I plugged it in and started cutting, immediately I could see a difference. The first step came off in just over a minute, the second step didn't take much longer. As I was cutting through the third step I stopped, thinking I'd heard a noise. I waited a few moments but couldn't hear anything else so I carried on cutting.
I took the third step off and heard a noise again, this time I knew I had heard something. It was a banging and it was coming from the front of the house. I rushed into the kitchen and was going to look out of the window before remembering that it was boarded up. The banging was coming from the door. It was quite erratic and not very regular but the thumps were powerful. There was a zombie trying to get in and if anymore joined in, they were eventually going to succeed.
I dashed back to the staircase and switched on the grinder. Even if I didn't take apart all the stairs, I needed to make sure there was too much of a gap for one of those things to negotiate. Speed was of the essence so I took the rest of the tools and the ladder upstairs and started hacking at the staircase, working my way backwards up the stairs.
I cut whatever I could with the grinder and bashed at it with a heavy hammer. The wood was splitting and coming apart in chunks, I wouldn't be able to reuse it for the barricades like I'd planned but I didn't care, I needed to go as quickly as possible. If those things got inside before I was ready, reinforcing the barricades would be the least of my worries. The banging was definitely getting louder, I could hear it over the noise I was making and I wasn't being quiet.
I started to get into a routine, knowing where and how much I had to cut before the steps would break off. The gap between the stairs was getting to be a decent size, the first step left intact was around head height. I would have liked to have kept going but the sound of the kitchen door bursting open made me panic.
Chapter 4
I stopped cutting instantly and threw the grinder into the upstairs bedroom. I grabbed the last few tools and ran in myself, slamming the door behind me. I was hiding.
I thought back to all the horror films I had watched in my life. I'd watched people chased by psychos, monsters, dinosaurs and zombies and seen them all try to hide from them. It had driven me mad. I used to think it was a lazy plot device by writers to kill off a character. It seemed inevitable that they would think they were safe before getting surprised by something jumping out at them or bumping into them round a corner. I used to blame the character for being lame, thinking 'if that was me, I'd fight back or at the very least keep running'. As I sat there on the bedroom floor with my back against the door, I understood.
I listened to them crashing around downstairs, knocking the coffee table over and ornaments off shelves. I sat there and I prayed that they'd get bored and leave. I repeated it in my head over and over like a mantra, 'please leave, just please leave'.
I didn't move either, I kept as still as possible trying not to make a sound. It seemed obvious that it was the sound that had attracted them so I hoped that, by staying silent and keeping myself hidden, they would have no reason to hang around. There must have only been two or three of them but my mind raced, picturing them climbing up what was left of the stairs, or dozens of them piling up on top of each other.
The moaning was haunting and hypnotic. I closed my eyes and tried to block it out. I tried to force myself to think of something else. Maybe, my next move. I hadn't spoken to anyone since this whole thing had started. How long had it been? I opened my eyes again and checked my watch, it was nearly 11:00am.
I shut my eyes again and counted the hours up, working out how long I had been turning the house into a survival bunker. I had been running round gathering supplies and reinforcing the house for the past few hours. The whole thing had started in the early hours when I was woken up. I still wasn't sure if I'd even been asleep. I thought about my parents and hoped they were okay. I imagined them in their caravan, those things banging at the door trying to get in. My mum screaming while my dad tried to hold the door closed. Him being knocked to the floor as they start pouring in, falling onto my dad, biting him. My mum running over to help but falling to the ground as a zombie that has fallen over grabs her ankle. My dad's shouting becoming muffled until he falls silent. My mum trying to shuffle away but backing herself into a corner under the table. A zombie crawling closer, sprayed with fresh blood from my dad and darker patches from victims before him. It grabbing her leg and pulling itself forward. It opening its mouth wide and it lunging its head forward.
My whole body jerked and I woke up. I looked at my watch. It was 12:03. An hour had passed and the house had fallen silent. I kept still for another twenty minutes, listening for any noise at all. The sounds outside were muffled but I felt like I had supersonic hearing when it came to noises inside the house. The fact that I had drifted off to sleep for an hour made me hyper-alert. I listened for any sound that could be a zombie waiting to pounce as soon as I opened the door but there was nothing.
I told myself to wait and listen until I was satisfied that there was nothing waiting for me. I was kidding myself that I was being cautious, really I was trying to put off opening the door because I was petrified.
When I faced them before, I had adrenaline surging through my body, now I was terrified and felt safe hidden away upstairs. I knew I couldn't stay up there forever, I'd been lucky that they hadn't found a way upstairs or realised I was up there.
I needed to go back down, secure the kitchen door and destroy the rest of the steps. I listened to the rational part of my brain and that helped me calm down a bit. I stood up, feeling motivated. I'd had a bit of a break but it was time to get back to reality. I opened the door and stepped back onto the landing. As soon as I did, I saw a zombie standing at the bottom of the stairs. And he saw me.
As soon as I glanced down the stairs, the zombie made eye contact. It was a young guy who lived across the road a couple of doors down. I couldn't remember his name but I'd always let onto him if I saw him outside. He hadn't lived on our street for very long, originally he'd moved into the bungalow with a woman of a similar age called Helen but I hadn't seen her for months. I assumed they had broken up but I didn't like to ask. My dad had probably asked but he was nosey like that.
