by Russ Watts
Schafer peered through the pale yellow curtains at the streets below. There were at least two dozen of them that he could see. A few of the corpses were motionless, sitting or lying on the ground, but he knew that was just laziness. As soon as something or someone got their attention, they would jump up. The others bumbled around, crashing into vehicles and walls as if they were drunk. It was just an illusion. These people were neither drunk, nor as harmless as they appeared. Yet nor were they alive anymore. Their teeth could rip a man apart in seconds. A single bite from their diseased dead bodies would mean death to the recipient. Schafer had seen too many people fooled into thinking they could get past them—just run past the zombies with ease. It was an easy mistake to make; one that had been made too many times early on. It wasn’t taken seriously enough, and when it was, it was too late. A lot of people had died, and Schafer recognized they were more than indebted to Jeremy for making sure he and his family was alive too.
They had arrived from Germany for their annual vacation several months ago now. Schafer knew it was the last time they would all get away as a family. Rilla was already complaining about being away from her friends for so long, and she was likely to go off to university in a year. Schafer knew there was one friend in particular, a boy called Franz, whom Rilla was going to miss the most. His daughter was growing up, and there was nothing he could do about that. The flight to Washington had been uneventful, and the few days they had spent there acclimatizing to the time zone and looking around the museums had been happy. Magda especially loved museums and cities, and it was she who had pushed for them to go to Washington, a city they had never visited before. Unfortunately, they were never likely to visit it again. A million corpses now filled the streets of the capital city, and the museums were populated by the dead. If there were any survivors left, they would not stand a chance. Schafer knew they had been lucky. If they had not left when they had, there was a very good chance they would be dead now too.
Schafer remembered catching the flight to Portland and hearing the first stories then. He had a text from a colleague back in Nürnberg about some trouble in Berlin: rioting, fighting, and people being attacked in the street. It sounded strange. There was no political motivation for it; no terrorist outrage. It felt surreal standing in the quiet airport reading about the problems back home. Being on vacation, Schafer usually avoided the news and liked to forget the world’s problems, but they were catching up. Whilst waiting to board the flight, he overheard two men talking about some sort of incident in Boston, a gang war that had somehow got out of hand. A lot of people had died. There were reports that one of the gangs had attacked a hotel, but he missed the details. It sounded too far-fetched to be true, and he ignored the rest of the conversation, preferring to think about the huge trout he was going to catch the next day up at Peterborough.
After picking up the rental car at Portland airport, they made their way down through Manchester and reached Peterborough just as night was creeping up on them. The motel was basic but perfectly comfortable, and that first night had gone well. Magda and Rilla enjoyed some pasta in the local Italian, and having received no more texts from his colleague, Schafer went to bed forgetting about the whole thing.
The next morning his phone had been alive with messages, all warning him to get back home before it was too late. Trouble was spreading and people were panicking. Whatever had caused the riots to break out in Berlin had spread fast. It wasn’t just in Germany now, but a problem that was growing exponentially. First France, then Spain all reported the same things. People were attacking each other. Checking the news whilst Magda and Rilla went to find coffee, Schafer sat on the end of his bed in the small motel room watching as the news feed told him of problem areas and no-go zones on the Eastern seaboard. All flights to Europe were cancelled. The threat level to the United States had been raised, and a curfew was being imposed in all the major cities and larger urban areas. He heard reports of viruses and infections, of corpses reanimating, and stores being looted for food and bottled water.
When Magda and Rilla returned with coffee and pastries for breakfast, they could not believe what he had to tell them. All three of them sat in their little motel room watching the TV news as horror story after horror story unfolded. They didn’t leave the room at all that day, and only when it grew dark did Schafer venture outside. He found the closest store, bought all the food he could, and returned to the motel knowing the vacation was over. All night the sirens wailed, and the noises and screams they heard were terrifying. Peterborough was supposed to be a quiet town, the perfect place to ‘get away from it all’ for a week of relaxation. Instead, they spent the night locked in their room wondering if they were going to make it through the night.
