Sleep, Think, Die (Book 2): The Undertaking

by Oldham, S. P.

  Her eyes snapped open in surprise as the two rear doors opened. A glance in the mirror showed her Magda and Mayhew clambering in, hastily pulling the doors closed behind them. The car dipped at their added weight, Magda turning on one knee to look behind her.

  Lavender felt the familiar dread return, “What is it?” she asked, turning to look behind the car, as Magda was doing, “not more zombies? Christ, not another Thinker?”

  “No,” Magda said, her voice low, “Just a pack of wild dogs. The wind must have changed direction, they caught our scent,”

  “But they’re behind the wall, aren’t they?”

  “They were, but they’re not going to be for much longer; look,” Magda ducked, Mayhew tucking himself over to one side to allow her to see past him.

  Two or three of the larger dogs were attempting to jump the gate. Lavender saw what Magda meant; they were dangerously close to succeeding. Even if they didn’t get over it, each time they flung themselves against the gate it gave a little inward bulge. If they kept it up, they would open the gate, not climb it.

  Lavender slammed her door closed. Irrationally, she locked it too, then reached over to the passenger side and did the same there. Mayhew and Magda followed suit, none of them giving voice to the rationale that a dog was very unlikely to know how to open a locked car door. Any defence was better than none.

  “Now what?” Mayhew sat back, panting. His question was for Lavender, who eyed the pistol on the seat next to her, wondering if she might strike lucky again with the weapon.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She leaned over and picked the pistol up, handing it over the back seat. It was Magda who reached for it, handling it tentatively.

  “I might be pushing my luck a bit if I try it,” Lavender said, trying to sound hopeful, “It’s your turn,”

  “I don’t even know how to use the thing!”

  “Neither did I,” Lavender shrugged.

  “Why don’t you try your luck one last time and give that key another twist?” Mayhew said, nodding at the ignition, “I mean, it’s not as if we’ve got anything to lose, right? Unless you fancy your chances against the dogs of course,”

  Lavender chewed her lip, shrugged and twisted round, sitting once more. She gripped the steering wheel with her left hand, with the right she took hold of the key, and turned.

  It was unresponsive. She tried again, more urgency in the motion, aware there were few other options left to them. Still nothing. She closed her eyes, thought of the tremendous feeling of shock and relief when the pistol had actually fired earlier, killing the zombie that was coming at her. She turned the key again.

  The engine grumbled, like an old man clearing his throat. Lavender’s eyes flew open. It died on her. She turned the key again, hunched over the wheel like a mad woman; again, a throaty grumble, another rapid death. She twisted the key again and this time engine started properly. It wasn’t the smoothest sound she’d ever heard, but it was one of the sweetest.

  She threw a glance over her shoulder, saw the amazement in her passenger’s eyes, then turned back, to concentrate on the business of driving.

  It had been a long time. For a second, she worried she had forgotten how to do it. She didn’t think the car would run for long, probably not far, but she didn’t care. Right now, all she needed was to get out of the service yard and away from the dogs. At the back of her mind, the urgent need to find Carson was also making itself felt. One thing at a time. Get clear of here, get to somewhere they could stop and catch their breath, then she would look for him; alone if she had to.

  She didn’t think the car was likely to start a second time if she shut the engine down. Leaving Magda and Mayhew to offer up a running commentary of events, Lavender focused solely on keeping the engine running and the car moving.

  She turned the car around so it faced the gates, shutting her mind to the knowledge that the bumps beneath its wheels were dead bodies. The dogs were still flinging themselves at the gate, furry, pointed ears and crazed canine expressions appearing above it sporadically as they took turns in attempting to clear it. A few wet noses had begun to poke between the widening gap at is centre, as if they had worked out the way to open it was to push.

  “Go!” Magda urged, “Run them down!”

