by Ricky Fleet
“Go fuck yourselves! You have always been against me. Peter, come on we are leaving,” Debbie shouted, picking up one of the bug out bags. Peter walked over and she mistakenly thought he was offering to take the bag for her, she passed it over smiling, but he gave it to Kurt and her face reddened with fury.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter stated defiantly. It looked like she would explode but she just turned around and walked into the kitchen and out into the afternoon light.
The rest of the family breathed a sigh of relief. It was exhausting trying to accommodate someone like that, always unsure of their mood swings and instability. Kurt looked at John and they each knew what the other was thinking, she had to go.
“Sorry,” Peter said quietly, understanding the mood of the group.
“It’s ok, don’t worry.” Paige smiled and took his hand. “She will calm down and be back soon.”
“We have plenty of water, the tanks are full,” Sarah informed them as she entered the room.
“Kurt, take this with you for protection.” Gloria passed the gun, locked and loaded, safety off. “Just point and shoot. Sarah, I found this by the side of the fire,” Gloria said as she handed over a wickedly sharp short bladed machete.
“Why would they have this?” Sarah asked, turning it over in her hands and feeling the sharpness.
“It’s for splitting kindling wood, but it will split skulls just as well I should think. It’s light too, so your arm won’t get as tired as it does with that spear,” Gloria said.
Sarah put the metal spear down. She would miss the range but it wasn’t a viable long term zombie killer. Swishing the small blade through the air a couple of times it felt good, light and powerful. They all got to work. Sarah and Kurt left the house and saw Debbie sulking on a metal bench in the back garden.
“I will talk to her after, woman to woman,” Sarah suggested.
“No, she is what she is. We will find somewhere safe and she stays there,” Kurt told her and reluctantly she agreed, the new world was dangerous enough without loose cannons to complicate matters. Debbie watched them pass with barely disguised contempt. Kurt was getting sick of it, the gun in his hands was tempting him, one crack and it would be at an end. Reason won out, he wasn’t an executioner, he would kill if forced to but this was not the time.
The chopping block had a large axe for log splitting and a smaller hatchet, these too were sharp and well maintained. The linseed oil was still fresh on the polished blades, covered by the small lean to that protected the huge log pile from the elements.
“Those may come in handy.” Kurt signalled to the weapons and carried on around the side of the barn, gun raised. Quick footsteps caused Kurt to spin, nearly pulling the trigger until he saw it was just Honey joining them. She found a small patch of grass; bending her hind legs she relieved herself before resuming the search.
The barn was still used for storage; massive bales of hay were stacked twenty feet high reaching the underside of the hayloft. The sweet smell got into their nostrils and made them sneeze, the air was thick with swirling eddies of hay dust. To the right was a small workbench and more tools. Some old farming implements were hung from hooks and they had not been used in many years, scythes, hoes, an old wooden rake, they were tools of a bygone era.
“Look at that.” Kurt pointed at a hay fork, thin pointed tines that would be great at piercing brains.
“What about these?” Sarah held up two brand new bill hooks, similar to machetes but with sickled ends and used for lopping vegetation.
“They are deadly, this was a great find, someone must be watching over us,” Kurt said and raised his hand to the sky in mock thanks.
A sudden scream brought them running from the barn and they saw Debbie being attacked by two zombies, more were coming through the wide wooden gate which led to the public bridleway for horses. They hesitated a fraction longer than they would have for any other member of the group but quickly shucked off the inaction and ran to her aid. Kurt raised the gun, aimed at the head of a third zombie who was nearly on top of the woman and pulled the trigger. The loud crack of the shot echoed and the head burst apart, flinging the decapitated creature into the path of its friends. Sarah raised the machete and swung it sideways at one of the pair who were on Debbie, taking the top of the head clean off. It toppled sideways and the remaining pulpy brain spilled out like a tipped cup of vile paste. The second zombie was biting at her chest, only the padding of the life jacket saved her life. It sat up triumphantly, mouth full, and Kurt used the second shot, blasting it in the back and lifting it clear of the miserable harpy. It groaned, surprised at why its food was spongy and unfulfilling, then stood and attacked again. The head snapped sideways and Kurt could see the glimmer of the bearing as it punctured the skull, killing it.
