Zombies Zombies Zombies (Parts 6-10): Surviving

by T. L. Frost

  Chapter 11

  Privates Jones and Smith waited by the barricade. Sergeant Ross had ordered them to follow the two captives and keep an eye on them from a distance but they had gone no further than the roadblock.

  “You think the sarge will give us a bollocking for not following them Jonesy?” Asked Smith nervously for the third or fourth time.

  Jones sighed “I told you, he won’t know we didn’t follow them because no fucker is going to tell him and you better keep your mouth shut you wanker.”

  “Yeah but what about the two guys out there getting the truck, what if they talk?”

  “They won’t talk, even if they aren’t zombie bait by now, they won’t be coming back with us. They’re going to have an accident before we get back to the sarge. You can do the old one who punched you if you like.” Said Jones.

  Smith smiled, pulling out his knife “I’m going to gut that old sod.”

  The sound of an engine caught their attention and Jones checked down the road with some binoculars.

  “Fuck me.” He said “They did it.”

  “They better not have forgotten the beer.” Said Smith.

  Jim drove the truck slowly. The engine rumbling quietly as he approached the blockade. As he drew near a large tractor covered in barbed wire moved aside. The bodies of zombies hanging from it dragged along the road, one catching under one of its large wheels and disappearing with a wet, crunching sound. One of the soldiers appeared, waving the truck through. He opened the driver’s side door, rifle held ready.

  “Fuck me!” Said Jones as he saw the blood spattered all around the interior, body parts still visible.

  “Guess that other prick didn’t make it.” Said Smith laughing as he approached.

  “He made it.” Said Jim “The blood is not from him.”

  Jones pointed his rifle at Jim.

  “Where the fuck is the other one then?!” He said.

  Smith looked around, his rifle held ready too.

  “He’s in the back helping himself to the food, I told him to wait but he just called you arseholes and made me drive.” Jim said as he looked towards the rear of the truck.

  “He better not be helping himself to our beer!” Said Smith taking a few steps in the direction of the rear doors.

  “You wait here!” Commanded Jones “Keep an eye on this fucker, I’ll deal with the other one.”

  Smith stood halfway down the side of the truck, eyes darting between Jim, who was leaning out of the cab window, and Jones who walked past, heading for the rear.

  “This truck better be full.” Growled Jones “If he’s helping himself to our supplies and there isn’t much left, I’ll cut his bollocks off!”

  As he approached the rear of the truck he banged on the side. Hearing movement, he banged harder.

  “You just made a big mistake arsehole!” He yelled.

  Muffled moans from inside were his only reply. As he approached the doors they were already swinging open. Jones stepped around, raising his rifle, jaw clenched angrily.

  Tom lay on the roof of the truck, the rope he had used to un-latch the rear doors dropped over the side. He had pushed hard on the top of the doors, sending them swinging open, then crawled back out of sight. Hearing Jones’ angry remarks he was glad he wasn’t inside the truck. Risking a look over the edge, he saw Jones step into view, rifle raised and face angry. For a second a lump caught in his throat, a sinking feeling in his stomach but Jones never saw him, his attention was fully focused on the inside of the truck. The look of anger vanished, replaced by fear and panic as he took a step back. When the first zombie screamed and leapt at him, he managed to fire a short burst from his rifle before it landed on him. The bullets tore in to the creature’s chest and barely slowed it. Jones screamed once, a long and panic filled sound, before more zombies hurled themselves on top of him. Tom saw him vanish under a dozen of them, clawing and biting, a seething mass of horror with Jones at the centre.

  “What the fuck was that?!” Yelled a startled private Smith.

  The screams and gunshots had frozen him in place for a second, not sure what to do. When he looked at the cab window Jim was gone, the window closed. Smith swung his rifle back to the rear and took a few hesitant steps.

  “Jones?!” He shouted “Jones, what the fuck was that?!”

