The boat moved slowly, held only by one rope at its rear. They had a few feet of slack; hopefully it would be enough to stop the zombies getting aboard.
Carl gave one last push and the front of the boat separated from the wall, one foot, two feet.
The first zombie arrived, and luckily, being stupid, didn’t think to try and board further down, where the boat was still against the wall, but it aimed for where Carl and Jenny stood, and fell straight into he water through the now three foot gap, with a satisfying plop into the murky water below.
The boat continued to move out in a semi circle, pivoting on the rope holding it by the stern.
“I’m sorry,” said Jenny, “I tried my best.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Carl, standing up. “You did great.”
They stood and watched as the zombies walked off the edge of the wall into the sea. Carl wondered how many where in the oceans of the world, how many had just stumbled to a beach and kept walking. The sea bed must be littered with them, even more twisted and disfigured than those on land, crushed by the pressure of water above them.
The boat was now at a diagonal angle to the harbour, tugging against four foot of rope holding it by its stern to the cleat on the dock. The zombies couldn’t get aboard. They meandered by the dock, the outliers being pushed into the water.
Carl looked up to the bridge, no sign of Andy or Grant.
“We need to get rid of that rope,” said Jenny.
There was a fire station just inside the bridge door, its contents including an axe. He braced himself and elbowed the glass, expecting it to hurt. It did a bit, but luckily he had enough adrenalin to mask the pain. He grabbed the axe.
The stern of the boat was an open deck that joined to the back of the living space. It was floored in light brown wood, slippy. The rope was attached to a hook, spun round many times before disappearing into a hole in the deck.
Carl hit the rope with the axe, hard. He was disappointed to see it only frayed slightly. This was going to take some time.
The zombies on the harbour reacted with excitement, hissing and clicking their way into the sea as Carl hacked at the rope.
A bang cut into the air.
“What was that?” said Carl looking at Jenny.
She shook her head, “I don’t know, you think it was the engines?”
Carl shrugged, “Could be.”
Another bang. Carl felt anxious. There was too much in this world that didn’t make sense, every damn day.
Jenny walked to the back of the boat and looked over the edge into the water. “No sign of the engines moving,” she said.
“Careful,” said Carl.
“Ok,” she said. She straightened up, and if she hadn’t taken a few seconds to stare at a particularly grotesque zombie on the harbour, everything would have been different.
The engine suddenly changed tone, from the background whine into a furious roar. Water spat up from the back of the boat, and they shunted forward - not drastically, but enough for Jenny to lose her footing on the slippy planks.
She fell.
Carl reached out his hand, “Jenny!” he shouted.
All he could do was watch as she tumbled over the back of the boat. He caught one last glimpse of her face, dumfounded and unbelieving, as she fell into the water.
Carl raced to the railing and leaned over. “Jenny!” he shouted.
The foam being sprayed from the propellors below turned red. Carl gasped as a flap of flesh landed beside him on the deck with a damp slap. It had strands of Jenny’s blond hair attached. His arms slowly turned red as blood and tiny pieces of flesh landed on him.
A new noise made it through the chaos. Clicking and moaning, getting louder.
The boat had turned and driven itself back to the wall. A zombie tumbled onto the deck, only feet away from Carl.
Carl ran to the other side of the boat, then along the side deck towards the bridge.
“Captain!” he shouted.
Chapter 10
Andy ran to the bridge. He stopped. The windows on the harbour side were darkened, the shambling figures of the undead blocking the light.
The seaward side door of the bridge opened and Andy span round, his gun raised. He nearly pulled the trigger. He nearly shot Carl. Although, he probably would have missed.
“Carl, what the hell’s happening?”
“Jenny’s gone!”
“What?
Carl was covered in blood. Chunks of flesh sat on his shoulder, pink flecks and globules in his hair. His eyes were red. He was crying, sobbing as he stood, seemingly unable to move. “The propellers.… pieces of her…”
“Close the door!” said Andy, seeing a dark shadow shuffle past the window towards the door. Carl turned, almost in a trance, and closed it, no urgency, just before a clammy hand thumped against it.
