Among The Dead (Book 1): Shadow of Death

by Colley, Ryan

  The bus depot was open plan, merely a shelter for the buses. There wasn’t a door on the front, just raised shutters and the dark within. As I stared into it, my breath caught in my throat. I think there is an inherent fear built into humans when it comes to the darkness. Not necessarily because of the dark, but because of what could be lurking in there. I continued forward, my hand instinctively tightening around the axe. CRUNCH. I stopped moving and took a defensive stance. Nothing. Another step forward. CRUNCH … I must have been tired. It took me a full three minutes of unmoving silence to realise the noise came from me standing on broken glass. I shook my head and carried on noisily. When I was near the edge of the darkness swirling around the inside of the bus shelter, I took out my flashlight. It was a compact little thing, able to fit in the palm of my hand. I shone the powerful bluish light into it; I expected hundreds of undead to be lurking within. No undead. There were some broken-up pieces of cars and buses, but no people or undead. To the back was a door; I suspected an office. There was a small window in the door. I walked over to it, avoiding the metal panels and larger pieces of broken glass. I noticed there was a dirty, possibly wet, sofa to one side. The supports had obviously broken at some point and it laid on the ground. There were few crushed beer cans and empty food packets next to the sofa.

  “Weird place for a sofa,” I thought aloud with a puzzled smile. I carried on to the window and peered in with the assistance of my flashlight. There was almost nothing in there, just a desk and filing cabinet. I went in. There was the smell of stale air, a nice change from the rotting flesh of the dead. There was a surprising lack of dust for an abandoned room. I was pleased to see there was a lock on the door too, which I twisted. I saw there was a plug socket on the wall, which I promptly plugged my phone into. I waited for a few moments before realising that the power had probably been switched off long ago and that’s why my phone didn’t respond. Hoping for a miracle. I unbuckled my sleeping bag and laid it out beneath the desk, which was up against the wall next to the door. If anyone, or anything, looked in they wouldn’t see me. Also, at first glance, if anything came in I wouldn’t be seen either; giving me chance to react first. I put my combat knife, axe, and gun next to my temporary bed. Just in case. I kicked off my boots and climbed into the sleeping bag, using my rucksack as a pillow. The floor was hard, the room smelled and it was cold, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. That room was my home for the night. Normally I would have earphones in when sleeping in an unfamiliar place. Usually, an “unfamiliar place” constituted a friend’s house, not an old bus depot in the middle of nowhere with the potential to be eaten alive. I needed to stay alert so, for the night, I would sleep in the finest discomfort available. And, despite it all, I fell asleep immediately.

  CHAPTER 7

  Most of my life, I had dreams about zombies. I would be running from the undead and trying my utmost to survive. That was probably a result of consuming anything zombie related. With it finally happening, I say “finally” because most people wish for an apocalypse at some point in their life, I didn’t want it. What I did want, however, was to be free of it all and finally some peace. What does that say about people anyway? Wanting an apocalypse? I think people have many reasons for wanting one. I, on one hand, wanted the freedom from life. I wouldn’t have to worry about my education anymore. A degree or two in psychology would be worthless in the new world. I wouldn’t have to find a job and would be free from the need for money. I would finally be free of the problems which seemed to plague my family … it would be bliss. The world was full of horrors, even close to home, so what difference did the undead make? Others wanted an apocalypse for different reasons. Some wanted to be free of social norms. Some to lead a simple life. You would live just for that day. You wouldn’t worry about paying the tax bill, or earning enough money to afford food the next month. A freedom from responsibilities and freedom from a mediocre life. A freedom where I could do whatever I wanted. A world where anyone could be the hero. Maybe the hero could try to find a cure? Or maybe he could save the girl he loves and everything would be okay again? It was a beautiful idea. Unfortunately, the world isn’t like the Hollywood, romanticised version of events. Life is cruel and unkind. New stresses that would replace the old. The fear of death would be a constant. Every. Single. Day.

  I had always dreamed about zombies. Except for that night in the bus depot. I didn’t dream of the family I had abandoned. I didn’t dream of the responsibilities I had left behind. I didn’t dream of the girl I was chasing. I didn’t even dream of the unspeakable horror spreading throughout the once Great Britain. I dreamed of the school I hadn’t been to for over ten years. The dream was nonsense, but I was thankful for it. I knew all wasn’t right in the world outside of my dreamscape, but a distraction from the last time I was truly happy was welcomed.

  Eventually the voice of my mother floated over.

