Beach Town: Apocalypse

by Maxwell-Harrison, Thomas

  The kitten scratched to get back in for a minute. It would attract the dead right to them. The kitten was another mouth to feed. There was no running water and electricity wouldn’t last much long before the government shut the power grid off. Still, cinnamon could have been like the toy car.

  ‘You need to calm down Meg,’ Harry said. ‘That cats going to attract more undead. We’re fucked already, so try not to make it worse.’ Harry reached for the bunkbed frame and lifted himself to his feet. The ground rocked. Harry looked down at his bare feet. He should have scavenged for a pair of shoes. His feet were filthy.

  ‘It can’t get worse than this, we’re in an empty fire station with a creepy stalker watching us, what is wrong with you?’ Meg yelled. It reminded Harry of Molly. Meg sat down on her bunk and pulled out the notebook again. Harry could find some shoes whilst the kids slept.

  ‘Let’s just find a radio, clothes and water. Surely there’s a kitchen in here somewhere and a control room,’ Harry limped across the floor avoiding the blood. He opened the door, Cinnamon had gone. The kitten could have been a food detector. At home he could go to the fridge and take out chicken slices and then make a chicken mayonnaise sandwich.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Meg asked. He scanned the corridor. It was empty.

  ‘Radio, food, water and clothes,’ he said. ‘If you’re coming hurry up otherwise we’re fucked staying in here.’ Meg was testing his patience. Fortunately, the hallway was well lit. He let go of the door, held the wall for support and began to walk back towards the receptionist room.

  He walked past a white wall clock, it read eight am. Cinnamon was gone for now. Harry couldn’t see any blood trail. As he walked closer to front office he spotted the bloody boot trail. The bloody footprints were close to the wall, as if who-ever-it-was had tried to sneak. They could have been evading the dead. Harry peered through the glass frame into the office, it was empty, the front doors were closed.

  He turned back and headed back to the bunkroom and heard footsteps in the distance.

  A shadow was cast on the wall in the distance.

  ‘Stop, who are you,’ he shouted and paced along close to the wall. Meg peered from the bunkroom door and Harry carried on down the corridor.

  He should have brought the knife for protection. He reached the end of the hallway, in front a door led to the staircase and to the right another corridor. He turned right and saw the sign on the wall for canteen. He chased the elusive shadow, it appeared again at the end of the hallway. Every room he passed contained useful items, but no people.

  This mysterious figure was an annoyance. He didn’t have time to chase it.

  He stopped and leant against the wall. The door in front had gold letters in a black border engraved in the wood. It read: Chief Fire Inspector. Below that: Ronald McCormack. The name sounded familiar, but he struggled to recall where he heard it.

  The doctor’s office flashed into his retina like a bad nightmare. An image of a silent hallway crumbled in his mind. The hospital flashed before him. Jamie and the others huddled around Charlie’s body. He couldn’t escape the visions. A mirage of trauma. A sea of dead faces was talking. A woman asked if he was okay, he jumped, Sheila’s face was decaying, blood poured from her eyes. He was paralysed. A snake latched onto his leg and the fire station came into view.

  ‘Shit,’ he cried. It was the kitten, clawing at his leg, meowing repeatedly for food. He sighed and petted it, Cinnamon purred. Footsteps distracted him; a large shadow was cast on the wall further down the hallway.

  He picked up Cinnamon and pushed into the fire chief’s office. The room smelt of vanilla. Papers were stacked neatly on the desk. The floor was covered in boxes of paperwork and shards of glass were scattered beneath them.

  He knelt on his good knee. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching. He put Cinnamon under his arm to keep it quiet, but she clawed into his bicep. The footsteps stopped outside the office door. Harry crawled over to the desk and hid behind it.

  The door opened. Harry saw the blood-stained boots enter the room, then the black trousers and a well-built torso in a yellow shirt. The guy wielded a bloodied fire axe. The stranger crunched on the glass. Harry wasn’t going to leave that office alone.

  ‘Come out from there, before I splat your head on the desk and wear your eyes for medals,’ the man said. His voice was coarse. Harry shuffled to his feet and stepped out from behind the desk.

  The man had black hair and was rugged. He bore a frown, that looked permanent.