A moan from the back of the boat. Followed by another.
The stern, it would be level with the dock, they would be piling on.
Andy ran through the kitchen, through the glorious golden dining room. Zombies walked through the open doors that led to the rear deck. Water spayed high into the air. A number of zombies are lying on the deck, pulling themselves against the slippery surface, making slow progress.
Andy raised his gun and fired. The nearest zombie, an old man in a mouldy jumper, fell. He fired again at the next zombie. Nothing happened, he’d missed.
Andy pulled the trigger again, it clicked empty.
“Shit.”
The zombie’s mouths clicked in unison, incessant like the clock in a empty waiting room. Andy stepped forward cautiously, swinging the butt of his gun at the nearest zombie. He clipped it on the head. Its hands stretched out and clawed at his face. He swung again, pushing the hands out of the way. He made good contact and the zombie’s thin head collapsed on one side. Thick purple material oozed. The zombie fell back onto the one behind and Andy pushed it, the two of them being forced onto the deck.
Andy jumped at a roar from behind him. He turned for a second, and Carl was there, his hand raised, an axe swinging.
The first zombie, already dead, was killed again as the axe sliced its head with ease. Carl swung again and the zombie behind met the same fate. The top of its head flew off and bounced against the door, skimming onto the dining table.
Carl ran forward, out onto the deck, and proceeded to smash and spin his way through the undead, his axe flinging from left to right, driven by pure rage.
More zombies appeared at the harbour side, but Carl was like a machine; as soon as they landed on the ship, he swung.
“The rope!” shouted Andy. “Get the rope!”
Andy didn’t think Carl had heard him, but a second later, Carl hewed the rope that was holding the boat against the harbour. A few swings and it cut free with a twang.
The boat burst forward. Carl fell over, banging his head on the back rail of the boat, inches away from meeting the same fate as Jenny. Andy fell to the floor. He was face to face with a half-headed zombie.
Andy pushed himself up, grabbed Carl’s feet. He dragged his unconscious body into the dining room and closed the doors. He locked them.
A loud thump shuddered throughout the boat and Andy struggled to keep on his feet. He ran to the bridge. Each window he passed on the way revealed a zombie. The boat was covered.
They were skimming against the side of the harbour, fast approaching a far wall. Andy ramped the throttle down, all the way to reverse. The engine sung high and the boat slowed. Zombies clawed at the front windows, heir faces pressed up against the glass, mouths wide open, teeth biting uselessly, dumb animal frustration driving them mad with desire.
Spinning the wheel to guide the boat away from the wall, Andy set the engine to ahead, dead slow. It moved past the wall, past the boats. As they approached the open sea, Andy straightened the wheel. He took them out slowly. The boat bobbed gently as they left the marina.
For ten minutes he held the straight course, revving the eng
ine, keen to get away from the harbour, from Tulloch. He stared past the gawking and vicious faces of the undead clawing at the window, to the conflicting blues of the sky and the sea. Seagulls swooped around the boat, their heavy white bodies zooming past the zombies. They cawed with excitement.
Andy looked at the radar. They were a good few knots from land. He eased down the throttle and the engine reduced to a gentle hum. He flicked the anchor switch. A satisfying shudder accompanied the whine of the winch. He let it run to the end of the chain to be sure the weight would hold them still.
He stopped the anchor.
He turned off the boat’s engine.
All was silent. Apart from the moans of the undead.
Andy slumped in the chair, staring straight ahead, blank.
Chapter 11
The boat bobbed gently in the sea. The zombies, excited, continued their grab at the windows and closed doors.
Andy pulled himself from the Captain’s chair, and walked through the galley and lounge to the dining room at the back. The ship lulled gently. The scraping, moaning and clicking of the undead that crawled the decks seemed to be of another world.
Carl still lay on floor, next to the dining table. The back doors rattled gently as five zombies gawked in through the glass.
