by Ian Woodhead
Jordan stopped at the front door. A cold shiver ran down his spine. It just occurred to him that in the game, Gail was the name of his wife. “Alan and Gail's daughter have a young girl called Charlotte.” He opened the door. “and she'll be twelve this year.” That had to be a coincidence!
Chapter Three
All the essential items he needed for his next trip under were already laid out on the bedspread. He figured he'd need all of this gear for when he resurfaced. His shop purchases, three remaining protein bars (he'd scoffed two of them already) Strawberry flavoured. They hadn't tasted as bad as he thought they would. He could now understand why the local gym crowd seemed to live on the things. He'd also bought a couple of energy drinks too. Normally, he wouldn't go anywhere near the things but he figured that the situation would warrant their procurement. Having to show his identification to some teen younger than him made him smirk. He gently patted his greatest find in all of today. His pride and joy, a pile of home-made vanilla slices that he'd found by the side of the fridge. Mum must have made them earlier on in the week and not bothered telling anyone. Jordan had eaten one on his way up the stairs. They were a bit stale but still edible. They would be for his expected sugar rush.
He smiled to himself. Now he was prepared for anything that the game could throw at him. Well, apart from all the emotional trauma that the bastard software threw into his face right at the beginning. With a little luck though, it shouldn't be as bad the second time around. Sure, he doubted that that his previous game-time accounted for all that much, that because of the game's inbuilt restrictions, the user couldn't bring their previous experience into a new game, that didn't stop his gut instinct and optimism telling him that his next game would be a little less of a mental fuck up.
Preparation was everything. Something that he should have remembered the first time around. Hell, Jordan hadn't even bothered to read the instructions. He'd just torn the clear wrap off the box, pulled out the sensenet and slipped it on his head. He'd already rectified that oversight and discovered, to his joy, that the user could set their own time-limit before plunging into the narrative. It meant that he wouldn't crap his pants when some rotting dead thing jumped out of a wardrobe and give him a right proper bollocking for not coming downstairs to eat his dinner.
As it was the start of the weekend, Jordan figured that he'd have the house to himself until well past midnight. After his parents stumbled out of the Fruitbowl, they'd either fall into the Balti-house on Cunningham street or grab a Chinese before taking their bags of grease over to Gail and Alan's place. As for his sister? Well, who knew what time she'd get back, or cared for that matter. It's likely Susan wouldn't turn up until tomorrow morning.
Nevertheless, Jordan decided to stay inside Necrovoid for two hours. It should give him plenty of time for him to come around before the two drunken idiots fell into the house. Jordan hoped to wind down a bit too before bed. A sci-fi movie ought to take his mind off the game. Jordan sighed. Like anything like some crappy movie would be able to do that. Chances were that as soon as he came out, he'd want to dive straight back inside. Jordan was already addicted.
He took the sensenet out of the box. No matter what, he would go through with his plan of playing for just two hours and then spend the rest of the evening Necrovoid free.
Jordan could do that. He was strong enough, even if he knew the game wouldn't be that far from his thoughts for the rest of the night. No amount of science fiction could change that outcome. Hell, he'd probably end up dreaming about the sodding game.
“Okay, let's do this!”
He closed his eyes rolled the sensenet over his head, Jordan waited for the intro screens to finish before navigating through the menus, this time, he activated the time restriction option. Jordan jumped at the sudden noise of sirens blaring. The game menu and the floor abruptly vanished as did his memory of who he was.
Second Insertion
It took Jordan less than a minute to run from that house and into the shed at the bottom of the garden. He carefully laid his daughter on a wooden box, covered in ancient Hessian sacks.
“You rest your pretty head, baby,” he whispered, gently stroking her forehead. Thankfully, she had managed to sleep through the whole nightmare. Jordan had no idea how that could even be possible but he was thankful for it all the same.