  “It’s my day off,” I mumbled in return and rolled over. It was too late though. I was awake. Why was I in a sleeping bag? I looked down at myself, confused. I could hear male laughter. Then I heard the sound of glass crunching. I rose groggily, saw the desk above, and remembered everything. My hand flew to my combat knife and gun. The footsteps and laughter got closer. They were alive, but that didn’t mean they were friendly. I clutched the knife and curled under the table further, bringing my belongings with me. I wanted to remain out of sight but be ready for knee-stabbing action. I heard the handle turn several times.

  “Joey, you lock this yesterday?” a man shouted.

  “Musta,” the man called Joey giggled. The first man started fiddling with the lock. I heard the sound of metal sliding on metal as he made short work of the door and opened it slowly. He stepped in, silhouetted by the light behind him. He had a screwdriver in his hand, possibly what he used to open the door. He walked into the small room and opened the filing cabinet. He retrieved four cans of beer. I could see he was large, possibly a body builder. I couldn’t beat him in a fair fight, especially if he had a friend. Amazingly, he left the room without even glancing at me. I could hear the sound of glass breaking as he walked back over it, the crack and hiss of an opened can, as well as the slurping as he drank thirstily. He had left the door ajar, meaning any movement from me could possibly be seen or heard. I was trapped until they left. I heard a lot of laughing and not much talking. The laughter of the high and drunk. A recognisable sound for someone from a generation of substance abuse. There was a long silence before an interesting conversation began.

  “How’d you think it started?” Joey inquired out of the blue.

  “Space rocks,” the bodybuilder-guy replied matter-of-factly. “Probably the one which came down in Russia a while back.”

  “I heard it was infected monkeys,” Joey replied conspiratorially.

  “That was a movie,” the big guy laughed.

  “Oh yeah. Jay, I feel really stupid right now,” Joey answered with some shame in his voice.

  Jay laughed. This resulted in them both laughing for much longer than the comment warranted. That told me there were only two of them: Jay and Joey. If there were more, they would have at least spoken at that point. I slipped on my boots and rolled up my sleeping bag, reattaching it to my rucksack. I tucked my gun into my waistband. I needed a holster or something, because it felt ridiculous. I realised I was wasting precious time waiting for the drunken stoners to leave. I had a vague sense of a plan, which relied on a pretty big bluff. I tucked my knife back into the sheath, scooped up my axe, and strode out of the office.

  I saw that the two men, more teenagers, were sat on the old sofa and drinking their beer. That explained the empty cans scattered about the place. I walked confidently and began heading through the depot with the intention of leaving. It was an ambitious plan, but far from simple.

  “Who’s that?” I heard Joey say, puzzled.

  “Hell if I know, mate,” Jay said intensely. He stared at me as I passed through. He pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. He voiced his
curiosity about me with the vocabulary of a potato. “Who you, mate?”

  I carried on walking and hoped my silence would get me out of there.

  “Christ sake, bro,” Joey called. I wasn’t sure whom he was talking to.

  “Oi, mate,” Jay practically screamed at me from less than ten feet away. “You gonna answer or what?”

  Why couldn’t it be easy? Why couldn’t anything be easy? I sighed and turned to him. “I’m on my way out, just leave it.”

  “Like bloody hell am I gonna leave it,” Jay shouted angrily. He took my answer as a threat. “This is our place, mate.”

  “And I’m leaving,” I replied and carried on walking. I shook my head in frustration.

  “No. You aren’t,” Jay replied, a lot calmer than he had been, but that didn’t hide the malice in his voice. I turned to him and saw a hammer in his hand. It was nothing special, probably picked up from a DIY store or a scrap heap. My body tensed and I felt my heart rate increase as my body prepared for conflict. He saw me staring at the hammer and he smiled. He obviously felt as though he was in full control of the situation. “I’ve killed people, you know.”

  His statement was simple, yet also cold and calculating. He hoped it would have an impact and unsteady me.

  I replied coolly with a lie, “So have I.”

  It was now him who was taken aback. Whether it was the alcohol or drugs which was the cause, I saw the paranoia pass over his face as he realised that I may have the upper hand.

  He shrugged this off and said with an uneasy smile, “That don’t matter anymore. We ain’t stupid. We know what’s happening too, so one more death don’t matter.”

