Infected- The Beginning

by Perry Stevenson

The ladies started to get themselves ready while John and I filled the shotgun belt with 25 shells loaded with SG shot and took two ten-round and two 25-round magazines loaded with the .22LR CCI mini-mags for the Ruger.

  “We’re ready for this,” said John.

  We all nodded in agreement, although slightly apprehensively. We went out the back way, locking the kitchen door and shutting the side gate behind us. John started the truck’s engine and we climbed in. Noticing the Micra still parked at the top of the close, I said, “When we get back I’ll speak to the neighbours again, and this time we will block the close off,” thinking to myself, why didn’t we do that earlier?

  John headed for the local shops. The strange thing was that we did not see any cars or people on the road, just two bodies lying near the postbox. We soon reached the local Co-op but it appeared to be closed. John got out and tried the door, but it was locked. As he got back in the truck, a slightly overweight man of average height appeared from the other end of the line of shops and came towards us. We watched in silence as he came closer.

  “His eyes are white – he must be OK,” said John.

  The man tried the shop door, looking a little disappointed when he found it locked. I opened the truck window and called to him.

  “Hello, how long has the shop been closed?” I wasn’t really interested in knowing, but wanted to find out what the man had been doing for the last three days.

  “I don’t know – this is the first time I’ve been out in days,” he replied.

  “How are you coping?” I asked.

  “OK, but the wife and I are running out of food now.”

  “Best of luck, anyway. ’Bye,” I said.

  John was moving off even as I was finishing my sentence.

  We headed back up Church Road past the gun shop, which also looked closed, and John turned left into the main road on our way to Sainsbury’s. As we crossed the A12 there were a few cars heading towards Colchester, moving over slightly to avoid the vehicles stopped on the verges; there did not seem to be any traffic heading towards London. After negotiating three more roundabouts, we were pulling into the main car park at Sainsbury’s, passing the petrol station on our right, and stopping as near as possible to the main entrance. From our position the store appeared to be closed. A few people were milling around by the petrol station we had passed, and there were a few at the top of the car park opposite the main entrance. We could see some movement beside the path that led to the bus stop on the main road to the right of the store, but there was no one within a hundred yards of us.

  “OK, John, let’s check it out. You take the Ruger and I’ll use the shotgun,” I said, picking up the shotgun and the belt of shells. We got out of the truck together and started heading for the store entrance. As we walked round to the front, we noticed one of the main glass entrance doors was shattered. I stayed there while John went back for the ladies, and to lock the truck.

  While I was waiting for the ladies to return, I could hear noises coming from inside the store; it appears someone has the same idea as us, I thought. I turned back to where we had parked the truck, to see Mary and Josephine extracting a shopping trolley each from the trolley park.

  “OK, Mary, let me help,” I said as she reached the front of the shop. We had to lift the trolleys over the bottom edge of the door.

  “Dad, I’ll keep watch out here,” said John. “You go in with Mum and Josephine.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I replied, leaving him at the front entrance and following the ladies into the store.

  “Wait, let me go first,” I said. God, you’d think they were doing the usual weekly shopping trip, I thought.

  There was a large magazine rack in front of me, the clothing section to the right and the fresh fruit and veg area at 90 degrees to our left. Also on the left was a row of checkout tills – unmanned, of course. I looked down the aisle to the right that separated the clothing from the magazines and then, moving to the left, checked down each aisle until I reached the start of the food section. There I found two women filling a trolley just past the middle aisle that ran the full length of the food section.

  Mary and Josephine were now following me.

  “I’ll just ask these ladies if they have seen anybody,” I said to Mary.

  “Fine – we will start the shopping,” she replied.

  I left Mary and Josephine and walked down the aisle towards the two women. They didn’t see me coming.

  “Hello,” I said.

  The middle-aged lady with dark brown hair, who was well above her normal weight for five feet and few inches, jumped. The other woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, was of the same height and had all the bits in the correct proportions – well, to me, anyway – and seemed to be completely unfazed by my appearance.

  “God, you scared the life out of me!” said the middle-aged woman very shakily. “Is that a gun you have there?” she asked, slightly startled.

  It wasn’t every day you saw a man with a shotgun under his arm, especially in England.

  “Yes, err, just in case. Have you seen any infected people in the store?” I asked.

  “No, but we haven’t been to the far end yet,” the older woman replied.

  “OK, I’ll have a walk around. By the way, my son is at the entrance keeping watch, and is also armed.”

  “That’s fine with me,” the woman replied. She was obviously feeling better now they had some sort of protection.

  “See you later,” I said, starting to walk down the middle aisle, and checking from left to right as I passed each intersecting aisle – and getting more tense as I progressed. Finally I reached the end and had seen nothing. Walking back, I noticed that Mary and Josephine seemed to be making good progress. I came across the two women again.

  “Nothing so far – I’ll let you know when we are leaving,” I said.

  “Thank you,” the younger woman said. She can speak, after all, I thought.

