work overalls with the elasticated sleeves and ankles. I favoured the old trainers for mobility over the clunky work boots. I had then loaded up a tool belt with a couple of large screw drivers, a small pry bar, a skinny torch, and a claw hammer. The belt added a few extra pounds to my weight and might have slowed me down a little, but still I felt a lot better with it clipped around my waist.
The back door opened out onto a deserted alleyway. When times were good, the laneway was shared between the garage, furniture upholsters, a printers, and a dry cleaners. It was once a place teaming with delivery trucks, staff from the different businesses having smoke breaks and talking the shit, kicking footballs, and playing coin games against the wall.
But as recession spread, and each of the companies folded, the laneway had become a fly dumping site, a secluded place for junkies to deal and shoot up, alcoholics to drink cheap cider, and now, quite possibly, a perfect place for the dead to hide in the shadows for unsuspecting prey.
But when I looked through the window I couldn’t see anything out the back. The moon coated the laneway in a milky glow that probed into the darkest corners, and made the abandoned buildings look like deformed shadows. Even all of the rubbish had been removed. The council had finally gotten around to cleaning the place up right before the world turned upside down.
I slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly. I wrapped one hand around the handle and braced my foot against the bottom of the door while I took the torch out from my belt and turned it on.
I looked at the hinges that were dripping with grease. I had sprayed them before I had gotten dressed and put my tool belt together.
‘Please be quiet’ I begged them.
I slid my foot back a few Inches and opened the door slowly. The grease had done its job in silencing the hinges. I shone the torch down at my feet, and then outside. When I saw nothing I opened the door further and probed the darkness once again. Something rustled against the wall opposite me. I held my breath and shone my light where the
sound was coming from. I sighed in relief when I saw it was just an empty bag of nachos being carried down the laneway by the breeze.
I stepped out into the laneway and locked the door behind me. I shone my torch all around me as far as it would reach without me having to move. I appeared to be alone, but that didn’t mean that I was. I took my hammer from my tool belt and crept forward. When I made it to the mouth of the alleyway I pressed myself against the wall and peered around the corner onto the main street. The zombie I had lanced with the cleaver earlier was gone leaving a pool of dried and lumpy blood with a slug like trail that ran up the street as far as I could see in its wake. It looked like tar under the moonlight. I wondered if the zombie had survived my attack and crawled away refusing to die once again. Or it could have been gotten to by something else. I shivered at my thoughts. The smell on the street had gotten worse since I was last outside. I remembered that I had once left some chicken in my lunch box at work, and forgotten about it for weeks. When I opened the lunchbox to throw it out the chicken had mould and maggots on it. The smell was the worst thing I had ever experienced – until now. I breathed through my nose and began to walk up the street.
I moved along keeping low and ducking behind anything that was big enough to conceal my form. With every step I took the air grew thicker. I came upon an abandoned car that was mangled around a lamppost and took a rest behind it. All of its tires were slashed, and the driver’s door was ripped off. I gripped my hammer and studied the vehicle with my torch. But the car showed no signs of any sort of struggle.
I put my hammer back into my tool belt, turned off my torch, and then reclined against the lamppost. My clothes were already soaked through with sweat and the thick, pungent air was making me feel groggy. I hadn’t even come that far but I felt drained already.
The smell of sewage was overwhelming. My eyes watered against the smoky air and rubbing them only made the stinging worse. I shook my fatigue off and pressed onwards. I kept a hand on my hammer ready for a quick draw, while I kept checking over my shoulders every few yards I progressed. The fact that the streets were so deserted didn’t make me feel any more at ease. It made me feel worse. The last thing I wanted was to come across another zombie or a scummy rat, but I still couldn’t help but wonder where they were.
A lot of the houses I came upon looked deserted and wrecked. I passed some shops that had their front doors and shutters battered open, and their whole interiors stripped clean. I treaded lightly over thousands of shards of glass that were caked in more dark and pulpy matter. I passed by more abandoned cars – some of which were in better condition than others, a couple of them even still had the keys hanging from the ignition.
I came upon a people carrier with two baby seats in the back, and sun visors that were stuck to the windows that said little princesses on board. I shivered all over when I saw a blood covered teddy bear in one of the seats. There was a trail of blood that began at the driver’s door and continued across the road into a pitch black doorway that once was a hairdresser’s salon.
I stared at the vehicle. I got lost in its sadness. Had the parent, or parents been dragged out from behind the wheel while the children watched on helplessly screaming and crying while struggling against the safety restraints?
Maybe the kids had gone one way and the parents had been dragged another? The optimist in me wanted to believe that the people in the car had been attacked, but that they had still somehow managed to crawl to safety. They could be hiding out inside the old hairdressers and trying to be as quiet in there as I was out here.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks and shook my head slowly. They had been caught by people who were once like them – like me. And now they were most likely creeping through the streets still looking for people like me. I left the wreck behind me and moved on.
