Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down

by Duncan McArdle

  As far as John was concerned, whoever it was had more than likely had a vision to rob and kill him as soon as they got the chance, something he bore in mind as he prepared to leave the house. Thanks to the commotion unfolding, he was now presented with the perfect opportunity to exit undetected – by the creature at least – as it began to feast on whatever poor bastard was down their wielding that clicking weapon, itself now reduced to little more than a paperweight. John was no saint, he owed whoever was down there nothing, and he had absolutely no illusions about helping them, preferring instead to depart the house and get back on the road as quickly and quietly as possible.

  Slowly creeping down the stairs, John caught sight of the scene unfolding. He saw the creature walking over to the other side of the room, towards a green leather armchair with its back facing into a corner, creating a small gap which was now populated by a cowering figure, their face obscured in the shadows. A pistol magazine tossed aside, and arms tucked in behind the safety of the once stylish leather chair, John didn’t predict a happy ending for whoever it was, and he had no intention of sticking around to watch, instead using the noise of their cowering to mask any sounds of his feet slowly descending the stairs. Those creatures may have been slow as anything, but they were relentless, and all it took was a scratch for it to pass the infection along. In close quarters like those, even a large, well fought individual stood little chance, especially without a usable weapon.

  Arriving at the foot of the steps and starting on the trip to the front door of the house, John tore his attention away from the imminent attack, instead attempting to put it out of his mind, and spend his final moments in the building surveying its contents one last time. The intruder appeared to have left it as John had, backing up the theory that they had in fact been there for John, rather than anything in the house. However, as his eyes switched from the nearly empty pantry to the floor around him, he couldn’t help but notice an unusual item on the floor, an item that was certainly not there when he had arrived. It was a miniature, bright red, cowboy hat. The sort of size that it could only belong to a toy of some sort, or most likely, a doll.

  Turning again to face the mayhem about to unfold, John placed his Ruger into its holster, quickly switching his knife into his stronger right hand as he began to swiftly cross the room, blade raised and ready to strike, beads of nervous sweat dripping down from his forehead as the fear of missing filled his mind. He remained composed however, and upon getting close enough, raised his arm into the air above the creature’s head and then forced the knife downwards, plunging the weapon dead centre into the top of its head, the blade cracking through what little solid skull remained and slicing through every last bit of brain that hadn’t already rotted away. The motion continued until almost all eight inches of the blade sank deep into the fleshy, blood soaked mulch below, the few remaining signs of life quickly vanishing as it did. Suddenly its eyes slid slowly shut, as if finally signalling that it could rest, the entire body slumping hard onto the ground, a clatter of limbs and bones echoing across the house.

  After a few seconds, John yanked the knife free, wiping the blood on the clothes of the corpse before placing it back into its holster. He then stood up straight once more, ready to address the person still hunched into a ball and cowering away in the corner, behind that big green leather chair.

  “You can come out now Andrew, it’s over”, he said.

  Silence followed, as the figure slowly began to compose itself, the shaking reducing – though not completely – and the drips of sweat produced by both parties slowly coming to a halt.

  “H…how do you know my name?”, replied the cowering figure, still obscured by the chair.

  “Just come out would you”, John remarked, a clear sense of authority present in his voice.

  “Alright” Andrew responded, pointing his empty pistol over the top of the chair. “But if you try anything, you get a b…bullet, in the head, got it!?”, he stuttered.

  “I’m thinkin’ the fact you didn’t shoot that thing yourself, and the fact that you tossed your magazine on the floor over there probably means you aint’ gonna’ shoot shit, friend. Now come on out of there”, John replied.

  After a brief pause, Andrew slowly began to emerge, letting out a sigh of disappointment in acknowledgement of the fact that whoever was on the other side of the chair, now knew he was completely powerless.

  “John!”, he exclaimed, in a much louder tone than a sensible person would have done in the given situation, the worry instantaneously disappearing from his face.

