Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Then Alison took one look at that agonized expression and saw that he believed what he was saying. Even if there was just one grain of truth in his words, Alison realised that she had no other choice. She had to help him.

  “Where does your dad live?”

  The look of relief on the strange man’s face was tangible. Did he honestly think that she’d abandon him? It’s not as if she had anywhere else to go.

  Dean took her hand in his and pulled Alison towards the door that she guessed would lead to the shop.

  “What about Tom?” she asked. “He’ll be waiting for us, and this time that nutter would have his metal friends with him.”

  “I used to have a mate called Gavin back in the old days. Always starting fights he was. Have a guess where Tom was when stuff kicked off.”

  Alison shrugged, not sure where he was going with this.

  Dean smiled. “He hid under tables or behind a wall.” Dean grabbed the door handle; he then stared at the girl. “I’ll bet you a tenner that the yellow bozo hasn’t changed. He’s all mouth. He always has been.”

  Alison sighed and followed him into the back of the shop. She hoped he was right about him not changing. Dean was betting both their lives on it. He stopped before the closed door, tapped the cricket bat with one hand, then grabbed the handle with the other one.

  “You were the one who called him a big pudding,” he whispered. “If he hasn’t run off, bop him one.”

  Alison grinned. “Bet on it.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Dean pulled the door open and rushed through, Alison followed close behind, she had no intention of losing him in the darkness.

  “I can’t see shit,” she muttered.

  “Christ on a bike, he’s boarded up the shop. No wonder it’s dark in here.”

  Alison looked over the man’s shoulder and saw glimpses of starlight leaking through the gaps in the boards. “What’s he done that for?”

  “Hush,” he hissed. “I think I can hear him.”

  Her eyes were slowly getting used to the dark room. She found that the stairs had led them directly to the preparation area behind the counter. She put her hand out and felt another wooden door frame next to this one. She guessed that the other door either led to the butcher’s meat freezers or to his living room. Could he be hiding in there? Alison hoped so, she wanted to get out of this spooky shop as quickly as possible without bumping into him again.

  The customer’s view of the butchers shop formed in her mind. Her mum used to bring Alison in here every Saturday. She remembered gazing in fascination at the butcher’s assorted collection of silver instruments hung up at the back of the shop. She turned and walked forward two paces. The butcher always hung the largest knife at the end. To the eyes of a seven year old, that knife was huge, more like a weapon that a medieval knight would use to cut down his enemies.

  She raised her arm and moved closer to the back wall until her hand made contact with the cold tiles. It didn’t take her probing fingers long to encounter the razor sharp steel blade.

  “Bingo!” she whispered. Alison laid the bat down on the wooden block beside her and gently lifted the knife down. If that butcher was still in the shop, then he may have second thoughts of trying anything stupid when he saw a mental teenager brandishing a big knife.

  Alison turned around; her thoughts of finding another knife for Dean left her when she spotted a larger, moving shadow on the other side of the counter.

  “Look out!” she cried. Alison picked up the bat and slammed it down. The counter shattered, spraying shards of glass across the shop. She rushed back to Dean and saw the butcher crawling on all fours towards the door. He glanced back, squealed and threw himself towards the door. Alison guessed that Tom had just spotted the knife.

  “Get the fuck away from the door!” shouted Dean.

  “Just you wait until I tell the others,” he shouted, reaching for the door handle. “Anne was right about you. The others will sort you out. See if they don’t. Who’s going to pay for a new counter top, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  Dean ran towards the man. Tom cried out and pulled open the door. Alison watched in horror as the butcher ran straight into somebody stood right outside the shop. The figure’s arms wrapped around the shrieking butcher and its head dived down and bit into Tom’s face.

  The figure then dragged the limp body out into the street. Alison gasped and the starlight illuminated its distorted features. “Oh, Jesus, that’s the old woman from the general store.”

  Dean nodded, “Mrs. Chatsworth.”

  They both crept up to the open door. Alison raised the knife; she intended to shove the business end straight through the woman’s eye.

  Dean grabbed her arm. “Don’t.” he whispered. “It’s not her fault.”

  The scientist released her arm and slowly edged around the doorframe and onto the pavement. She followed him, keeping well away from the dead butcher’s body and the old woman hung over him. Alison’s stomach rolled over as the ghoul bent down and fastened her mouth around Tom’s. They looked like a grotesque pair of lovers. The old woman then pulled her head back, and between her clenched teeth was the butcher’s tongue. She turned away and followed Dean away from the shop.

  “This is almost over. My dad’s house is at the top of the hill, it’s only a minute from here.” Dean turned his head and looked back. “She’ll be back to normal, Alison, as well as everyone else who’s been infected.”

  Alison hoped to Christ he knew what he was doing, she thought they’d been bloody lucky to last this long. Their luck wouldn’t last forever. She glanced around, thankful that the street was devoid of people, living or dead. She hoped it would stay that way.

  “Here we go,” he announced, opening the gate.

  No lights shone from the windows. Alison took that as a sign that their luck was still holding out. She had no wish to bump into Dean’s old man, or for that matter, any other villager. That teacher had bound to have found other locals by now. Fuck knows what poisonous lies that bastard must have spread. Thinking back to what the butcher had said, she guessed that he’d found at least somebody.