  Harry released the kitten and she jumped to the desk and clawed at the paperwork. Hiding made Harry look like a wimp. A man with a kitten under a desk. Not cool.

  ‘I’m alive,’ Harry said. ‘Who are you?’ The man lowered the axe to the floor and leant on it like a cane.

  ‘The fire chief. You though, are here without good reason, it doesn’t matter what’s happening outside, you shouldn’t be here,’ the chief said. Harry couldn’t be bothered to question his title.

  ‘Ronald,’ Harry replied. ‘As you know I have children and we aren’t safe out there, or in our homes. We needed, and I emphasise needed, to come to a building secure enough to hold out in, if you have a problem with that then go fuck yourself,’ Harry instantly regretted saying it, but the pain had returned.

  The chief didn’t own the building, it was public owned. Everyone knew it. Ronald didn’t look too pleased and then approached Harry. Ronald was Harry’s height. Ronald’s muscles were larger than Harry’s. Like Charlie, Ronald could defeat him.

  ‘Can’t argue with that, you need to keep you kids safe, I respect that. But you have twenty-four hours left here, then I’m kicking you out, this is my place, I’m the Chief and I run it, so what I say goes,’ Chief said. He walked backward to the office door, opened it and left. Harry’s spine tingled and his legs went weak. He sat on the table.

  Harry was lost. Staying long enough to formulate a plan wasn’t going to happen, because with Chief Ronald wielding that axe, they weren’t safe. Twenty-four hours, not generous. They’d all have to leave the station by eight am. He hoped Meg could fit any scavenged food in her backpack. He was hungry and his belly rumbled. The kids were too. Twenty-four hours.

  They bagged up the blankets into Megs rucksack before heading to the canteen.

  They found bread, butter, milk, tea, coffee and an assortment of biscuits and cakes stuffed in little oval tins in the cupboards.

  Harry drank two black coffees and ate three digestive biscuits within half hour. Meg ate toast. Sam and James ate toast at Harry’s insistence, they needed real food before indulging in soft mini chocolate cakes. It would suffice for now. Meg had put a full pack of digestives and tea bags into her backpack. Harry gave Cinnamon a bowl of milk. Cinnamon quit meowing after drinking it. The Chief hadn’t returned to them. Thankfully.

  The canteen was large, four stainless steel tables were plotted around the room covered in a polystyrene white sheet. The countertops were covered in crumbs after their preparations. There were windows behind them looking out to a grassy yard.

  Morning dew lingered on the weeds. The dead swayed past occasionally unaware of their presence. Harry was facing the windows. He could see more zombies in the distance. The glass was thick enough to block out sound. They couldn’t hear the kids playing or hear the kettle boil. The kettle was already full when they arrived.

  There was a bitter bottle of water in the fridge. Harry discarded it after trying to drink it. Luck and miracle were keeping him, his son, and Sam and Meghan alive. They weren’t the only survivors. There would be others. Evidenced by Chief’s existence. There would be many more survivors scattered through the remains of Beach Town. A once thriving populace.

  The town was decimated, over the year’s numbers had dwindled and businesses had struggled. Harry feared he would lose his job before the outbreak. Business was dying in the opera house. Shops had frequent sales to pull customers in. Many stores on the beach front had gone bust and were boarded up. T
he town was dying from a poor economy. Now it was dead.

  Having Sheila’s girlfriend Wendy as house planner probably contributed. Wendy used to rant on about being keen to replace parks with houses. Ugly council houses. The cheap brick. Unattractive and uneconomical. The dead rising could be the boost that Beach Town needs. It would make a funny museum. Harry laughed.

  Harry had found stronger painkillers in the cupboards – ibuprofen and aspirin – they relieved his leg pain. The coffee and biscuits energised him. Watching the dead walk past as he ate biscuits was unreal.

  ‘Did he say anything else?’ Meg asked. She was munching on burnt toast crusts. Meg was unaware she had a splodge of butter on her lip.

  ‘No not one word, but he said something about a nuclear meltdown,’ Harry joked. Meg spluttered her toast out with a gasp.

  ‘What the hell,’ she yelled. She shuffled the chair across to Harry.

  ‘Calm down I was joking,’ he replied.

  James named the kitten fire cat much to Harry’s disappointment, Harry preferred Cinnamon. The kids desperately needed clothes and Harry needed shoes.