  “Shut the hell up would you? You tryn’a get every one of them things outside to come over here?”, replied John in an irate manner.

  “Oh, right, I’m sorry but…you saved me! I thought I was heading back to that camp as a biter!”, continued Andrew.

  “A biter?”, John questioned, with a sound of confusion in his voice.

  “You know, one of those things?”, Andrew began to explain, nodding at the rotting corpse sprawled out on the floor, “Didn’t you ever hear them called that? That’s what we called them till we found the camp.”

  “I’ve always called ‘em… things…creatures or whatever”, replied John, “But biter works I guess.

  Now just what in the hell are you doing here anyway? Thought you had all you needed?”, questioned John sarcastically.

  “I did, but me and the wife talked after you left, we could do with a bit more to plan for the future, maybe for a move to somewhere safer you know? We heard about military camps that have safe zones, regular food, places that work on a vaccine, all kinds of stuff!”, Andrew remarked, with a feeling of excitement clearly audible in every word that came out of his mouth.

  “Yeah I heard that too, heard just about every one of those stories anybody has to tell”, he replied. “If I were you, I’d stick where you are for now, till you’ve got some concrete evidence that there’s really something better out there for you”, he added, as he gestured to the mid-afternoon sky outside that filtered in through various cracks in the boarded up windows. “That motel back there ‘aint so bad, could damn sure be a lot worse. They got security, big walls, good people-”.

  John paused for a moment, almost as if it was the first time he’d realised just how good he had it back at the Motel, a thought that he quickly tossed aside.

  “Anyway”, John shook off the thought, “Grab one of the bags out of that cupboard over there and fill it up with whatever’s left around here, we need to head back, night’s coming”.

  * * *

  John tied up the various toggles of the newly filled backpack Andrew had found in the cupboard and helped him load it slowly onto his shoulders. The resulting look on his face made it abundantly apparent that he was used to little more heavy lifting than carrying the weekly shop from the car into the kitchen. In any case though, the haul that was returning was now significantly larger than if John had been alone, something he was certainly grateful for. Whether the supplies ended up staying with Andrew or not, John knew they were at least going to good people, and not being left out to rot, or be taken by bandits.

  “I’m gonna’ go ahead and guess then that it was you following me since camp?”, John asked, as he too swung his much heavier backpack onto his much sturdier shoulders.

  “Yeah…”, Andrew hesitated, “I tried to catch you but you moved pretty quick, finally thought I’d caught up but then you ducked into this place and I lost you again.”, Andrew explained. “Glad you came to help though, I swear I was done for, bout to turn into a biter right there behind that chair!”.

  “Well that ‘biter’ as you call it, was about to make short work of me upstairs before you made so much noise down here that it came runnin’, so I reckon we’re even”, John remarked.

  A sense of what felt like shared accomplishment washed briefly over the pair as they considered how each had saved the other. Both managed to exert traces of a smile, however briefly, before quickly returning to what seemed like the statu
s quo of showing off nothing more than a permanently depressed and exhausted facial expression.

  “That pistol you’ve got there”, John continued as he walked out of the main lounge and into the kitchen, “You got no ammo for it?”.

  “Some”, replied Andrew as he followed John, inspecting his M1911, “But it jammed when I tried to fire, ejected the magazine but it slid out of reach and I couldn’t grab it”.

  “Should always keep a backup weapon”, John instructed, in an almost teacher-like manner, “A bat or a tire iron or…”, his eyes scanned the kitchen, eventually settling on a wooden block with a series of handles protruding from it. John grabbed one of them and pulled, coming with it the glimmering blade of a kitchen knife, “Or a knife”, John remarked, handing the weapon to Andrew.

  “Yeah that’s probably a good idea I suppose, thanks”, Andrew replied, with a smile and nod of gratitude.

  “Right then”, John declared, “Let’s get back to camp before night comes, I don’t much fancy sleeping out here”.