  Answering screams and moans made him stop again. The first zombie stepped in to view from the rear of the truck, fresh blood and pieces of flesh on its face and arms. It saw Smith and screamed, leaping forward to attack, its lips pulled back in a snarl. More zombies joined it, racing around the truck.

  “Fuck!” Shouted Smith as he turned and ran, his rifle forgotten.

  Jim waited a few seconds as the sounds of running feet and screams went past the truck, then he got up from the floor of the cab, his clothes sticking to the congealed, drying blood. Risking a look out of the window, he saw Smith running down the road, a group of zombies close behind and catching up quickly. With a terrified look behind, Smith turned and half dove, half scrambled through the thick hedgerow at the side of the road, the zombies almost on top of him. Jim watched as they piled through behind him and a few minutes later a sickening yell for help could be heard in the distance. The zombies screamed as they caught their new victim and Jim was glad he couldn’t see. Checking the rear view mirrors there was no movement. Quietly Jim unlocked and opened the driver side door, stepping out, his boat-hook held tightly. Without warning Tom dropped down beside him.

  “What the…!” Whispered Jim harshly, spinning to face him “A little warning next time!”

  Tom nodded then pointed to the rear of the truck. When they checked they found one of the zombies still bent over what remained of Private Jones, his body torn apart and scattered all over the road. A sickening crunching sound came as it bit in to a lump of flesh. Jim winced at the sound, stepping up quietly behind the zombie, it turned at the last second as he drove the long point of the boat-hook into its head, pressing hard and driving it down to the road, the metal tip punching right through the other side. Jim picked up the discarded rifle and checked it. Half a clip of ammunition remained.

  “What now?” Asked Tom checking all around as he closed up the rear of the truck “There are still another couple of soldiers at the farmhouse, plus that Sergeant.”

  “No idea.” Replied Jim “I never thought we’d make it this far.”

  “At least we’ve got a weapon now.” Said Tom.

  “I haven’t fired one in years, they’d have to be close to have a chance of me hitting them and I doubt they’ll invite us in with open arms.” Said Jim as he slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  “It’s getting dark, they’ll be expecting to see us all driving up anytime now, or at least those two.” Said Tom nodding towards the remains of Private Jones.

  “Their camouflage jackets are in the Land-Rover.” Said Jim “Maybe if we wait until the light is fading, we could get close enough…”

  Jim stopped and looked back. Tom heard it too, a rumbling engine approaching from the direction of the town. Quickly moving round to the gap in the roadblock they saw another military vehicle approaching, the dark green paint unmistakable.

  “Looks like that Sergeant sent help early.” Said Jim as he unslung the rifle, flicking off the safety.

  They waited as the vehicle approached, slowing as it got to the roadblock. Jim and Tom watched as it waited there, engine rumbling in idle.

  “Where the hell did they get that?!” Whispered Jim “That’s an antique.”

  The top of the vehicle opened up and Barry stuck his head out, looking around at the bodies and blood on the road. Jim stood up and stepped in to view. A double barrelled shotgun appeared, poking out of an opening in the armoured vehicle and Jim froze, his breath catching. Barry saw him and said something into the vehicle before popping back up. The shotgun disappeared.

  “Alright mate?” Said Barry with a big grin as he climbed out.

  He was closely followed by Alice who
ran straight to Tom, throwing her arms around him. Jim grinned in relief and another hatch opened near the front. Merrick’s head appearing.

  “I see you two have been busy.” He said “I saw your fire and heard the explosions in town, was hoping I would catch up with you sooner but you didn’t hang around.”

  Jim nodded “We had urgent business here. No time to waste and all that.”

  Merrick raised an eyebrow in question.

  “It’s a long story, we’ll fill you in later.” Said Jim “But we’re not finished yet. Two more of our group need help.”

  “Better give me the short version then.” Said Merrick seriously as he climbed out and put his arm around Jim’s shoulder in relief.

  “Where the hell did you get that?” Asked Tom looking at the armoured car in amazement.