I felt really bad that I could remember her name but not his. We stared at each other for a few seconds, I kept waiting for him to let out a moan but the sound never came, just the clacking of his teeth. A large portion of his throat was missing where it had been ripped out by something, or someone. The surrounding flesh was torn but there were distinct teeth marks around the rest of his neck. He was wearing a shirt with the top button undone and smart looking pants. I didn't know what he did for a job but assumed he was dressed for work. Whatever colour the shirt had been, it was now varying shades of red and black. So were his chin and hands.
His arms reached up towards me, the top step digging into his armpits. I wasn't sure what to do. He didn't pose any immediate threat but I didn't want him to attract any other zombies that might be in the house, he wasn't making any effort to climb either, even though it wouldn't need too much coordination. Despite it not being easy, someone with Matt's upper body strength should have been able to lift themself up the steps by performing a press up the way you would get out of a swimming pool. Matt, that was his name. The thought seemed random but important.
I seemed to be avoiding the inevitable. A gasping sound came from the hole where his throat should be, possibly the noise of it trying to moan without a voicebox. The spade I had used earlier was just inside the bedroom door, I grabbed it and decided that I would use that to dispatch him.
I held it up and tried to align it with Matt's forehead as best as I could, I wanted to try to get this done in one go. I brought the spade back, ready to thrust as hard as I could, pausing to build up the courage I desperately needed. Then I chickened out.
I held it up again and aligned it as best I could, again I brought the spade back and again I chickened out. I let the spade fall to my side, frustrated with my
self. I stood there and stared at his face for a bit longer, telling myself it needed to be done, the fear began to build up the more I stared. I worried that soon I'd be too scared to do anything.
The fear began to turn to panic, the frustration into anger. My breathing sped up and I raised the spade again, this time I drove it into his face as hard as I could. I put as much bodyweight behind the strike as I dared, petrified of falling forwards. The scraping noise, as the blade went into his forehead, sounded just like driving the spade into hard soil, the feeling was similar as well. Instantly the zombie's legs gave way and he crumpled to the ground, pulling the spade with him, out of my reach. I cursed out loud at myself for not having a tighter hold of it, although I could have ended up being pulled down with it.
There was no way I could reach it from the top of the staircase, I had to go down. I knew I had to go down anyway to board up the front door. I got the ladders from the bedroom, putting my arm through one of the gaps and balancing it on my shoulder, I picked up the electric drill with my other hand and put the rest of the screws in the side pocket of my pants. I stepped back out onto the landing and walked straight into the clutching hands of another zombie.
Chapter 5
It was stood on top of Matt's body giving just enough leverage to reach properly over the remaining steps. It grabbed my ankle and the shock of the whole thing made me lose my balance and fall backwards. I slipped onto my backside, the ladders stayed stood up and the inside of my arm scraped down the steps as it slipped out. With only a few stairs to catch me I hit them hard and slid forwards, feet first into the zombie that had grabbed my ankle and down into the dining room, a five foot drop onto my back that took the wind right out of my lungs.
I sat up, my right arm protesting at any weight being put on it, I hoped it wasn't broken but didn't really have much time to give it any thought. Slightly dazed, I looked for the zombie that had grabbed me, frantically trying to draw breath in.
The feeling reminded me of being a child and having a football kicked right in your stomach. The air rushing out of your body and trying to get your breath back, your body not letting you breathe in, bent over convinced you'd pass out if you didn't get one big gasp of air.
Finally my body succumbed and I tasted the glorious inhalation of air, my lungs inflated and I felt relief. I saw the zombie stand up in front of me and the relief disappeared, I must have kicked it backwards and knocked it off balance as I fell.
It used to be an old man, I didn't recognise him from round here but it was quite a big town and there were a lot of houses on our street alone. He was bald and had a large gut, possibly from over-indulging after retirement. Knocking him over had given me precious seconds but not enough. Before I could scramble to my feet, the zombie lurched forward and fell on top of me, pinning me down with his weight.
The stench from the zombie's breath was sickening, my palms were pressed against his shoulders, trying to push him away. His teeth sounded like they were about to shatter as they clashed together, I tried to push him back but only succeeded in pushing him downwards. I braced my elbows against the floor, successfully keeping him out of biting range, but only just. His head was angled up towards my head as if actively trying to bite my face or neck rather than my chest, which was right in front of him. Still, I took quick shallow breaths, paranoid that a deep breath would inflate my chest too close to him and he would bite it.
I was panicking and the hyperventilating wasn't helping. I looked around quickly for anything that might help my situation, trying my best not to look away for too long at a time in case my lack of attention caused the zombie to get the better of me. I spotted the drill and immediately felt the need to get it and turn it into a weapon. It was on the floor to my left, not far from where I was lying. I wouldn't have to stretch to reach it but it was at a slightly awkward angle just above my shoulder. Even so, a slight wriggle would allow me to grab it, point it directly into the side of the zombie's head, and drive it in.