“It’s just the same as before. We might have escaped that motel room, but all we’ve done is trade one prison for another.” Rilla lay back on the bed and folded her hands under her head. “We should’ve stayed in Germany. We should’ve—”
“Okay, Rilla, I wish we were home, too, but we’re not are we? So let’s just deal with what we’ve got. You want to go back to that motel?” Schafer closed the curtains. It was only two or three miles away, but getting from there to this house had been a nightmare. “You really think we’d be better off if we had stayed there? I remember how hungry you were after the third day. I remember how frightened you and Magda were when those men knocked on the door. I remember having to…” Schafer looked at his wife, her round eyes sad and tired. “Look, we are better off here. And if Jeremy says we stay, then we stay.”
“Wir sind so weit von zu Hause,” muttered Magda.
Rilla glared at her mother. “Yeah, Mom, I know how far away we are from home. Like that’s helping.”
“Rilla, Jeremy thinks we can wait it out,” said Schafer. “He is adamant that we have enough food. I know this isn’t what we wanted, but we can’t exactly get back to the car, drive the three hours back to Portland, and jump on a plane back to Nürnberg. We stay here, and that’s the end of it.”
“It’s not just the food, Dad.” Rilla looked at him. “It’s what’s out there. Those people, those corpses—they’re not going anywhere. They know we’re here. Don’t tell me you can’t hear them at night, because I know you can. The way their fingernails scratch at the brickwork, the moaning sound they make, and the grinding of their teeth. One day they’ll figure out how to pull down that fence, or get over it, or get under it, or something, and then we’re fucked.”
“Language, Rilla,” said Magda quietly.
“Es tut mir Leid.” Rilla sat up and rested her head on her mother’s back. “Sorry, Mom.”
“I know, I tried to explain to Jeremy, but he thinks it will hold.” Schafer peered at the fence panels through a crack in the curtains. They might hold, but he wasn’t prepared to gamble the lives of his wife and only child on ‘might.’ The fence was the only thing that was separating the house from being invaded by a hundred dead people. Rilla was right. If the dead found a way in, they were screwed. There was no back way out. Jeremy had ensured the house was protected on all sides, and the fence doubled as the main entrance to the property. The door in it had been nailed shut ensuring the only way in was gone. Rilla was right about another thing too. Schafer did hear them at night scratching and clawing at the wood as they tried to get in. He had become accustomed to the noises, but that didn’t mean he had gotten used to it.
“Okay, so what do you think, Magda? You want to go or stay?”
Magda brushed a hand through her daughter’s hair and looked forlornly at her husband. “I think I want to stay. If you and Rilla stay, then I stay.”
Both Schafer and Rilla knew that their mother would go wherever they went. It wasn’t that she had no opinion, but she was too far out of her comfort zone. Her grasp of English was tenuous, and ever since the zombies had appeared outside their motel room, she had become more and more withdrawn.
“Dad, let’s go. You know what I’m talking about.” Rilla sat bolt upri
ght, her deep brown eyes lighting up when she spoke. “That house on the hill is our best bet of seeing this through. I know that getting to Portland or Washington—or even back home to Germany—is out of the question. For a long time, it would seem. So for the next few weeks or months, or however long it takes for this situation to be resolved, we need to be somewhere safe. This isn’t the place. Jeremy and Lynn took us in. But like the motel, it’s just another stop on the road.”
Schafer looked at Rilla with a heavy heart. She spoke the truth. “Mr. Attwood’s place?”
“Sure. The mansion. Why not? Jeremy said it was like a fortress. You heard what he said. Attwood was a rich old man who built himself more of a castle than a home. High perimeter fencing, security cameras, even a moat fed by the nearby river. You know he’s there; the lights still come on at night. We’ve all seen it, so I don’t know why Jeremy can’t see it too.”
“Rilla, I’m not sure…” Schafer knew the house his daughter spoke of. He had seen it, too, and discussed it with Jeremy. There was nothing else like it around for miles. Jeremy had told them how Attwood had built it a few years back. He was a millionaire and had spared no expense, buying up all the land around it too. Getting there wouldn’t be easy, but if they could get inside, then there was no doubt they would be safe. Schafer wanted to go, but it wasn’t the right time.
