Harry paced through the hall to the stairs and made for the broadcast studio. Upstairs Dean had indeed hijacked the microphone. The radio presenter sat with him looked unamused. Harry kept low and hid behind some seats to the left of the studio. Harry could see through the plexiglass and could hear them chatting, they must be broadcasting to the whole building as well. Not wise if the disease had spread to main street.
‘You’ll broadcast the curfew daily, twelve till two, along with your normal schedule, until the electric goes out, okay?’ Dean said. The host didn’t look impressed, but he nodded in compliance.
‘Residents of Beach Town,’ Dean announced leaning into a microphone. ‘Men, women and children and to anyone who is tuned in, this is now radio apocalypse. Spread the word because the radio offers the only way for authorities to contact you with vital information. For that reason, you need to tune in everyday from twelve noon till two past midday. Anyone not tuning in will not be able to receive information and it’s very, very important to be in the know, trust me. New curfew rules are in effect, and just so there is no ambiguity in it, it has been labelled aptly, the apocalypse curfew. All residents are to stay inside their homes at all times, no exceptions. Food will be distributed by our officers to every citizen daily for two weeks or until the food runs out. All cars are hereby banned, we need to save our fuel for the generators. Oh, I forgot to mention that medicines such as paracetamol, aspirin, codeine and basic antibiotics will also be included with the food, and will be delivered weekly, provided we have the resources. Switch it to music or something.’ Dean finished and the radio presenter switched a song on.
‘That just about does it, we’ll have to see how many people actually abide by these rules. Shit. I forgot to mention about church, there’ll be police attending for an hour on Sunday for anyone who wants to attend.’ Dean was getting frustrated with being unable to work the mike. The host flicked the song off.
‘This is the new mayor. I forgot to mention that church will be open for an hour on Sunday. Police will be attending for your safety. Don’t worry we don’t want to interfere we just want to make sure it’s safe. You’ll be much safer now I’m in charge, don’t worry.’ Dean chuckled.
Harry snuck through the dark studio to the plexiglass and stood at the studio’s door. Dean jumped as Harry peered through the doorway. Dean left his seat in the studio’s booth.
‘How did you get in?’ Dean said. ‘Wasn’t there an officer at the door?’ There was no officer at the door and Harry suspected he had gone home to be with his family. Dean was losing it, there was no need to incite panic on the airwaves.
‘Found my family yet?’ Harry asked. Harry tried to get into the studio, but Dean held his arm across the doorway. The studio lights were fuzzy and dim. The presenter sat with his headphones on and ignored Harry.
‘This isn’t time to go looking for missing people. The curfew was brought into effect to prevent exactly this from happening.’
‘They went missing after this started. My wife and son were at the hospital. Now they’re nowhere to be found,’ Harry said.
‘I remember you now, you came from that mess with Sheila. Think about it, be straight with yourself, there unlikely to have survived, they won’t be coming back, I’m sorry.’ Dean patted Harry’s shoulder. Harry prayed to god they weren’t dead. They were missing.
‘They aren’t dead Dean,’ Harry shouted. ‘They’re missing.’ Dean shoved Harry back and Harry wanted to punch him.
Harry took a breath. He hadn’t felt this angry before, maybe it was denial. Harry heard groaning and ducked down. Dean chuckled and left the radio broadcast room. Harry stood back up and waved goodbye to the presenter. Harry walked over to the windows where he could see main street. He looked to the clock on the wall, it was eleven. He needed to go home and recuperate. Dean was trying to help but making things more complicated. Maybe he should let them do their jobs, they could keep them safe. Harry had a tough time accepting it. It was safe enough to walk around so it must be safe enough for now. The hospital was in lockdown and government would devise a plan.
He walked to the exit and began the journey home.
CHAPTER 17
Nightmare
His eyes stung and his belly rumbled. He didn’t want to eat what little food they had left.
Harry had placed the radio in the en-suite before slouching into bed fully clothed.
The glow in the dark clock beside his bed said three in the morning. He rolled around the bedsheets unable to sleep; too energised from the supermarket riot.
