Rotting Dead F*cks: An Extreme Novel of Horror, Sex, Gore and the Undead

by Matt Shaw

  The program we were watching seemed to be on a continuous loop. Watching the whole thing, until it looped back to the start of the report, it was about ten minutes in length and offered no real answers. Just terror at a world gone crazy. Infected people biting other people and infecting them in turn; no word of what the actual infection was or what caused it. The main point of the television report being to tell us to get indoors, secure ourselves there and await help or further instructions. The whole thing was bleak. It’s no wonder Darron couldn’t take his eyes from the screen or that Tina worried for the safety of her elderly father. I leaned forward and turned the television off when it was clear we had seen all that it had to offer.

  “We don’t need everyone to see that,” I told Darron, “unplug it.” It would only cause them more panic if anyone else was to watch the footage and that wouldn’t help the situation. The only message they needed, from the news report, was that we needed to stay indoors and wait for help (or further instructions).

  “What do we tell them?” Darron asked.

  “Other than needing to stay indoors? Nothing. We tell them nothing. If they press for information - maybe tell them there is a situation occurring but the reports didn’t really go into it.” I sighed, “I just think it will make everything worse if they see any of that. They’ll panic and when people panic - things go wrong.” Darron nodded. I hadn’t explained myself as eloquently as I could have done but I still got the point across and that was all that mattered. We both stood up and Darron lead the way back to the reception area where everyone was patiently waiting for answers as to what was going on.

  “Where’s the television?” one of the patients asked.

  “Couldn’t move it but Tina was right - something is happening outside but it’s not saying what. It just says we need to sit tight and wait further instructions.” Darron responded “I’ll check on it in a bit,” he said before someone asked how we were to await further instructions if no one was there to monitor it.

  “So what do we do now?” someone else asked.

  “Now we close the blinds and we try and be as quiet as we can!” I said. If things are really as bad out there - as the television seems to make out - then we don’t want those things trying to come in here. We need to be as quiet as we can. Especially given the fact I heard screaming, at the open window of my office, suggesting those things are close by.

  Darron pulled me to one side, “What about your patient?”

  He was referring to Ted. I shrugged. It may not have been professional of me but what was I supposed to do? Suggest we send out a search party? The man wanted to leave. We couldn’t force him to stay here, even if we wanted to. He was a free man and it was his decision to make. As far as I was concerned, he was gone and we were better off for it. When the world wasn’t broken, I wasn’t comfortable with Ted being out there amongst it. Now the world is damaged, I’m fine with him mingling with its inhabitants.

  Darron continued, “We’re not going to try and get him back?”

  “No.”

  I think my answer shocked Darron. He knew me as a person who wanted to help others - especially those who appeared helpless. Until now, he had never seen me turn my back on anyone but things had obviously changed; both out there and inside of me. Now it was all about survival. I approached the windows and let the blinds down - further proof that I wasn’t prepared to put us at risk for the benefit of someone such as Ted.

  The Security Office

  Anyone watching the CCTV monitors in the morning wouldn’t have seen anything out of the norm; people were coming and going. Maybe venturing out to their places or work, maybe heading off on school runs, or possibly even going to the shops before the stores got busy. There was certainly nothing to raise any levels of concern. When things did change it seemed to happen, in various parts of the city, at the same time; it was almost impossible to determine where the starting point was. It was certainly too much of a challenge for the one person - who usually sat in the room monitoring the situation - to keep track of.

  Now - heading into later morning - all of the monitors showed the same thing; complete carnage and mayhem. There was a camera down the road from the school which showed a number of infected children - and a handful of teachers - lurching their way from the school gates. Some of them just standing there as though there was nowhere for them to go. Some of them feeding upon what used to be one of their classmates or colleagues. The monitor next to that screen, on the same shelf, showed a few streets away and the situation wasn’t that much better; a couple of people running down the road - apparently screaming not that the monitors had any sound outputs - and some of the infected people milling around in front gardens as though they had changed, suddenly, whilst doing their daily chores.

  Closed circuit security cameras at the airport and dockyards showed more of the same, which had already been shown on the news channels only with less survivors and more of the infected.

  The monitors which showed the pictures captured by the cameras for the main shopping street (Market Street) showed it to be practically empty. Just one person standing there. It was hard to make out who they were because of the distance they were standing away from the camera but it wasn’t hard to see what they were doing; standing there, outside of a shop, casually tossing what appeared to be a rock up into the air before catching it again.

  The picture on screen zoomed in - controlled by the nervous operator - in an effort to see what the person was doing. The first thing the controller noticed was that the man was smiling. The first smile witnessed on the cameras since the start of this infection. Smiling? The security officer leaned forward, unsure whether she was really seeing this? Someone smiling and seemingly at ease at what was happening? The officer shifted uneasily in her seat. What kind of person enjoys days like these? She didn’t have an answer but she knew this was the reason why she was staying put, in this office, with the door shut. And - with that - she witnessed the man throw the rock through the window. The man threw his arms in the air, as though enjoying his moment of triumph. Seconds later he dove through the hole left by the shattered glass.