  “He means you,” Joey said with a giggle, just to clarify what was evidently clear. They were both unhinged and ready to act on that madness at any moment. I was certain that was the case before the drugs and the undead. Those factors probably only exacerbated things. Jay stared at Joey, clearly annoyed by his intrusion, but that soon disappeared. He looked back to me, hammer pointed towards me as if he could strike me down from where he was. There was a long silence as we stared at and sized each other up. Jay, who thought he was the winner, finally spoke. “We’re taking your stuff.”

  Jay began walking towards me, covering half the distance in a few seconds as he strode confidently. It was at this moment I laughed and decided to retrieve the handgun wedged into my waistband. That was my ace in the hole.

  “Really?” I laughed, waving the gun at him in an almost comedic fashion. “Just try it!”

  Jay flinched and took a step back. Joey screamed and rolled onto his stomach as he covered his face with his hands, as if that would stop any bullets fired. Jay retreated slowly, making his way back to the sofa.

  “We didn’t mean no harm, mate,” Jay said weakly, forcing a smile. His features softened but were nervous.

  “Course you didn’t,” I said, sounding gullible with my features also softening. They hardened again as I said, “Just like you didn’t mean to threaten me.”

  “It was just about survival,” Jay said even more weakly.

  “Whatever, man. This right here could just as easily be about survival for me!” I snapped. I then had an idea. I shouted at him, “Sit down!”

  He did.

  “Now slide your hammer over to me,” I demanded forcefully.

  He stared briefly at the hammer still in his hand, crazy thoughts passing through his head before he slid it over. I walked the few steps towards the hammer, handgun trained on Jay and Joey at all times. I stood on the head of the hammer and crouched slightly, just enough to wrap my hand around the wooden handle of the hammer. I pulled the handle up towards me until it splintered and snapped.

  “The hell!” Jay replied as both a question and a statement, anger suddenly filling him again. “What am I meant to do now?”

  “Survive,” I snarled. I scooped up the hammer head and put it into my pocket. I threw him the broken wooden handle and turned to walk out.

  “You’re a real douche,” Jay shouted at me as I walked away.

  “And still the one with the gun!” I shouted without turning around. I held the gun up to emphasise my point, just in case he tried to follow.

  When I was out of sight of the bus depot, I started to run. Although I had acted coolly in front of Jay and Joey, I was shaking inside. Fear had gripped me while we faced off; I doubt I could have maintained composure without the gun. My hand shook wildly. Fighting the undead was bad, but at least they were predictable. People, they were the scary ones. They were unpredictable. When I was on top of the hill, lungs burning and heart thumping, I turned to look at the depot below. I just had to check they hadn’t got any more crazy ideas and followed. They hadn’t. I took the hammer head out of my pocket and dropped it in the grass. I looked at the landscape around me. It was still a hilly landscape, but it slowly flattened into farmland. The road continued into the distance on my left, which meant I was heading in the right direction. The lack of cars was disturbing. Numerous times I had made that trip by coach, and there had always been traffic. It was also a relief. Fewer cars meant fewer people, and fewer people meant even fewer undead; something I definitely didn’t mind. I was annoyed at the lack of phone and, in turn, map. I knew the general direction I needed to go. I didn’t know the distance, but then my eyes fell on the road and I thought of the obvious; a road had signs. I jogged to the roadside, staying low when I could. The closest sign read that my destination was fifty miles away. Not only did I have to walk it, but I also needed to walk across the uneven land of the hills, which would slow me down. Also, I didn’t like the idea of long hikes. I’d keep going in one direction until I hit my destination. Since I was aiming for a large town, I couldn’t miss it. My train of thought was cut short by an angry and hungry growl. It was my stomach.

  If it could speak, it probably would have said something like, “Hey, put something in me NOW!”

  Doing a quick mental inventory of all the food I had, I realised I still had some energy bars. I was sick of energy bars … and I had only had one in my entire life. They tasted like someone had already digested them. I also had water with me, which I needed to ration. For someone who tended to plan for everything, I had really underestimated what I would need. However, I tried not to consider “what ifs.” That wasn’t the way things unfolded. Lingering on “what ifs” could drive a man mad in his time of need. So, I opened an energy bar and ate it gingerly. I took a few swigs of water to remove the dryness from my mouth. I took a quick breather, rubbing the corners of my eyes until all the crispiness of sleep was gone. At any other time in my life, I wouldn’t be caught dead without having a shower or brushing my teeth. I was off the chain! I laughed at my own joke, quite shamefully too. Another reason I needed Alice back in my life. I’m sure she would laugh at my jokes. She would probably scold me about how bad it was and crack a smile when she thought I wasn’t looking. That was motivation to keep going. I tightened the straps on my bag and pushed forward, images of my Alice floating through my head.

