Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  She placed one foot out of the apartment and looked down the corridor; apart from the impossible amount of blood, she saw nobody, living or dead. Linda then sensed somebody behind her; she spun around, the knife already in the air, thinking that somehow Mr. Roberts had got back on his feet. Linda shrieked in complete terror when the man she was hoping to marry stood up from behind the sofa. Her mind went into meltdown at the sight of the man’s guts hanging out of his stomach and trailing across her carpet. Richard growled then lunged for the woman. Linda stepped back against her wall and slowly slid to the floor. She closed her eyes, sobbing and hoping that there wouldn’t be too much pain.

  The dead man stopped by her foot, fell to his knees and placed his cold hands on her shoulders. His touch was almost tender until he growled once more then lunged forward and fastened his teeth around her left breast. Linda’s eye snapped open and she screeched out in agony.

  Chapter Nine

  He traced his finger down the bronze plaque until he found the name of his grandfather. As a child, Dean used to be so proud of the fact that his family was the only one in Seeton who had lost men in both world wars. When he grew older he found the very idea of armed conflict abhorrent.

  Dean stepped away from the village war memorial and gazed across the street towards the butcher’s window. It seemed ironic that a pacifist may have been responsible for helping to wipe out the human species. Dean took a deep breath and reined in his emotions. He was a scientist, it was his job to take a step back and look at this disaster with an objective eye. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he allowed irrationality to cloud his judgment.

  Then again, considering he couldn’t get in the fucking house, no amount of rational thinking was going to help him. Dean had just come back after finding his dad’s place all locked up.

  He’d climbed the long hill up from here, re-living the times as a kid when he used to free-wheel down this hill straight into the village centre. Christ knows how he’d managed not to get himself run over. They’d bolted a metal railing into the wall since he was last here, something for which he was thankful for; he’d had forgotten just how steep this bloody hill was. His old home came into view, and Dean had smiled at the sight; it hadn’t changed one bit.

  As he had neared the house, Dean rehearsed the speech he intended to reel off, hoping it was unpretentious enough to allow Dean to get his old room back and plenty of uninterrupted time so he could get this damn plague under control.

  The dog started to bark as soon as he opened the garden gate; was it the same dog? It couldn’t still be Gruff in there, that animal was on his last legs when he lived here. Dean got the shock of his life when he found that his dad wasn’t at home, he’d even jumped over the wall to try the back door and received another shock when he saw what his dad had done to the garden.

  Dean waited for two policemen to walk past him before he crossed over the empty road. He’d lost track of his dad’s social habits when he moved to London. Then again considering just how predictable his dad was when Dean was a teenager, he can’t imagine that he’d changed that much.

  It was obvious what he ought to do, he’d start off in the Rose and Crown and if he wasn’t in there and nobody in the pub knew where he’d be, then Dean would simply come back here and ask around in the shops. It’s not as if he had anything else planned.

  “Why do you need the room anyway?” he muttered to himself. He turned towards the village hall, and The Rose and Crown was just behind that large stone building. All he had to do was go over and ask for a room above the pub, there were bound to be a few spare, not many people used to holiday in Seeton, and Dean couldn’t imagine that much had changed.

  It did make more sense; there was nothing really in his old room that would have helped him that much anyway. “Besides, Dean, time is of the essence, the longer you procrastinate, the more people will die.”

  Dean walked past the butcher’s shop and glanced in the window. His old mate Tom leaned against the counter, chatting to some old dear. Bloody hell, the lad hadn’t changed a bit—well, apart from losing most of his hair and gaining a few pounds in weight around his waist. It shocked him to see just how much Tom now resembled his old man when Dean’s mum used to send him out for three pounds of skirt beef and a pound of kidneys for their Friday pie. Dean picked up a little speed and turned his head away from the window, he did not want Tom to see him; he’d play friend catch up after he’d gotten himself sorted out.

  His heart almost stopped when two police cars and an ambulance raced past him. He hoped to Christ that the infection hadn’t spread this far. When Dean heard the shop’s occupants scramble towards the open door, he put his head down and made himself scarce.

  Dean speeded up and walked past the remaining high street shops. He didn’t turn back around until he’d reached the front of the village hall. The road and pavement was now devoid of activity. He sighed, figuring that it was probably just a road accident or something, but knowing how boring this village was, the call was more than likely for a cat stuck up a tree. That sudden flurry of activity would probably give Tom and his only customer something else to chat about. It was probably the most exciting event they’d seen all week.

  He walked past the village notice board proclaiming that the gala had been put back for another week. “Scratch my previous thought,” he muttered. “They’d be yapping about the gala being postponed, that was far more important than a stupid cat stuck up a stupid tree.”

  One of the village phone boxes painted in brilliant red stood just outside the hall. He guessed that it still had regular use. He doubted that many people in Seeton had bothered to get a mobile phone, this place really was the village that time forgot. An ancient Morris Oxford van drove past him.

  My point exactly, he thought.

  “Oh shit, what if they don’t have internet access?” Dean’s head darted around the buildings looking for telltale signs of transmitters; he couldn’t see anything, but that meant nothing.

