by A. M. Keen
“Since the outbreak of this terrible virus, we have been working around the clock to research, learn and pass on our findings to you, the remaining population who have survived such a barbaric and historic attack on our country. Our findings have been discovered by various tests conducted at governmental facilities. There are also various safe zones being established up and down the UK, again guarded by military personnel.
“Life within the United Kingdom will never be the same again. Please, all of you, stay safe and vigilant. Watch and listen to local news that will inform you of government assistance in your area.
“Please also think of those who obtained this information which I am able to share with you. Many of them lost their lives to do so. God speed to you all.”
Eight Days from Day Zero
The hardware shop in which the school cricket team and their teachers found themselves had been converted from an old Victorian house on the outskirts of a small market town. The entrance greeted patrons with two aisles filled with various nuts, bolts and fittings all housed in open, orange boxes. To the right, you found yourself browsing the plumbing section which led down to a key cutting counter. The counter then stretched down into an area full of trade and garden tools whilst also housing various gardening products.
At the back of this department, a door led upwards to the first floor of a house which the shop owner used as storage.
“Um, sir… I think you better have a plan pretty quick,” Aaron began, turning to the adults gathered at the key cutting counter. “Everyone outside is getting quite, well, fruity.”
The growls outside had now become aggressive. The shutters stood hidden behind tough, metal holding units screwed to the walls. They offered a great deal of protection from the masses outside, but eight days had only served to anger and frustrate the mass of infected attempting to get in. The units could keep everyone at bay for a short time if the shutters gave way, at least until everyone escaped into the store room upstairs. The entrance door, although crafted from safety glass, could allow them to flood through in an instant if penetrated.
Everyone had moved downstairs. The staff room upstairs had limited space, with the shop floor offering the only viable option for congregation. Johnny, Lacey, Michael, Lawro, or Peter Lawrenson to be precise, sat alongside Jacob Jackson. Aaron, ever the figure of defiance amongst the staff at Berrington Heights Secondary School and Sports Academy, took point at the front.
“Yes, thanks Aaron, now can you get to the back, please?”
Bucky watched as Aaron returned, whispering something under his breath. Aaron studied in year nine, as did Lacey. Lawro studied in his last year of sixth form. Bucky guessed he must have been eighteen or thereabouts. The older kids were part of the cricket club and had been drafted along to assist in this match. Michael and Johnny both belonged in year eight with Bucky, as did the rest of the team that had been on the minibus.
The silence amongst them was something new to Bucky. He’d never recalled a time when students who sat doing nothing refrained from speaking with one another. Eight days had passed and he’d pretty much said all he needed to say to his peers. Apart from watching TV and relaying information to everyone else, there was nothing now worth talking about. Yet, here they were, listening to the muffled talking of two teachers and two shop workers. Something popped into Bucky’s mind, a question he had meant to ask but never had the courage to.
Bucky turned to Johnny. “What happened to the rest of them?” Bucky had no recollection of the journey back from the school they had played the game against.
“Shut up,” replied Lawro, not even lifting his head from between his knees. “Just shut up.”
“Stuck in the overturned minibus. You were lucky Johnny could pull you out or you’d have ended up like them. Meals on wheels,” Aaron quipped. “Mr Finch escaped but had his guts torn out by some wacko.”
This time Lawro lifted his head, and through a centre parting of hair that covered his eyes, glared at Aaron. “Are you really as dumb as you look? I said shut up talking about it.”
Aaron smirked. “Hey, why don’t you shut up? You think I sweat you just because you’re in the sixth form? I’ll talk about whatever I want, whenever I want. I’ll even talk about the time I shagged your mother.”
Lawro launched across to Aaron, knocking Lacey into Bucky. Bucky found himself staring at the ceiling as a fight ensued. By the time he’d righted himself to a seating position, Mr Peterson and Miss Greene had intervened.
“I’ll kill you, you little prick!” Lawro snarled. “I’ll kill you!”
“That is enough!” Peterson ordered, moving Aaron out of harm’s way.
“What are you thinking!” Miss Greene snapped. “We are trying to find a way out of this and you two are fighting with each other? Both of you, get a grip. Do you know what is at stake here?”
Bucky watched as Lawro rolled his left arm, adjusting the sleeve to his blood spattered cricket jumper.
“There is no way out of this,” Lawro began, his voice and demeanour now somewhat relaxed. “Just look at the news. Most of the population has turned into blood-lusting freaks and we are stuck in here waiting for the shutters to give way. We’re waiting to be killed.”
Michael appeared from the room upstairs. As the days had passed, he had become ill. The flu symptoms had really knocked him for six, but today his skin had faded to that of a pale bed sheet. The illness he’d accrued since entering the shop had become worse as the days wore on. Bucky wondered if the cut to his neck had become infected, but couldn’t see due to the bandage that covered the injured area.
“Everyone! It’s just been on the news!” he stated in an excitable manner. “A football club has been secured as a safe zone.”