  Lavender paused, thinking, “No,” she said in a firm voice, “We wait. This car’s been standing idle for who knows how long? If the dogs do manage to open those gates, it will be a lot easier to drive through a bunch of soft, four-legged bodies than solid metal. We can’t afford to put this car to any more damage than is necessary. We wait,”

  She had barely finished speaking when the limp body of an undead landed heavily on the bonnet of the car, flailing limbs bouncing.

  “Fuck me!” Mayhew shouted, his voice trembling.

  “Jesus Christ!” Lavender breathed, her heart pounding.

  It was one of the zombies that had been crowding the broken window above moronically. It had evidently fallen, finding a landing spot on the hood of the car. There was the sickening sound of bones snapping, Lavender daring to believe it had been enough to finish the thing off. Then, like some kind of sick joke, the battered zombie sat up, twisting its body round to face Lavender through the windscreen and leering at her luridly, its engorged tongue lolling.

  That was when the gates finally gave way. They swung inward in wide arcs, a flood of soft-pawed dogs as big as wolves slinking through it.

  “They’re through!” Magda supplied, clutching the hand rail over the door as if it might save her, “The dogs are through,” her voice was loaded with disbelief.

  Lavender had to admit to a certain admiration for the pack. There was no hesitation in their actions. They spied the writhing form on the bonnet of the car and lunged at it. Viciously sharp teeth sank into rotting flesh, the zombie being torn limb from limb as the dogs wrestled it apart. In minutes, a limbless torso was atop the bonnet, the neck askew, the still leering face lolling. A fresh wave of dogs took over the offensive, tearing at the grotesque form until all that was left was the horrifying sound of the pack sating its hunger, and a large, greasy smear of blood and gore across the bonnet.

  “Now, we go!” Lavender said, releasing the hand brake and slamming her foot down on the accelerator.

  The car wheels spun. Lavender thought for an awful moment they might not gain traction. Then the vehicle lurched forward, Lavender fighting to retain control. The dogs immediately in front of the vehicle were mown down, their startled yelps ringing in Lavender’s ears. The others fell back, crouching low and snarling, tendrils of putrid flesh dangling from their lethal jaws.

  She shut her mind to them, barrelling out into the road beyond, taking a panicked left turn, negotiating obstacles at speed. She forced herself to slow down a fraction, to count to ten slowly and calmly, allowing the adrenalin to subside and her thoughts to clear. They were free of the police station, but judging by the way the day was going, that didn’t mean a damn thing. Determined to keep a clear head and a weather eye, she drove them down the street and away from the carnage.

  “Okay, keep looking for anything you recognise. We’ve got to get back to the base,” Magda said from behind her.

  “We’ve got to find Carson first,” Lavender said.

  In the mirror, she saw the hard look Magda gave her. The woman said nothing, her expression speaking volumes.

  “We find Carson first,” Lavender repeated, determination in her voice, “then we find the base together.”

  *

  Carson woke gently, his mind releasing him from sleep unwillingly, bringing him carefully back to the world as a tender parent might wake a weary child. He lay on the mattress unmoving, adjusting his eyes to the gloom, trying to remember where he was.

  It came back to him slowly. He recalled finding the comparatively untouched house, his exploration of it as far as he was able. Then the crushing, enveloping tiredness that he had no choice but to give in to. There was nothing after that; no dreams, n
ot even a nightmare.

  He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stretched tentatively, his muscles aching. It was dark now, he must have slept for hours. He rose from the bed, crossing to the window to see the moon low in the sky. A wind had got up while he slept, blowing away the warmth of the day. It looked chilly out there.

  He rubbed his shoulders, the coolness of the night finally registering with him. There was an urgent insistence at his bladder. It felt somehow wrong, relieving himself right here, in the slowly mouldering bedroom. A hangover from more civilised times. He went to the door and leaned against it, listening for sounds beyond.

  Nothing that he could tell, certainly no give away sounds of approaching undead or prowling dogs. Glad he had thought to shut the front door, Carson took a strong grip of the shovel and eased the bedroom door open.