I tried to regain my focus and scorned myself for zoning out at the car. I didn’t feel as if I had stopped for too long but I had drifted off enough to become easy prey for a dead.
A sitting duck in overalls with a tool belt for protection.
The closer I got to the medical centre the worse my findings on the streets became. I stepped over so many half eaten human limbs. Most were hands that had been ripped off at the wrist and had a couple of fingers chomped off, but there were even a couple of legs and feet too. I came upon a German Shepard’s head on top of a bin, and a horse that was still attached to a two seated cart with both of its front legs gnawed off, and a long spike through its head.
The animal’s eyes were open wide with its tongue lolled out to one side. I bit down on my tongue when I saw the maggots feasting on its shit and guts. I manoeuvred around them and headed towards the crossroads that would lead me on to the main street where the centre was.
When I got to the corner I pressed my back against the shutter of a stationary store that had been spray painted Even God is infected in crude red lettering. My stomach dropped down to my knees when I saw the medical centre. It looked as bad as the streets I had just walked through. The whole building was wrecked. Most of the front windows had been smashed, and the glass that remained in the frames looked like jagged bloody teeth. The front walls of the building were coated with black soot, which led me to believe that the building had been petrol bombed. There was a wrecked jeep with its hood popped up right outside the main entrance. It tyres were flat and it was surrounded by a swamp of more black slime. I clenched my fists as my blood began to boil. I stood up and bolted towards the centre.
The fuckers! The dirty fuckers!
I held my hammer so hard that my hand began to throb. The fear of my situation and surroundings was gone. It had been replaced by rage. I wasn’t worried about something jumping out on me anymore – I wished for it. If things were as bad as they looked in the medical centre then I had no reason to live anymore.
And If I was going down. Then I would be going down swinging.
Chapter 8
I stood in the doorway facing two zombies. Both of them were standing idly in the lobby. When they saw me they didn’t charge. They just stood staring right back at me with lifeless eyes, and exposed innards.
I brought my hammer up over my head and ran towards them. I roared when I hit the first zombie right between the eyes. It stumbled from side to side before falling over onto its back. I hit the second one in its temple before it had a chance to react. It groaned and bent over spitting blood onto its soiled jeans. I brought the claw end down on the back of its head over until its head cracked open like an eggshell.
I then went to the zombie that I had hit first. It was on its hands and knees trying to pick itself up. I flipped the hammer over to the ball side and bashed its head in until the steel bounced off the tiled floor beneath it.
When I was done I stood over the pulped corpses for a long time. The rest of the centre was silent. I waited for my breathing to return to steady. I fixed my eyes on the double doors at the end of the lobby that I had seen in my dream. I felt another surge of rage pass through me that I tried to suppress. I looked over my shoulder and moved towards the doors.
There was no platform on the other side. Just a darkness that I barely penetrated with my torch. There were two identical winding stairwells by my sides. The left one had a sign at the foot of the stairs that read mother and child. The right side had no sign, just a lot of blood on the first three steps.
I went to the signed stairwell. I climbed the steps slowly shining my torch into every corner possible. I stepped over a blood soaked gurney, IV needles and bags, gauzes, and blister packs of unused medication.
There were more stairs than I anticipated. The further I ascended, the colder the air in the building became. The icy chill and smell of disinfectant was a welcome change from the stinking heat outside. I had lost all of the adrenaline from when I battered the zombies, but my heart still thumped hard in my chest. When I got to the top I was standing at the end of a long corridor which was home to hospital like wards on both sides. Some of the doors were o
pen, others were closed.
The corridor floor was littered with shards of broken glass, more bandages, some crutches, bloody slippers, patient charts, and a couple of bedpans that were thankfully empty. The upstairs appeared deserted and silent. I took the first ward on my left.
All of the beds were empty, and none of the charts hanging from them had Lauren’s name on them. The next two rooms I searched yielded the same results. But the fourth was different. It contained the most beds I had come across, as well as some hi tech medical equipment. I shone my torch over each of the charts at the foot of the beds and gasped when I saw Lauren’s name on the fourth bed.
I went to it, stumbling over a trolley in my haste, and picked up the chart. But the only thing I could make out was Lauren’s name and date of birth. The rest of it looked as though it had been written by a four year old. There was a second page underneath it in a different handwriting, but with the same bad quality. I cursed under my breath and set my hammer down on the bed. I took the sheets from the metal clipboard, folded them over and put them inside my pocket.
I searched the locker beside the bed but it was empty. I sat down and sighed. Apart from the chart sheets there were no other signs that Lauren had been here, or how long she had been gone. I punched the pillow beside me in and my knuckles wrapped against something hard beneath it. I pointed my torch at the pillow and pulled it back slowly revealing an aluminium baseball bat and a folded piece of paper with my name on it in Lauren’s handwriting. I opened it with trembling fingertips. I shone my torch over the page and read.
The Dust: The Zombie Apocalypse in Ireland Page 4