“Here!” Sarah passed out the bill hooks to Peter and Braiden who had run outside to investigate the scream. Braiden looked at his sharpened screwdriver, looked at the new blade, the screwdriver once more and slid it into his belt, happier with the chopper.
Kurt passed the gun to Gloria who reloaded, but cautioned her about using any more shells. The noise was deafening and who knew how many more it would bring down on them. They lined up, facing the rows of the dead as they bore down. Fifteen were now in the garden, spread out and hungry for screaming, bloody meat and sinew. Sam shot one but missed the head, tearing the neck instead, causing the head to flop to the side on the remaining cartilage and tendons. Kurt stepped forward, rammed the fork at the head, punched through the skull and destroyed the brain.
“Stay behind me, if I miss any with this, take them out.” Kurt used the fork like a spear, jabbing at the horrors and withdrawing instantly, like infantry soldiers of the middle ages. Four dropped, small leaking punctures in eyes and foreheads before it got wedged in a skull and threatened to pull Kurt to the ground. He let it drop and the others got ready to cover him as he retrieved the small hatchet he had put in his belt, his hammer sat on the lounge coffee table where he had put it after taking the gun.
“Where’s Debbie?” Peter shouted. Looking around, they couldn’t see her.
“She must have run,” John said with disgust.
The next wave got within grabbing distance and the survivors were ready. They covered each other, raining down blows and severing heads, shattering skulls, and crushing brains. Some of their fear started to dissipate. They could win against small numbers as long as they were careful. The overriding need to feed made the flesh dripping abominations predictable; they would not flinch or try and avoid the killing blows. The dead were falling, only four remained standing, the rest were laid at the feet of the family.
“Let me try something, make some noise for me,” John instructed and the group waved their arms and blew raspberries while he circled, taking advantage of the distraction. None turned to follow him; they were intent on the raucous sight in front of them. One by one he caved their skulls with his crowbar, swatting them like flies. The final cadaver was a small toddler, no more than four years old when she was turned. One of her thin arms had been gnawed clean like a chicken wing; the small amount of meat would have amounted to nothing. John was still, unable to raise his arm to kill the creature as it made small steps towards the group. They had seen zombie children before, though none quite so young. It was heart-breaking and they quietly mourned as the girl fumbled at the piled corpses, unable to get over the obstacle.
“Just do it already,” Debbie mocked, stepping forward and slamming the claw hammer into the small skull. The body dropped, joining the heap of dead flesh and Debbie threw the hammer at Kurt’s feet before smiling and walking back into the house.
“Poor baby,” Paige gasped, kneeling and stroking the filthy, bloodied hair of the child creature.
“Give me the gun.” Kurt held his hands out to Gloria who stepped back a pace.
“Kurt, no! It had to be done, you know that.” John stopped him. He hated the loathsome cow as much as the rest, but she was right to destroy the gir
l. She didn’t need to enjoy it with such relish though.
“Let’s just get inside. Peter, you keep that whore away from me, if I see her face I will kill her,” Kurt said and it was no idle threat, at this point in time he would live with it.
“Ok, I’ll take care of it.” Peter rushed off into the cottage, seeking his fiancée.
**********
The Aga was roaring when they entered, Debbie and Peter were nowhere in sight. They could be heard moving around on the upper floor, shuffling and stomping. Warmth enveloped them, and they all sat down, sinking into the soft cushions of the sofas and chairs. Honey was content to curl up on the rug at the foot of the expensive cooker, blissfully ignorant of the small burned patches she laid upon. If any of the logs popped in the fire she would be singed too. No one felt like eating but Gloria prepared a meal anyway. The sustenance would fuel them for the next day’s hike towards the Beachwood Pub which would, hopefully, give them access close to the hospital grounds. Peter came down the stairs and joined them in the cosy lounge, still apologising for the actions of his companion.