  ‘Chief didn’t say anything else,’ Harry said. ‘We’ve got a while though before we have to go, so don’t worry.’ Harry grabbed a gluten free biscuit from the plate of biscuits on the table. He preferred chocolate digestives. He was unpleasantly surprised at how disgusting it was. It was tasteless. ‘Probably best to find some clothes and water, we need to stay fresh as long as we can.’

  The dead walked to the window. Harry froze mid bite and placed the cream biscuit on the plate.

  Meg laughed at something. The dead gazed in watching them. Their black eyes unnerving Harry. They needed to get out of there. The bloody faces swayed, not attempting to break the window.

  ‘Kids stop now,’ Harry whispered. The dead were taunting Harry. Fresh flesh dangled form their mouths as they gnawed into the air.

  Meg turned around.

  The corpses were covered in mildew like the grass. A few dead children wore ripped pyjamas amongst the crowd. A woman with no ear shambled into a man with no cheeks. The zombies began to hit the glass.

  The canteen door bust open and they all jumped. Meg dived to the floor. Harry had a shockwave of low blood pressure. It was Chief, he was pale and stuttered his breathing.

  ‘We have to go, now, they got in,’ Chief panted.

  Harry speedily stood up ignoring his stinging wound pain. He marched to Ronald glaring for an explanation. The Chief was sweating, thick beads trickled down his face onto his shirt. He looked like he had killed someone and run a thousand miles. His hair was drenched with sweat.

  ‘Where?’ Harry’s asked, concerned for the safety of the kids. Chief watched the dead at the window. Chief walked to the canteen door then stopped and turned around. The axe was slipping through his fingers.

  ‘No time, let’s go,’ Chief said standing at the door. Meg grabbed the backpack and slung it over her shoulders. She grabbed James and Sam’s hands.

  The zombies broke through the canteen window. The dead clambered over the broken glass. Harry went and grabbed James’s hand and swung him onto his back. James held the kittens fur letting her swing like a cuddly bear.

  The zombies fell across the broken window. Limbs ripped on the glass and black goo dripped onto the stone floor. Chief waited patiently for Harry and Meg to get the kids.

  Harry saw a dead police officer rise from the ground.

  Chief Ronald escorted them right from the canteen back through to the main corridor. Chief headed directly for a fire exit in front. Chief opened the fire exit and the zombies dived forward. Harry held James tight. Meg had Sam in between her knees whilst scanning the corridor.

  ‘Kill it’, Meg yelled.

  Ronald swung the axe. Harry had to jump back. The axe spun around and decapitated three corpses, their heads rolled from their shoulders and their bodies dropped to floor.

  James and Sam cried. It was disgusting. Harry hurled up biscuits and coffee onto the stone wall. Chief swung his axe again. It latched onto another zombie’s neck. Blood spurted onto Chief’s shirt and face. The corpses head was half ripped off its shoulders and Chief raised the axe and split the zombies head into two. Chief kicked the heads outside and slammed the fire exit door shut.

  Harry saw the beasts infiltrating the corridor, pouring from the canteen. Chief opened the door on the right, the stairs. Harry ran through the door, then Meg followed by Chief. They climbed the staircase one level. Harry was exhausted.

  Sam was being dragged by Meg, she failed to realise when the bone in Sam’s wrist snapped and he screamed. There was no time to stop. Chief darted in front and opened the door to a brown carpeted hallway. Paintings of Beach Town and landscapes were placed along the corridor. They marched forward. A painting caught Harry’s eye. A stencil outline of the opera house in black and white. The walked past two doors until Chief opened a third door on the right.

  ‘Through here, hurry,’ Ron said. He held the door open.

  Inside wooden benches lines the side of the room, a metallic fireman pole was going through a hole in the floor in the right corner. Hooks were covered in large yellow fire man jackets and hefty steel cap boots were under the benches. Harry could take a pair.

  Harry placed James down on the right bench. James cried and Harry hugged him, James smiled but looked exhausted. Meg sat on the left bench. Chief leant his stained axe against the door. Harry looked for Sam, he wasn’t here. Harry hobbled over to Meg who was routing through her backpack.