He slipped his feet onto the floor and got out of bed. Harry walked across the dark bedroom to the bathroom. The en-suit light wasn’t working. He flicked the light switch twice for good measure.
The radio was bright and clear to see in the dark. It was positioned on a table next to the bath. Harry unzipped his trousers before realising he was about to urinate in the bath. He shuffled left to the toilet.
A pot smashed and Harry jumped. He reckoned it was the neighbour’s cat breaking a plant pot. There had been strange cat noises emanating from outside all night. The cats had been restless lately, Harry believed it was because of the lack of food. Harry zipped and walked back into the bedroom. The moonlight crept through the window and illuminated him.
The radio was turned low and continued to play songs throughout the night. The presenter made an occasional announcement about the curfew. Harry remembered the look on the radio hosts face; it was a look of helplessness. The presenter must have been sleeping in the broadcast studio.
Harry routed through the built-in wardrobe next to the en-suit for a new shirt. It was too dark; he couldn’t see anything. He reached into the wardrobe and tried to feel for his clothes.
The noises were muffled. Harry’s attention was drawn to a thump downstairs. Harry walked to the bedroom door. Something was on the staircase. It could be a burglar trying to take advantage of the crisis or it could be his family. Harry put his ear to the cold door.
He couldn’t hear anything. He got on his knees, accidentally clipping his elbow on the bedside draws and knocking a bottle of perfume off. Something grunted in the stairway. Harry daren’t turn the bedroom light on. He pulled the bedroom door open. His throat tightened and he jumped back petrified.
The beasts were in his house shuddering up the stairs. The corpses wheezed.
‘Damn,’ he muttered. He had moments to find shelter, safety. He couldn’t see the bathroom anymore. He looked to the built-in wardrobe; it would have to do.
He scuffled over the carpet to the wardrobe. Groans filled the bedroom and the door creaked open. He shuffled into the tight space, clothes draped over his shoulders and shoes dug into his back. The wardrobe door was open.
Black swaying figures walked into the bedroom. Harry heard screaming and shouting from outside. Car engines fired and metallic crashes and bangs filled the air. The dead had overrun the neighbourhood.
Harry attempted to pull the wardrobe door shut. One of the dead stopped grunting and more entered. Harry counted six. He was trapped in a claustrophobic box. A prisoner to undead shadow figures. Sweat trickled down his torso, his palms shook.
He wiped the sweat from his eyes and pinched his forearm and prayed.
He closed his eyes. This was it; the end.
Harry held the wardrobe door.
The skin on his hands chafed as he clasped them on the wooden frame. His knees were in his chest. His breathing contained.
Some of the dead shambled into the bathroom and knocked the radio off the stand. It smashed on the tiles and went silent. With every bump his heart thumped faster. Any minute now and he would drop dead from fear. His forearms ached from holding the wardrobe door shut. He let go and shuffled further into the clothes.
He looked on the floor but could not see. Molly had a torch for reading that she kept stored in the wardrobe. Harry couldn’t feel it.
A mental light lifted his spirits. If the light was gone then Molly could have
taken it. If she was smart enough to escape the hospital. She was probably smart enough to leave town and head to a military checkpoint, wherever that was. It was speculation but better than giving up hope. James hadn’t taken any Lego from his room. Harry’s attention was drawn to the groans as they waddled around the room. It was if they were searching for Harry.
He rummaged around the floor. He could feel the edge of indistinguishable objects and shoe boxes. He put his hand on a soft patch before realising it was socks. Harry saw shadows cast on the walls through the cracks in the wardrobe door. The dead knocked a mirror off and then Molly’s perfume from her bedside cabinet.
One of them had fallen face first on the bed and couldn’t get off. It groaned into the sheet and gnawed at the fabric. Harry had little hope, he would have to wait for rescue or sunset, whichever came first, if rescue was coming.
His senses electrified. Had he dozed off or passed out? Time was missing; it was hunger. The dead shuffled to the closet and clawed at the door. He scuffled further into the closet. His back ached as he slid against a pointed object. They could smell or hear him. Something drawing them to his presence.