The drill bit that I had used for screwing all the boards over the windows downstairs was currently in the drill and would make light, if messy, work of the zombie's head if drilled into his temple. My main worry was that grabbing the drill with my left arm would mean that the only thing stopping the zombie from devouring all my squishy bits would be my right arm, which was quickly going numb from the pain of the fall and the pressure from the body on top of it. I knew I had to move fast.
I dug my heels into the floor and tried to bend my knees as much as possible, taking some of the zombie's bodyweight off my arms. I shuffled backwards slightly, moving me precious inches closer to the drill. I braced myself and rocked the zombie ever so slightly to my right, giving myself a few seconds respite before shooting my left arm upwards to the drill. My right arm felt like it was going to snap under the force pressing down on it, causing me to panic. I grabbed the drill and pulled my arm back in, allowing the zombie's weight to be distributed once again onto both hands.
I could hear shuffling in the kitchen and knew that I only had seconds before another monster was going to be on top of me and I'd have no chance. Letting out a growl through clenched teeth, partly through anger and partly through the sheer agony I was feeling in my arm, I pushed the zombie up and away from me with both arms before releasing my left arm, squeezing the trigger on the drill and punching it into the side of the zombie's temple.
The drill tore through the side of its head a lot easier than I was expecting. As it did, the zombie's eyes rolled right to the back of its skull. To say I could only see the whites of its eyes would be inaccurate because the burst blood vessels made them look red.
I drilled for a couple of seconds, to make sure that it was dead, then let it roll to my right. I carried on rolling to my knees and stumbled to my feet, dashing forward into the kitchen. At that moment I didn't care if I was going to be faced with one or ten of those creatures, I felt powerful from the adrenaline and ready to take on any number of them.
The kitchen was home to just one more zombie, I ran straight towards it and kicked in the chest as hard as I could. It stumbled backwards into the open door and bounced back towards me unsteady. I kicked its kneecap as hard as I could, I don't know whether it did any damage but it fell to the ground face down as I intended. I stood over it and grabbed the short, dark hair at the top of the head, I drove the drill into the top of the neck, drilling up into the brain. I kept drilling for a lot longer than necessary but wanted to make sure it was dead, or re-dead, or whatever it was now.
I still felt angry, I felt like I could kill another one. I don't know whether I was angry at the zombies in general or the situation I was in, but I wanted to take it out on those things. A part of me wanted to go out onto the street to find and kill more of them. The door was still open and seemed to invite me to fulfill my desire but the rational part of my brain began to kick in. The adrenaline quickly began to wear off and my arm began to hurt again. I needed to get the house safe again and retreat to upstairs. If I was going to survive this thing, I needed to be smart. If I ended up going primal, I'd be fighting these things on their own level and I had the feeling the numbers weren't in my favour.
With a sigh I stepped towards the open door, I sneaked a look outside and saw figures scattered around the street. Some moved, some stood still but swayed, none looked alive. Keeping low I snuck out onto the drive and quietly closed the gate, dropping the bar down on both gates into the flagged driveway. It wouldn't take much to force the gates open, but hopefully it would be enough of a deterrent for a wandering zombie.
I went back inside and quietly shut the door. I found it slightly ironic how quiet I was being compared to the carnage that had preceded it, but if the noise had attracted those last three then I was going to try to be as quiet as possible.
I hadn't screwed the front door shut before. Thinking the lock would be sufficient, I'd left it as it was. The way it had been busted open left me surprised that it shut properly, however it was too much to a
sk that it still locked. I glanced at the washing machine to my right and formed a new barricade plan. I dragged the washing machine out and pushed it against the door. I'd caused a bit of a flood by pulling a pipe out of the back that started leaking water all over the floor. I followed the pipe backwards until I found a tap to isolate the water flow.
I'd struggled pushing it on my own but didn't think it would be much of a problem for two or more zombies. I needed something longer to wedge behind it so my next target was the sofa.
I loved that sofa more than any of the others we'd had over the years. It was long and had cushions so big that it felt like you were sinking into it. The deep red colour was meant to look rich, I thought it looked a bit tacky but I'd sacrifice looks for comfort any day. I'd wasted many afternoons stretched out on the sofa staring at the television or surfing the internet for hours. Not doing anything in particular, just wasting time, comfortably, with nothing to worry about. I figured it would be a while before I'd get chance to do that again.
The sofa wasn't exactly heavy but it was big and bulky which was precisely what I wanted. It took a while to get it through the kitchen door, I had to tip it and angle it to get it through. Doing it by myself made it twice as hard. At one point I nearly got it stuck as I climbed over it to push it into the kitchen. Because of my body weight pressing down and the angle I had it wedged in the door frame, I struggled to get it free, but eventually managed. The gap between the washing machine and the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen was only just big enough for the couch, and that's exactly what I wanted. I really had to force the sofa into the gap, wedging it in tight. Now there was physically no way the door would open unless either the couch or washing machine was moved out of the way sideways, and there was no way that was going to happen unless I pulled them out. No matter how much force drove into the door, it would just push against everything stacked behind it and not move.
Ridgetown (Book 0): Rising Page 3