  “That’s a long story too.” Said Merrick “We’ll tell you all about it later, right now I want to know where the other two are and what help they need.”

  Chapter 12

  The light was fading fast as Sergeant Ross stood watching the Land-Rover and truck winding down the road to the farmhouse. Both vehicles had their lights on full beam, lighting the way ahead and as they stopped in front of the farmhouse the sergeant grinned.

  “Told you I’d see us alright boys.” He said to the two remaining soldiers standing next to him “I bet there’s enough in there for a couple of months.”

  The vehicles were still stationary, engines running and lights on.

  “Carlton, stop dawdling and start unloading that truck.” Said Ross “Richards, you help secure the volunteers, if they are still alive.”

  Richards grinned and headed for the Land-Rover as Carlton went around behind the truck, opening the rear doors eagerly. Sergeant Ross watched with pleasure, anticipating the evening’s entertainment. He had kept the other two ‘volunteers’ unharmed in case the first two had failed, but that was unnecessary now. He could have some fun he thought as the image of the girl popped into his head. He raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlights.

  “Tell them to turn the damn lights off!” Yelled Ross “Every zombie for miles will see them.”

  “Yes Sarge.” Said Richards as he tapped on the Land-Rover’s window.

  The window slowly wound down, Richards straining to see into the dark interior.

  “The sarge wants the ‘volunteers’ back inside and…” Richards went quiet as the twin barrels of a shotgun appeared in the open window, his mouth open in surprise.

  The face of an older, grey haired man leaned forward into the light.

  “Evening sonny.” Said Bill “Now be a good lad and drop that rifle if you don’t mind.”

  A burst of gunfire came from the rear of the truck, bright flashes in the growing dark. Richards unfroze and tried to bring his weapon up. The shotgun boomed as both barrels fired, the shot hitting him in the chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. Sergeant Ross stood watching in disbelief when Richards was thrown back, a large gaping wound in his chest. His hand went for the pistol at his waist and, deafened by the gunshots, he hardly noticed the armoured car coming around the building, lights flicking on and half blinding him at the last second. He fired twice at it before jumping out of the way to avoid being crushed, the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the car’s armour. Inside, Merrick turned the heavy car, looking for the sergeant through the narrow viewing slit but all he saw was a vague outline running off into the fields. A couple of shots sounded as Merrick climbed out of the car’s hatch.

  “Nearly got him.” Said Jim grimly, lowering his now empty rifle.

  “Let’s get the others and get out of here before it gets too dark.” Said Merrick “Tom, you and Barry do a quick search of the house, take anything useful. I want to be out of here in five minutes.”

  They ran into the house, Jim and Bill heading for the room where the other ‘volunteers’ were held.

  “Jim!” Said Sarah jumping to her feet as the door opened and she recognised her friend, throwing her arms around him in relief “What’s happening, we heard gunshots and thought…”

  “It’s all ok now, we found more of our group.” Said Jim as he looked at Chris who had more bruises on his face “You look like crap.” He said smiling.

  “You don’t look too great yourself old man.” Said Chris standing slowly as Bill stepped in and gave him a hand.

  Jim shrugged “Yeah well, it’s been a rough day.”

  :::::::::::::::

  Part Seven: THE HOSPITAL

  The Hospital

  Carter was a firm believer in looking after number one. He was a survivor even before hordes of cannibal freaks had swept across the country. Raised in a tough inner city housing estate he had been fighting all of his life, eventually taking his only talent and turning it into a successful business. People had paid him a lot of money to protect them. Looking after his own ass was still his number one priority, number two was his men, number three the client. After he had put bullets in the heads of the last of his men and his last client, he was back to number one. So he had surprised the hell out of himself when he had risked his own life for an almost complete stranger. But hey, he thought, shit happens.

