Zombiekill

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Zombiekill Page 8

by Russ Watts


  “Me? But I’m pathetic. I’m a nobody, isn’t that what you keep telling me?” Charlie shook her head. “What can I do about it, Dad?”

  Kyler sighed. He brushed past Charlie and picked up the crowbar from the ground. Looking at Charlie, his large, brown eyes burned like fire. “Now that’s a good question, Charlie.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The plan was simple. Schafer knew which roads were best to take, which ones were clear of the corpses, and which to navigate to reach the house on the hill. That was the simple part. The hard part would be getting past the zombies that roamed through Peterborough at will. Schafer had found no evidence that anyone else was alive, although he had to admit he hadn’t covered even as much as half of it. The excursion a few days ago had been quick and about gathering only what he needed. He had returned with a few cans of food, but very little else except the knowledge that the Attwood’s residence was the only alternative to dying of starvation at Jeremy and Lyn’s house.

  “You sure about this?” Jeremy approached Schafer as they got ready to leave. They were making the last preparations before leaving. It was late in the day, and they wanted to get going before the dark. If they were stuck outside at night they would have severe difficulty finding, not just Attwood’s, but anywhere safe to stay.

  “Of course. As long as we are all ready, then we should get moving,” replied Schafer. In the last few days his beard had seemingly grown even longer, so much that it was beginning to hide his voice when he spoke. With his clipped English and German accent, sometimes Jeremy found it hard to identify every word the man said.

  “Right, right. It’s just that I need to know that my family is going to be safe. I can’t afford any mistakes with this. If you think there is any chance of this going wrong, then I need to know. It’s not too late to back out. We can stay here. We can still make a go of it with the supplies we have. I’m sure if we just got the seeds to take and figured out an irrigation system we could—”

  “Nein.” Schafer had heard it before, heard all the excuses and reasons why they should stay. Jeremy had been the last one to agree to go, and convincing him had taken all of Schafer’s efforts. Was it a desire to protect his home, fear of the outside world, or just blind naïveté that led Jeremy to think they were better off staying? Even his wife, Lyn, had agreed that they had to do something, go somewhere, and find help. They would surely die if they stayed at Jeremy’s, and Schafer wasn’t about to let him change his mind now, not when they were all ready to go. “We go today. Now. It’s agreed, Jeremy. We will be okay. Do you think I would risk taking my wife and daughter out there if I thought it wasn’t safe enough? I would do anything to protect Rilla, which is exactly why we are leaving.”

  Schafer saw disappointment in Jeremy’s face. Surely he wasn’t going to abort at the last moment? The man wasn’t completely stupid. He and Lyn were intelligent people, teachers before the world stopped turning and became a dead zone. Victoria was well-educated and happy, she spoke politely, and they had taken in the strangers months ago without asking for anything in return. It seemed that being confined to the same building for months on end, though, hadn’t brought them close but in fact driven them apart. They had very different ideas on how to proceed from here. Part of it, Schafer knew, was that this wasn’t his home. This was Jeremy’s house, and abandoning it for the uncertainty of the outside, with them out there, was no doubt unsettling. But it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing left that they could do.

  “Look, Jeremy, if you want to stay, then stay. You, Lyn, and Victoria might be able to survive without us. Perhaps we have depleted your food reserves too much. I’m sorry. But I am very grateful that you took us in.” Schafer put a firm hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and smiled. There was no hidden agenda or anything sinister in it; he genuinely wanted the man to feel a part of the plan. “I can do this without you, but it will be much easier if you are with us, I think. We are also leaving. Now.”

  Schafer looked at the retaining wall he had climbed over a few days ago and remembered how it had been. At first, it had been quite easy. Until he had been forced to kill the woman in her own home, he had thought it would be relatively easy going from house to house. That first kill had almost undone him. It was only remembering how Magda and Rilla were relying on him that drove him on. He had killed more that day, more than he had wanted to, but it had been borne of necessity. He had passed through more houses, more streets, and eventually found a house where he had been able to look at the house on the hill that Rilla had urged him to investigate. The high walls around the estate and thick trees hid most of the property, but he could snatch glimpses of it. The house appeared quiet in the daylight, but he knew Rilla had seen lights at night. Schafer had stayed perfectly still in the upstairs bedroom of a stranger’s house for the best part of three hours watching the house. The heat of the day had warmed the house, and he wanted to stretch his stiff legs frequently, but it was important to monitor the house for activity. Once he had found a good vantage spot, he had stayed there without so much as taking a sip of water. The dead still walked beneath the window, in the streets all around him, and so Schafer had remained quiet, motionless for hours. In all that time he had seen only one sign of movement at the house. A figure had emerged from a doorway once, though it was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman. They had brought out a bucket and thrown it on the ground then gone back inside. That was it. That was all he had seen. Had it been Attwood clearing away garbage? Nobody really knew if Attwood was married, but rich people usually had friends, so it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility to imagine he had friends or relatives with him. It may have been a cook or servant throwing away dirty water. Whoever it was and whatever they were doing, there was nothing to suggest anything sinister was going on, and Schafer checked out how they would gain access. The high walls would be impossible to cross, and though the small moat could be crossed carefully, he could see some zombies had fallen in. They splashed around in the water, unable to climb the slippery banks out, and others wandered outside the walls, perhaps looking for a way in. The dead were thinner out there and more closely compacted in the town’s residential area where Jeremy’s house was. The only way in was to announce their presence and knock. Laughable though it felt, it was the only way.

