by Burke, Rowan
Lance stood over the bodies of the attackers, still angry with a distinct look of victory commandeering his face. He was content to say the least, but was tired and needed rest. That outburst was scraping the very bottom of the barrel for his energy levels, with his tiredness shining through any other expression.
“We need to go”
We wholeheartedly agreed, yet as he took a step forward, a fourth assailant shot out from nowhere, jumping on Lance’s back and sinking its teeth into his neck. Lance screamed in pain, spinning round in panic to try and throw the zombie off him. The zombie’s reaction to stay attached was to sink its teeth even deeper, eventually touching its top tooth to bottom, chomping straight through my brother’s flesh before hitting the floor. The zombie made a second attempt to make a meal of Lance as it scrambled to its feet then launched back in his direction. I grabbed the knife from Phil’s hand and used my walking stick to pole vault myself across the road, using my weight to knock the zombie back down to the ground. It snapped away violently as I slammed my walking stick across its chest to pin the fucker to the floor. Kneeling on the stick to hold it down, I raised the blade of the knife then brought it down heavily through the zombie’s eye, wriggling the cold metal in its brain until it ceased to move. Taking inspiration from my brother’s earlier actions, I didn’t want to leave the risk of it coming back for vengeance, so I stabbed the rotting, murdering, fucking Hell-sent piece of shit multiple times in the head as I screamed obscenities of sincere hatred and heartache.
Jon approached me and swiped the now blunt knife from my hands.
“That’s enough mate”
He said, placing his hand on my shoulder and gently pulling me away.
My hatred, my vengeance, my complete determination to stab the zombie until there was nothing left to stab, turned immediately into tears. I knew what had happened and what would happen now too, but I simply couldn’t face it. I rolled my body over to my brother as he bled and convulsed in pain on the floor. Lifting his head, I rested him on my lap and hugged him, stroking his hair as I sobbed uncontrollably. He was shivering, his eyes wide with shock, blood pouring out of both the extravagant wound in his neck and his mouth as he fought to stay conscious.
“You’re going to be ok brother. You’re going to be ok. I’ll get you out of here”
Lance closed his eyes and winced as the pain took control, but opened his eyes again to look straight up and into mine. They looked scared, but reassuring, like even though he was afraid he didn’t want me to be as well. The sides of his eyes creased the way they always did we he smiled.
“I don’t think so, bro”
He coughed, spluttering thick, dark red blood over his chest.
“I think that’s it for me. Get out of here – take the other guys and get out of here”
“Don’t you talk like that! Don’t you even think like that!”
I held him closer, tears falling from my eyes like a heavy flood. He coughed again and then started convulsing aggressively, spitting up more blood and bubbling saliva in the process. I held him tightly to try and stifle the shaking, but it was so belligerent that I simply couldn’t hold him still.
“Please don’t”
I pleaded through tear soaked lips, however futile it was.
“Please”
As quick as he was attacked, he stopped shaking and released one long, last breath. His eyes rolled back, and hi body went completely limp. He was gone.
A moment of silence passed with nothing but the rustling of the leaves to fill the emptiness of the night. I held him tight, I held my brother in my arms, my friend, my inspiration, my hero. He wasn’t even meant to be here, he didn’t even live here. It was only him coming over for a visit that put him in this situation, a situation of which he would have been safe from if he were back in New Zealand. I wished he had never come over, I wished for no reason when he told us he was thinking of flying over that I had told him to fuck off and that I didn’t want to see him. It would have been mean, he wouldn’t have understood why I didn’t want him to come over, and he would most likely have hated me for saying it. But he would have been safe, he would have been alive; my brother would still be here.
I sobbed for a moment, before leaning my head back and screaming into the night. I didn’t know what else to do but scream. There was a pain inside me I hoped would come out if I screamed, if I shouted, if I bellowed in pain, but it didn’t go. It stayed in me, eating me away like the zombie had eaten away at him.
The other three cried too, clearly distressed by both the loss of someone they would describe as a new friend, but also to see me in such pain. However, they knew we had to get going; They didn’t want to stop my screams of agony, all of them had brothers too and could only imagine the pain I felt of mine dying in my arms, yet the screams were inarguably loud and undoubtedly attracting unwanted attention. Jon and Derek came over and took hold of my brother, lifting him carefully and graciously. Phil put his hands under my arms and lifted me to my feet. We all carried my brother to the side of the road and rested him peacefully on the grass before Derek removed his jacket and placed it over Lance’s face. I sobbed and shook my head in disbelief; I didn’t want to leave him there, I didn’t want to leave him full stop. Yet we had seen what had happened to Stacey and I knew it was likely to happen to my brother too. I couldn’t face him that way; I couldn’t conjure up the strength to do what would be necessary at that time to keep him away. It wouldn’t be him anyway, it would be a demonic shell of his former self, and he would not think twice about hurting all four of us. Part of me just wanted to lay next to him, letting whatever fate awaited me take its course. At least I would have been with my brother at that point; we could have followed Stacey and Carl’s lead to move off to the next world together, side by side, brothers in arms. But that would be giving up, and if there’s one thing my older brother taught me growing up it was never to give in, never let the bastards get you down, never, ever, let anyone or anything get the better of you.