  He stopped outside the pub’s doorway and re-checked to ensure that his wallet was still where he’d left it. Dean had withdrawn over a thousand pounds out of his account before he boarded the train. The wallet was still there, still with the money inside.

  He laughed to himself, realising what he’d done. All that cloak and dagger shit had been all for nothing, all the authorities need to do was check the employees’ bank accounts. “You’d never make a spy, Dean,” he said, shaking his head.

  Before he could grab the door, an old couple came out of the pub and almost ran into him.

  “Sorry,” he said, ramming the wallet into his back pocket. “I should have looked where I was going.”

  The old man jerked to a halt, and Dean heard the woman holding the man’s hand let out a gasp of surprise.

  “Dean? What are you doing here?”

  He gazed in surprise at his father, not believing that he had failed to recognize his own dad. He then shot a single glance at the woman, briefly wondering why her face dripped with malice. He looked back at his father and tried to smile, desperately remembering his speech.

  “Hi Dad, I’ve just been up to the house, but you weren’t in.”

  His dad returned the grin. “No, son, that’s because I’m here.”

  That remark completely threw Dean off balance. Was this really his dad? He’d never known him to come out with a funny, ever! While Dean was growing up, his dad’s dour face was as ever present as that horrible floral wallpaper he’d put up above the mantelpiece.

  Then he noticed they were both holding hands and it clicked; oh my, his dad now had a new girlfriend. Suddenly, his prepared speech became stuck just behind his teeth; in the presence of company his words now seemed stilted and false. He didn’t know what to do; Dean had never been any good at extracting himself out of awkward situations.

  Thankfully, his dad came to the rescue.

  “How odd that we bump into you, right here and now.” He turned to the woman for confirmation and she j
ust blanked Dean. His dad carried on as if nothing had happened. “It’s all over the news about the disaster in London. We were just on our way to the phone box to make sure you were alright.”

  He nodded, not knowing what to make of this new woman. He put on his best smile and extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Dean, pleased to meet you.”

  “I know who you are, “she replied, her hand stayed by her side. “What are you doing up here?”

  Oh, this was going bad, he had no idea who this woman was, nor did he really care, but her weird attitude did bother him somewhat. “Look Dad, the events in London are getting worse. I’m here because I think I can put what’s happened right.” He sensed the woman about to interrupt and moved in between them. “I don’t want to think what will happen if the problem in London gets out of control.” Dean knew for a fact that it already had. The only thing stopping him from screaming out in frustration and guilt was the objective scientific side, and keeping everything else firmly under lock and key.

  “You mean you’re responsible for this?” replied his incredulous dad.

  “A black aura,” muttered the woman.

  “Of course, I’m not responsible,” he replied, lying, “but I did once work with the team who were involved in this disaster.” Dean tried to push past his dad. “I’m going to stay here and sort this mess out, dad.”

  “You mean here, at the pub?” his dad didn’t give him chance to reply. “No way, there’s no way that you’re staying here. Look, here take the house key. Your room is still how you left it.”

  Dean looked at the key then at the pub doorway. He sighed then took the key out of his father’s hand. He nodded at the woman before hurrying away from the pair of them. He suddenly stopped, spun around, and found that they had both gone. “Bollocks, I forgot to ask if he had internet access.

  Chapter Ten

  Common sense gently advised him that rushing out of that nice, warm office may have been a little rash. Billy D’lacey then caught his common sense on the back foot by agreeing with it. Making the hazardous journey through the centre of the city may have indeed been a fool’s errand.

  His common sense, not used to this uncharacteristic show of unity, then suggested an even bolder move of getting the fuck out of this alley before all those shambling things sniffed them out.

  Billy D’lacey growled, startling the two men stood at either side of him and curtly told his common sense to mind its own goddamn business.

  When the news of the body’s discovery first reached Billy, he made it his highest priority to pay his last respects to his fallen soldier before news of the murder found its unwanted attention on the desk of some greasy detective. In retrospect, Billy figured that the filth wouldn’t have given two shits, especially with what was occurring throughout Birmingham.

  The news on the TV had given Billy enough to worry about before he embarked on the journey. At the time, he considered the reports of the army patrolling the city and the roadblocks to be just one big wind up; as for these supposed aggressive hordes of insurgents roaming the streets, well, that had to be wrong.

  Stuff like that didn’t happen in his city, at least not without his permission.

  He stared down at the dealer’s sprawled body, noticing the single imprint of a cat’s paw embedded in the congealed brain-matter pooled around his ears. Paying his last respects to this casing of cold meat now seemed like a joke. The man he knew and respected had left this plane of existence, leaving behind food only fit for the city’s scavengers.

  Billy finally tore his eyes off the corpse and gave his two companions a single casual glance. Their behaviour disquieted Billy, and their posture betrayed their true nervous thoughts. Jacob looked especially jittery; the gangster would have to keep his favourite minder under very close observation.

  Their reluctance to travel here and the two minders’ obvious enthusiasm to return to the club was understandable. Like him, his minders dished out pain, punishment, and regular executions with pride and zeal. Seeing their dead victims regain a semblance of existence and then attempt to eat them wasn’t part of the deal.