Andy rested his gun on the table, next to the half head of the zombie that Carl had shorn during his berserker frenzy. It was like a bowl covered in hair, full of an unpalatable grey-pink thick noodle. Andy leaned in for a closer look. The smell was putrid, but that didn’t bother him any more. Wherever you went in this world, there was the background smell of decay.
Areas of the zombie’s brain were black, rotted away completely, holes. Was that what did it? Where those lost parts of the brain what caused people to become zombies; literally losing their minds?
Andy kneeled down beside Carl and felt for his pulse, it was there, it was normal.
“Hey, Carl?” Andy gently shook Carl’s shoulder. His head turned slowly from left to right, his face frowning a little, but he didn’t come round. He made a small mumbling sound.
Andy fetched a cloth from the galley. He used it to clean the blood and small globules of flesh from Carl’s face. He tentatively picked off a flap of skin, a piece of Jenny’s head, that clung to Carl’s shoulder. Andy was surprised he wasn’t gagging. Used to this sort of shit by now.
Andy remembered Carl screaming something about the propellors chewing Jenny up. Had she fallen in when the engine was freed? If so, thought Andy, it was his fault. He should have turned the engines off before pulling the zombie’s arm free.
But then the boat would have been overrun. To many ifs. Andy decided not to think about it.
He went down to the bedroom and brought up a duvet to cover Carl with, then to the galley and turned on the kettle. It was time for a cup of tea. He stared out the window as the kettle came to the boil. The horizon, where it could be seen through the zombies on the deck, swung from left to right. The weather was coming in. What did he do when the sea was rough? Was it best to move? Get near the shore? Who the fuck knows.
Grant would have known what to do.
Grant.
He should be checking on Grant. Tie him up or something. There was no telling what he would do when he woke up. He had revealed himself to be bat-shit crazy by keeping his zombiefied wife tied up in the engine room.
Andy downed his cup of tea. He picked up a large and sharp kitchen knife, then descended the stairs to the engine room. He could smell the death, just behind the diesel. He had to hand it to Grant, though, a good place to hide a zombie. As long as the engines were running, all noise and smell would normally go unnoticed.
Andy took the last stair and peered into the engine room.
He froze.
Grant wasn’t there.
Andy quickly spun round, expecting to see Grant behind him, his face covered in blood, bits of guts hanging from his teeth.
He climbed the stairs slowly, straining his ears to listen for the slightest sound, the slightest movement.
He got to the top of the stairs, onto the bridge. A thump against the window made Andy jump. A zombie with a stump for an arm, the bone protruding through tired and tattered grey flesh.
Andy moved slowly through the bridge, to the galley, to the lounge. The plush, luxurious sofas, the dark oak bookcase, the huge flatscreen on the wall.
He stepped into the dining room.
“Hello Andy,” said Grant.
He was sitting on the floor, cradling Carl’s unconscious body against his chest, holding a knife to Carl’s throat. Grant’s eyes were glazed with a distant sheen; as if dreaming of something that made him happy. He didn’t look directly at Andy, but more around him.
“Hey Grant,” said Andy, steadying himself against the doorway as the boat rose and fell in time with the sea. “Let’s put the knife down. Carl isn’t well, he needs to rest.”
Grant looked at the knife, studying it like it was a strange alien artefact, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. Andy hid the hand carrying his own knife behind his back.
“You know how long me and Karen were together?” said Grant, his eyes finally locking with Andy, now honed with a disturbing focus.
“I think you said it was thirty years, or thereabouts, before you divorced.”
“We never got divorced,” spat Grant. “She never would have left me. She loved me, she worshipped the ground I walked on. The life I gave her, the way I cared for her. She couldn’t have asked for anything else. Why would she divorce me?”
“You’re right, Grant, I don’t see why she would divorce you. I don’t know why I asked that.” The knife was pushing against Carl’s skin. If Andy tried to rush Grant, Carl would be dead in seconds.
