Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  She shook her head, whatever. Alison had better things to do with her time. She’d already decided what to wear tonight. Stuck at the back of her wardrobe was a very revealing blouse that she’d found in her own mum’s wardrobe a few months back. It came as a complete shock to find that mum had ever worn anything so risqué. Her mum came across as a total prude.

  A mournful high-pitched meow shattered the silence. Alison jumped, then looked back at the wall. Oh hell, it was just a kitten. She stepped off the path and ran across the wet grass, silently cursing as the water soaked through her plimsolls.

  Oh, this was so cruel. It was a kitten alright, some evil bastard had tied a length of washing line around its neck and fastened the other end around a large stone. Now who would do such an awful thing?

  Alison slowly approached the shivering animal and put her arm out. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’ll sort you out.”

  She sensed a shadow right behind her and heard the sound of a low groan just before someone thrust a canvas bag over her head. She tried to shout out but found her yells were abruptly cut off as a pair of large hands was pressed around her neck.

  “Don’t be scared,” whispered a rough male voice in her ear. “We’re gonna sort you out.”

  The man dragged her across the grass, she tried to struggle and get away, but that soon stopped when he punched her in the side of her head.

  “Enough of that,” he growled. “Save your wiggling for the fun bit.”

  She heard the opening of a door and in her groggy state she eventually worked out that he’d taken her back into the school. She smelt wood polish and something else, an aroma that was very familiar, the faint smell of somebody’s aftershave.

  “So, Alison, you dirty little bitch. You reckon that it’s cool to tease me do you? What, like I don’t have urges anymore? I think it’s time to show you what happens to filthy tarts who bit off more than they can chew.”

  Alison gasped out loud. Oh, my god! That voice belonged to her gym teacher. What the hell was going on? She blinked in the harsh light as the canvas bag was pulled off her head. She found herself alone with the teacher. The other man had gone, but she couldn’t move her arms; the man had an iron grip on both her wrists

  “Don’t you worry, he’ll be back. He’s having his turn after me.” The man grabbed her neck and suddenly pushed her back. She crashed into the wall behind her and fell onto the wooden floor.

  “What have I done wrong?” she cried.

  His face reddened. “Don’t you give me that innocent fucking face,” he snarled. “You know damn well what you’ve done, you prick teasing little bitch.” He knelt down in front of her, put his hand over her ears and pulled her head towards his. Alison smelt extra strong mints on his breath.

  “Yeah well, I decided that it was time that little girls like you should know what happens when their games goes wrong.” He licked his lips. “Don’t look so fucking frightened, this’ll mean nothing to a dirty slag like you anyway. Hell, you probably won’t even feel it, I bet you’re as loose as a well worn welly anyway.”

  Alison finally managed to scream when she realised just what he intended to do to her. He pushed one of his hands over her mouth while his other hand moved down the front of the uniform towards her crotch.

  On more than one occasion as she sat shivering under a bridge or lay wrapped up in broken up cardboard boxes, Alison had dreamt of how her life would have turned out if she hadn’t been violated by that evil monster. That fucker had hurt her and made Alison hate her own body.

  Somehow, she’d managed to escape, but only thanks to some anonymous pupil forgetting to put away their rounder’s bat. As he lay on the floor, panting and grinning and calling her so many horrible names, she turned her face away from his and through her tear blurred vision spotted the bat’s brightly coloured handle just a few feet from her hands. She turned over and ignoring the intense cramping pain knotted up inside the pit of her stomach, she slowly crawled towards her salvation. The teacher had been too late to notice she wasn’t in the same place he’d thrown her. By the time he had realised that something was amiss. Alison had retrieved the bat and stood above him. She screamed in raw anger and brought the bat down as hard as she could.

  Alison later learnt that blow must have only knocked him sideways. Alison kept a close eye on the news and once she’d taken the decision to go, she knew that leaving the village was now her only option. Even if she had stayed and accused him, who would believe her, a silly little girl? It would have been his word against hers, and she had no doubt that the other one would have backed up whatever story he chose to tell. If she’d stayed, he’d have killed her. Alison believed that taking it in turns to rape her then dumping the body was their original intention anyway.

  She should have stayed and kept bringing that bat down on his head until it looked more like a dropped melon, but she knew that time was against her. Alison had no idea where the other one had gone or how long it would be before he came back.

  Alison listened to the two men on the other side of her cubicle, casually exchanging gossip about some bloke called Gavin. That name rang a bell; she was sure that her older sister used to hang around with a lad called Gavin. They were just about to leave. Alison silently climbed onto the toilet bowl, she just had to connect that unforgettable voice to a face. She peered over the top just in time to watch them leave the gents. Alison didn’t think they’d be too hard to find though, considering both men wore police uniforms.

  Chapter Eight

  Linda stared aghast at the carnage below her. Oh, this was so not good. She glanced back at the television screen that was relaying similar pictures, only the scene on the box was happening twelve miles away on the other side of London.

  “Where’s the damn ambulance?” She looked past the accident towards the city centre, and seeing the state of the snarled traffic, there was a good chance that it would be a while before they got here.