Not that he wanted her to see what he'd just been put through. Jordan had to slam one of the loose sacks into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. When he trusted himself not to cry out, Jordan dropped the sack and wiped away his tears. His darling Gail, the only woman that he had ever loved, had changed right before his very eyes into one of the things the authorities had been warning them about for the past few weeks.
There was nothing he could do about it either apart from save himself and his daughter. He wiped thick cobwebs from the window. “Oh fuck!” Gail hadn't given up after all. She somehow found a way to get past the fridge he'd tipped against the wall on his way out, as well as opening the kitchen door. Right now, his dead wife was shambling down the back garden path, she'd bypassed the gate, leading onto the high street and was heading straight for the shed. How the hell did she know where they had gone?
Like it made any difference. He picked up Charlotte. She moaned softly when he turned her face into his soft jumper. Jordan caressed her damp hair. “Please don't wake up.”
He carried her over to the door, managed to pull it open using his foot, and run across the lawn. The thing which used to be his wife awkwardly turned to face them and shambled her way straight through their vegetable patch, kicking away cauliflowers and cabbages in her need to fasten those teeth into their soft flesh. Jordan put on a burst of speed, wanting to at least get to the garden gate before that thing got too close. He had already seen just how quickly she could move when she smelled fresh meat. His dead wife had almost caught him just ten minutes ago, in the living room, when he'd underestimated her agility.
Once out of the garden, he should be able to get to the closest safe house without fear of being attacked. The local protection group had already put down most of the poor bastards already infected with whatever this was.
There were just a few more paces to go when the unthinkable happened. Charlotte stirred, then jolted awake. The shock caused him to trip over a jutting out rock. Jordan fell forward. He tried to turn so he'd land on his back, hoping to cushion his daughter from the fall but Charlotte had already left his arms, her screaming body rolling down the lawn and straight into the waiting arms of his dead wife!
Jordan scrambled to his feet and rushed towards her but she was quicker. Gail snatched up his daughter, fastened her jaw around her neck and bit down. The dead thing growled deep then pulled her head back, taking a mouthful of flesh with her. Hot blood geysered from the ragged hole, covered Gail's face and neck.
He sunk to his knees and screamed when the creature dropped his daughter, her now lifeless daughter flopping onto the wet grass. The dead thing stood like a statue, only her chewing mouth moved, its doll-like eyes gazing straight at him.
A moment later, it lunged for it, moving faster than it seemed possible. Only his sudden jerk to the left saved him from feeling those thick fingernails from sinking into his arm. She swivelled to face him and dived forward. This time there was no escape. The dead woman fell on him, her arms automatically reaching around his back. Jordan looked at his broken daughter, whispered a silent prayer then squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the pain would not be too agonising.
The bite didn't come. Jordan snapped open his eyes when the weight left him. He saw two more people in his garden. One he recognised, the other, a woman, was a stranger. “Barry? What are you doing here?”
The dark-skinned man didn't even bother making eyes contact. Jordan guessed that had something to do with him straddling his ex-wife. He took one hand away from her throat. “Don't just look at me, Jenny. Hand me the fucking hammer.”
Jordan groaned softly when he realised what was about to c
ome. The woman passed Barry the hammer. He raised his arm into the air and then he did glare at Jordan. “Don't you fucking dare close your eyes again!” The arm came down and the hammer's business end slammed into the woman's forehead. Barry smashed the tool into the same spot three more times until Gail finally stopped moving.
The man climbed off the motionless figure, breathing heavily. He nodded over to the woman who walked over and stood in front of him. He took a pistol from out of his back pocket and slapped it into her hand. “You know what to do, Jenny,” he said, staring at Jordan.
Thick tears ran down his cheeks. He watched the woman raise the gun and point it at his face while the man who owned the motorcycle repair shop in the middle of town approach his daughter, he still gripped that hammer, its head coated with a sludgy layer of his dead wife's brains.
“Please don't do this,” begged Jordan. “Not to her.”