“What football club?” Mr Peterson enquired.
“Corby Town.”
Lawro sniggered. “Jeez. Corby Town. You know how far away that is from here?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, I do. And you know what? I’m going.”
“Hey, hey just settle a moment,” Miss Greene replied, holding her palms out to slow him down.
Michael turned to her. “What? You think you can stop me?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I don’t care what you said. We’ve been holed up in this shop thanks to Stewart and Craig who took us in and saved us, but I can’t stay here. We’re just waiting to die. We’re like lobster in a tank at one of those posh restaurants. Someone is going to burst through those windows at some point, look at me and say, ‘I want him.’”
“Exactly what I said,” Lawro quipped.
“I’d much rather die outside trying to find somewhere safe than wait here and die for nothing,” Michael added.
“Right, now listen,” Peterson began. His authoritative voice came out. Bucky knew he was attempting to restore order. “We can’t just run outside and hope we get through the people out there. We’re going to need to plan it and we’re going to need everyone on the same team, working for each other.” He turned to Lawro. “Can you be part of the team?”
Dishevelled, Lawro nodded. “Yes. Sir.”
Peterson turned to Michael. “Can you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Wait, you’re not seriously considering this?” Miss Greene asked, folding her arms.
Peterson turned to her. “What other choice do we have? Do you want to stay here on the off chance that someone will wander past and rescue us?”
Miss Greene sighed and looked away.
“Here, you can take these.” Stewart, the old shop manager handed Peterson a bunch of keys. “They belong to my delivery van across the road. That should be plenty big enough to hold you all. It was modified before we purchased it. There’s no separation between the seats and the space in the back. You can all get inside through the passenger door without having to
open the rear doors.”
Peterson looked to the keys. “It’s a start, but we’re going to have to find a way to distract the people outside so that we can get into the van.”
“Bucky can do it!”
“What!” Bucky snapped, turning to Johnny.
“Yeah, Bucky knows all about the zombie apocalypse and stuff.”
“Johnny, I don’t think we’re dealing with zombies out there,” Miss Greene replied.
“Bullshit, Miss Greene. You saw what happened. They were ripping blood and shit and spit and ass out of everyone and eating it. They’re zombies.”
Peterson rubbed his chin. “Maybe they’re not zombies as such, but they’re displaying similar traits. Some were sprinting. Some were screaming. Anyway, I fail to see how Bucky can help?”
Johnny walked to his friend and slapped him across the back. “This man here is ranked in the world’s top twenty at a zombie video game. He’s famous amongst gamers.”
Miss Greene sighed. “Is that it? Is that how he can help us?”
Johnny hugged Bucky close. “Look at it this way. He has played thousands of hours surviving a zombie apocalypse and become so great at it that a section of the world’s population holds him in high regard. They even turn to him for help and advice. I’m telling you, you want to have a leader during the end of days, this is your man.”
“Johnny,” Peterson began, “I don’t think it’s adequate to compare video games to real life. That’s the problem with your generation.”
Johnny shrugged. “Okay, but at least listen to him. I bet he has a load of ideas you could use to get out to the van. Go on, tell them what you would have done if you were in charge, Bucky.”
“Me?” he replied, shocked that he was even being entered into the conversation.
“Yes, tell them.”
Bucky turned to Peterson. After a moment of staring him out, the physical education teacher lifted his eyebrows, encouraging him to speak.
“Well…” Bucky paused a moment, recalling everything he’d learnt from video games and George A Ramero movies. “If you’re asking me, I guess the first thing I’d do would be to take some of these tools and fashion some weapons. Second, I’d have returned behind this door to the storeroom area and barricaded it up. Lowering the shutters is great and will buy us some time until help can arrive, but, like you said, you need a distraction. I’d be up there now figuring a way to do that. Everyone seems to think fireworks are the best way to draw a zombie’s attention, and it’s also believed that fire repels a so-called zombie from an area. Now, we don’t have fireworks that I can see…”
“There’s a few upstairs. We have some left over from last year’s bonfire night,” Craig, the younger shop assistant and Stewart’s son, added.
“Great, then we get one, let it off and see if it causes the distraction. I noticed we have some white spirit around here. Let’s make a Molotov, throw it outside and see if they avoid it.”
“But you’re going to hit people,” Miss Greene replied. “It’ll be murder.”
“The hell it will,” Lawro said. “You saw what happened out there. There’s no such thing as murder, not any more. I killed two men getting here. Aaron killed one. Mr Peterson did one, too. Even Lacey. If we hadn’t taken them down, it’d be us out there now, shredded up and taking residence inside someone’s bowels. It isn’t murder, Miss Greene, it’s survival.”
Miss Greene turned to Mr Peterson. Mr Peterson, in turn, turned back to Bucky.