  There was a small roadway over the moat—which was no more than a glorified ditch—and it led to a building resembling a small warehouse. It adjoined the high walls and visibility was poor. Schafer imagined the outer door could be raised to let in vehicles, and they were just going to have to go and ask to be let in. Whilst Jeremy and Lyn had told them that Attwood was slightly eccentric and obnoxiously rich, there was nothing that Schafer had heard to suggest he would turn them away. He had not made his money selling weapons to terrorists or by investing in hedge funds. He was a human, a man, and Schafer knew Rilla was right. He would help them, and now he knew how to get there.

  “We all good here?” Lyn approached Schafer and Jeremy holding her daughter’s hand. “Everything ready?”

  Jeremy nodded but said nothing.

  “Yes, everything is ready.” Schafer noticed that Victoria looked nervous. It wasn’t usual for her not to be smiling or laughing, and she clung to her mother’s side. Schafer bent down so his eyes were on the same level as hers. “What do you think, Vicky? You all set? This is just a vacation. It’ll be fun, just—”

  “Thanks, Schafer, I’ve got it,” said Jeremy stepping in front of him.

  With Jeremy blocking his way, it was clear that Schafer wasn’t welcome. Lyn began fussing and cooing over her daughter, telling her to pull up her socks and ensuring she had her bag packed, as if she were about to head off to school.

  “Ja. Okay.”

  Schafer began walking to the wall, feeling Jeremy’s eyes digging into his back. Even now there was a lack of trust between them. Perhaps the men knew that if it came to it, both would sacrifice the other, even their families, if it meant living. Both kept trying to
take the upper hand, but they were locked in a stalemate, thrusting forward pawns in search of an answer, only to find their way blocked.

  “Problem?” Rilla zipped up her light blue jacket. Even though it was warm, she wanted to take it with her, knowing there was every chance she was going to spend another winter in Peterborough. She carried a bag on her shoulders, as they all did, but kept her arms free. She held the brass base of a lamp in her hands, its cord and shade removed so as to allow her to move it freely if needed. They had had to improvise when it came to defending themselves, fashioning crude weapons out of whatever they could lay their hands on. Jeremy had no guns in the house and only a couple of large knives which he and Lyn held.

  “No, it’s fine, they’re coming. Just a little nervous.”

  “Nervous? I’m scared as hell.” Rilla drew in a breath and then puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled. The wall they were about to cross was the point of no return. They had packed as much as they could take with them and were going to end up at Attwood’s house. Rilla was excited, pleased at the knowledge they were finally taking action instead of waiting for something to happen. She was also scared. She hadn’t been outside since the motel, and that experience had been terrifying. Having corpses attacking them and having to literally run for their lives had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Now they were willingly going out there again knowing what they were going to have to face. Rilla looked at her father with admiration. He had already been out there, already faced them, and returned to do it all over again. He was the strongest man she knew. “Let’s do this.”

  “Magda, remember to stick close to me and Rilla,” said Schafer as he tightened the straps on her backpack. He tugged the bag on tightly and then turned her around so he could look into her eyes. “We’ll be fine. I’ve already been out there once. This time is no different. If anything it’ll be easier. We have strength in numbers. We’ll be at the house on the hill in no time.”

  Magda bit her lower lip and stared up at her husband. “Okay. So we go now. It will be okay. It will be all okay, yes?”

  Schafer grabbed her face and kissed his wife’s firm lips. “Vertrauen Sie mir.”

  Magda carried a long-handled screwdriver, but Schafer knew she was unlikely to use it. His wife wasn’t a fighter, and whilst he carried the baseball bat he intended to make sure that neither she nor Rilla were obliged to use their own weapons. He grabbed the ladder they had placed by the wall. There was no secret about what they were doing and no need to take any chances. The ladder was cold, but its feet dug into the ground and would hold them all as they ventured over it far more securely than the garbage bins. He climbed up the first rung and turned around. Five sets of eyes stared at him with hope, but each with their own secrets too. Jeremy held bitterness in them, as if he didn’t want to accept that all of their fates now resided in what Schafer did next. Lyn had anger in hers, though Schafer could not know if it was directed at him or at her own husband for failing to stop him from taking them away from their home. Victoria was sad, too young to fully understand what they were doing but old enough to know they weren’t just going on vacation as they had tried to tell her. Magda tried to hide her terror, but was managing to convey to Schafer that she was completely out of her comfort zone and failing to hide her fear at all. When Schafer looked at Rilla, he felt pride rising inside of him. There was hope there but determination too. She was just like Magda had been years ago, before motherhood and age softened her. He saw himself in those eyes of his daughter’s. She would fight to her last breath, he had no doubt, yet he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He was going to try to lead them down the clearest streets so that they didn’t have to fight. Killing them wasn’t easy. It was like killing a real person; something nobody should have to do. He didn’t want Rilla to be put in that position, yet they had no choice but to leave. They had barely gathered up enough food to fill their six bags, which was a timely reminder of why they were leaving.