  The security guard went to phone through to the police, as part of her job, but stopped short from picking the handset up. She knew this was just the beginning and she knew the police were too busy dealing with the infected to care about the odd looter.

  Ted

  I like the sound of the broken glass under my feet. My heart is still racing from smashing the window. The feeling of power. The feeling of being able to do what I want without anyone telling me it is wrong. I’m not sure what is happening, I’m not sure why the streets are deserted, I’m not sure what the hell is going on but I don’t care. This is my time now, bitches. This is Teddy Time! Okay, that seemed a little gay but that’s not a problem. I have time to work on it.

  I cast my eyes around the shop - a small newsagent - and immediately spotted what I was looking for; the drinks fridge. Something about pouring my heart out, to that fucking shrink, just makes me thirsty. You’d think she would offer me a drink, or something, but - no - never so much as a cup of water. Just rude. If I see her again, if shit gets fixed, I’ll talk to her about that. Make sure I at least get a cup of tea, or something.

  A noise from the back of the store pulled my mind back to the game at hand. The store sign said it was ‘closed’. There shouldn’t be anyone in here.

  “Hello?” No one answered me. Something back there, moved again. Someone is definitely there. “Who’s there?” I asked. Something fell off a shelf and smashed on the floor. Yep. Someone is definitely back there. “I was walking past,” I lied, “and your window just fucking shattered…I don’t know what is going on out here but shit has gone crazy what with quiet roads and exploding windows which most definitely haven’t been smashed with rocks…” I hesitated. Another thud. “Okay it was me but if you come out, I’ll pay for the damage. I was just really thirsty and needed a drink and your door was shut and there was no way i
n and…what the fuck?” A Muslim shop assistant staggered into the doorway, just behind the counter at the back of the shop. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.” She had blood running down the side of her head. Did my rock somehow ricochet off a wall and twat her back there? Is that even possible? To be honest, not entirely sure why I give a fuck even if that was the cause (however unlikely). She looked at me. A weird look on her face. One, if I am going to be honest, I didn’t recognise. “What is it?” I asked. She was groaning, trying to say something, as she continued to lurch forward. She passed by the counter until she was standing on the shop floor with me. She looked angry. Angrier than anyone I had ever seen before and that is saying something considering some of the people I’d seen sitting in my doctor’s waiting room. “Okay,” I told her, “that’s close enough.” She ignored me, kept lurching forward with that look in her crazed eyes. Boy - did I pick the wrong store to break in to. “Did you hear me? Stop coming for me,” I ordered her, “I won’t be able to be held accountable for my actions.” As she continued to near me, I got my first whiff of her. She fucking stinks. What is that? Some kind of fucking spice? Why the fuck can’t they eat normal food? Our country, our menu! I moved to the next aisle across to give me a little more distance between us. For two reasons, to get away from the smell and to also get away from her as a person. The madness in her eyes was making me feel uncomfortable. She muttered something else as she continued to approach at the slow, unsteady pace. The more I hear her talk, the more I’m sure she is speaking shit in her language. No wonder it sounds like fucking gibberish to me. I felt my blood start to boil - not just because she was ignoring me but because I realised she was refusing to go along with the English way whilst trying to make a living in our country. “Look, love, you want to fit in around here - you need to make the effort. You know what I mean?” Only some racking was between us now. I grabbed the closest thing to hand which happened to be a can of beans. Not the best of weapons, if I am going to be honest, but if need be I’m sure I can do some damage with it. She groaned again. Probably calling me a cunt, or something equally demeaning. “Look - you come closer and we’re going to have problems. I’ve apologised for the window, like a gentleman, and I’ve been polite to you - all things considered but, you keep coming for me, I’m going to bash your fucking brains in. Understand?” She groaned again. Was that a ‘yes’ or another one of their words for ‘cunt’? If there is CCTV in here, people reviewing it will see I gave her plenty of fair warning. I lobbed the can of beans at her head. With just the racking between us, it was practically point blank. The tin bounced off her head with a satisfying thud before it hit the floor and rolled under the racking which separated us. She groaned again and took a swipe at me, over the racking, with claw-like fingers. “Jesus, woman, take a fucking hint already.” I grabbed another can from the racking. Big Soup. No warning this time, as she continued to try and claw my face, as I pelted her full force in the face. The force jarred her head back with a satisfying crack. By the time she lowered her head back to looking forward again, she had fresh blood streaming from her nose. More groans. Must have broken the nose for sure. The blood looks practically black in this light. Immediately she went back to trying to claw me again. “What is fucking wrong with you, you psycho?” I have to admit, I was impressed with her high tolerance for pain. No doubt she’d been hardened by being raised in a culture which likes to whip and stone their people. Coming over to this country, my fucking country, must be like visiting Disneyland to these people. I grabbed another can from the shelf (spaghetti) and caught sight of something across the other side of the shop - something which would have been much more effective. A wooden baseball bat hanging next to other toys (footballs, frisbees and other cheap tat which really has no place in a store like this). I grabbed another can from the shelf in front of me and - again - smacked the woman in the face. Harder this time. She groaned but, other than that, barely registered the hit. Okay. Fine. Let’s see how she gets on with a baseball bat to the face.

