Year of the Zombie [Anthology]

by David Moody

  His thighs burned. The pain in his knees caused him to wince with each step. He muttered a prayer for the rain to stop, to give him some respite, but if anyone had ever been listening they had stopped a long time ago.

  ◆◆◆

  In a field blasted to bare ground by the winter, he crouched by a child’s skull and broken vertebrae scattered in the mud and thought that none of it was real until his fingers found the dulled bones and caressed them. Then he snatched his hand away and wiped it on his trousers. Those bones were someone’s son or daughter, dismantled and obliterated. How was that an end to a life? It was cruel and hopeless, and he looked at the sky to ask questions, but his voice was lost in a sudden burst of icy breeze whipping across the fields.

  He pulled the metal hip flask from his pocket and drank deep from the whiskey inside and savoured the aching burn in his chest. Then he drank again and the world went away for a while and it was a small comfort.

  ◆◆◆

  The house appeared out of the rain, darker than the shape of the woods behind it. Eddie sighed, relieved to be almost home. His boots and trousers were filthy with mud and weighed him down. He was exhausted down to his bones.

  He walked along the river and looked for fish in the dark water, but they were either too deep to be seen or they were gone. He climbed over a wooden stile and stepped onto a dirt track flanked by bare hedgerows. Small depressions in the ground. Loose stones and wet grit. Ditches flooded with rainwater that spilled onto the track.

  Eddie looked at the house. One of the downstairs windows held a faint light; he would talk to Sam about that.

  A small face appeared in the window then dipped out of sight again, and when Eddie reached the house there was the sound of bolts being pulled back. The scraping turn of an old key in the lock. Then the door opened and Sam stood in the doorway, hopeful and pale in the fading daylight. The smallest curve of a smile. He shied away from the rain and wiped his nose with the back of his wrist.

  ‘You were gone a long time.’

  Eddie lowered his cloth mask and put away the pistol. ‘I know. Weather held me up.’

  ‘It’s raining bad.’

  ‘Yes, I’m standing in it. I saw the light in the window from over in the field. I told you to make sure the curtains are drawn.’

  ‘Sorry, Grandad, I forgot.’

  ‘It’s okay. Just try to remember.’

  ‘Did you find any chocolate?’

  ‘Let me in the house first, lad.’

  ‘Sorry, Grandad.’

  ◆◆◆

  The door closed behind Eddie, shutting out the wind and rain. Sam threw the bolts across the door. Eddie struggled to take off his boots, and nearly fell over when he lost his balance and had to lean against the banister at the foot of the stairs. Sam watched him. Eddie put his boots next to the door and stood dripping in the hallway like a half-drowned man pulled from the sea. He took off his coat and waterproof trousers, and slumped, glad to be out of the rain.

  Sam handed him a towel. Eddie dabbed at his face and the back of his neck. The towel smelled of mildew but he didn’t care because he just wanted to be dry and warm. He walked into the kitchen, where an LED lantern gave definition to the room and its angles. Sam watched him unpack the bag on the dining table.

  Eddie handed him the Mars bar. ‘Here you go. Can’t be many of those left.’

  ‘Thanks, Grandad.’

  ‘Don’t eat it until after dinner, okay?’

  ‘Yes, Grandad.’

  ‘Good lad.’

  ‘Did you see any other people out there?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘People like us.’

  ‘People like us?’

  ‘Survivors, Grandad…’

  ‘Survivors.’ Eddie said the word as though it were the punchline to a bad joke. He sorted through the food he’d scavenged. Looked at the stash and frowned. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’

  ‘Oh.’ The boy stared at the chocolate bar as he turned it over between his fingers.

  Eddie put one hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘That doesn’t mean there are no survivors out there.’

  Sam glanced at him and sniffed. Scratched the side of his mouth as he looked at the floor. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘We’re not the last ones left, Sam.’

