Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  “We should have looked upstairs, George.”

  He hadn’t expected that reply. “You mean at the bakers?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought we’d both agreed that Clarence must have left early.”

  “He said he’d board up his shop too.”

  George sighed. “There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment, is there? Look, we’ll ask him when we get to the village hall.”

  “I do hope he’s alright. He’s quite sweet on me, you know.”

  George knew that already. Hell, most of the single blokes in Seeton had a thing for Anne. She knew it too; he’d watched her flirt around from one man to another in the Rose and Crown, getting free drinks and promising them to do her favours. He’d often wondered if he she knew she was really doing it.

  George got the feeling that his attachment to Anne would be more talked about than the dead coming back to life. George imagined all heads would swivel when they walked into the hall, and he’d just have to get used to the murderous glances from Anne’s favour boys. Is that the reason why she came on to him? George had never shown the drooling tongue like the others had.

  After what he’d learnt about her earlier on, he got the feeling that the favour boys had got the best deal; he didn’t really fancy having to eat muesli and quorn burgers for the rest of his life. He may have to pass on that tip to Tom and Clarence—well, maybe not Clarence. He’d never really liked that man; there was something undeniably creepy about the fellow. He always got the feeling that his eyes and smile were saying one thing, but his mind was thinking the opposite.

  “George?” she hissed, pulling on his arm. “Look at that!”

  There was a lone girl inside the old telephone box beside the betting office. She had yet to notice that her movements had attracted the attention of one of the dead things. George could not be mistaken; their lumbering gait gave them away.

  “You’ve got to do something!”

  He looked at the cricket bat, knowing that now the crunch had come, and he felt certain that he wouldn’t be able to use it. George then glanced at Anne’s imploring features, and desperately wanted to just walk in the other direction.

  She thrust out both her arms and pushed him forward.

  “Come on!” she shouted. “Do something.”

  George stumbled backwards, and as he turned and put his hand out to stop his face hitting the tarmac, he glanced up and saw with shock that the figure had now chosen a new target. It headed straight for George.

  “I don’t think I can go through with this,” he whispered. He’d never killed anything in his life. All he wanted to do was drop the bat, curl up in a tight ball, and hope the thing would leave him alone. The thing drew closer, and the bat now felt as though it was made from solid lead. He was close to locking up; the contents of his bladder longed to be released. He was ready to run, to flee in the opposite direction without looking behind him.

  The figure then stopped and rocked back and forth in its heels.

  “Albert?” whispered George. “Is that you?”

  George leaned forward, feeling his racing heart begin to slow down as the rough features of the village drunk swam into place. He gasped with relief, it was no bloody wonder the man was wobbling like a newborn calf. Alcho-Al hadn’t been sober since 1991.

  “Christ on a bike, Al, you nearly had a cricket bat wrapped around your head, you daft old bastard. You scared the crap out of me!”

  He looked at the bat and laughed, feeling like a complete fool.

  “Where’ve you been hiding, anyway? I haven’t seen you about for ages.”

  The last George heard was that the drunk had taken to sleeping under the bandstand in the park, but that was weeks ago.

  As the man lurched forward, the overpowering stench of wet, decaying flesh caused George to jerk back, gagging. He then saw that the old drunk really was dead; one side of the man’s face was gone, tattered shreds of blackened skin hung down over his exposed upper jaw. He’d been dead for a long time. The wildlife must have been feasting on the body for weeks.

  The dead thing then lunged for George; he screamed and brought the bat up above his head. When the thing’s cold, rotting fingers grabbed the front of his coat, George shrieked. Its jaws opened wide and it excitedly tried to pull him closer to its open jaws. George closed his eyes and slammed the bat down with all his might.

  The wood smashed through the top of its skull like a ripe tomato, showering George with gobbets of stinking, black, jellied brain. The old man fell to his knees and vomited up his last meal.

  George tore off his coat and wiped the thing’s revolting mess off his face, knowing that he’d never be able to rid himself of that foul stink. He then threw his coat at the remains before getting back on his feet. George turned away from the rotten corpse and watched the young girl leave the telephone box, look at him and the corpse before crying out, and run in the opposite direction.

  He looked down at the cricket bat which was still in his hand. George watched the glutinous filth drip off the end and splat onto the road. He dropped the bat on the ground and threw up again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He leaned back against the side of his van, enjoying the peace and quiet. He’d forgotten just how calm the countryside was compared to the city life. His grandmother used to live in a remote village like this one, in the Shropshire hills. Billy used to look forward to his monthly visits to see his old gran.

  He filled his lungs with hot cigar smoke, then slowly breathed out. Billy grinned, considering that the country was completely fucked, he’d lost his two decades old empire, and he was miles from home with only those dorks for company, he felt remarkably tranquil.

  “Up and onwards,” he muttered. That was one of gran’s favourite sayings. Whenever something in her life went bad she would repeat that, shrug her heavy shoulders, and just carry on. “What an amazing woman.”

  Both Jacob and Craig had taken up surveillance duty a few metres from the van. At least, that’s the excuse they uttered when Craig had been ordered to park the van five minutes ago. Billy looked across and watched the pair of them sat on that dry stone wall and sneaking back the occasional glance.

