by Watts, Russ
“Is this what you wanted? Immortality? Was it worth a life of degradation and sin?” Father Thomas flung Karyn’s decapitated head into the corner of the room and left her to suffer an eternity of frustration. Her jaw moved up and down and her eyes followed him as he left the room.
Out in the hallway he heard the stairs creaking, and moaning sounds emanating from below. He saw the flood of zombies in the corridor, many of them climbing up the stairs. Seeing him, they increased their speed: girls, boys, parents, all together in a deadly pursuit.
“No. No, this can’t be.” Father Thomas took a few steps backward in horror and realising he had nowhere else to run, turned and fled into the furthest bedroom. No sooner had he shut the door behind him than the barrage of bangs on the door began. He could smell decay and death on the other side of the door, eager to get in. He was trapped in the room with nothing but dolls for company and sat down on the bed. His gun was upstairs in the attic and Nathaniel had disappeared. Who the hell had let them in? For the first time in a long time, the Father was afraid.
CHAPTER TEN
Evan peered over the edge of the roof, the courtyard now full of moaning, shuffling zombies. Buried beneath them all was Joe. Evan prayed his friend was truly dead.
The zombies were pulling at the ivy and trellis, scrabbling at the wall, unable to work out how to get up there. More still were pouring in through the broken window, piling on top of one another. Eventually, Evan thought, the pile might be so big that they would simply be able to climb over one another to the roof. Pouring through the window was smoke. The room was alight along with many careless, carefree zombies who staggered about, unaware that they were burning. Amane was reminded of November fifth, of a guy lit up on a bonfire: limbs burning and a hideous face melting. Evan looked through the trees and saw the outline of the funeral home.
“We’re going to have to jump for it. That tree there is close enough and big enough for us to get hold of. If we climb down a few more feet, we can drop to the ground. I think we’ll land in the funeral home driveway so we should be clear.” All the noise was coming from below and beside them; the grounds looked quiet.
“Assuming we don’t break our legs falling out of a tree,” said Amane, hands on hips, “then what? If George made it out, he might be over there you know? We have to look for him.”
“Yeah, he’s probably there right now. He seemed to have a good head start on Nathaniel, so I hope he got away. I’m not leaving without him either.” Evan prepared himself to jump when he heard breaking glass overhead.
“Wait! Help!” called the Father.
“You have got to be joking,” said Amane to Evan. “Let’s go.” She looked up to see smoke drifting out of the window where the Father was calling from. Evan nodded and ignored Father Thomas’ pleas.
“Wait, please! You can’t leave me here!” Coughing and spluttering, gasping for air, smoke was curling around him, squeezing its way past his fat body, which filled the framework of the window.
“Burn in hell!” screamed Amane.
“Please, I can help you. I have a boat. It’s really close by. I can take you anywhere!” His face was red and sweaty. Amane thought he was going to die right there and then as he coughed up dirty black phlegm and dribbled it down his greasy chin.
“Where’s Karyn?” said Evan.
“They got her. I’m sorry, I tried to save her but it was too late. Please, you must help me. Won’t you have mercy?”
Evan turned to face him. He could feel the heat of the flames that were now leaping out of the window and across a sea of bobbing zombies’ heads below. If the zombies didn’t reach them first, the flames soon would.
“You’re going to have to jump, Father.” Evan shouted over the crackling noise of the fire and the cackling of the undead. Father Thomas crawled out onto the ledge and sat there coughing, chubby legs dangling.
“Please, there’s a ladder next door, Nathaniel keeps one in the garage. If you can...”
“No, now, or we leave you to burn, there’s no time, Father,” shouted Evan, angrily.
“Seriously? After everything he’s done?” said Amane to Evan, incredulous that Evan was going to actually save this man.
“For now, yes. We can use him, Amane. I’ve no interest in saving his worthless life, but do you have a boat? Do we even know how to sail one? Unfortunately, right now we need him.”
Father Thomas looked down at the roof that looked a long way away, struggling to bring himself to jump. He imagined breaking his legs, or worse. Suddenly the banging on the bedroom door stopped and he heard a massive thud as the door gave way and the zombies scurried in toward him.
“God help me,” he whispered, and closing his eyes, pushed himself off the ledge. He held his breath as he fell, waiting for the inevitable hard roof rushing up to meet him. Amane and Evan watched as he plummeted down and landed with a tremendous thump. The roof shook when he landed, sending vibrations through them all.
“Aaargh!” screamed the Father in agony, clutching his arm. His left arm was broken and twisted, his fingers bent at ridiculous angles. Evan picked him up by his collar and dragged him over to the roof edge. Holding him precariously balanced over the courtyard, the Father’s feet were barely touching the roof. He looked down, snivelling and sobbing.
“What are you doing? Oh God, please!” Each time he kicked out, the baying mob below became more agitated. Swaying beneath him, the burning zombies reached for him. Wide-eyed with panic and pain the Father clutched onto Evan’s arms.
“God isn’t going to save you, Father, I am. From now on, you do what I say or I swear I will drop you. Understood?”
“Yes, please, just don’t. Please!”