  “Keep close.” Schafer smiled and lifted his baseball bat to the blue sky. “Today is a beautiful day. Tonight we will eat and sleep in a stranger’s house. But we will be safe. We will be happy. It will be beautiful.”

  He climbed the ladder quickly and dropped down the other side waiting for Magda to follow. As Schafer planted that first foot on the neighbor’s property, he felt exhilarated. It was as if he were marching to war and should be waiving a flag above his head with a bayonet in hand, singing songs about a great leader. Instead, he was armed with just a baseball bat about to face an army of walking corpses with his family behind him. His exhilaration quickly evaporated when he realized the enormity of what they were doing. Lives were depending on him and what he did next, and not just his own. He did not doubt himself, but he also recognized the perilous journey they were about to undertake.

  They all made it over the wall without encountering any problems and then to the end of the row of houses with relative ease. They reached the house where Schafer had killed the woman and waited. Schafer saw the street was clear which was unusual considering how he had left it. The dead bodies were still there where he had left them, but the walking ones were absent. He made everyone stay silent as he crept out onto the street on his own. Looking up and down, he saw nothing. He was surprised but wasn’t complaining. The fewer zombies they were confronted with then the quicker they would be. He beckoned the others out to join him.

  Rilla looked at the motionless form of a dead boy in the gutter. His skull was caved in, his arms covered in infected cuts and bite marks. He wore pale blue pajamas with smiling teddy bears on them, and his feet were bare. She was thankful she couldn’t see his eyes and turned to her father.

  “Where are they?”

  Schafer could see the base of the lamp in her hands was trembling. She was brave, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid as well. “I don’t know. They probably aren’t far away. We should keep moving,” he replied.

  “What’s going on?” Jeremy looked around nervously clutching a steak knife in his hand. Lyn and Victoria were the last to join them. Victoria refused to run, worried that if she did so her footsteps would be too loud and bring the nasty people.

  “Was ist los?” asked Magda.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Lyn, noticing the concern etched across Magda’s face. “What’s she saying? I knew we should’ve—”

  “No. Everything is fine.” Schafer had only waited for Lyn and Victoria to catch them up, not wanting to leave any kind of gap between them. If they got separated, they would be in trouble. Now they were all together, they could move on. “It’s okay.”

  “Where are they?” asked Jeremy. “Where are all the dead people? I thought once we crossed that wall—”

  “Does it matter? Let’s just keep going.” Rilla urged her father on, ignoring Jeremy’s questions. She had learnt that he was a narrow-minded and cautious man who needed to know everything about something before doing it. He wouldn’t eat something without knowing what was in it and had refused to agree to the plan to relocate until Schafer had told him everything about the outside world. Jeremy was irritating her already, and a part of her wished he had stayed behind. If he had, then Victoria would’ve stayed, too, and Rilla loved her like a sister. So if putting up with Jeremy’s whining meant Victoria was safe, then so be it.

  They left the open street and headed for a smaller road that was flanked by single storey homes. Rilla could tell exactly where her father had been by the dead bodies they skirted past. It was just as he had described it, the houses, the open road, and rotting corpses that cooked slowly in the sun. There were two differences to what he had told her. The obvious one was the lack of zombies. There should be at least a few corpses wandering about. Not that she wanted to face them or deal with the dead, but it was unnerving at just how quiet the streets were. She half expected them to all jump out from behind a wall and yell ‘Surprise!’

  The other thing that he hadn’t fully conveyed to her was the smell. It was the stench of death
; an almost overwhelming foul stink that made her eyes sting and her throat constrict. It made the air taste warm and sticky, and she wished the corpses would hurry up and rot away to nothing. It was obscene. Every few feet there was another corpse, sometimes undistinguishable from the one she had just passed. Arms and limbs were scattered about the road ,too, as if left by a passing mortician who had decided to throw them out like confetti. As she passed a dead man, she noticed the skin drawn tight around his neck, his hands and fingers curled up as if clawing at the ground. He looked like a waxwork model, adorned with dirty clothes, and thin black hair slapped crudely around a balding head. There was a hole in the side of his skull just above the ear. Somebody had shot this man. As they continued, she saw another body with a bullet hole in the side of the head. At one point, someone had been here with a gun. It didn’t really matter. Once a zombie was put down, it stayed down as long as it was in the head. That was as much as they had learnt before the world went black.

  As they rounded an empty hearse, Rilla noticed a wreath tied with brittle string to a lamppost by the curbside. The once crisp, yellow flowers were wilted and pale, the green stalks now a faded gray as if the effort of grieving so publicly was too much. Rilla noticed her mother bow her head as they passed. Strangely, the wreath for the dead was the only thing she saw that reminded her of how alive the place had once been. The silent cars, the overgrown lawns, and the stiff clothes that still hung on the line were symbols of a life long gone, yet there was something poignant about those flowers. They were a symbol for mourning, something they no longer did. Everything was black and white now; everything was a matter of life and death.

 

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