  ‘Where’s Sam?’ Harry asked. Meg ignored him and continued to search the backpack. Meg had snapped Sam’s wrist. Harry hoped to get him painkillers. Chief looked to Harry and then looked around the room, but he didn’t say anything. ‘He’s out there,’ Harry said. James looked to Harry and the Chief stepped to the door and opened it.

  ‘Get out there quick,’ Chief said. Harry moved to the door and into the hallway. Harry saw Sam crying on the floor near the staircase door.

  Harry headed for Sam; the Chief followed. The dead burst through the staircase door. The sheer weight of the horde had bust the door handle.

  ‘Run,’ Harry cried. Sam struggled to get up, his left wrist was limp. It was too late.

  Harry couldn’t watch. The dead piled onto Sam. Harry rushed forward, but Chief grabbed his shoulder’s. The zombies tore into Sam as he lay in his wet pyjamas, Sam cried for mummy. Harry wailed.

  ‘We have to help him,’ Harry blubbered. Chief pulled Harry by the arms back into the changing room. Harry watched the zombies knock the opera house picture to the floor where the dead trampled it. The Chief shoved Harry in the room and walked off to the crowd of undead.

  Harry slumped against down the wall next to the door. His forearms ached. His face was sticky, and he needed water.

  Harry watched in shock, Meg was calm, legs crossed reading the notebook on the bench. The kitten was sleeping on James’s lap and he was stroking it, smiling. James would be heartbroken when he found out Sam was dead.

  Chief shunted the door open. Immediately Harry spotted an inch-deep bite wound to his battle-scarred forearm.

  CHAPTER 21

  Times Change Quickly

  It could have been anyone one of them. If it was Meg, they would fight to retrieve her from the dead.

  Meg hadn’t moved and continued to read her notebook. Probably unintelligible rantings of a teenager.

  Harry sat on the bench next to Ronald. Harry took slow breaths to calm down. Meg was a malicious and deliberately selfish teen. Harry could see clearly now. Chief grunted occasionally as he tried to stop the wound bleeding.

  ‘We need to cut the wound-out Meghan, get your knife out,’ Harry said. Meg took one look at the bite and shook her head in disapproval.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Chief asked, gripping his wound.

  ‘I was bitten on my leg,’ Harry said. ‘Meghan cut the wound clean out, a rather smart move.’ Harry sharpened his words like razors. Sarcastically mockin
g Meg. Chief rolled his eyes in disbelief.

  ‘Forget it, we’ll use bandages,’ Chief argued. Harry was edgy, his son’s life was at stake if Chief wasn’t taken care of.

  Bringing the kitten was the best idea since portable games. James hadn’t stopped playing with her. They hid under large fireproof jackets, James teasing Fire Cat’s tail.

  Harry wanted to take Chief out to protect James.

  Harry lunged for the axe after Chief shut his eyes. Harry wielded the axe, it was heavy. He carefully stepped next to the Chief. The pole hole was to the right of Chief, he could kick him down there if need be. Chief was a good guy, but survival was survival. Chief opened his eyes. Harry held the axe against Chief’s chest.

  ‘Let’s talk about this,’ Chief pleaded. ‘I need my arm more than you know it,’ Chiefs pleads fell on empty ears. ‘Meghan, please, stop this,’ Chief grunted.

  ‘Meghan,’ Harry quipped. She looked at him. ‘Stop reading that fucking book and cover James’s eyes and ears. Do it now or you’ll be next.’ Meg did as he said. Harry used the flow of energy from his chakras to gather the courage to perform the act.

  Meghan reluctantly walked over and covered James’s face. Meg whimpered and Harry had no pity or sympathy anymore. She killed Sam through her selfishness. Chief raised his arms his arms and Harry lifted the axe above Chief.

  ‘Sorry,’ Harry said. The axe fell just as a blade on a beheading. Chief screamed as the axe sliced through the elbow cutting the forearm clean off. Chief’s went white and blood pooled over him. The forearm lay on the ground, fingers were twitching. Harry jumped up, placed the axe against the door and then returned and kicked the wriggling forearm down the pole hole.

  Harry watched the arm fall. The dead swarmed around it. Naked residents and a mailmen and policeman amongst the dead. A sickening sight to behold. Harry vomited onto the heads of the crowd below. Harry had lost a ton of water from vomit. He was woozy, the coffee hadn’t helped.