  The boy raised his face and the sad shine of his eyes broke Eddie’s heart. ‘Would we help other people, if they were starving or in danger?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as you think it is, Sam. There’s only so much food and water left.’

  ‘So we shouldn’t help other people?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Then what are you saying? If there was a little boy or a little girl out there, you wouldn’t help them?’

  ‘Of course I would.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like it, Grandad. If we needed help, I hope someone would help us.’

  ‘We don’t need help,’ Eddie said.

  ‘What about when the food runs out?’

  ‘It won’t run out.’

  ‘But you said there is only so much food left…’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean… It’s hard to explain, Sam.’

  ‘Okay.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t understand old people.’

  ◆◆◆

  Darkness fell to dismantle the fields and trees. Rain upon the roof. The windows rattled in their frames and the thin glass seemed barely capable of resistance. Howl and scream of the wind across the winter-barren countryside.

  They went through the same routine each night. The curtains were drawn, doors locked, bolted and checked, then checked again just to make sure. The fireplace was blocked with bricks and stones.

  ‘What do you want for dinner?’ Eddie asked.

  Not missing a beat, Sam said, ‘Spaghetti hoops and sliced up hot dogs.’

  Eddie patted the boy’s head. ‘Good answer.’

  ◆◆◆

  Eddie cooked the meal on the camping stove and Sam sat with him and they enjoyed the warmth of the steaming food from the pot. They ate from the old plates they’d found in the cupboards when they first arrived here after fleeing the city. Sam speared the spaghetti on his plastic fork and watched the tomato sauce drip back onto the plate before he put it in his mouth. But he still managed to get the sauce on his chin. He ate the slices of hot dog without chewing. Eddie watched and couldn’t help but smile as he picked at his own food.

  ‘When can we go for a walk outside, Grandad?’

  Eddie swallowed a mouthful of food and looked at the boy. ‘A walk?’

  ‘You promised me we could go for a walk one day. So we could go bird-watching.’

  ‘I can’t remember saying that,’ Eddie said.

  ‘You promised, Grandad.’

  ‘We’ll see. It’s not safe outside.’

  ‘Not a long walk; just around the garden and maybe the nearest field. I could take my birdwatching book with me, so I could tell what birds are what.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Eddie said. ‘Maybe when the weather clears up, okay?’

  Sam nodded and looked at his plate.

  ‘I know it’s difficult to stay inside all the time,’ said Eddie. ‘But it’s for our safety.’

  ‘But you go outside…’

  ‘Only because I have to find food for us.’

  ‘And your drink.’

  Eddie sighed. ‘We’ll go for a walk soon. I promise.’

  ‘You always promise.’

  ‘I know.’

  After Sam finished the spaghetti and hot dogs, he very carefully opened the Mars bar, and when he finished eating he looked at the empty wrapper in his hands. His eyes were damp and solemn. Then he folded the wrapper neatly and placed it in his pocket and went into the living room.

  ◆◆◆

  Eddie sipped whiskey and watched Sam play on the floor with his Transformers action figures. He made laser noises; mimicked explosions and robotic vo
ices. He didn’t cheer when the bad guys were killed. The boy played out battles and daring missions, and in the end the heroes won the fight. But he didn’t smile and in silence he packed the toys away.

  Eddie’s eyes lingered upon the dead television. He missed watching the football. He missed a lot of things.

  The evening passed and the rain didn’t stop. When it was getting late and Sam was nodding into one of his adventure books, Eddie put him to bed and read Where the Wild Things Are until Sam’s eyes closed and he turned away towards the window and fell asleep.

  Eddie returned to the living room. The metal springs creaked as he lowered himself into the armchair. He drank from his flask and listened to the house in the night. The whiskey numbed his mind and soothed the black tumours of anxiety and fear in his heart.

  As the night went on, all the people he’d known and who’d died came to visit him and he spoke with them all and they shared good memories.

  ◆◆◆

  In his sleep he returned to when he first met Ruth. It was 1968 and he had gone to the shoe shop on Mandalay Road to buy a pair of oxfords for a job interview at a local bank.