  Chapter 1

  Carter lifted his head from the uncomfortable pillow. It hurt, a lot. Reaching up with his hand he felt bandages there. He was wearing only his boxer shorts, his clothes nowhere to be seen. Looking around the room, he took everything in with a glance. Not much there, the bed, a blank TV, a bedside cabinet with a bottle of water and an IV stand. Sitting up, his head spun, nausea sweeping through him. When it passed he pulled out the IV needle in his arm and drank from the water bottle, then tried to stand. His head spun again, more nausea which he fought off, gritting his teeth and breathing shallowly.

  “You shouldn’t be up yet!” Came a concerned female voice “You’ve suffered a blow to the head, maybe broken ribs.”

  The woman who had just entered the room was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, she was blonde, hair tied back in a ponytail. Carter let her push him back onto the bed, not that he had the strength to resist. The woman covered him again in the thin bed sheet.

  “I’ll bring the doctor.” She said before hurrying off.

  Carter watched her go then checked his ribs, they ached but he didn’t think any were broken. Resting his head back he thought about the crash, his memory a little blurry but it was coming back quickly. Images flashed through his mind, blood, fear, biting, clawed hands reaching for him. He shut it all out and drifted back to sleep.

  “Mr Carter?” Came another voice, intruding on the comfortable blackness “Mr Carter?” a hand touching his arm.

  Carter tensed, rising to consciousness in a rush, eyes snapping open and looking around. It was later in the day, possibly the same day, it was hard to tell. A man in a white doctor’s coat stood next to the hospital bed. Carter looked at him, then at the hand on his arm. The man quickly removed it.

  “I’m Doctor Matthews.” He said, regaining his composure “I believe you have met Sally.”

  The woman from earlier stood next to Matthews, still with the ponytail, still in the same jeans and t-shirt.

  “You’re not a nurse.” Said Carter.

  “No.” Replied Sally, her cheeks flushing slightly, a small smile on her lips that got Carter’s interest.

  “Do you remember anything about what happened Mr Carter?” Asked Matthews as he shone a small light into each of Carter’s eyes, checking the reaction.

  ----------

  He had been in a car crash. Carter worked in personal security, protecting the rich and famous. He had been with a team of three other men, round the clock protection for some wealthy oil executive working on a deal worth tens, maybe hundreds of millions. Carter and his team had been hired to chauffeur the guy around and protect him but Carter thought it was a bullshit job. The government hiring them to boost the executive’s ego, make him feel important. He had been a real asshole but the money was good so Carter had take
n the job. Easy money, or it had been at first. Two of his men got sick quickly so Carter had to send them home, then the VIP had caught it, whatever it was, some sort of flu maybe. They had checked into their hotel. VIP in his room, the other guard, Peterson, in the hallway outside, Carter in the room opposite resting and watching the news. Things went from bad to really bad in no time. Reports of people dying, lots of people. The hotel and even the city had taken on an eerie feel. The sick staying in their rooms, none of the usual hustle and energy of a big place. Staffing at a bare minimum, service almost non-existent. Carter had ordered food and bottled water when he eventually got a reply from the hotel’s reception. The guy delivering it looked like he would collapse at any minute, Carter gave him a big tip. The view from the room’s window looked over one of the busiest parts of the city, usually full of tourists, shoppers and taxis, all nearly always on the move, somewhere to go, something urgent to do. Now it was quiet, a bright midweek day and it should have been crowded. It was like the city was holding its breath.

  Carter felt an itch in his scalp, the kind of feeling he got when trouble was about to step up and piss all over his day. He paused, nothing was happening, maybe he was wrong, but he felt that itch again, something not right and he always trusted his instincts. Moving to the room’s safe, he typed in the code and took out a briefcase, opening it. Inside were two automatic pistols and clips of ammunition. He never expected to need the briefcase on a bullshit job like this but he always preferred to be ready for anything. He paused again, listening, all was quiet, that itch again. Loading the guns and fastening a shoulder holster in place, he put on his jacket and went out to the hallway.

  “Anything?” He asked.

  “Nothing.” Said Peterson “Quiet as a grave.”

  “Put this on.” Said Carter handing the other pistol over to him.