  * * *

  Getting out of the town was much easier than getting in, the mid-afternoon shade acting as a concealer for the pair’s movement as they crossed streets and moved between houses. Before long they had re-entered the embrace of the woodland, and began hugging the treeline along the route back to camp. For the most part Andrew seemed reasonably capable of navigating this new world without guidance, however around the half-way point, John began to realise that he was not quite as strict as he was, often snapping twigs or scuffing the ground, and at one point, strolling right out into the road.

  “Get back into the trees!”, John instructed.

  “Why? There’s nobody around, and it’s quicker”, Andrew replied. “Besides, you’re less likely to trip up or-”, Andrew was cut short by the sight of a vehicle in the distance, heading down the same road he was now strolling casually along, in full view of anybody watching. His face went white, his entire body freezing on the spot, hesitating for what felt like an age, but was more like a matter of seconds, before John grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the trees.

  “Get down, shut up, and don’t move”, John instructed, “Got it?”, he asked, this time with a sense of anger in his voice over the potentially disastrous mistake his new companion had just made.

  Andrew said nothing, but nodded feverishly and dropped to the floor like a dog being told to play dead.

  With the two just barely concealed by the surrounding shrubbery, they lay perfectly still, in absolute silence, just waiting – and hoping – for the vehicle to pass by. As it approached, the occupants became visible, three males, two in the front of the dirty white Chevrolet pickup truck, and one stood in the back, with some sort of rifle resting on the roof of the trucks cabin. Upon getting closer, the truck began to slow, eventually stopping dead in a position that concealed it from both John and Andrew’s view, courtesy of the hefty trunk of a nearby fallen tree. They were effectively blind, unable to see the situation unfolding right in front of them. John began contemplating what their next move might be, despite having no idea what they might be up against, whilst Andrew simply lay in silence, quivering ever so slightly. The pair could only hear the sound of an opening door, the pitter-patter of footsteps as the three regrouped at one side of the truck, and then, the faint sound of conversation.

  “I’m telling you, I saw something up here, right around there”, exclaimed one of the men.

  “The hell you did, probably just imagining things”, denounced another.

  “Screw you, I know what I saw, it was moving right around here, headed into the trees, I’ma go check it out.”, announced the original man, as his footsteps slowly grew louder.

  Every muscle in Andrew’s body began to tense, so much so that it was almost audible. John reached for his pistol, playing the potential ways the situation might unravel over in his head.

  “Go for it man, go rummaging through the trees only to find it was some Zed”, said the second man.

  “No”, announced the previously silent third man, with a much more authoritative tone. “Boss wants us all back before night, we ‘aint got time for this, let’s go, got a lot of miles to cover and not enough time to cover ‘em in as it is. Back in the truck, now!”, he barked.

  With that, the three men got back into the truck, and continued their journey, passing right past the pile of twigs, the mounds of leaves, and the fallen tree that were all working together to conceal both John and Andrew from view.

  “Stay where you are”, John whispered after a few moments, “We’re not risking it, give it a couple minutes”.

  Andrew nodded.

  “Guess that’s another name for those things, Zed’s, must stand for Zombies”, John said, pausing to consider converting from referring to them as ‘things’ or ‘creatures’, before eventually dismissing the idea. “You unjammed that pistol of yours yet?”, he asked instead.

  Andrew shook his head.

  “Jesus Christ, lot of use you would have been just now then. Give it here”, John extended a hand along the floor, in which Andrew placed the weapon.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here”, John announced, who with a swift, almost military like precision, began dismantling and rebuilding the barrel assembly of the M1911, removing in the process a mangled and crushed .45 calibre round.

  “Looks like you’ve been using some real messed up ammo, you find this on the floor or something?”, John asked.

  Andrew nodded.

  “Looks like it. You need to keep to the good stuff, no bullet at all is better than one that screws the gun up”, John said, beginning to feel like some kind of firearms instructor.

  Andrew nodded again, still seemingly unable to speak for fear of attracting any further unwanted attention.