  The landing was swathed in inky darkness, there being no means by which light was allowed in. Pointless to flick the light switch; utilities had been defunct within weeks of the outbreak, long ago now. He could just make out the bannister rail in front of him. Knowing it was absurd, knowing that there was no one around to give a damn anymore, Carson nonetheless selected a door at the far end of the landing, a grey-white shadow in the darkness, betting on it being the bathroom.

  He was right. He shut the door behind him, not looking too closely at the dark bowl of the toilet, praying no rats would come running at his intrusion. There was a little more light in here, the bathroom windows allowing some in, showing him the stained and rusting bath, the bone-dry sink, the shower with its curtain half ripped and dangling from the rings. Aerosols, tubes, pots and brushes lined the windowsill. Toothbrushes still stood in plastic beakers, awaiting the return of owners that would likely never come.

  Allowing himself a smile at his need to use an actual bathroom, Carson stepped back out onto the landing. He considered his next move. It had proved safe enough in here so far. No one had disturbed him; the mattress was the softest thing he had slept on in a long time. He knew from horrible experience that night time was not the safest time to wander the streets – though perhaps the best time to hunt down Thinkers. Not something he would consider doing alone, despite the fact he had despatched a Thinker single-handed yesterday. He had been lucky. Sooner or later, luck ran out.

  He would stay until first light. But first he would finish checking the remaining rooms. His head felt a lot clearer now, more like his old self. If he was going to snatch another couple of hours sleep, he would do so a lot better knowing the house was truly empty.

  The Calling Card

  The one remaining upstairs room was another bedroom much like the first, except with a double bed. A quick investigation of the wardrobe and drawers yielded nothing worthwhile.

  Carson went to the window, taking care not to get too close and give himself away. The street seemed menacing at night, its shadows deeper and more threating. Carson gave a shiver that was nothing to do with the cold. He watched a while longer, unable to see any zombies, either alone or in a group. Nor, thankfully, were there any obvious signs of Thinkers. Deeply grateful for the respite, Carson was about to turn and check out the downstairs rooms when a sight he had not seen in an eternity crept across his vision.

  It came from about two streets away, not yet fully visible, but the light it cast was unmistakable. Two beams of light, stretching and retracting as it turned this way and that, coupled with the undeniable thrum of an engine. A car.

  Carson’s heart leapt. He had no way of knowing who was in the car, but he was fairly certain that zombies, not even Thinkers, could drive. He watched a moment longer, sure it was coming his way. He bolted down the stairs, opening the front door and stepping out cautiously. He would flag it down the minute it drew level, hoping against hope that whoever was driving would stop, not leave him vulnerable on the street.

  He tripped, managing to fling his arm wide to avoid cutting himself on the shovel as he went headfirst. Confused, panicked, he looked around to find the cause of his fall.

  The corpse of a child, long-dead and well-rotted, lay at his feet. It had to be a child, too short and small a frame to be anything else. He could tell even from here that it was a girl, nothing identifiable left of her but her scrappy clothing.

  Carson scrambled to his feet and looked down at her. He felt sick. This child was dressed in a similar fashion as the one in the park; a once bright yellow t-shirt on top, nothing at all on the bottom half. A single shoe on the left foot, this one a shade of blue. The one difference on this corpse was that someone had gone to the trouble of placing a purple bow in the matted and clogged hair; an obscene joke, it seemed to Carson.

  The car was getting closer. Carson stepped away from the corpse and into the road, hoping the driver would see him and stop before it was too late. He glanced back at the body in front of the door. He remembered being near blind with confusion and exhaustion when he came here, but he was absolutely certain she hadn’t been there when he arrived.

  Someone had put her there while he slept. That was not the work of zombies.

  A dark suspicion crept into Carson’s mind. He wished the car would hurry up and get to him. He was filled with a sudden need to get away.