  I made my way to the front of the store to check the right-hand side; besides, the batteries were at the bottom end, in line with the magazine rack.

  I started to walk down the aisle between the clothing and the magazines, but was stopped in my tracks when I noticed two men who seemed to be looking at the clothes. They had their backs to me and, as I cautiously approached, I thought I’d better say something to avoid startling them.

  “Hello,” I said, in a slightly louder voice than normal. They seemed a bit slow to react, so I continued. “How are you?”

  I was now only 20 feet away from them. They turned together, letting out a despicable sound. They both looked at me with the now-familiar bright red eyes with black pupils.

  Jesus Christ! I said to myself, as both of them came straight at me.

  Without thinking, I had lifted the shotgun to my shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. What the fuck? They were now only ten feet away, and this time I remembered to flick off the safety catch. The boom of the shotgun echoed around the store as a bloody crater appeared in the chest of the nearest infected, the impact knocking him backwards so he landed in a heap on the floor. The other one was only six feet away when I fired the 12-bore Alphamax+ SG round, and it hit him between the eyes, causing his head to explode in all directions. He dropped like a stone, toppling backwards with the top half of his head missing.

  The shotgun seems to be quite effective, but it has really made a mess of the shirt rack, I thought stupidly. I fed two more shells into the shotgun’s tubular magazine, and continued to the back of the store until I reached the display of batteries. I had just started to fill my pockets with packs when I heard a sound from the left side of the store. I turned just in time to see another person emerging through the plastic flaps leading to storeroom at the very back.

  He was followed by another and then another. I quickly grabbed a few more packs of batteries and start
ed heading towards the store exit, shouting out to the women, “It’s time to go – now!”

  I arrived at the exit just in time to see the two women to whom I had spoken earlier coming out of an aisle about halfway down the store near the tills. I waved at them, calling, “Come on, there are loads of infected people coming from the storeroom”. This was a slight exaggeration, but I had seen three.

  Then Mary and Josephine appeared by the till right at the end of the store, each pushing a trolley loaded with supplies.

  “Come on!” I called out, starting to panic a little.

  I turned back towards the magazine rack from where I had come and saw two infected appearing from the right, about 50 feet from me. I fired one shot at each, aiming for the head, and they both went down, but another two appeared to the left of the magazine rack, the nearest one only 40 feet away. Another head shot and he fell to the ground; I took aim at the last one and squeezed the trigger, but it just clicked. God preserve us from three-shot magazines, I thought, fumbling to extract another shell from the cartridge belt as the infected came ever closer.

  Finally getting the shell loaded and cocking the shotgun, he was right on top of me so I fired from the hip. A look of surprise appeared on his face as he doubled up and fell to the ground in front of me. It had not been my intention but, as he was rather a tall fellow, I had managed to shoot him in the goolies. Taking a few steps backwards, I inserted two more shells into the magazine before he had time to recover, but amazingly he started to get to his feet, even though he was missing several body parts. I fired again, this time removing most of his skull – he didn’t get up after that.

  By now the two women had passed me and were heading out though the broken door.

  Mary and Josephine had just reached me.

  “That wasn’t very nice, was it?” said Mary as she passed with Josephine in hot pursuit.

  Josephine just looked at me, shaking her head slowly from side to side.

  They’re never going to let me forget this, I thought.

  I turned and followed the ladies out of the store, reloading the shotgun as I went.

  The two women headed in the direction of John’s truck, and I guessed their car must have been in the main car park towards the bus stop.

  “Dad, get a move on!” said John urgently. “We have a load of infected coming across the car park in front of us and from the covered car park on our right.”

  I looked up to see about 50 of them coming from directly in front of us and another 15 approaching from the right side of the store. John was helping Mary and Josephine get the trolley though the broken door as there was a crash behind me from inside the store. Turning, I was just in time to see a houseplant and a flower pot hit the ground as another ten infected made their way through the store. The first of them had just reached the first set of doors to the lobby area.

  Turning back to John I said, “There are more of them coming out of the store too,” probably sounding a bit desperate.

  John had managed to get both trolleys though the door, and Mary and Josephine started to push them towards the truck.

  “Dad, you take the back and I’ll take the front,” said John.

  I was already taking aim at the nearest infected, thinking that if we could get them lined up I might get more than one per shot.

  The plan worked. On my first shot, the closest infected went down together with one behind him and slightly to his right. I tried to do the same with my next two shots, but only managed to drop one per shot, even though the lead balls hit their target, but obviously not in the right place. I climbed over the ledge of the broken window, reloading as I went. In the background, I heard the crack, crack! of the Ruger. I fired the next three shots through the broken window as the infected were getting ever closer, dropping two with one shot and one with another. I had no idea why I missed on the third.

  I turned back towards John to see how he was coping, while desperately trying to reload the shotgun. In some cases John would drop an infected with one shot, but more often than not it would take two shots to the head. I turned back towards the store, and saw three infected still coming towards me – but I had only managed to load two shells. At that moment, John shouted “Dad, it’s time to go!”