“Dad, it’s the best place for us. You know it, and I know it. If you can’t convince Jeremy, then I can.” Rilla got off the bed and walked toward the closed door. “Let me talk to him. I’ll make that idiot listen to me.”
Schafer turned away from the window, the sun warming his back as he approached the door. Rilla hadn’t opened it yet, and he needed to make sure their conversation stayed private. “Just remember who took us in, Rilla. When the motel was overrun, when there was nowhere else to go, Jeremy and Lyn opened their doors to us. You know what would’ve happened if they hadn’t, and you also know that they didn’t have to do that. They put themselves and Vicky in danger when they did that.”
“I know, but—”
“We are the reason those corpses are mounting up outside that fence; outside this house.” Schafer remembered the day they had turned up on Jeremy’s doorstep no more than minutes from death. Escaping the motel had taken all their energy, and they had not known where to turn. There was no help, no police, nowhere to run except away from the zombies, away from the motel; they had run through the streets of Peterborough aimlessly, at one point circling back on themselves in error. They didn’t know the area, and it was only a fluke they found Jeremy’s house. Schafer saw movement in a window and had dragged Magda and Rilla with him, hoping it meant someone was alive inside. As it turned out, he was right. Jeremy had let them in with caution and locked the fence behind them. The zombies chasing had been barricaded outside and had not gone anywhere since. It had been a beautiful sunny day, just like today, and the memory of it was still fresh in Schafer’s mind. He thought he was going to lose his family that day. He thought he was going to watch Magda and Rilla torn apart at the hands of the corpses that now populated the world, and yet Jeremy had shown kindness and let them in. He owed Jeremy, they all did, and that was why they had to respect his wishes now. Stay in the house; stay where they knew they had food and water. There was a certain logic to it, Schafer had to admit. What Jeremy couldn’t see was that one day it would all come tumbling down. Schafer just hoped they weren’t there when it did. In the meantime, they had to play the waiting game and show to Jeremy that they weren’t about to jeopardize what he had created: a safe haven, an island surrounded by a storm of death that refused to dissipate.
“We cannot throw away all the trust we’ve built up over the last few months,” said Schafer firmly. “Let’s not burn our bridges yet, Rilla. We can wait a bit longer. I’m worried about the future too. I’m worried about tomorrow and the next day and the next. But this is the way it is now, Rilla.”
The bed creaked as Magda got up, and she joined her husband’s side. “Please, Rilla. We must stick together. Ich vermis Nürnberg. I want to go home. For now, we must do what Jeremy says. So please, listen to your Father. Werden Sie es für mich tun?”
Schafer kissed his wife on the cheek. Having her on his side meant a lot. If she had sided with Rilla, then he would’ve had a great deal of difficulty in stopping her from talking to Jeremy. It wouldn’t have achieved anything except create more tension between the two families. They might be living under the same roof, but they were a world apart when it came to decisions on how to live.
Rilla’s shoulder’s dropped, and her eyes hit the floor. Schafer knew she would calm down and realize they were doing the right thing. He wanted to offer her something; a sign that she wasn’t completely in the wrong, a glimmer of hope that they weren’t trapped in a stranger’s house forever. “Rilla, maybe when the food and water start to run out, maybe then I can talk to Jeremy and Lyn again. I’ll make him see. Maybe—”
Rilla snapped her head up and looked at her parents. Her hand hovered over the door handle, and she wanted to rush out and scream at Jeremy. She wanted to run away, all the way home to Nürnberg, but she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Every day they spent here, every night she slept in a strange house in a stranger’s bed, she felt not just afraid but frustrated. “Maybe when the food and water have run out we’ll be too weak to go anywhere. Maybe we’ll just have to start eating each other. Maybe the fence will give way tonight, and none of us have a tomorrow to worry about.”
“Rilla…”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Three soft taps told Rilla exactly who it was, and she opened the door, pleased that Vicky had given her a reason to leave. Jeremy and Lyn’s daughter had celebrated her tenth birthday last week, and they had strung up balloons and banners inside the house. Lyn and Magda had even managed to make a cake with what few ingredients they could muster, and they had played games until it got dark. It was after they had all eaten that Vicky had asked why none of her friends had been able to come to her party. She knew it was something to do with the dead people outside, but couldn’t understand why they hadn’t at least telephoned to say happy birthday to her.