  She looked back at the television, and judging by what the panicked looking news reporter had just told her, there was a fucking good chance that the ambulance would never turn up. The silly cow made it sound as though Armageddon had arrived in London.

  “They must be exaggerating, they must be.”

  She heard the thunderous noise just five minutes ago while she was in the kitchen. Linda had planned an evening in with Richard Steel, a very sexy colleague from work. He wanted to take her out, but she was adamant that he should come over to her place. He’d jokingly asked if she was trying to take advantage. Of course, she had vigorously denied any such thought had even entered her mind. The butterflies in her stomach all had epileptic fits when he said ‘that was a shame.’

  Linda tore her eyes away from the apartment window and gazed at the open bottle of wine stood on her kitchen table. She really ought to ring him and see if he’s alright. He lived in Camden and Linda was sure that they’d said that Camden was one of the areas that had been one of the worst affected.

  She left the window, poured herself a large glass of the wine, and padded back into the living room in search of her phone. As Linda dug her phone out of her handbag, a piercing shriek echoed up from the street below. She rushed back to the window and saw that one of those people in that crash had managed to crawl out of the wreck. Then she looked again, the glass fell out of her hand.

  “Oh, my god. This just can’t be happening.”

  The crawling man’s legs and hips were still inside that Ford Escort and crushed beyond all recognition when a double decker bus had ploughed into it. Only his torso, arms, and head had remained intact, and now that head was busy biting chunks of flesh out of the leg of a terrified spectator.

  Two men ran out from the gathered crowd and pulled at the abomination of the screaming woman, and with each holding an arm, threw it towards the wrecked car. A single police officer, who’d been unsuccessfully trying to keep the crowd quiet as well as trying to help the victims still alive inside the vehicles, rushed over to the fallen
woman, crouched beside her, and placed his hands over her leg wound. Linda slowly backed away from her window, trying in vain to make sense of what she had just witnessed. Linda felt something crunch under her heel, and she gazed at the pool of red wine soaking into her pale blue carpet and burst into tears.

  She then heard that silly bitch in the television studio advising everybody to stay inside and stay calm, reassuring everyone that the authorities had everything in order. Linda glared at the woman as she lied through her back teeth and so wanted to push her foot through the screen.

  “My carpet is fucking ruined,” she screamed at the TV. “And you tell me to stay calm?”

  Linda fell to her knees and started picking the pieces of glass off her carpet. Warm, soapy water should do the trick. She didn’t think the stain would come out though. Perhaps she could move the sofa over it?

  Another scream blasted out from outside as Linda stayed focused on her task; there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d look out of that window again, at least not until the police and ambulances had sorted it all out. The sight of that unholy thing taking a bite out of that poor woman would stay with her until the end of her days.

  She stood up, padded to the kitchen bin, and dumped in the glass fragments.

  “I’m going to need something a lot stronger than wine,” she muttered. Linda hurried towards her drinks cabinet, pausing by the TV. The female newsreader was now informing the audience that both the U.S. and E.U. had imposed quarantine restrictions on all outward bound journeys from the U.K.

  “And you can shut the fuck up you miserable bitch,” she muttered before turning off the TV.

  Right at the front of her cabinet was half a bottle of Jack Daniels her dad had given her it three Christmas’s ago. To this day, she hadn’t a clue why; Linda hated the stuff and her dad knew that. The only reason she opened it in the first place was a few months ago when she was sleeping with some young scientist bloke. She yelped when another shriek echoed in from the streets.

  “Oh, Christ,” she said, moaning. “Please make it fucking stop.”

  Linda reached out and grabbed the whisky from the shelf, unscrewed the top, and drank straight from the bottle. The liquid burned its way down her gullet before exploding in her stomach. Linda coughed, almost choking as some of the liquid came back up and dribbled down her chin; she wiped the mess away and took another drink. This time only a sip.

  The mindless panic receded just enough to remember that she was going to try to get in touch with Richard.

  “Oh, God, I hope he’s alright.”

  She took one more gulp of the whisky before setting it down next to her phone, promising herself that she’d have a bit more once she’d made sure he was alright. Linda grabbed the handset then stopped.

  “What the hell am I doing? His number’s on my mobile.”

  From where she stood, Linda could now see through her window. She moaned in horror and blindly felt along the table for the bottle. This just couldn’t be happening, it was like a scene from a horror movie.

  That bitten woman had her head buried in the copper’s stomach. Oh my God, she was eating him! There were a crowd of screaming people scrambling over the wrecked vehicles, and Linda thought they were fleeing from the woman; she moved a little closer to the window and screamed herself.

  The street was filled with people slowly making their way along towards the car crash. Linda looked closer, something was seriously wrong with all of them; then she saw the gaping wounds and the missing limbs.

  “They are dead! No, this can’t be happening,” she uttered while backing away and shaking her head. “Dead people can’t fucking move.”

  Linda took another drink from the bottle, and this time she managed to keep all of the fiery liquid inside her. She decided that she must have not looked properly, they can’t be dead because that’s impossible. Perhaps they were sick, infected with some disease like bird flu or something. She nodded to herself.