“She wouldn’t divorce me. She loved me. More than anything. Ever since we first met. We were in our twenties, I was just a jobbing builder, a bricklayer. Nothing to my name, nothing! And she stuck by me, all the way. You see, I came from nothing, and when I started making money I knew she was with me because of me, not my money. You understand that?”
Andy thought of his own wife, how she had supported him through the years of building his flying hours slowly with free pleasure flights and cargo runs. “I understand Grant.”
“Then that makes it even worse,” he said, his voice turning sour. “You say understand, and you still took her from me… You’re a fucking animal,Captain.”
Andy didn’t say anything. What use would it be to proclaim his innocence, to try to explain to Grant that she was already dead. Grant had obviously gone completely insane.
“I invited you on this boat,” said Grant. “I called us a family, I thought we’d be a family together. We’d have all looked after each other, made a real life for each other, somewhere warm, somewhere beautiful. Somewhere with enough space that I could’ve let Karen out. All she needed was some sunshine you know. She always had a strong constitution. Just some sunlight and rest, a warm climate. She’d have got better. You do realise that, don’t you?”
Grant took the knife away from Carl’s neck and pointed it at Andy.
Andy nodded. “Yes, I do.” The boat shook under a rolling wave and Andy, steadying himself, took the opportunity to give himself a few steps in Grant’s direction. A vase on the table slid a few feet towards Andy.
“You make me sick.” Grant shook his head, and rested the knife against Carl’s neck again. “Everything I did for you people, and this is how you repay me.” Grant closed his eyes, his breathing erratic. He started to sob. “Oh Karen, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Look at me my dear, what’s happened? What happened to us, to this world…”
Andy felt his heart hammering his rib cage. A change in the air. Grant’s eyes shot open. His knuckles around the knife turned white. He was going to cut Carl’s throat.
“It’s Karen!” shouted Andy, pointing behind Grant at the glass doors leading to the deck. “Karen!”
Grant’s head spun round in an instant, an instinct he cou
ldn’t control. Andy leapt forward and reached for the vase on the table. He grabbed it and in one movement flung it at Grant. It flew fast and true and met Grant’s head with a heavy thunk. It bounced off his skull and hit the glass of the back door. A sharp thick crack shot through the glass, running its full height.
Grant, dazed, dropped the knife, his head lolled like a balloon on a stick. Andy pulled Carl’s feet, quickly sliding him away from Grant, who watched, almost smiling. Blood ran freely from deep within Grant’s hairline.
Cracking sounds from the glass doors as the zombies pushed against them. They could sense something was about to give. The groans and clicking escalated.
Andy dragged Carl out of the dining room. Grant made an effort to get up, then flopped to the floor.
Andy took a few deep breaths, and walked into the dining room. He stood over Grant, his hand squeezing the handle of the kitchen knife.
“Help me up, old boy, my head hurts. Something happened,” said Grant, holding up his hand.
Andy sank to his knees and put his hand around the back of Grant’s neck. “Close your eyes. Karen is waiting for you.”
“Karen’s waiting for me?” Grant smiled, his old face suddenly warm again. “Ah good, I was wondering where she was. Will she be here soon?”
“Yes,” said Andy. A large crack split the air, the glass now looking like a map of rivers and veins. “Just keep those eyes closed.”
“Will do, old boy. Will do. Ah, Karen,” said Grant, smiling. His face was covered in warm blood, it poured like water from a tap.
Andy closed his own eyes, fought the fear and nausea and, with strength that seemed to burst from some dark place deep within him, he pushed the knife hard and fast into the back of Grant’s neck, angled up steeply to pierce his brain.
Grant let out a sharp gasp, and this body spasmed. A trickle of warm blood spilled down Andy’s hand.
The zombies thumped against the glass.
Andy laid Grant down on the floor and stepped backwards out of the dining room. The glass door smashed; one giant pane fell inward. A zombie, a young woman in sports gear with a gaping hole in her stomach, empty of innards and organs, burst through in glee and fell on top of Grant’s body on the floor.
After the Fall Page 30