  Billy caressed the solid silver eagle’s head attached to the tip of his ash cane. He recited a simple prayer to the memory of Glen, then brought the cane down onto the corpse’s forehead. Billy sure as fuck had no wish to see this one get back up.

  “Jacob, you appear to be operating at less than your optimum capacity. Should your well-being concern me?”

  The man looked down at his employer, and Billy saw just how red his eyes were; he saw the troubled frown and took that as a bad sign. Jacob did not work well under complicated conditions.

  “I’m fine, sir,” he muttered.

  Billy sighed loud enough for his other minder to tear his eyes away from the now deceased dealer.

  “So you’re not about to start blubbing again like a little girl who’s just lost her teddy bear?”

  The man drew himself up to full height of six foot ten and took a single threatening step towards his employer. It gratified Billy to witness the familiar fire ignite behind Jacob’s ice-blue eyes.

  “I said that I was fine,” he repeated in a low growl.

  The hairs on Billy’s forearms stood up. His excitement rose, knowing that the minder would not disappoint him again; in fact, the man would be more than keen to make up for his earlier mistake. Billy intended to milk Jacob’s fervour until it was desert dry.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Cole. You are a courageous man, one of the few in my employment who have earned my respect. I consider you to be part of my family. Our fallen comrade deserves our personal condolences, no matter what obstacles are thrown in our way. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  Jacob cast his eyes to the floor and slowly nodded.

  All three men looked towards the end of the alley when a convoy of olive drab vehicles rumbled past the opening. “Our task here is complete, gentlemen, and I suspect that we have overstayed our welcome.”

  It had been nearly two hours since Billy woke to the sound of screaming. In his confused sleep state, he almost put a bullet through the brain of one of the club’s strippers who had been in his bed. After ordering the other two girls to calm the hysterical bitch down, he rushed out of his suite and into the club’s reception area. His two minders were running towards him, both drenched in wet blood.

  The men were in a worse emotional state than that stripper. With his features coated in crimson lumps, it took him a moment to recognise Craig Dolan.

  “Would you care to explain why you two are dripping gunk upon my expensive carpet?”

  He directed that question at his head doorman and part-time minder. He appeared to be marginally more coherent than Jacob. The man wiped some of the stuff out of his eye and looked at the glutinous blob of red mess before wiping his hand on the back of his jeans.

  “It’s that fucker you asked us to question, sir. Something really fucking strange has happened to him.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, “but was it really necessary to wallow in the man’s guts?”

  Craig looked as though he was about to burst into tears; the alarm bells inside Billy’s now fully awake mind finally began to ring. The man lifted his foot.

  “Don’t you dare come any fucking closer!” he shouted. “In fact, step back onto the lino. Get off my carpet.”

  “We killed him, sir.”

  “I think I’ve already figured that piece of information out.”

  Craig shook his head, “No, sir. You don’t get it. We killed him and he came back to life.”

  Jacob let out a low moan.

  “He won’t fucking die,” Craig whispered.

  Billy rushed back into his suite, grabbed his pistol off the dressing table, and followed the men downstairs. He slowly approached the closed door to the soundproof room where he and his associates entertained their guests. The two men stopped behind him, seemingly unwilling to venture any further.

  He double-checked his gun t
hen unlocked the door.

  “Please be careful, sir. That thing in there bears no resemblance to that snivelling little cunt we brought in.”

  Billy nodded, still not believing their implausible story. He wouldn’t forget Marigold Drake’s face, though, when he and Jacob arrived at the camera shop where he worked. Billy honestly thought the little kid was going to have a seizure right there and then. He did throw up when Jacob grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him over to Billy’s black van. Somehow the very idea that a skinny, seven-stone, chicken-livered bag of shit could affect his boys just seemed impossible.

  He raised his pistol and opened the door. Billy looked past the gore-streaked walls. He gazed over the metal table bolted to the floor and still littered with Craig’s favourite torture toys and stared aghast at the shaking, meowing, bloodied, wreck huddled in the far corner.

  Behind that swollen mask of crimson mess, Billy could still make out the features of the arrogant little shit who had the audacity to believe that he could steal money from him. The fucker actually believed he would get away with it too.

  He gazed back at his two minders. How the fuck did this man reduce his two best torturers into mounds of jelly? The wreck in the corner sensed that another person had joined him in the room. The change in his posture was almost dreamlike. He transformed from a snivelling coward into something that was almost feral.

  “Shut the fucking door!” screamed Craig. “Don’t let it get close to you, that thing won’t die.”

  He dismissed his minder’s pathetic pleading; the idiot had obviously taken leave of his senses. The idea of those two helping themselves to some of his pharmaceutical products, before they began to work on this sad excuse for a man stuck in his mind and refused to leave.

  He then turned back around and watched him crawl closer. As he slowly moved across the wet floor, Billy saw just how much damage his boys had inflicted upon his body.

  The missing fingers and the two splintered ribs pushing through his torn skin were the obvious signs. Then, as he crawled closer, Billy noticed the wet trail of steaming guts the man left behind. He had a gaping hole cut out of his stomach.