  I managed to drop two of them with my two shots, but did not have time to reload as the third was almost on top of me, so I backed away slightly from the door and as he came through I hit him with the shotgun butt, sending him tumbling to the ground in front of me.

  “John, behind you!” I shouted.

  John’s first shot hit the infected in the temple, his second ending in a click as the magazine was empty.

  “My last ten-round,” said John, loading a fresh magazine.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  We both started backing up towards the truck.

  “Who’s got the bloody cars keys?” Mary shouted desperately.

  “Oops!” said John, digging around in the pocket of his trousers, eventually holding the remote in the air and pressing the button. I turned towards the truck just in time to see Mary opening the tailgate.

  I opened up with the shotgun and managed to drop four of the infected, although John had probably got more than half of them, judging by the number of bodies lying on the ground. There were still 20 to 30 left, and still coming. I reloaded the shotgun while John dropped two of the closest ones. We were now only 20 yards from the truck.

  “John, go and get the engine started,” I called, looking round to see how the ladies were doing. They had about half a trolley to go. Suddenly we heard a terrifying scream coming from the car park on the other side of the truck. I fired two more shots, taking out two more of the closest infected, and then turned and ran the 20 yards to the truck, which is when I noticed the two women I had met in the store being attacked in the middle of the car park. They quickly disappeared under a mob of about 30 infected people, their trolley rolling aimlessly across the car park full of supplies.

  Mary and Josephine were still loading the last of our supplies into the truck as I stopped beside it and loaded another two shells.

  “Come on, ladies!” I said as John fired up the engine.

  John jumped out and started to help Mary and Josephine. I turned back to face the oncoming infected, the closest of which was now only 20 feet away.

  I fired all three shells, unfortunately dropping only three of the infected. That’s it, time to go, I thought. I headed for the front passenger seat, and Mary and Josephine were just climbing into the rear seats as I approached, while John was closing the tailgate.

  “Let’s go!” John shouted as he headed for the driver’s door.

  “Watch out, John – they’re coming from behind you,” I called out.

  The infected had finished with the two women and had started to head in our direction. John and I both jumped into the truck, slamming the doors shut just as the infected from the store reached us and banged against the truck’s sides. John pulled away, swinging the truck round in a circle, knocking two of the infected aside. A third was directly in front of us, and we had reached a reasonable speed as we struck him. He was catapulted into the air and landed on the bonnet, but he pushed himself up as though nothing had happened. He was staring at us through the windscreen from no more than two feet away with his bright-red bloodshot eyes and lifeless black centres. John slammed on the brakes, and the infected shot off, disappearing over the front of the bonnet. John accelerated again, and with a bump, bump in quick succession we were on our way out of the car park.

  We headed out past the petrol station and turned left at the roundabout back onto the main road heading towards Boreham, past the BP garage and McDonald’s and back across the A12, which appeared quite deserted now apart from stationary vehicles on the verges.

  “John, we need to try the gun shop in Boreham before we go back home,” I said, reminding him of
our original plan.

  This time John parked the truck partly on the pavement outside the gun shop. The steel barrier that blocked off the shop’s own small parking area was still open, although only one four-wheel-drive vehicle was there, I hoped that of the owner.

  John turned to Mary and Josephine sitting in the back and said, “You stay in the truck, and Dad and I will go in”.

  We had a look around the surrounding area to make sure there were no infected nearby. The only people we could see were about 300 yards away, near the local shops further down Church Road. From that distance, we could not tell whether they had been infected.

  We both got out of the truck and walked up to the metal door of the gun shop which, as usual, was locked. John pressed the bell and we both stood in front the spy hole in the centre of the door so the owner could see us – and, I hoped, know we were not infected. The door opened and we went inside. The owner was in the back of the shop, where the guns were displayed in vertical racks behind the counter to the right of us.

  “Hello again – what can I do for you today?” the owner said.

  “We want to buy some more .22LR ammo – the Ruger BX-25 magazines if you have them – and more of the twelve-bore Alphamax-Plus cartridges loaded with SG. And do you have any magazine extensions for the Hatsan range of twelve-bore shotguns?” That was a mouthful, I thought.

  “Yes to all of that – but I’m only taking cash, as most credit cards are no longer working, and in the current situation it makes me feel a whole lot better,” said the owner with a wry smile.

  “I can understand that,” said John.

  “What cash do you have, John? I’ve got about sixty pounds,” I said.

  John had already started to check his wallet.

  “About two hundred.”

  “How come so much?” I asked.

  “While you were in Sainsbury’s shooting that infected in the goolies, I tried the cash machines.”

  “Good thinking,” I said. Why didn’t I think of that before we went into the store?

  We ended up settling for two BX-25 magazines, 500 .22LR CCI mini-mags, 100 12-bore cartridges and two extension tubes with a seven-shot capacity. After a heated discussion about the licences, he sold all this to us; I think the only reason he let us have extended magazines for the shotguns was that his link to the police firearms computer system had been down since the previous day.