  As he stood staring at the shelves, his forehead shining with sweat from the summer heat, a small voice asked if he needed any help. And when he turned with his hands worrying at each other he couldn’t help gawping at the young woman smiling at him. His mouth dried up; his tongue became stuck behind his teeth, and he glanced everywhere except for her eyes, which were like wonderful colours from otherworldly pools.

  He muttered something, unintelligible even to himself, and fidgeted.

  The woman’s red lipstick-smile was replaced by a frown. She pushed a strand of black hair behind one ear. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.’

  He cleared his throat and sucked in his stomach. Tried not to stare at the cream floral dress tight against her chest and hips. She was beautiful, framed by the sunlight, and dulled everything else around her: the drone of the cars driving past the shop, the people chattering on the pavement, and chattering old women at the back of the shop.

  When he realised he was staring at her, he looked away and swallowed a knot in his throat.

  ‘Sir, are you okay?’ There was a note of concern in her voice and he adored her for it.

  ‘Shoes, please.’ He spat the words and his face flushed red. His insides fluttered, dipped and climbed.

  She smiled. Then Eddie smiled too, because that was all he could do.

  ◆◆◆

  Eddie woke from those dreams of old memories and knocked his hip flask to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, worried that whiskey was being wasted, but then realised the cap was screwed on and he slumped back in the armchair and breathed a sigh that scraped inside his throat. A blanket had been placed over his lap.

  Grim daylight spilling through a window. The sound of movement in the kitchen. He rose from the chair and tottered for a moment, rubbing his head. His vision swayed. The walls closed in like unwanted friends. The ceiling reached for his head. At least the rain had stopped.

  He went into the kitchen. A pot of water boiling on the camp stove. Sam turned to him.

  ‘You’re up early,’ said Eddie.

  Sam eyed the hip flask in his hands. ‘You slept late.’

  Eddie saw him notice, and put the flask away. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost midday.’

  ‘You should have woken me.’

  ‘You were dreaming, Grandad. Did you dream of anything good?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ he lied.

  ‘I had bad dreams.’

  ‘I’m sorry, lad.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Grandad. Do you want a cup of coffee?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ◆◆◆

  They sat across from each other at the dining table. Sam appeared slightly comical in the wooden chair, like an oversized doll in dirty clothes, his chin barely above the rim of the table. His crayons and colouring pencils were spread around him. He was drawing a robot in his sketchpad.

  Eddie gulped coffee and rubbed his head. Bits of powdered milk stuck in his teeth. ‘Who’s that you’re drawing?’

  ‘Optimus Prime.’

  ‘Is he one of the good guys?’

  ‘He’s the leader of the Autobots.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘He’s a good guy.’

  ‘Ah, right.’

  ‘You’re too old to like Transformers, Grandad.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Eddie laughed, and then stifled a cough in his throat. ‘Did you ever watch the films?’

  Sam’s face creased in concentration at the paper. ‘I didn’t like the films. They weren’t very good. I like the cartoons.’

  ‘Fair enough. I haven’t seen any of them.’

  ‘Maybe we can watch the cartoon one day, Grandad. If we ever have electric again.’

  ‘I thought I was too old for all that.’

  ‘Nah, I thought about it again, and you’re not that old.’

  ‘Lucky me.’

  Eddie felt the scratch of Sam’s pencil inside his skull. He put one hand to his face and grimaced.

  ‘Mum always said you drank too much,’ Sam muttered.

  Eddie raised his face from the steaming mug and wiped coffee from his beard. ‘Your mum was right.’

  ‘Do you drink to forget the bad things you’ve seen?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Can I have a drink? Then I might forget some of the bad things.’

  ‘You’re too young. And it doesn’t always work. Sometimes it makes you remember the bad things you think you’ve already forgotten.’

  ‘Does it stop you feeling sad?’