Evan swung the Father back onto the roof and he fell to his knees, crying.
“Amane go find George. Get to the garage and see if there’s a car in there. I’ll bring him,” Evan said pointing to the Father. The heat was making them uncomfortably hot and Evan rolled up his shirtsleeves. Amane looked over to the trees and took the longest run up she could manage. She leapt through the air and crashed into leaves and branches, grabbing the tree and sliding down until she came to rest on a large solid branch. Rough bark splintered her hands and sharp twigs scratched her face. Wasting no time, she swung down and dropped onto the soft ground below.
“I’m over!” she called back to Evan, sprinting to the funeral home. Evan grabbed Father Thomas’ arm and hauled him to his feet.
“Stop crying and move.”
“I can’t, it’s too...” whined the Father before Evan punched him. Father Thomas tasted blood in his mouth as he recoiled.
“I don’t give a shit!” shouted Evan advancing on him. Evan grabbed the Father and punched him again. He rolled over toward the edge of the roof and Evan kicked him in the back.
“Do it or stay here and die. Now jump to that tree just like Amane did. That’s our way out of here. I’ll be right behind you.” Evan picked the snivelling Father up and shoved him forward.
Father Thomas stood on the edge of the roof staring at the tree before him. He launched himself forward, arms flapping at branches before he crashed through the tree, his weight breaking everything in his path. He fell short of any substantial branch and ended up on the ground not having slowed his fall at all. As he landed, his broken arm shot blinding pain to his brain and he passed out.
Evan watched him fall and could not summon up any sympathy. This man was responsible for the death of Joe and Lily: probably Karyn too. Evan wiped his sweaty brow and ran off the roof. Barring a few minor scratches, he got down with relative ease and dropped onto the ground beside the unconscious Father. He took hold of the Father’s chubby legs and began pulling him to the driveway. Through the gravel, he ploughed a lone furrow with the Father. A few zombies out on the road, on the other side of the gates, watched, but most were drawn to the burning vicarage and paid little attention.
* * * *
George slammed the kitchen door behind him. He grabbe
d a table leg and pulled the big wooden table over the floor, propping it against the door. He wasn’t sure how many zombies had gone after Nathaniel and how many were following him. Opening drawers and cupboards, he finally found a large knife and clutched it to his chest.
Into the lounge he went, and he spied their bags still lying in the middle of the room where they’d left them. The funeral home had lost its homely feel and George felt the quietness around him. The little house was morbid and unwelcoming. The family photos on the wall all seemed to be staring at him as if questioning why he was intruding into their home.
Slinging one of the bags onto his back, he ventured into the dim corridor, unsure of what to do next. If ravenous zombies didn’t burst through the kitchen door in a minute, then surely Nathaniel would. What of Evan, Amane, Lily, and Joe? Were they dead like his mother? Why had Nathaniel shot at her? Was she really a zombie? His bottom lip trembled and tears began to fall as he remembered her. He only got told off when he was naughty. When he was good, mum always gave him a kiss and a hug. Lucy too. He sighed and felt very alone.
George decided he would go home and try to call the police. His father had taught him how to make the call. He would just stay at home until Joe came back. He went to the front door but it was locked, and so he tried another door just off to the side. It pushed open easily and he stared out into the dark garage. The only light came in through the door behind him and it illuminated a long black car, sleek and shiny. George stepped into the bare garage with trepidation. He held the knife out in front of him as he walked and felt along the wall for a light switch. His fingers scraped along smooth, clean walls. A loud bang from within the house made him jump as he realised the kitchen door had given way.
Blindly he carried on along to the garage door and put his hand on the handle. Pensively, he gripped it ready to open it, but suddenly he heard gravel crunching underfoot outside. Stones scattered and chinked off the metal door. He held the knife out and stood his ground, ready to defend himself from his unseen attackers.
* * * *
Amane tried the front door to the funeral home but it was locked shut and she couldn’t force it. She jogged to the garage door hoping it wasn’t locked too. Their luck had to change sometime. Turning the handle, the garage door lifted up and flew back with the faintest creak. A figure charged at her from the darkness and she shrieked.
“George!” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Amane!” George dropped the knife and hugged her as she swept him up into her arms.
“Oh, George, we were so worried about you. Are you okay?”
Amane examined him as she put him back down but saw no injuries. Hearing noises behind him, George didn’t answer. A zombie stumbled into the garage from the house, a thin, naked man with scars and stitching covering his body. The sunlight appeared to dazzle it momentarily, giving them just enough time to move.
“Into the car, quick!” said Amane. Thankfully, it was unlocked and they bolted inside the hearse, locking the doors. The zombie threw itself against the side, pressing against the glass where George sat looking back in wonder. The stitches in the man’s chest were coming loose, exposing his gruesome internal organs.
“Amane, we need to go now,” George whispered, wishing he hadn’t dropped the knife outside. He dropped the backpack at his feet and Amane searched desperately for the keys. They were not in the ignition or on the dashboard. She dropped the sun visor down expecting them to drop into her lap but nothing fell. She felt her fingers around in the foot-well and they brushed over a lone black key.