Jon put his arm around me in a vain attempt of consolidation.
“We need to go”
He stated.
Goodbye my dear brother. Thank you, I love you, and goodbye.
6.
Just as we thought we best get out of here, head to Mark’s, and leave the wake of what just happened way behind us, the ground rumbled as the trees rustled violently in the air. What now? Had another army of zombies heard this commotion too, and were now on their way to make mincemeat of us? I was too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to deal with any more attacks.
We all looked at each other, unable to disguise our concern, but as we prepared to turn and run with every bit of energy we had left, the source of the rumbling soared from beyond the trees, up and over our heads; it was the noise of a helicopter.
Our looks of concern became looks of hopeful excitement, franticly waving and screaming at the vessel above. Our attempts to signal the helicopter were ultimately in vain as the vessel ventured past us at a significant pace, it disappearing just as quickly as it appeared. But our hope remained; although we hadn’t managed to draw attention to ourselves from the helicopter’s occupants, it was headed in the same direction we were: the military base. That meant one of two things; either they were headed to the base in order to join the army, who were prepping to get ready to fight back, or they were flying in to get people out. Whichever it was, it far bettered our current status and filled us with a sense of confidence we hadn’t felt for some time.
It wasn’t a far walk to get to the edge of the barracks which still had all its barb wired fences intact. There were numerous signs of attempted gained entry, but they all seemed to be ineffective and unsuccessful. The fence stretched all the way down the road with no break bar a singular gate, which looked pretty impenetrable. It soared a good 10ft in the air, with barbed wire across the top and heavy, metal gates held together by a thick chain and even thicker padlock. The fence had yellow signs reading ‘warning: ele
ctrified’ in frequent intervals; whether or not this was still working I don’t know, but I for one didn’t care to grab it and find out.
The stable state of the fence and gate suggested the base hadn’t yet been breached, which was a good sign. The bad sign, however, was that it didn’t look like it was going to be easy to get in, and there certainly wasn’t any welcoming guards at the gate waiting to open it up for us and happily wave us inside. A fence cutter in the form of perhaps some garden shears or a small electric saw would obviously had been perfect and would have permitted us a relatively easy entry, but the tools and weapons we possessed were far from suitable for the task. Still, maybe Mark had something we could use once we had got in his house, assuming he hadn’t already used them on another part of the fence and subsequently long since departed.
Mark’s house backed onto the parameter of the base, the foot of his garden being cut off by a thick wall, which separated the electric fence from his property. He wasn’t a military man, nor did he have any military ties that we were aware of, but hopefully his location and ‘preparation’ meant he had sourced a way in.
The sun was becoming an increasingly dominant fixture as it carried out the early morning ritual. Steadily rising, our vision was now fully functional as we were met with the soft, almost peach coloured subtle light of dawn as it gradually spilled across the ground. The street lamps still glimmered faint, amber light, but were no longer a necessity and would assumedly soon shut off to make way for the natural illumination.
A new day was upon us, a new day of staying safe, staying together, staying alive, and making every attempt we could to get through this shit and firmly out of the other side. My brother hadn’t made the journey, a horror of which I feared the feeling in my heart would never shake. But his death would not be in vain; we would get out as he had instructed, and I had every intention to arrange a ceremony in order to say goodbye to him properly once we did. We still had hope on our side, and with the possibility of military aid we could now envision a clear way out of this. The only problem was that my vision had a big block in front of it; a block in the form of that fuck-face, Mark.
Mark’s house was number 29, the boys had been here many times so locating it was an easy enough process. We approached warily, noticing the entrances to other houses in the area had been smashed to bits, and the houses themselves turned inside out, all the once residing furniture and other such household goods now strewn across the pavement into the road and destroyed beyond recognition. The area was a warzone, with blood splatters all over the place and pieces of bodies lying out as a cruel warning to us, making sure we were very aware that we were far from safe.
Mark’s house was a three bed end of terrace building, so fair sized and perched alongside a series of otherwise derelict abodes. The windows had been boarded up from the outside with thick sheets of wood, all of which were deep with scratch marks but appeared to have retained their primary function of keeping any unwelcome guests out. Jon crept up to the door and lightly tapped on the wood with his knuckle.
“Mark?”
He whispered, barely loud enough for us to hear, let alone anyone inside.
“Mark, are you in?”
We waited a moment but there was no sign of any life inside.
Phil, clearly feeling less tolerant than normal, opted to take a sterner attempt at getting Mark’s attention. Pushing Jon out of the way, he banged the door with his fist.
“MARK?”
No response.
Derek, evidently not trusting the door knocking capabilities of the other two, brushed Phil aside and banged in what appeared to be exactly the same way as Phil. He produced three loud, sharp, quick bangs on the door that created a booming noise which bounced off the streets behind us and echoed off into the stillness of the early morning.