  ‘Sometimes. Not all the time. Sometimes it makes you feel worse.’

  ‘Then what’s the point of drinking if it makes you feel worser?’

  Eddie finished the coffee and put the cup down. He noticed the mug rings overlapping on the table top. ‘You’ll understand one day, I hope.’

  Sam looked at him for a while then went back to drawing his robot.

  ◆◆◆

  Later, Eddie stared at the television and tried to remember what programme would be on at that time of day. The usual turgid daytime TV. Doctors or some generic quiz show fronted by an ex-footballer in a bad suit.

  Sam was lying on the sofa, reading one of his comics.

  Eddie took his flask from his pocket and checked to see if the boy was watching before he unscrewed the cap and took a sip. The small mouthful only made him want more, and before he knew what he was doing he had downed half of the flask’s contents. His eyes watered. Fire inside him, pure and true. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them a moment later, Sam was looking at him in silence, and Eddie had to turn away.

  ◆◆◆

  Eddie knelt before the cupboard where he kept his drink. His palms were greasy and it took a few attempts to put the key in and unlock the door.

  The cupboard was empty.

  The blood left his face. He ground his teeth until they ached. He shook his head as though this wasn’t possible and reached towards the back of the cupboard and pawed about, in case a bottle was hidden in the dark. But there was only a chipped vase and an old food blender covered in dust. When he withdrew his hand there was a splinter in his right index finger, although he barely felt it. He pulled the splinter out and sucked the blood from the tiny wound until it stopped bleeding.

  He glared into the cupboard and scratched at a patch of skin on his neck. He swallowed and thought about things. Then he stood, wincing as his spine clicked and straightened. He touched the flask in his pocket and for the first time in a while its shape was not reassuring. His insides were hot and loose. Panic boiling under his ribs. He rubbed at the pressure in his eyes. Clenched his hands into whitened fists.

  How had this happened? Had he forgotten to restock?

  Eddie threw the key away and slammed the cupboard door shut.

  ◆◆◆

  For the rest
of the day Eddie rationed the whiskey that remained in the flask. The little sips barely sated him, and the time between the small mouthfuls, when he was anticipating the next drink, only increased his thirst.

  He found a bottle of mouthwash in the wall cabinet above the bathroom sink and managed to down a few mouthfuls before he gagged and vomited most of it into the toilet.

  He sat in the living room and watched the ceiling. Pencil-line cracks and flaking paint. In its silk web, a spider was busy wrapping hollowed carapaces.

  Eddie looked at his flask. Little sips, little sips. When he realised there was only a small amount left to last him the night, he screwed his eyes shut and listened to the noise of his heart.

  ◆◆◆

  Eddie jolted awake from nightmares of prolapsed faces and mouths with lips shredded to strips of skin. He took a breath that tasted of dust.

  Sam was by his side, eyes pale and wide in the dim light of the room. When the boy spoke, his voice was so low that Eddie had to lean forward to hear him.

  ‘I found something outside, Grandad.’

  ◆◆◆

  They stepped out into the cold dawn and walked to the riverbank. Sam shivered beneath his fleece and coat. They halted at the top of a short slope leading to the dark river and looked down at the figure sprawled on its front in the mud.

  ‘I found her when I came to get some water. I just wanted to see if there were ducks on the river.’

  ‘You know you’re not supposed to go outside.’

  The infected girl raised her face from the mud and opened her mouth. She was no older than ten or eleven; her clothes were clotted, filthy rags on her starved bones. Soaking wet and trembling. The flesh of her face was puffy and looked soft enough to pull away. Her left arm was bent the wrong way, limp and skeletal, trapped in the dire mud. The hand at the end of the arm curled into a putrid claw.

  ‘Christ,’ Eddie said under his breath.

  The girl was trying to drag herself from the mud, but the odd angle of her back suggested something wrong with her spine.

  ‘She can’t move.’ Sam let out a deep sob. ‘She’s just a little girl.’