Harry pushed what felt like soft squishy socks and pants out of the way. Then his hand met a hard-oblong object. It could be useful. He picked it up. It was rubbery but he couldn’t see it in the dark. He squeezed it. It was robust and it would suffice for now.
The wardrobe doors were beginning to open from the dead clawing at them.
Harry stood and banged his head forgetting how small the closet was. He had no time to count how many beasts there were. They were scattered, the one on the bed had struggled over to the window. Harry prepared himself for the escape; it was better than waiting in a closet all night. The dead has given up trying to get into the wardrobe and wandered around the bedroom. Now was his chance for escape.
Harry rammed the wardrobe door open. Then the vibrating began in his hand. Harry held the object up in the moonlight. The beasts made towards him. Harry hit them in the head, but the vibrating rubber wasn’t strong as he hoped. He smacked a beast on the head and the rubber bounced off its heads with each hit. They were grabbing for him, four of them clawing for his blood.
He dived for the bedroom door. The undead reached out for him. He turned and booted one, he had no shoes on and his toes crunched. Harry jumped out the bedroom door and landing hallway was clear. He made for the stairs.
Harry tripped down two stairs and took a break figuring out the escape. The front door was wide open, and it was heaving with rain. He looked at the rubber thing in his hand; Molly’s vibrator, disgusting. He tossed is back upstairs, it was still vibrating. Harry continued down the stairs. He turned and ran for the kitchen, more dead shambled around the countertops. Harry could outrun them…for now he darted back towards the hallway and out the front door. He saw the carnage unfolding like a scene from a cannibal’s orgy.
It was raining, rain that washed away the blood of the neighbours as they yelled for help. He had no coat and would become hypothermic quickly if he didn’t find safe shelter.
He didn’t know what to do. The dead scrambled along the street. They raided and destroyed the house windows and doors. They attacked everyone and a group was coming for him.
The dead stumbled towards him. Harry’s instincts said run but instead he turned to the left where an alley led to the rear garden. He ran to the alley, clear, and ran through to the garden. The dead pursued. Harry saw the trampoline and mounted it. It was about a foot from the house. He could make it, he had to make the jump to the roof.
The dead swarmed round the alley; Harry could see the dead in his kitchen trying to claw their way through the glass doors. He began to bounce, until gaining enough height to jump. Harry leaped mid-air onto the roof tiles, his ribs crunched as he impaled the wet roof. His feet dangled as he scrambled to climb up.
The creatures gathered around attempting to pull his legs, but Harry kicked them off. One of them tried to bite his feet, but he footed its face, cracking its jaw. He pulled himself up onto the roof. It was wet, slippery and risky. He was stranded and exhausted. He carefully manoeuvred across the wet roof to the chimney and wrapped his arm around the stone. Looking around revealed the extent of the outbreak, it had ravaged the street.
Harry waved his free hand at people trying to cram their frightened children into cars. The families were trapped by the hordes and brutally ripped inside out.
Neighbours were bitten and torn apart. Harry watched as they rose back to their feet and joined the ranks of the dead. Corpses invaded gardens and houses and they clawed at the windows of the unaware. Harry saw in the distant streets the spreading fear. The town was being overwhelmed and was in downfall. They were all doomed.
A man began to shout and run through the street. A portion of the horde scrambled after him.
The dead continued to feast on dismembered citizens in the road. Some houses were untouched, the dead waiting outside for the unsuspecting occupants.
Harry could see a car creeping forward. In the back seats two children sat crying. The car was slowed by the dead bodies in the road. It stopped and it was breached by the undead. They smashed their diseased hands through the car windows. The occupants were killed, bitten to death as the beasts piled into the car. Harry saw a man further down the street, he was stood on his porch whacking them with a bat. Harry watched helplessly; he could see a corpse sneaking round the man’s garden in the bushes. The man turned as the beast dived him and he lodged a meat tenderiser into its skull.
‘Hey, up here!’ Harry cried. The man became distracted by Harry’s shouting and had to vault across his garden fence to escape them. The courageous neighbour weaved through the crowds, soaring across the road. They were dangerous, but they were slow.