  “Alright then”, John said, as he began to look around the area, before slowly climbing to his feet. “Let’s get moving”, he announced.

  * * *

  As the campsite came into view, John prepared himself for the usual process of re-entry, having already asked Andrew to keep to himself and let John do the talking, to which he had happily obliged. Andrew hadn’t left the camp for some time, certainly not since the sentries had been posted on the doors, and so knew little about the process of returning. John on the other hand had left on a regular basis, always needing more supplies – people tended to be more willing to give hand-outs to a family like Andrew’s, rather than an unknown loner like John – and so knew plenty about the process.

  Removing his belt – his gun and knife still secured inside its attached pouches – and instructing Andrew to do the same, he held the leather bundle high up in the air with one hand, while his other hand was also raised aloft, waving for attention. The pair walked like this for some time, from the moment the campsite came into view, till the moment the guards eventually became aware of their presence. John had perfected the procedure as a means to avoid alarming the guards, a method of reducing the chance he was shot the second he caught sight of the campsite, perhaps mistaken for some careless bandit or undead creature.

  “Stay where you are”, rang out a low but firm voice, “We’re coming out, do not reach for a weapon”.

  The pair simply stood, silent and motionless, until the guard got close enough to see them.

  “Just returning from a run, John… John Parker”, John announced, “And Andrew…”, he paused suddenly, abruptly realising he was unaware of his new companions surname.

  “Ph…Ph…Phillips!”, stuttered Andrew, the level of fear in his voice clear to all who heard him.

  “Alright, come on in. You fellas are just in time, gates are sealing in a couple’ minutes”, said the guard, as he signalled for the door sentries to open up, followed by the unmistakable sound of the bar being lifted, the chains being removed, and every head in the lobby inside turning to face the door.

  “I’ll take your bags and have someone bring them back to you once your contributions have been removed”, instructed the sentry, �
��Welcome back to the Good Night Inn”, he smirked.

  Chapter 4: Sharing the Wealth

  As John’s eyes opened, he was greeted with a sea of brightness, the dazzling sun outside intertwined with the white of the bright ceiling above, flooding the room with natural light. Slowly he lowered his gaze, the comfortable, warm embrace of a king-sized bed relaxing every muscle in his body, willing him to return to slumber. Instead though, he rolled onto his side, the straight, blonde hair of his wife coming into view, lying peacefully alongside him. He slowly stroked his hand along the arm of his bedroom companion, leaning over and gently kissing her head as he did, softly awakening her from her own deep sleep.

  Rolling over to come face to face with John, her sheer beauty was striking, from her perfectly coupled lips to her glorious blue eyes, and the most calming, relaxing of smiles he had ever seen. Suddenly John became filled with the sort of hope and excitement that could get a man through near any problem, no matter its nature, all from nothing more than that beautiful smile.

  Many minutes were passed in this way, the glorious sun lighting the room more and more as time went by, both of them simply laying there, staring into each other’s eyes, content and happy. Eventually however, it was interrupted, by the pitter-patter of a child’s feet on a hard-wood floor. As the footsteps slowed, and the door swung open, a little girl, no older than six, came bounding into the room, jumping up onto the bed and straight into the warmth of a family embrace. This was happiness, this was everything John had ever wanted, to be away for the weekend with his family, not a care in the world, nor a burdensome thought on his mind.

  The perfection of the moment was so great, that John had ignored the growing dryness of his eyes, suddenly realising he had yet to blink since awakening from his sleep, much the same as the rest of his family. Slowly he shifted his gaze back to his wife, attempting to lock back into the love filled staring match they had been enjoying so much. Instead though, she herself had given in, those beautiful blue eyes temporarily obscured by heavy eyelids. Upon opening however, any trace of blue had been replaced by a greyish green, and as John looked down in astonishment, he noticed that the vibrant red of her lips had been replaced by a cracked, blood splattered white, ajar only for long enough to release a deep groan, the sort of groan that he knew came from only one type of creature.