  I made a dash down the aisle. By the time I reached the end the fucking woman was already lurching her way down to intercept me. Have to be quicker than that, though, as I darted across to the other side of the shop. She hadn’t even made it all the way to the end of her own aisle before I had a hold of one of the baseball bats. I ripped the packaging, which secured it to the hook, from the handle and held the bat up high. “Only wanted a fucking drink!” I reminded her as she continued to close in on me. She groaned again and I answered her with a swing of the bat. The bat connected to the side of her head with a satisfying thwack noise and she crumpled like a piece of paper. Still groaning though. What the fuck was she saying to me? I was startled when she started to get back up again - a fucking blow like that, to me, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten back up. “I just want a fucking drink! What - seventy pence at most? You really want to fucking die over a drink?” I lifted the bat again over the top of her head. So easily I could just bring it down onto her and end the stupid whore’s life and it’s pretty tempting to do so. Not as though she deserves to be in our country, using our resources…Doesn’t even speak my fucking language what with her grunts and groans. I put the bat against her forehead and pushed her back to the floor, pinning her there for a moment, and even then she kept trying to reach up and grab me with her waving arms. The woman is a fucking soldier! I kicked her in the stomach and hopped over her body - back towards the fridge which had originally got my attention when I first walked into the shop. “Because you’ve been a dick,” I called back to the woman, “I’m going to take a couple of drinks. And a bar of Snickers. You only have yourself to blame!” I opened the fridge with my spare hand and took a couple of cans from the fridge. I shoved them in my coat pockets and slammed the fridge shut again before walking across to the chocolate counter. As per my promise to the stubborn bitch in charge, I grabbed a Snickers bar. I tucked the bat under my arm and opened the sweetie wrapper with my left hand and my teeth as the woman continued to crawl over to me. Jesus. Let it go already woman. It’s open now. Can’t exactly sell it now can you? Just put it down on your wastage log and - boom - you’re good to go. As I took my first bite, I felt the woman tugging at the leg of my jeans. I looked down at her. To think - I was happy to let her live but…Clearly she wants to push me. I put the chocolate bar in my mouth and clamped it there between my teeth. I turned towards the woman. I raised the bat in the air. A second of hesitation - a chance for her to change her mind - and then I brought it crashing down on the back of her skull. Her groaning stopped. “I was going to let you live, you stupid cunt.” I shook my head as I took a hold of the chocolate bar and helped myself to another bite. “I was going to let you live.” I swallowed. “Oh - and, just so you know, I’m taking the bat too.”

  I turned my back on the twitching corpse of the stubborn bitch and walked towards the exit of the shop. I say the exit. It’s not the proper exit. It’s the one I had made with the help of my trusty rock. As I stepped out into the cloudy mid-morning day I couldn’t help but to think today has been a good day. Funny really considering I usually have terrible days when I am forced to go to my psychiatrist appointment. I stepped away from the broken glass and looked up into the sky. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Today is definitely a good day. My moment of joy was short-lived as I heard the sound of another Muslim fuck. What? Really? I opened my eyes and looked across the street. Another one of them was heading across the pedestrianised area of the road, right towards where I was standing. Really? Must have heard the commotion and come over to investigate; groaning the same shit she had been groaning, same look of hatred in his eyes. Fuck, if they hate us that much - why are they even in the fucking country? Go home! Not rocket science. Go home to your own country and you won’t have to put up with us robbing you, killing you or just generally irritating you. You’d be happier. We’d be happier. Win, win for all!

  “Just fuck off!” I yelled at him. “I only wanted a drink. They were shut. Ev
ery fucking shop is shut! What was I supposed to do?” The man answered me with a what sounded like another fucking groan. “I don’t understand what you’re fucking saying, you prick! We’re in England! Speak English, motherfucker!” I held the bat up as he continued to approach, “What you want some of this too? Do yourself a favour and turn around!” Another groan to the side of me caused me to spin on the spot. Yet another Muslim headed my way. Say what you want about these fuckers, they have a strong sense of community. To think, growing up, I didn’t even know my next door neighbour’s name. To me he was just some old fart living alone in his house who occasionally banged on the wall because I was being too loud.

  “Quick! Over here!” a voice called from one of the shops further down the road. I looked over, as did the Muslims, to the person shouting out. Finally. A white person. I didn’t know them but they were waving directly at me. “This way! Quick!” they shouted again.

  “You’re fucking lucky!” I pointed the bat at the Muslim closest to me before lowering it and running in the direction of the person calling for me. In truth it was me who was probably lucky. Pretty sure, after these fucks saw what I did to their friend (probably mother, sister or daughter in fairness) in the shop, they’d probably lynch me as part of their own sharia law. Not sure I’d even make it in front of a judge to explain that I had only wanted a Coke.