“Mark, it’s us, it’s Derek, Phil, Jon and….um…let us in, mate”
Still, nothing.
“Maybe he got eaten”
I suggested, perhaps too optimistically as I was sternly met with three sharp scowls.
Deflated and defeated, it looked like our destination wasn’t open for business, and we were once again on our own out in the open. Although I didn’t care for Mark, I felt like we needed the help of him and whoever else he had seconded; we needed their resources, we needed food and water, we needed rest and we needed them to get us into the army barracks so we could find a way to the coast. The sound of the helicopter had long since vanished, but we still firmly believed it to be in the base somewhere, yet the reality was that our beliefs of its location had no backing whatsoever, and were just as farfetched as any other idea. Jon slumped to the floor as Derek and Phil closed their eyes and lowered their heads. Aware that we could not just stop and rest for fear of what may come looking for us, Phil pulled Jon back to his feet and silently signaled that we keep moving. He looked close to tears, having put all his expectations in the assistance of some new band members, but we could either dwell on it and wait for trouble, or find our feet and get moving. Our best hope was to work the parameter of the military base, scouting for any openings in the fences and trying to regroup with a new plan of getting in and getting help.
I don’t know why we hadn’t yet learned from experience, why making exuberant noise in the past had drawn attention to us, but the desperate knocks at Mark’s door provided the only noise filling the otherwise dead air. With that in mind I don’t why we were shocked to see what we did next, it shouldn’t have come at any surprise at all. It was careless on our part, again falling victim to our own naivety, but irrespective of cause, and too far gone for hindsight, we heard a new noise take over; this was a familiar noise, but only familiar of late, one of which we had come accustomed to but really wish we hadn’t, one of imminent danger; the melodious moaning of the zombies.
As it did back in the flat, the moaning was not that of a singular zombie, but a harmonised choir selflessly sharing their marching theme of looming death with us. Back down the now well-lit roads, we saw a wave of zombies pour around the corner. They were not the slow pacing undead army we had previously encountered, but were now moving far quicker, practically jogging in our direction. Our fears of them getting faster took a violent shove from speculation to evident reality as they edged ever closer, hungered, merciless stares consuming them at our foreseeable expense. They weren’t quite running yet, but shifted at significant pace that would certainly be enough to catch me, and likely to be enough to catch my fatigued colleagues who had exhausted all their reserve adrenaline boosts and were now running on completely empty tanks. We were utterly and inarguably fucked. The moans reverberated in every direction, so even an attempt at running the opposite direction to the impending death wave could just have likely met another.
The wave steadily approaching, we knew we were down and out, we had put up a good fight but it simply wasn’t enough, meaning we now faced the same fate as Lance and the countless amount of other innocent people we had already witnessed being torn limb from limb. Frantically searching for our next move, I looked over at Derek, his eyes had glazed, but he was nodding in acceptance, already mentally prepared for our brutal conclusion. Jon looked on the verge of a breakdown, pacing back and forth with his hands on the back of his head and muttering to himself. He looked scared, and although he had good reason, I really didn’t want him to be, I wanted him to find a moment of solitude, to reflect on all the good things that had happened before now. I wanted him to simply focus on the events that got us here, like our strong brotherhood; us four working together to make it even this far. Phil adopted the same stance as I did; neither scared nor acceptant of what was imminently about to happen, just standing with an expression clearly depicting a distinct lack of knowing how to react. At least I’d be reunited with brother, I thought, at least our time apart was short lived and we’d get to see each other again in whatever afterlife awaited us.
None of us were going to lie down and just allow ourselves to be eaten, to be victims of
these hellish land-walkers and their cannibalistic intentions. Their bloodied, chomping jaws would soon propel their dwelling, jagged teeth into our flesh and tear us apart, but we were going to send Hell a strong message ahead of our arrival. It didn’t seem like the zombies could feel pain, I didn’t seem like they could feel anything but hunger, but nether less we were going to at least try and fuck them up as best we could with every last bit of aggression and energy we could conjure up. This was clearly going to be our finale, but we’d be going out in a blaze of glory.
“What are you doing out there?”
A voice appeared behind us.
“They don’t want to be your friends, you know”
Fear to bafflement, we turned back to the house to reveal Mark standing at the open door. I have only ever seen him in a pretentious, fitted pinstripe suit, normally equipped with a pink tie and pink handkerchief, or on rare occasion a golf shirt before. Yet his welcomed announcement into the situation saw him in a tight, white vest, with army print combat trousers leading down to a set of black doctor martins on his feet. He had two black belts wrapped around his side and up over each shoulder to cross over his chest, holding a pool cue in one side and a cricket bat in the other. He was wearing a fancy dress General’s hat and dark, Ray-Ban knockoff aviators, and as I saw him open the door to a survival we could do nothing to envision only seconds before, as I saw our savior in this moment, as I saw the person solely responsible for us avoiding an utterly horrific death, I could not help but think just one thing: What a cunt.