  The scientist unlocked the front door and ushered Alison into the dark house.

  “Dean, where’s the bathroom?”

  He directed her to the foot of the stairs. “It’s the first door at the top of the stairs.”

  She gave the man a kiss on the cheek and raced up the steps. She so needed to clean the gunk off her hands and face. The irony of her desire was not lost on her. She’d spent the last couple of years not giving a shit about her body and then, all of a sudden, she meets a man who she actually fancies, and straightaway she wants to freshen up. Alison entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

  “Jesus, did I really think that? Come on, lass. Get a grip. We’re in the middle of Armageddon and you’re getting all hormonal?” Alison turned on the hot tap and splashed water over her face. “You are one weird woman. You know that, don’t you?”

  She sighed and left the bathroom, wondering when this madness would be over. Alison peered over the banister, trying to catch sight of Dean; then she jerked her head towards the open window at the end of the landing and gasped. Oh, crap, there were people in the garden. Alison ran to the window and gazed down; the sneering face of the fat gangster stared back at her. He grinned and waved.

  Alison ran back to the top of the stairs, “Dean! Where are you?” There was no reply. She saw the front door was still closed. “What are they playing at?” She laughed bitterly, it’s not like they could get away. Alison raced down the stairs, refusing to give up so easily. There must be a back door.

  Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, a shadow reached out from behind the coat hooks and grabbed Alison’s slender neck. The ugly face of one of the gangster’s lackey’s peered out from behind a parka.

  “Boo.” He said.

  The man dragged her down the remaini
ng steps, put his thick arm around Alison, and pushed her through a door and into the living room. The other lackey had Dean in an arm-lock.

  Stood beside the fireplace were an old man and a middle-aged woman. Alison recognised the woman, she used to teach at the primary school. The woman glared at Alison.

  “Come on, Dad,” shouted Dean. “Tell this dickhead to get off me.”

  The scientist screamed when the man holding him tightened his grip.

  The old man shook his head. “You’ve brought this on yourself, son. You should have stayed in London.”

  Alison watched the witch nod her head, smiling. She grabbed the old man’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Hello, Alison. It’s been a while.”

  She twisted her head and saw the fat gangster had walked in. The teacher stood behind him.

  Alison screamed and spat at the pair of them. The gangster just shook his head; he wiped her saliva off his face and then walked between the pair of them.

  “Jacob, take them both outside and get rid of them. Be subtle about it please, no gunshots.”

  She watched the lackey holding Dean grin, then he pushed Dean past her and out of the house. The one holding her followed. She tried to struggle, but it was useless; he just picked Alison up and carried her out into the night.

  “Get the fuck off me,” she growled. “I’ve been infected; one scratch from me is all it will take.”

  She then saw Dean look at her. She thought he was going to tell her that he loved her; instead he just grinned and winked. He then brought his heal down on the big man’s foot. The gangster howled in agony and let Dean go.

  Like a racehorse, Dean jumped away from the gangster, shot across the path, and jumped over the gate into the back garden. The man holding Alison threw her towards the cursing gangster holding his ankle.

  “You’re a fucking dipshit, Craig.” He made sure that Craig had her secure before walking towards the gate. “Keep her safe.” He found the catch and opened the gate. “I’m going to kill you real slow,” he said, looking back.

  The man disappeared into the back garden. Craig stood up, grabbed her hair, and pulled Alison’s head back. “You’ve got such a pretty throat,” he whispered.

  The man dragged her through the gate. She immediately saw the other one stood outside a large wooden shed. He placed one finger over his lips. Alison knew exactly what that meant. Dean must be hiding in that shed!

  She tried to get away from the bastard holding her. Alison had to warn him. For her trouble, she received a fist against the side of her head. The blow knocked her sideways; the man pulled her back upright; Alison’s head spun.

  “I hope one of those dead things bites off your fucking cock,” she snarled at him.

  The man giggled. “You’ve got a potty mouth.”

  Through her tear blurred vision, Alison saw the gangster open the shed door and gasped in delight as he fell back when a huge, black dog jumped out of the shed.

  The one holding her then cried out and released Alison. She turned and saw the gangster on the floor, Dean stood above him, holding a spade. He then lifted the tool above his head and slammed it into his face. Dean dropped the spade and pulled her out of the garden.

  “What did you do?”

  Dean pulled off a pair of thick gardening gloves and threw them behind him. “Gruff got one of them, and I pressed a nettle plant into the other bastard’s face. Come on, lass. Time is running out.”

  They ran back into the house, Dean raced up the stairs with Alison right behind him. He turned before he reached the top and pressed something heavy into her hands. She looked down to discover he’d given her a pistol.

  “It’s time to end this shit right now,” he hissed. Dean folded her fingers around the gun. “If anyone comes out of that room, kill them.”

  She nodded and watched him rush into one the rooms above her. She turned around and gasped—the fat gangster stood at the foot of the stairs.

  Alison pointed the business end at the man’s face; he just laughed and put his foot on the first step. There was no fear showing whatsoever.