“She will stay upstairs, she isn’t happy about it though,” Peter explained and Kurt stood up.
“I don’t give a fuck if she is unhappy, she can leave anytime she wants!” Kurt shouted and banged on the ceiling. An answering stamp on the floor from above nearly set Kurt running up the stairs. Sarah stopped him, making him sit down to eat the steaming vegetables that Gloria had cooked.
“She has to go, I’m sorry, Peter,” Kurt continued, speaking through boiled broccoli. “I am sorry that I ever took you away from the safety of your home the other day.”
“I’m not, she was intolerable. We were nearly out of food and she wanted me to go and get some more while she stayed put,” Peter explained. If truth be told he was close to making a run for it anyway, no matter the outcome. Gloria handed him the dinner plate and he tucked in with relish, but the mood soured when the banging resumed from upstairs.
“Peter, get up here!” came Debbie’s yell and he put his plate down.
“You take her food, then come straight back down. If she makes any more noise I will throw her from the upstairs window,” Kurt ordered.
They listened as Peter crossed the floor above, timbers creaking and groaning. Voices started to be raised and they heard the plate smash as it was thrown against a wall. Kurt ground his teeth, wanting her gone. Only Sarah’s calming touch prevented him rushing upstairs and making good on his threat. The floor protested again and Peter came back down, bits of food on his clothing and face. Paige rushed over and started to clean him, picking the larger pieces off and giving them to Honey who was happy for the extra treats. Peter welled up and started sobbing, falling into the space on the sofa where he had been sitting.
“I tried, I really tried with her,” he said through the tears and Paige held him close.
“We know you did, of course you did,” she crooned.
The awkwardness of public emotion was gone, they all accepted the psychological fragility of each other and how this wouldn’t be the last time they broke down. One by one they gave Peter a hug or supportive pat on the shoulder.
“Sorry about that, what a pussy I am,” Peter said when he had finally calmed down.
“Not at all, mate, this world is fucked up. I’d be more worried if you didn’t cry,” Kurt commiserated.
“What is the plan for tomorrow?” John asked.
“We try and cover the last three miles, on foot if necessary, over the fields like you did,” Kurt laid it out. “The Winspit Stone Mine is close, that’s a shortcut that will save us half a mile.”
“Winspit Stone Mine?” Braiden asked.
“It’s where they mine the stone to repair the local churches and castles. It’s been there for hundreds of years,” Kurt explained.
“Won’t that be a bit dangerous?” Paige asked, but quickly dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. Everywhere was dangerous.
“We can vote on it, but I think the time we save will make up for it. Then we make a beeline straight between Chichester Road and the Motorway, steering clear of the homes if possible,” Kurt offered. “A show of hands for the mine?”
They looked at each other, no one had the faintest idea what was the best course of action so the shortest journey won the day, hands shot in the air.
“Ok, we go through the mine.” Kurt nodded.
“Shall we try the radio?” Gloria suggested.
“Good grief, I had nearly forgotten we had that,” John said incredulously, rummaging through the bags until he found it. “Here it is.” He wound the charging lever for a couple of minutes and re-tuned it to the previous channel as it had been knocked around in the bag. The familiar female voice came through, the signal still poor but it was comforting, like hearing from an old friend.
“To anyone that is still out there, keep holding on, keep fighting the good fight. Our power seems secure, we have had a couple of interruptions but we are still on the air. It can only mean that the Government, in however small a capacity, is still in their bunker and keeping the juice flowing. We have yet to make contact with them, I’m afraid. The concentration of the dead is diminishing. More leave the area every day which we can only assume is in search of new food sources.” She paused and they could just imagine the presenter giving an involuntary shudder.
“I pray that wherever you are that you are safe and secure, winter is coming and all Met Office advice before the end hinted at a harsh one. The gulf streams were pulling a cold front from the Arctic that would ensure a lower temperature range than normal.”