  “Bird flu, it must be that or that other one, swine flu.”

  Satisfied that she wasn’t losing her mind, Linda grabbed her coat and searched through her pockets for her phone. She kept well away from her window though, guessing that a closer view of those people would blow her theory right out of the water.

  Linda fumbled through the phone’s contact list, momentarily feeling guilty for passing over her mum’s number in preference to somebody she hardly knew. His name came up and Linda jabbed her finger against the telephone icon, praying that he’d answer.

  “Linda? Where are you?”

  She almost wept with relief when she heard his voice. He sounded out of breath. “Richard, are you alright?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “A group of old men started following me, and I had to jump over a wall into someone’s garden to lose them. Look, something really odd is going on. Are you still in your apartment?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “It’s horrible outside, there’s people eating each other.” Linda felt herself choke up. “I dropped my wine and everything.”

  “Look, you stay there; I’ll be at yours in a couple of minutes and calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  The phone went dead in her hands. She looked at it, wondering if she ought to call him back, and then changed her mind. There was no point, he was on his way. Linda smiled, everything was going to be alright.

  She’d call her mum as soon as Richard got here. She lived over in Birmingham and anyway, knowing her, she probably wouldn’t have even realised that anything was wrong here in London. It’s not like she listened to the news or read the paper; she was way too busy in her garden looking after her flowers for any of that nonsense.

  Feeling miles better, Linda decided to put the whisky back; if Richard was coming over, she wouldn’t need that any more.

  As she passed her door, she heard someone shouting in the corridors; it sounded like Mr. Roberts, the nice old gentleman who fixed her boiler a few months ago. She grabbed the door handle, intending to check on him, the poor guy sounded terrified. Then she stopped, what if he was infected with the flu as well? If she opened this door then she’d get it too. Linda slowly turned the key and locked the door, wishing Richard would hurry up and get here, she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

  “Why did I turn off the TV?” The noise outside was now so loud she felt as if she was stood beside that smashed up car. Linda placed her hands over her ears, picked the remote off the sofa, and turned the TV back on. Before she flicked through the channels and stopped on Cartoon Network she caught the newsreader announcing that the infection had now spread into the Home Counties. So, she was right, it was an infection and not dead people walking about.

  Something in the corridor crashed into her door.

  “Richard?” she shouted. “Is that you?” Linda rushed to the door and tried to pull it open, screaming in frustration when she realised that she’d locked the bloody thing. “Hang on a minute.” She turned the key and paused, was it him out there? He hadn’t answered her calls. Then again, who else could it be?

  Linda pulled down the handle and opened the door. Richard lay in the corridor, and Linda stumbled back into her apartment, shrieking in disbelief at the sight of Mr. Roberts huge hands thrust deep into Richard’s stomach. The old man lifted his head and moaned. Linda saw pieces of bright red flesh stuck between the man’s teeth.

  He scrambled off Richard and followed the crying woman into her apartment. Linda picked up the bottle and threw it at him, the glass smacked into the man’s forehead and dropped to the floor, rolling into the wine stain. She stared aghast, it hadn’t even slowed him down.

  “Get away from me, you fucker,” she screamed. Linda darted into the kitchen and slammed the door shut, she whimpered when the man hit the door. She watched the wood tremble in its frame and knew that wouldn’t hold him for long. Linda looked wildly around the tiny room, but she gone and trapped herself in here. “Oh you silly, fucking cow!” she shouted. Linda looked around the sh
elves for anything she could use as a weapon. She let out a bubble of hysterical laughter when she noticed an unopened bottle of carpet cleaner right at the front.

  “Eva Kleen tackles all stubborn stains, even red wine and blood. Oh, God, someone is really taking the piss.”

  Linda opened the drawer under the kitchen top and picked out her two sharpest knives. There was no way that she was going to die in here. The door panels cracked. Linda raised one of the knives and charged forward, slamming the blade through the thin wood. She heard something on the other side make a ‘gack’ sound then a heavy weight hit the bottom of the door.

  Linda stayed stock still, panting like a race horse. The only sounds she heard was Sponge Bob asking Patrick if he knew where Gary was. She kept the other knife tight in her sweaty palm and slowly padded over to the kitchen door. A globule of dark red fluid had seeped through the knife hole.

  “Mr. Roberts?”

  Linda grabbed the door handle and pulled, moaning as the still body of her neighbour fell through the gap.

  “Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry.” She warily used her foot to touch one of his arms, jumping back when it flopped to the floor like a dead fish. Linda stepped over the body and ran back into her living room.

  She needed to find somewhere else, somewhere to hide until all this had blown over. Linda then caught sight of a red flashing light on her answer phone. Who could be ringing her up at this time?

  Oh, God! Bollocks to the phone, she’d forgotten all about her Richard; he’d be bleeding all over the corridor, and all she cared about was finding somewhere to hide! Linda ran over to the open door, peered out, and gasped when she saw the body was no longer there.

  “Richard?” Where had he gone? He couldn’t have just got up, he was half dead. “Oh, God, Linda, don’t even think of stuff like that.” Could someone have dragged him away?