  *

  Lavender was beginning to get a headache, squinting into the darkness, ever alert for zombies, potholes, random debris, wrecked vehicles and everything else that littered the streets. A few times she had to back up and find another way to go, abandoning a street altogether. One was so densely packed there was no question of getting through, the remains of some early barricade still in place. Heavy items often stood in her path; sofas, cupboards, rubbish skips and on one occasion a row of anti-climb fencing that had been erected pavement to pavement. Judging by the twisted and bent metal bars, it hadn’t succeeded in holding back the horde. Her stomach had turned, recognising it as the work of a Thinker.

  Thanking her lucky stars the car hadn’t yet stalled or stopped altogether, she had kept her speed moderate when there was a decent stretch of road to drive along unimpeded, which wasn’t often. The street she was on was one such road. She was thinking about depressing the accelerator a little further, when the figure of a man appeared out of the gloom, raising a hand to his eyes at the glare of the lights. She hit the brakes but kept the engine running,

  “Magda, you got that pistol ready?”

  “Yep,” Magda replied, sitting upright and pointing the weapon with a steady hand through the windscreen, straight alongside Lavender.

  “Well you better put it away,” Mayhew said sardonically, “I think we just found Carson,”

  *

  “Carson!” Lavender breathed, unable to believe her eyes, “Magda, lower that bloody gun, it’s Carson!” She flung her door open, one foot on the hard surface of the road, the other in the well of the car seat, “Carson, it’s me! It’s Lavender! Get in the car!”

  “Lavender?” Carson said in disbelief. Then again, more softly, like a prayer of thanks that only he could hear, “Lavender!” He ran to the car and got in, Lavender releasing the lock for him. He was so glad to see her he couldn’t find the words. Neither could she, but words didn’t matter. The look they shared said all.

  *

  It would appear he is not the loner I thought he was. No matter; there is a look about him that tells me he is not as those others are. He straddles two worlds, I can see it in his eyes and the set of his shoulders.

  He found the little surprise I left him. I think he understands.

  *

  “I can’t believe you found me,” Carson said in an awed voice, “I owe you all an apology, I know. I got lost coming out of the sewers,”

  “Why did you even leave the sewers?” Magda asked. She sounded peeved, not at all pleased to have found Carson.

  “Don’t worry about it, we all got lost, not just you,” Lavender said. Her words were for Carson but her tone was for Magda; one of warning.

  Carson didn’t appear to notice the tension between them. He sank back into the pa
ssenger seat and heaved a relieved sigh, “You come across any trouble?”

  “You might have noticed Hannan and Petra aren’t with us,” Magda said sarcastically. Carson twisted in his seat to look at her.

  “Where are they? Did you split up?” he looked across at Lavender then back to the rear seat.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Mayhew said, his tone less unfriendly than Magda’s.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning yes, we did run into trouble,” Lavender intervened before Magda could speak. She knew in her heart that the woman blamed Carson for recent events, “We’ve lost Petra and Hannan,”

  “We’ve lost them? You mean, they’re dead? Oh God, tell me they’re dead and not bitten?”

  “Actually, they were both bitten,” Magda spoke over Lavender, “both of them condemned to life, or whatever, as zombies,”

  Carson turn wide-eyed to Lavender, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “It’s okay,” she said, noting the shine of tears in his eyes. All her recent doubts about him came flooding back. Not an insensitive man, he was nonetheless a tough one. They had all experienced so much of death and un-death that they were rarely reduced to tears these days; especially not over people they were hardly close to even if they did know them reasonably well. The sight of him welling up alarmed her. She choked off her growing suspicions, turning it into anger for Magda instead.

  “Magda, if you are only going to tell half a story, how about you shut the hell up and don’t tell it at all? They were bitten, yes,” she continued, turning back to Carson, “but they will never be undead. We saw to that, don’t worry,”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, we did. Petra died a brave death. She even took a Thinker out with her. Fact is, we might all have been bitten or killed if it wasn’t for her,”

  “Okay. What about Hannan?”

  Magda gave a loud, derisive snort. Lavender checked her out in the mirror again, saw she was still holding the pistol. She decided to curb her temper for now, reluctant to upset Carson still further in front of the others. She would have it out with Magda later, alone.