  While hard marching, I remembered the first time I met Alice. We were both at university. We had turned up to an after-hours psychological lecture about the effects of stress-induced psychosis. I was alone. She approached me during the break and asked for my number. Not in a dating kind of way. We were both looking for a friend and nothing more. The next day she texted me about meeting up. Not the most romantic story in the world, but that is what it was. That is how we began talking. After that, our conversations became daily, almost hourly at the rate I texted her. Then a year later, I made my move. I’d fallen madly in love. She never admitted it, but she had been trying to make a move on me for over a year. We went on a few dates. She was my best friend and the love of my life all in one. It was fantastic. Thinking of old memories, especially the good ones, passed the time quickly. I remembered the time I had written a story for her as a present. What was it about? Zombies, of course. I wrote her a love story about zombies. I shook my head, a small smile
creeping over my lips. Oh, the way things turn out.

  I jogged most of the day, only stopping to empty my bladder over a fence. I was surprised to see animals in some of the fields, when there clearly hadn’t been any farm activity for weeks; hedgerows and grass were overgrown. I thought about why the animals were there. I could understand why the farmer had left them. It would be difficult to transport them all. But why were they still alive? They had food and water, but why hadn’t the undead attacked them? Perhaps they hadn’t passed that way yet or, the option I was hoping for, the undead didn’t attack animals. That would explain the cat still being alive in the farmhouse. That would also support my theory that animals couldn’t be infected, which would make my life a lot easier.

  I always imagined the undead being hard to deal with but, as I walked, I reflected on how easy it was to do just that. The hardest part was the smell, but that could easily be overcome in the moment. I had only dealt with a limited amount of undead singularly, and they hadn’t been that fast or smart. Surely a group wouldn’t be any harder? As long as you can split them up and focus on one at a time, it shouldn’t be that hard. Could it?

  CHAPTER 8

  Maidenhead. I looked at it from a distance. I laid in the grass on a hill, keeping low. I watched through binoculars. It looked like any town: quaint and grey. On my route, it was before Slough. What was different about that town were the plumes of smoke that rose from it. There were cars trying to leave; many abandoned. It looked like the cliché movie scene where cars were backed up as far as the eye could see. It was chaos. I watched people climb out their cars and run as the undead descended upon the small pockets of the living. Some people were trapped in their cars as the undead slammed against the doors until they finally breached. People were pulled from their vehicles and torn apart indiscriminately. Women and children, young and infirm. It didn’t matter to the undead. I only looked away when I saw a baby torn apart like it was a poorly made doll. There were military amongst the crowd fighting the undead tooth and claw. They put up a brave fight, and it was truly awe-inspiring to watch. Those were the sort of men who would bring back the world from the dead. The soldiers took down twenty to thirty undead each. It was an impressive feat to watch. Eventually the soldiers began to fall one by one as they faced insurmountable odds. They were overrun, almost drowned, in the undead. Death came to them all. Either while they reloaded their weapons, or when one was backed up against a car and couldn’t move any further. Another ran when he was out of ammo but collided with a woman who had just climbed out her car. The undead swarmed onto them both and tore them apart in seconds. Not much later, what was left of them rose from the dead and moved on to kill others. It didn’t matter how hard or how well they fought; there were only so many of them and a seemingly endless amount of undead. I hadn’t planned to head through the town anyway, but I had even more reason not to. If the outer town was overrun from undead leaving it, then what sort of state was the heart of the town in? Almost to reinforce the point, there were loud explosions in the distance, followed by even more smoke rising upwards. As far as I was concerned, Maidenhead was lost. I had a horrible realisation in that moment. The next part of my journey was going to be a lot worse than anything I’d seen. I swallowed, trying to shift the lump in my throat. I headed away from the town. I wasn’t dumb enough to think I could make it through the chaos. The plan was to head around Maidenhead, hopefully avoiding most of the undead by giving it a wide berth. I wasn’t stupid enough to not be afraid but, at the same time, I could handle that fear. It was the sort of fear that kept you alive. I could deal with the guilt of leaving home, and the unknown of being on the road. I could even face the undead without so much as a blink. However, I had a new fear creeping through me, something which I had a brief encounter with before: the desperate living. Cities and towns were falling. Desperate people would begin to be a common sight and a regular threat. Perhaps more so than the undead. People could think and be cruel when they needed to be, and they would hurt people when their own survival was on the line. I had to be wary.