  He sighed. No doubt they’d be scheming, coming up with some plan; either that or just fucking bitching about Billy’s decision to get out of Birmingham. He knew for a fact that his paranoia wasn’t attempting to voice his opinion, those two hadn’t stopped whining since they left the city.

  Craig was the worse one, and Billy watched the man strip down his handgun. He had even complained about the apparent lack of wildlife, they had not seen a single animal since they’d journeyed from Birmingham, not even a solitary bird. Since when did Craig turn into David Attenborough? The closest he ever got to nature was throwing stones at the ducks in the city’s canal.

  Billy glanced up at the light blue sky, seeing nothing but clouds and the occasional vapour trail left from passing aircraft. He had to admit, thinking about it, he’d not noticed any birds around either.

  He shrugged; considering what had happened, that was the least of his worries. His earlier thoughts of the authorities quickly gaining control of this disaster may have been a little optimistic.

  He recalled making the mistake of mentioning those very words to the men in the back of the van halfway along the A458. He should have just kept quiet, looking back; he realised that he’d crossed the line of employee and employer. The thought that he could talk to the minders at his own level had been stupid.

  They both heard the radio reports too, so why could they not make the obvious connections? The last station to get out a news report before static ate them said that a helicopter gunship had fired a salvo of missiles in a column of refugees near the south coast. The newsreader appeared to think that the gunship was French.

  Just how many other countries would have condoned the use of excessive force by England’s closest neighbour?

  “None of them,” he said.

 
They’d be too busy securing their own borders, secretly grateful that they weren’t next door to a pariah country. Billy looked into the sky, wondering if their American cousins were using their satellites to track the infection swarming through the cities. He imagined every one of them gasping in shock at the recently dead shambling through the streets of London, Liverpool, Birmingham, and all the other major cities. Those things would be everywhere by now, spreading their tainted sickness to the few terrified survivors.

  How long would it take the Americans to imagine the same syndrome spreading through their own cities? How long would it be before those plague pits were consumed by nuclear fire? If they didn’t do it, Billy knew the Russians or Chinese would press that button.

  Billy shivered; he gazed back across the landscape, almost waiting for the mushroom cloud to appear on Birmingham’s skyline.

  “We’re better off out of the city.” Billy threw his cigar down and wandered over his two men. The village of Seeton spread out before him, “Like a ripe apple, just ready to pick,” he muttered.

  “Sir?”

  Billy placed his hands on the top of the big man’s head. “Jacob, my friend, we’re about to embark on an exciting adventure. Look down there and tell me what you see.”

  Jacob did as he was ordered. “Houses and a few shops, sir.” He shrugged. “Was that a trick question?”

  “We’re setting up a new base down there. My intention is to ride into that village and inform the inbred locals that I’m their new ruler.” Billy enjoyed the look on their shocked, surprised faces. “If there is any dissent, then I’ll just allow my two enforcers to cut off a couple of ears and fingers and perhaps let you rage through Seeton’s womenfolk.”

  Both Jacob’s and Craig’s face lit up like Christmas trees. Billy nodded. “The village is small, it’s remote, and should be easy to defend.”

  The two minders looked at each other, and Billy had the feeling that his announcement had just disrupted whatever plans these two had already discussed. Craig nodded once before looking up at Billy.

  “Sir, forgive us if we seem a little stunned at what you suggest, it just…”

  “Yes, you expected us to find this girl, punish the little bitch, and get back home in time for tea and crumpets, yes?” He reached across, grabbed the front of Craig’s jacket, and pulled the stunned man off the wall. “Unlike you two dim-bulb halfwits, I have the ability to see beyond the front of my fucking face. There’s over a million people in our city and most of them will now be dead—dead yet still roaming the streets, eager for warm meat.” He released Craig and took a deep breath. “Is that what you really wish to return to? You two fucking clowns couldn’t even deal with one of those cunts, what will you do when there are hordes of them howling for your lovely warm blood?”

  Billy saw the man’s hand casually drift down towards the back of his jeans. He wasn’t a fool; Billy knew exactly what the minder had stashed there. He snapped his arm forward and this time, Billy wrapped his fingers around Craig’s throat. He did not intend for this fool to cut short his interesting future by having a pig sticker shoved through Billy’s eyeball.

  From the corner of his eye, he spied the other minder slide off the wall. “Don’t even entertain the thought of coming to Craig’s assistance.”

  “I wasn’t, Sir…”

  “Don’t you fucking lie to me! Is it not bad enough that I have one Judas in my midst?” Billy turned his attention back to Craig who appeared to be having a little difficulty in breathing. Billy could sympathise, only last week he had a horrible sore throat, not even his old gran’s hot honey recipe got rid of it.

  He eased a grip ever so slightly, just to show that despite Craig’s obvious traitorous actions, his employer was willing to show him a little compassion.

  “Now, Craig, have you washed away all those naughty thoughts yet?”

  “Sir?”

  Billy spun around. “This had better be fucking good!” he growled.

  Jacob nodded, then pointed beyond the low wall. “Sir, we’ve got some company approaching.”