“Well isn’t that bloody marvellous?” Sarah said, shaking her head. “As if we need another reason to suffer.”
“We shall be ok, as long as we make it to somewhere secure before it drops below zero,” Kurt answered and gave her leg a gentle rub.
“And if we don’t find somewhere?” Peter asked, meaning no disrespect. He wanted to have an idea of what lay ahead.
“We will,” Kurt stated, certain of their goal.
“We had a brief transmission from the 3rd Division of the British Army, they have formed a safe zone on the Porton Down facility and remnants of the Army and Air Force have been rendezvousing to defend the site and their research, which is still ongoing. They have asked that for the time being, survivors stay away as they are under sustained heavy assault from the surrounding cities and towns. Numbering in the thousands, the zombies have been relentless but have not yet breached the wall.”
“That’s what you get when you mess with the army!” Sam yelled with excitement, the images of battle and victory playing over in his mind.
“You can always count on our boys and girls in a fight,” John said with pride, “Though not to help people it seems.”
“They must have had their reasons, you could see they weren’t all happy about it,” Gloria added and John just shook his head, unable to comprehend the decision to send them away.
“I’m hungry!” came whining down the stairs, souring the mood instantly.
“You had your dinner, eat it off the floor,” Kurt replied and waited for the sarcastic reply.
“Prick,” Debbie muttered quietly from the stairway, but loud enough that Kurt would hear. She didn’t push the issue further, retreating into the bedroom and slamming the door like a petulant child.
“We have also been informed that the Daresford Institute is in close contact with Porton Down, the subterranean structure ensuring their safety for the time being. Virologists and biologists from the PD site have been working on isolating the source of the brain aberration from test subjects, with no success thus far. They are working closely with the DI who have almost decoded the pulse of energy and this, they hope, will give some clue as to the nature of the outbreak. All they will theorise is that it has possibly triggered some dormant region in the brains of the deceased; synapses have been observed firing despite no signs of life. How this anomaly is then transmitted, they simply do not h
ave an explanation as yet. We will bring you updates as soon as we receive them,”
Braiden tapped his head, wondering what part of his brain could cause rotting immortality.
“I am totally baffled, what the hell is a synapse?” John asked.
“They connect nerve cells together in the brain and can cause a chemical reaction,” Sam answered and they looked at him, dumbstruck. “Biology class,” he offered, blushing.
“You are such a clever boy,” Paige complimented him and his cheeks darkened further.
“Someone has a crush,” whispered Kurt to Sarah and she smiled.
“We need to discuss what happened earlier, who the hell is risking their life to kill us?” John posed to the group.
“The logical guess would be Archie, Phil, and Eddie, but we… took care of that problem,” Kurt responded, his mood darkening with thoughts of fire and murder, and more to come he feared.
“Debbie?” Braiden questioned.
“She didn’t have time to sneak off and move those cars, and the stone came from the other direction,” Gloria replied.
“So we are back to square one, maybe we just ran into another group of assholes?” Paige said and it was possibly true, though it would be terrible luck and they would need to be on their guard constantly.
“What we do know is that they moved around freely between the dead, got to our vehicles and then ensured we were trapped on that road. If we see anyone suspicious, we take no chances,” Kurt vowed.
“Do you mean kill them?” Peter looked worried, but he would do what was necessary if the situation called for it.
“If we have to, yes. I would like to find out more before we do that, if we can take them alive that would be good,” Kurt said, hoping that he would get the chance to question them personally. They had threatened the lives of his loved ones and they would pay in blood. He tried to reconcile the change in himself, the willingness to commit heinous acts and bloodshed. He had always tried to avoid conflict in life, both physical and emotional. Whenever he had been witness to an argument or physical altercation, his mouth would go dry and his stomach would cramp with anxiety. Weeks spent in the zombie apocalypse had caused a rapid metamorphosis and he was not sure he would like what he was becoming.