“Jacob Jackson, you are the most uninspired student I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching physical education, but today I’m glad you did naff all and spend time playing on your Xbox. I’d never have considered these hairball ideas you just concocted. Let’s get the materials to make a Molotov cocktail and the fireworks. Is there a ladder out back?”
“Yes,” Stewart replied. “The back room is secured by the metal shutters, too. We have no problems taking it upstairs.”
“Okay everyone, upstairs, let’s get this started.”
One
The store room had been nothing like Bucky imagined. In fact, it was just an empty living room with a table, chair and television that appeared more as a staff room than anything else. The only stock it held were a few boxes of weed killer and some plastic tubing. The backroom downstairs where Craig found the ladders seemed better stocked than this.
To the left stood two doors. The first led to a pokey, tiled bathroom that glared white from the overuse of its colour throughout the room. Next to it a kitchen existed, just as small, but able to hold a sink, kettle and fridge without concern.
Everyone peered out through the bay windows except for Michael, who sat before the television watching the news. Miss Greene had administered basic first aid from the shop’s supplies to the injury he’d suffered during the accident. The cut he’d received on his neck wasn’t so deep but would need medical assistance as soon as they could reach it.
Bucky watched as the shambling mass of people wandered aimlessly within the street below. Many bore the blood of themselves or others, earned during the carnage which befell them just a few days ago. Car alarms still blipped out there at times, flames still burned, and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed. Whether it was police, ambulance or fire service Bucky couldn’t tell, but it served as a reminder that others were out there, and still alive.
“They’re not doing anything,” Aaron pointed out as he peered towards the congregation gathered at the shop’s entrance. “They’re just standing there.”
Bucky peered down. A group of thirty or so crazies rocked and swayed whilst facing the shutters, but only a few knocked against them.
“I wonder,” he began, talking to himself more than anyone else, “if it’s because they can’t see us?”
“You think so?” Johnny asked, as he too studied the mass of infected outside.
“We can’t take that risk.” Mr Peterson added.
Johnny turned to him. “Why? Why not?”
“It will only take a small gap in the shutters for one of them to spot some movement inside, and they’ll flood through that door like a wave between two rocks. If that happens, our chances of survival here go from poor to piss poor.”
They waited on Stewart and Craig to return from downstairs, where Stewart, the shirt and tied, white haired old fart had left the keys to the van.
“What are they saying?” Bucky asked, turning to Michael for a news update.
Michael looked pale. Beads of sweat gathered upon his forehead. Dark circles appeared beneath his eyes and next to no colour existed in his lips any more.
“Nothing much,” Michael began, wiping the sweat with the sleeve of his cricket jumper. “Just that they think it’s a terrorist attack. It’s some kind of biological weapon contained in bombs that expelled a virus into the air. Most of the UK has been targeted, although some of the bombs didn’t explode. London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Coventry, Bristol, Manchester, almost every major city in the UK.” Michael coughed.
“Are you okay?” Bucky asked. It was clear something was wrong with him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just wish I could shift this damn flu.”
Bucky nodded, but moved across to Miss Greene.
“Miss, I don’t think Michael is well.”
Miss Greene peered over her shoulder.”I’ll go see.”
She wandered over, accompanied by Mr Peterson.
The kids stood peering into the chaos. Fire burned the carcasses of cars and the bodies of those who did not survive. Blood seeped into puddles and surface water turning the street to the surface of a slaughter house. Aimless people wandered back and forth, their clothes saturated with rain. They groaned and wailed, taking no notice of each other, bouncing from one of their kind to another. A crazy appeared in the mass. Its clothing existed in patches whe
re they had been burnt away. Charcoaled skin merged with glistening muscle and sinew. Bones emerged in part from the flesh in which they should have been covered. A blackened skull appeared where a face once existed. This had been one of the people kneeling in the flames to eat the other.
“You think this is it?” Lacey asked, keeping her focus on the world outside. “You think this is the end of the world?”
“No,” Lawro replied as he too peered out upon the carnage. “This is the apocalypse. This is the beginning of a new world. Some of us will die. Some of us will survive. Humankind will survive, but barely. From this point on we are going to be running. There are going to be no rules, no law, no democracy, not a damn thing. It’s everyone for themselves now. All bets are off.”
Bucky stood in silence watching the crazies shamble past below. George Ramero was right…
“Lacey?” Miss Greene asked, jolting Bucky back to his senses. “Can you sit with Michael, please? Just keep an eye on him. I think he’s suffering with the flu. We need to be monitoring it, just in case.”
“But I wanted to help.”
“Trust me, this will be a big help,” Mr Peterson explained. “And besides, there’s only room enough for one to head down that ladder, and it’s going to be me.”
Lacey scowled before adjusting her dark hair into a ponytail that sat high and to the right.
“Here we are,” Stewart’s decrepit voice came as he entered the room with Craig. He displayed the keys to the van.
“Found these,” Craig added, placing fireworks on the table. Bucky wandered across and sieved through them. Catherine wheels, sparklers, rockets…