Vicky was the one thing that gave Rilla hope. Vicky was such a cute girl. Her curly brown hair still ringed her freckled face, and her naturally outgoing attitude meant she enjoyed spending time with her. Rilla was an only child, and Vicky had become like a younger sister to her. She displayed none of the mistrust that her parents did and simply enjoyed every day. She had her moments, of course. There were the days when she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to go to school or why she couldn’t go swimming down in the lake as she had done last summer, but on the whole, she was a good natured child, and a ray of hope in an otherwise bleak situation.
“Hi Vicky, what’s going on?” Rilla knew there was no point in arguing with her parents anymore. Schafer had made his mind up which meant that Magda had made hers up too. Rilla would rather spend the rest of the day with Vicky than discussing something that wasn’t going to happen.
“What are you all doing in here?” asked Vicky, innocently.
Schafer smiled. “Nothing, my dear, just having a little talk. Are you all right? Where are your parents?”
“They’re in the garden.” Vicky sighed. “Booooring. They’re planting seeds. Mom said it was something called zookeenee. I don’t know what it is, but it sounds horrible.”
Rilla bent down to Vicky. “You want to play hide and seek?”
Vicky’s face brightened up, and she clapped her hands together. “Yes, yes, yes, yes. I’ll hide first. You have to find me.”
“Okay,” said Rilla as Vicky darted off downstairs, “but remember you have to stay in the house.”
“Yeah.” Vicky’s voice was lost as she ran down the stairs.
“Rilla, watch out for her, don’t let her go—”
“I know, Dad. I’ll be careful. We’ll talk later.” Rilla smiled at Magda. “Right now I’ve got a ten-year-old girl to
find.”
“Ich liebe dich,” said Magda quietly as her daughter left the bedroom.
“It’ll be fine, Magda,” said Schafer, as he put an arm around his wife. He heard the zombies banging on the fence below, recalling how close they had been to getting in the day they had arrived here. He felt nervous, as if he could feel them getting closer, scratching one more layer of paint off the fence with every day. One day the wood would get too thin, it would crack and shatter, and ten thousand corpses would pour into Jeremy’s house. He pulled Magda to him and hugged her, burying his face in her hair. When he spoke he tried to keep his tone light, hiding the fear he truly felt. “Gott meine Familie zu schützen. It will all work out, you’ll see. Rilla will come around. It’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER 2
Charlie picked up the linen basket full of wet clothes and trudged outside with it. . The washing machine had long since stopped working, so everything was done by hand now. When enough rainwater had collected, she would soak their clothes in the bathtub and hang them out to dry, letting the sun do its job. They didn’t bother with washing often; it was far too arduous, and quite frankly it seemed all rather pointless. They never saw anyone, never went anywhere, so why should she worry about how she looked? Sighing, Charlie went out to the small garden they had. When she reached the clothesline, she began to peg the clothes up one by one. She started to hum a tune, an old song by an old band that she used to like. She hadn’t actually listened to music for months now, not since they had run out of batteries. She still remembered, though; still had the music in her head, and sometimes she thought she could hear it floating across the wind, as if her favorite bands were all lined up outside, playing in Peterborough just for her. The music would get so loud she had to force herself to stop listening. It was all in her head, of course, and when the music stopped she wondered why her brain did that; why sometimes she would wake in the middle of the night with a rock song blasting out so loudly that she had to muffle it with a pillow over her head. Eventually her brain would turn the music down, but it took a concentrated effort to make it do so. It was as if she was stood in front of the radio, her fingers barely touching the dial, unable to change the setting. Today, however, as she picked out one of Kyler’s freshly washed shirts from the basket she wanted the music. She needed to block out the sounds, the noise that they made. It was like a foreign language, all the moaning and groaning that passed their cracked, dry, dead lips; she hated it and turned the volume up. A song came into her head, one about a girl falling in love with a boy who already had a girlfriend, and she started humming along, breaking out into a smile when she remembered the singer and how much she fancied him.