“It's okay, you can close your eyes if you want,” whispered the woman.
He shuffled to the side, until her body no longer blocked his view. “Please, God. I'm begging you, Barry. Don't hit her. It's just not right.”
The other man spun around. “God? You dare to mention God?” he snarled. “Do you honestly think he has anything to do with this?” Barry leaned closer and used his free hand to push Jordan backwards. “Just be thankful that you're not infected, or you would have been getting the hammer next.”
The girl threw the gun at Barry. “Christ! Just get on with it.” She kneeled and wrapped her arms around Jordan. “Don't you think he's been through enough?”
Jordan couldn't help but jump when he heard that man's hammer smack into her skull. He only heard the other man do it once but even that was enough. He growled, clenched his fists and attempted to push the girl off him but she held on.
“Stop it, Jordan!” She cried. “There's nothing you can do. This is for the best.” Jenny pulled back enough for him to lift his head. “My husband came after me after I thought he'd passed on! He almost got me too. If it hadn't been for Barry, I would have ended up as one of the infected. I’m sorry, but we really can’t take any chances.”
“It’s okay. You can let him go, Jenny. It's done now.”
The man's voice had changed dramatically. The woman did as Barry asked and released him. Jordan slowly got to his feet, keeping his fists clenched tight. His wife's crumpled form lay close to their ruined vegetable patch but he couldn't see his daughter, not at first, not until Barry moved out of the way. After the man had done what he needed to do, he had then covered her body with a piece of old carpet, that had been left over when he and Gail had redecorated the living room a couple of months ago.
“It's probably best that you come with us.” he sounded twenty years older. “It’s pretty obvious that you wouldn't last the night otherwise.” He bent down and picked up the gun. “This is probably a waste of time but do you have any weapons in your house?”
Barry had put the hammer away, which Jordan was eternally thankful for. He had a couple of similar tools in the garage but there's no way he could use either of them to do what the other man did. The thought alone made him want to throw up. Jordan shook his head. “Wait, I think there's a cricket bat in the spare room.”
Barry laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.
“A cricket bat. Are you having a laugh? By the time you've swung that, the dead bastard will already be eating your face. This isn't the fucking movies.” He sighed loudly. “No matter. It was a long shot.” Barry spun around. “Come on, we'd better get going. Time is running out.”
Having said his piece, he abruptly left the garden. Jenny gently patted his wrist. “We'd better try to catch up. What's your name by the way?”
“Jordan,” he replied. Jenny nodded to herself. “That's a nice name. Kinda suits you. Oh, you'd better go dig out that cricket bat. I don't care what he says about it being useless. It's alright for him. He has the gun and the hammer.”
Barry had stopped close to a parked white van. He didn't look to be any hurry to go anywhere. Jordan spun around and hurried back to the open front door, keeping his eyes fixed on the letterbox to avoid the temptation of staring at his lost family.
“Don't take too long, Jordan. I don't want him to leave us here. This area hasn't been cleaned out yet.”
He ran back inside resisting the temptation to lock the door, run upstairs and hide under the bed. Instead, he fell against the hallway wall and dug his fingers into the door frame. The inevitable shakes gripped his battered body, while tears started to flow again. A small part of his mind tried to tell the rest that it hadn't really happened, that it's all just a big joke but he only had to look at the devastation caused by him fleeing the house and his dead wife chasing after them to know he hadn't imagined any of it.
“Are you okay in there?”
Maybe if he ignored her, the woman would go away and leave him alone? Jordan slid to the floor. He felt so cold and the shivering was getting worse. Jordan heard a woman's voice calling out his name. Could it be Gail?
It seemed unlikely, not at this time. She was supposed to going out tonight, a couple of drinks at the Horse and Crown with the girls from work, allowing him to have some precious playtime with Charlotte. She wanted him to watch one of her soppy romances on the Blu-ray. He'd agreed as long as she helped him to finish off the colouring in book that he'd bought her last week. Charlotte had pulled a face but reluctantly agreed. Jordan couldn't believe how fast time was going. It only seemed like a blink of an eye since she was learning her first words.