  Billy dragged the minder over and looked down. “Shit, so we have.”

  A group of the dead was following a terrified teenage girl up the grass embankment. Those things had been dead for some time, and Billy had trouble working out how they could still be moving, let alone have enough sense to locate and chase their prey. The girl abruptly took her eyes off her pursuers, saw the three men, and almost lost her balance.

  “Help me!” she cried.

  “Jacob? How many of those rotting cadavers can you see?”

  “There’s twelve, sir. Shouldn’t we be helping her?”

  Billy released the other minder who fell to his knees clutching his throat and trying to cough.

  “Did you hear that, Craig?” he asked, crouching down. “Twelve dead things moving very slowly. Look at her, a healthy young girl like that could easily evade their clumsy movements and yet those things are closing in on her even as we speak. Just like you, Craig, she refuses to believe the reality of the situation. Now, that sort of thinking is expected for a civilian, but you are a cold-hearted killer.” He paused. “At least I thought you were.”

  Billy stood up and snatched Jacob’s pistol out of the man’s hands. He targeted the two corpses closest to the sobbing girl and demolished their faces with two shots. Billy dropped the smoking gun back into Jacob’s hands.

  “Craig, just this once I’ll forget your disgraceful indiscretion. It’s been a difficult few hours and just like that girl down there, and you too have refused to accept the reality.”

  He scooped up Craig’s dropped handgun and thrust it into the minder’s hands. “There are five left each, gentlemen. Head shots only, please. Once they’re on the ground, bring that girl to me.”

  He slowly wandered back to the van, smiling to himself as the cracks of gunfire shattered the silence. A few moments later Jacob approached Billy carrying the dazed girl in his arms. Craig stayed at a respectful distance.

  He leaned towards her. “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asked, smiling. “There’s nothing to worry about now. My friends have stopped all those bad men.”

  Jacob gently put her down, keeping hold of the girl’s hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “It’s the least I could do. My name is Billy; I hope we will be friends. What are you called?” He laughed. “It seems a bit silly to call you sweetie all the time.”

  He watched the big man run his fingers through the girl’s hair; Billy guessed that the girl must be in too much shock to notice.

  “Andrea Ellis,” she replied.

  He nodded. Jacob had formed an attachment to the girl, and his reverent and protective stance really was quite touching. Billy watched Craig trying not to smirk; he’d noticed it too. Andrea couldn’t have been more than fourteen, an age bracket more associated with his favourite ex dealer’s deviant behaviour. Even so, Billy intended to make good use of this unexpected bonus.

  He kneeled down in front of the girl. “Do you live round here, Andrea?”

  “My dad owns a dairy farm just over a mile from here.”

  Amazing, she said that with hardly a quiver in her voice. Kids adapted so quickly. “I’m sure that your parents must be worried sick. Do you want us to give you a lift home?” He smiled. “Just to make sure that no more bad guys come after you.”

  He stood up and nodded at the other minder. “Craig, be a darling and just pop our guest in the back of the van.”

  Billy looked down at the girl’s fingers buried in Jacob’s huge hand. The minder understood the message and let her go. He waited until they were both out of range before speaking.

  “Jacob, I need to know every single detail about that village; make sure she tells it all. I don’t care how you retrieve the information as long as you’re quick about it. Once you’ve cleaned her out, you may do whatever you like to the lovely Andrea.”

  It warmed Billy’s heart to watch the minder moan w
ith pleasure.

  “Consider this my gift to you for staying loyal. Just ensure that the girl dies after you’ve had your fun, and make sure she stays fucking dead.”

  Jacob grinned and rushed to the back of the van. Billy grabbed another cigar from the cab and wandered over to the low wall. He gazed down at the village. He knew that he would enjoy his stay in Seeton.

  Chapter Nineteen

  This was one thing that he didn’t expect. Dean jumped as the pub doors slammed shut behind him, and the silence made the sound even louder. He looked around the deserted lounge of the Rose and Crown, not seeing a single soul.

  He padded over to the bar, wondering if the pub had yet to open. This was too strange for words. This place was the hub of the community; even as a teen, the Rose and Crown was always packed out on a night and for much of the day too. The closest pub was over five miles away.

  “Is there anybody here?”

  This was just ridiculous, was this help yourself tonight or something? He let out a heavy sigh. Dean really could not do with this hassle. Where the hell was that stupid bartender?

  It was as if everyone in the entire village had all done a runner. He’d seen nobody on his journey into the centre, and Dean had also noticed a disturbingly large amount of boarded up shops, including the pet shop. He was at a loss at what he could do now. He couldn’t continue without the help of another small animal.

  He leaned back against the bar and considered just what choices he could make now; short of breaking into the pet shop and making off with one of their animals, he was at a loss. Dean sighed heavily and gazed into the open fireplace at the far side of the lounge. The sound of crackling wood and the low flickering flames enhanced the old world charm of the pub. This type of pub did not exist back in London, not for at least fifty years anyway. Strange how he’d never really taken much notice of the fire until now; not surprising considering on every other occasion the Rose and Crown was full to the brim of Seeton’s finest.