“Thank, God,” she sighed, relieved, putting the key into the ignition. The hearse purred into life instantly and she put it into drive.
“George, listen, Evan is out there with Father Thomas. They’re coming with us.” Amane pulled out onto the driveway slowly whilst the jigsaw man loped along behind. Another zombie appeared through the doorway into the beaming sunlight.
“What about Lily? And Joe?” asked George.
“I’m sorry, no. They didn’t make it.”
“But the fat man did?” George didn’t burst out in tears or scream. He was finished with crying. He clenched his fists and stared straight ahead.
“I’m sorry, George. Joe saved us. If it wasn’t for him, we’d be dead. I wish things were different but...” There was nothing more she could offer him. She knew that there were no words she could offer in consolation. Amane pulled the car over by Evan who was waiting on the side of the drive with the Father. He pulled open the back door and bundled the Father in.
“Hurry!” said Amane, watching the zombies in her rear view mirror grow closer. Evan jumped in the other side and Amane pulled the car away, showering the zombies behind with a flurry of gravel and stones.
“Evan, the gate’s shut!” cried Amane.
“Just floor it!” shouted Evan. Amane sped up and crashed into the iron gates. They flew open and the hearse careened through, pulling the smashed gates off their hinges and flattening the zombies ahead of it like mere bugs. Brains splattered onto the sidewalk as the wheels ran over diseased, deceased, fragile skulls.
“I’m sorry, George,” began Amane, but she couldn’t continue her sentence as the cumbersome hearse struggled to swerve around the truck they had crashed into previously. More zombies appeared on the road around them and bounced off the sides as Amane heaved the wheel with difficulty from side to side. Every time one bounced off the bonnet, she cringed.
“Where to, Evan?” she said, trying to keep the car on the road. Navigating zombies was easier than the abandoned vehicles and she frequently hit other cars, ruining their car’s polished sleek bodywork.
“Just drive, anywhere you can. If you can stop, fine, we’ll switch, but we have company outside so just drive as fast as you can. We need to get away from here.”
Father Thomas was awake and holding his broken arm. He was amazed at what he saw. He hadn’t been out of the vicarage since it had all begun. He had always sent Nathaniel out on his little errands.
“My, God. Look at it. Never did I imagine the end of the world would look like this.”
They passed another army checkpoint. Grotesque charred bodies with twisted hands and arms reached up imploringly from gruesome piles of men, women, and children along the side of the road. Tents and marquees stood idle: canvas doors flapping in the breeze, exposing their contents. Dozens and dozens of zombies emerged into glorious sunshine, smelling the car fumes and hearing the sound of the living so tantalisingly close. Reanimated corpses of soldiers and citizens stumbled alongside each other toward the passing hearse.
Feral faces flashed past his window, snarling and sneering, evil eyes locking onto him with some kind of fury. He saw a once proud community devastated, now reduced to a forest of undead, foraging for flesh. Children and toddlers stumbled toward the car, arms permanently horizontal, reaching for their ungodly feast, now nothing more than primitive predators. He saw babies with no legs crawling over broken glass, young eyes devoid of life. He saw young men and women murdered in their prime, caked in blood, soaked in blood and vomit, emitting such primeval sounds that he had not heard before, that they could not be of this Earth.
As one, they followed behind the hearse, decaying corpses walking side by side like a bizarre funeral procession. At first, just a handful followed; then it was a dozen, fifty, and a hundred. All stayed true to the hearse’s path, their sole goal ahead of them in a black box on wheels.
He saw shops and houses burning, flames leaping from roof to roof; fire spreading endlessly with no one to stop it. Front steps and gardens were flooded in deep dirty water as there was no one to turn the taps off now either. A small block of shops and flats had banners and signs draped out of every window, words crudely fashioned with paint, bleach, anything that had been to hand: Help, Trapped, Survivors. Father Thomas saw no one left alive. Their souls had long since departed, but to where, he was no longer sure.
On the horizon, he noticed a haze of smoke. Occasional
plumes of fire would shoot up into the sky as something on the ground exploded, reminding him of those blurry images on television from the endless war in the Middle East. He saw no birds or animals. The grass, the plants, the flowers and trees: all passed by looking lifeless and fading under a sun, which seemed hotter and brighter than ever before. Brown crisp leaves littered the road, skittering and crunching under the car tyres sounding like gunfire.
He was jolted out of his sombre reverie as the car suddenly pitched forward and he was thrown against the front seat, his tingling arm stinging painfully back into life.
“Hold on!” grunted Amane, as the hearse slipped down a steep embankment toward the river. The wheels slid on the muddy plain as Amane slowed the car and spun it sideways. Mindful of the river only feet away, she took the car along the edge of the river.
“The roads are blocked, there’s no way I can get through. This should take us a little way to the city.” In the mirror, she saw the swarming crowd of zombies follow but there was an increasing distance between them. They drove for a good twenty minutes, leaving the shambling zombies in the distance, but eventually could not get any further. Four or five cars had blocked an access road to the river and there was no way round. Amane stopped the car and peered out. The cars had smashed into one another creating a metal snake that curved up the embankment.