Jordan so hoped Gail be careful out there. That infection seemed to be spreading. Still, he shouldn't let it spoil his evening. His wife could look after himself and whatever it was, knocking their neighbours off their feet was bound to pass.
Everything would be alright.
“Oh Christ, look at the state of this place.”
The owner of that voice pulled him off the floor. It was Gail, that much he did know.
“Jordan. You so need to snap out of it. We have to go!”
He sensed an urgency in the strange woman's voice but refused to respond. His inner voice warned him not to open that can of worms. He sure hoped Charlotte was alright. Was she in bed? He couldn't remember. That voice sure sounded familiar. That inner voice became more frantic, urging Jordan to leave it alone, that to pursue that line of enquiry would result in him landing in the worst nightmare he could ever imagine.
Jordan's foot brushed against something soft and he instinctively knew that he'd just touched George, Charlotte's small blue teddy bear. She dropped that when, when. He choked back a sob when everything flooded back. He watched it tumble from her hands, bounce down the stairs and land at the bottom, next to where the telephone stand used to be. The fluffy toy made hardly any noise but it still attracted the attention of his dead wife.
She came shambling out of the kitchen, just as he had reached the foot of the stairs. It was only sheer luck that stopped her from grabbing Jordan right there.
“Nightmare?” he screamed. “I'm already in one!” He snapped open his eyes and saw the startled woman reaching for the brush next to her. He realised that Jenny intended to hit him with it. “They aren't here anymore, are they?”
The woman dropped her arms and her eyes and shook her side. “No, Jordan. I'm so sorry. They have both gone to somewhere quiet and peaceful.” She crossed the hallway and placed her arms on his shoulders. “Jordan. We really can't stay here anymore. We have to move out before it's too late. All the noises we've made is bound to attract more of them. She took a deep breath. “There are so many of them now.” Jenny pulled him towards the door. “I should have never let you go in here alone.” She grabbed the door, eased it open, looked out and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God, He’s still there. Now why don’t you tell me where your cricket bat is while you keep a look out?”
He pointed over at the end of the hallway.”
She left him alone and tip-toed through the detritus. Jenny jumped
over what remained of the cutlery set that Gail's mum bought them as a wedding gift and skirted past the pile of washing that he had pulled over in his attempt to slow the monster down.
The woman reached the bat buried under a pile of paperbacks at the same time as Jordan noticed that Barry was no longer alone. There were four of them, in a garden on the other side of the road. The man was too busy watching this house. He hadn't seen them!
“Behind you!” yelled Jordan.
Barry spun around as two of them threw themselves over the low fence. Jordan turned. “Hurry up!” Jenny was already on her way. He snatched the bat out of her hands then raced across the lawn. The other man raised the pistol.
“Oh fuck!” As he neared them, Jordan saw that the weapon was only an air-pistol. That thing wasn't going to do much damage to anything. The man fired once. The report was lost in the wind. The pellet didn't even slow the dead dead thing down. The remaining two were now halfway across the road.
Barry pulled out the hammer, its head still covered in dark grey slop. He swung it into the first dead thing, Jordan heard a wet thud. The first attacker dropped to the pavement. Barry bent over and tried to pulled the hammer out of the hole he'd made only the other dead thing to fall on the back of his head. Jordan reached the other side of the fence at the same time as the dead thing sunk its teeth into Barry's shoulder blade.
“You dirty bastards!” He hit the thing as hard as he could. The blow smashed into its upper arm. He heard its bone crack but it was too focused on chewing through Barry's skin and muscle to even notice. Jordan moaned in both terror and desperation but the other man's wild shrieking drowned out every other noise, including the excited groans coming from the other walking corpses.