  “Put the gun away, missy. We both know that you won’t pull that trigger.”

  He took another step up.

  “Look, you have shown that you’re a resourceful girl, so I’ll do you a deal. Put away the shooter and I’ll let you live. You’ve got more guts than I thought.

  Alison looked down at that smug face and gently squeezed the trigger.

  “At least my guts are still inside me.”

  Dean rushed out of the room holding two syringes. He looked at the scarlet mess splattered over the wall and gazed at the smoking pistol in Alison’s hand. He smiled. “Good job,” he said, joining her on the stairs. “Come on, let’s get this finished.”

  She saw the teacher and the woman rush into the hallway. Sean’s father stood behind the woman, and when he saw the mess, he turned and ran back into the room. Dean ran past Alison and pressed one of the syringes into the teacher’s chest. He cried out and dropped to the floor.

  The teacher and the other two rushed into the hallway, Dean pressed the first syringe into the teacher’s chest and stepped back as he fell to floor.

  “What have you done?” screamed Anne.

  “Don’t get all moody, you bitch. I’ve got you one as well.” He pushed the other needle into the woman’s arm. She followed the teacher’s example and hit the floor. Dean jumped over the prone bodies and stood onto the steps. He dug another syringe out of his coat pocket, and Alison noticed that the fluid in this one was bright green, almost fluorescent. He threw it at Alison. “I’ll let you have the honour. Inject that into the man, then step back.”

  She nodded and did what he said.

  “Don’t just stand there, lass! Get back here.”

  She ran to the stairs, turned, and watched the teacher’s skin stretch like an inflating balloon before bursting open like a wet paper bag filled with blood.

  Dean’s father stood by the living room, his hand over his mouth. She watched him give another syringe to the old man; he held the stuff in his trembling fingers like the green fluid would jump out of the container and eat him.

  “You’ve got a few seconds left, Dad. You need to inject your girlfriend or she’ll get off the floor and eat you.”

  “I can’t do it.”

  Dean shrugged. “If you don’t, then you’ll die too. It’s no skin off my nose, you spineless bastard.”

  “Anne was right about you, Dean, you are evil.”

  The woman raised her head and slowly began to get up, and Alison heard her start moaning. Dean jumped over the woman and joined Alison on the steps. She raised the pistol.

  “Wait,” he said, shaking his head.

  Dean’s dad held the syringe out in front of him; the woman finally got off the floor and staggered towards him. The old man screamed out and pushed the needle into her chest. The woman fell back.

  “Are you happy now, you fucker?” screamed the old man.

  Dean sighed, “Watch, Dad.”

  The woman’s skin slowly returned to normal colour, she groaned, and then sat up. “What happened?” she asked.

  Dean went up to the confused woman; he pulled her onto her feet and pushed her out of the house.

  He glared at his dad then took Alison back upstairs.

  “What’s going on?”

  He pushed her into a bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. “I designed the solution to be airborne. That vindictive bitch is a walking cure; it shouldn’t take too long to spread.”

  “How did you know it would work though?”

  He grinned, “I tried it out on the dog when you were upstairs.”

  “So is it over?”

  He nodded. “What say you and me disappear somewhere?”

  She joined him on the bed and stroked his hair. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t give a fuck as long as it’s away from Seeton.”

  Epilogue

  Ralph
Kasnovski struggled to keep up with his friends, this just wasn’t fair. They were way older than him, Gary, their leader had turned thirteen; he was almost an adult now. Ralph climbed onto the rusted remains of a burned out van and saw his four friends scampering across the field. Now that he was higher, Ralph could work out their destination. They were heading towards one of the region’s quarantine zones. They’d been told time and time again never to go near those places.

  He grinned. Ralph should have guessed that they’d be making their way over there. Gary had refused to tell him where they were going. They said that he’d tell and had threatened to beat him up.

  Well, let them go in there and get all contaminated. Ralph didn’t care. It’s not like any of them were nice to him. The only reason they let him hang around was because Ralph’s dad was their district’s cadaver exterminator.

  Not that there was much call for his services these days; even so, the other kids all thought his dad was way cool.

  “They wouldn’t say that if they had him as their dad,” he muttered.

  Ralph climbed off the van and walked in the opposite direction. He wondered if he’d be able to sneak into the west district. He knew that the district wall just beyond the habitation zone had more than a few missing bricks knocked out of it. Ralph overheard his father complaining that west district were hoarding food again. Apparently, they even had apple trees.

  He tapped the dial on his giger armband and gave those other boys one last glance before breaking into a sprint. He’d have to hurry, it would be dark soon, and if there were any ground bursters left, the night time is when they came out.

  Something stuck out of the ground, and it caught his moccasin. Ralph cried out and crashed into the long grass.

  “That flipping hurt!” he shouted. Ralph gazed at the bright red blood leaking through a large hole in his trousers; he knew his mum would be furious with him. It had taken her a whole week to make these for him.

  He examined the ground, trying to find out what had tripped him up; he gasped in surprise when he saw the corner of what appeared to be a metal box sticking out of the ground. Ralph had expected to find a rock.