He reached Harry’s back garden after batting them out of the way in the alley. The man swung and chopped at the horde in the garden. They fell to the grass but continued to outstretch their arms, clawing at the man.
Harry slid down the roof to help him climb up. The guy was breathless and was wearing his pyjamas. He jumped to the trampoline and pounced onto the roof ledge.
Harry held his weight by placing his bare feet into the damp guttering. He reached for the man who tossed his wooden tenderiser to the roof. Harry squeezed his hands, but he was too heavy. Harry looked into his eyes as he began crying out. They were biting his legs and starting to devour him. Harry saw the beasts bite into the calf muscle, and he heard the bone snap. Blood spurted onto the corpses faces; the dead were loving it. Harry let go, his hands shaking. Harry picked up the meat tenderiser. Immediately he retreated up the wet roof to the chimney. It was increasingly cold, and it heaved with rain.
He watched the beasts tear the man’s thigh apart. The man began to groan as he lay bleeding on the grass. He rose to his undead feet. His eyes opaque black. The leg muscles like straw as the corpse limped to join the others.
***
Dean had managed to run down into the garage where he changed into his day clothes.
He had a spare pistol stored in the garage with old tools, hammers he’d once used for his car, and a clip of ammunition.
The dead had swamped the house when Dean was sleeping. They attacked the garage door, he was stuck, no heater.
Dean holstered his gun in his pants and searched for his spare walkie talkie radio. He had to get through to the station and call for backup. He had to warn any patrols, if they were still alive, that they need to deploy now, no exceptions.
The church was a few houses away. It should be secure enough. The church had large wooden doors that could be fortified, and stone walls made it weatherproof. It should have a radio to. There was no time to drive it, it’d be quicker running. He couldn’t drive, the dead would clog the road and block him and then tear him to pieces. Dean gave up trying to find his radio, he gazed at the garage walls and his car. Life as he knew it was gone.
Dean walked to the garage doors and prepared to push the garage d
oor button on the wall. The garage lights hummed. The dead groaned; their undead nails scraped along the metal door. Dean thumbed the button. The aluminium door jolted and slowly lifted open. Dean equipped his pistol and cocked it. He aimed at the feet that appeared in the rain. The garage door rose higher, the dead were preventing it from opening, then it finally lifted knocking the beasts down.
He shot a round off, a headshot, the corpse fell face first into the concrete drive. Dean fired, the surrounding dead fell and tripped a few others. The rain was washing the blood down into street drains. About six dead neighbours began to close in and Dean dashed for the road. His heart thumped and his fingers pulsed on the trigger. They were slow and gormless, but Dean didn’t want to wait to find out if he could take them all on. He weaved through the attackers down the road. He had run out of ammo and had to tuck the gun back in his pants. He sprinted to the church.
The dead were scattered all over the street, slow but aggressive. They were breaking into house windows and front doors. Those who hadn’t bothered to lock their doors were probably dead. Dean hadn’t locked his, and in hindsight it was foolish.
As he ran his lungs burned and the humidity stuck to his neck like bee nectar. Survivors were piling into the church; he could see people pushing each other out of the way to get inside. Dean slowed to a jog; the dead pursued from all sides. Dean reached the church, the hanging lights beaming through into the dark street. Faces of fear and confusion looked to him. He began to push to the doors to get inside. The crowd was fierce. Behind, the dead were approaching. The panicked neighbours slipped on the cobblestone path as they ran inside. Dean slipped in along with four others. The masses gathered on the benches and the ceiling lights illuminated a sea of pyjamas and fear. Kids cried. Dean prepared to shut the doors and stood next to them; bloody black-eyed faces shambled towards the church.
‘Get inside, come on,’ Dean yelled as two more survivors ran inside, their dressing gowns drenched. They fell to the floor as they entered, the woman whimpered, her husband comforted her. Dean waited for survivors, two more were running through the street naked, the dead grabbed and circled them.
Beach Town: Apocalypse Page 12