Among The Dead (Book 1): Shadow of Death

by Colley, Ryan

  “Hello, this is Sam broadcasting on the military band. I am approaching the county of Essex on the M25. Please do not shoot. I am not infected and am simply seeking asylum,” I said calmly and coolly, but it yielded no answer. I clicked off and nothing but static came through. I repeated the message once more just in case, and then again in desperation. Nothing. I chucked the transmitter down and muttered, “Crap.”

  Moving across the military boundary didn’t seem like a smart move. I didn’t want to get any closer without a military go-ahead or escort. They could shoot me on sight and probably would be justified in doing so. If not the military, then the undead were likely to have me. I didn’t know which one I trusted less in that moment. I felt anger and sadness rise within me. I would have my revenge on Harrington and all his men. It probably wouldn’t be for a long, long time, but I swore by the Gods that I would burn his world to the ground. I could wait an eternity for my revenge. My hand automatically caressed the bullet I was saving for Harrington, my finger tip touching the small “H” on it. I had fire in my belly. The need for action. I hadn’t come this far for nothing. I slung the saddle bag back onto the motorbike. I checked that my machete was strapped down onto the motorbike safely, making sure it wouldn’t cut me if I fell. I took a deep breath. Nervousness pushed its way through me. It wouldn’t be long before I met up with Alice again; for better or for worse. I focussed on the fire and not the fear. All was good to go. I twisted the throttle and was gone, heading into Essex. The ghost county.

  CHAPTER 38

  I cruised up to the blockade. I moved slowly in the hope that I didn’t look like a threat to any potential soldiers. It was also so that I could make a quick turn and retreat should the undead try to swarm me. My stomach writhed with the worms of doubt. Up until that moment, I had been fairly confident with what I was facing. The undead were simple enough to understand, yet I was scared like I had never been scared before. In all previous incidences I had known, more or less, what would happen. What I was moving into this time was a mystery. What would I face? Friend or Foe? Living or Dead? I shook inside, and it wasn’t from the vibrations of the motorbike. At any moment, I expected a bullet to hit me from some unseen sharpshooter. I was fifty feet away and nothing. Thirty feet. Nothing. Twenty feet and still nothing. I could also see the blockade was very empty. There were sandbags where a guard post and mounted gun would have once been, but nothing stood in its place anymore. The guard tower seemed to be devoid of equipment, such as spot lights. It was like the blockade in London, but creepier. It wouldn’t be as bad had there been blood or bodies. It would have explained the absence of life, as bad as that sounded. The fact there was nothing at all made chills run down my back. My arms covered themselves in goose bumps and all the hair stood on end. It was like everyone had been abducted.

  “I really hope there aren’t aliens now as well.” I laughed aloud. Although the laugh was a bit extreme, it was more like a madman’s nervous chuckle. I expected something to show itself at the sound of my voice, but not even undead reared their rotten heads. I weaved my way through the initial barricade, which wasn’t difficult at all. Although the lack of a barricade and men to defend it was a bad thing, it was also promising for me. Abandoned military equipment was a lifesaver. Hell, at the last blockade I’d obtained a vehicle. I couldn’t wait to see what this one yielded. I slowed the motorbike to a stop and climbed off. My first stop, machete and binoculars in hand, was the guard tower. I got halfway to the tower before I realised I had left the motorbike running. I turned and considered walking back to turn the engine off.

  “Meh,” I shrugged, and continued on to the tower. I could be pretty lazy at times; that was one of those times. Besides, it could help in a quick getaway.

  The tower was a simple construction with a ladder to get up it. If Ikea made military guard towers, that was what they would look like. I was having a wave of déjà vu … had I thought that before? I shook my head and continued. I had seen that style of build so many times at that point, similar thoughts were bound to repeat themselves.

  I climbed to the top, worried that the tower would tilt over in the breeze. Luckily, it held. I didn’t need the binoculars to see that the entire blockade had been abandoned, and not rapidly either. There were tents and such still up, but I couldn’t see a single gun or vehicle left behind. No blood or bodies to suggest a battle had taken place. I could see a few undead shambling about, but they didn’t wear military garb and could very well have just wandered in there, only to become lost in the maze of tents. I could see other guard towers spread throughout the encampment, a tent painted with a red cross to suggest medical supplies which I would make a stop in, and a tent marked “Mess Hall” which would also require a stop. Smoke rose in the distance from several different areas. If I could see it from that far, it was probably a huge fire. That wasn’t my problem … yet. I looked at the undead and their positioning. They wouldn’t be much of a challenge. They were spread out and few in number. I could probably kill them all without alerting any of the others. I reflected on how my confidence about conflict with the undead had grown. When viewing them logically, they were stupid and slow; a winning combination for me. From the watchtower, I had no fear about facing them. I smiled slightly and was amused by how my situation was similar to child birth. Child birth is horrifically painful, or so I have heard, but women see no problem doing it again because their bodies trick them into thinking it wasn’t that bad. That was how I viewed the undead. However, I knew that once I was up close and personal, the fear would set in. I would see the maggots crawling in their flesh, their skin slack and grey. I would be surrounded by the horrific stench which followed, and the ghastly noises they made. I knew that was when the terror would start. It was the ultimate psychological warfare and they didn’t even know they did it, and that was how they became the apex predator. Everything about them struck fear into their prey; their prey being humans. I started to feel uneasy about facing them, but I bottled my fear. After all, I couldn’t live in the tower forever.

  I sighed and began my downwards climb. I withdrew my machete. It was time to prove myself as the apex predator among the dead.

  CHAPTER 39

  I crept along slowly, almost crouching as I did so. I had my machete drawn and ready to strike. I went step by step to make sure I made as little noise as possible. I stuck my head in the first tent and saw nothing. No people, no lockers, no anything; it was completely cleared out except for bedframes which stood there eerily. It was the same for every tent I visited. Even though every tent which I came across was empty, I still felt the compulsion to check each one. Not necessarily for anything to take, but for signs of the prior occupants. At least with the encampment outside London there had been signs of life. In Essex, there was nothing. I could understand if they retreated due to conflict, but there were no signs that there had even been a fight. I couldn’t find a single spent shell. The military must have just packed up and left without a fight. Had they received an early warning? I didn’t know and doubted I ever would. I knew something really wasn’t right about anything though. I was looking around the empty tent when the sound of dragging feet broke my train of thought. I tensed. The sound was just outside the tent. It was a tell-tale sign of the undead. Had I alerted it? I thought I had been careful whilst moving through the maze of tents. I moved to the entrance of the tent and hid behind the flap. I would, at least, get the jump on the zombie. I clutched the machete even tighter and raised it. I held my breath and waited for the zombie to turn into the tent. I waited. And waited. And waited. I heard the shuffle get quieter as the zombie moved further away. I relaxed a little and looked out of the tent flap. The zombie had carried on past the tent; it didn’t even know I was there. It continued onwards and up the corridor created by the rows of tents. I considered just letting it go, like I had done after my confrontation with Harrington, but a thought struck me. In most zombie films, a character is normally felled by that one which got away. It was normally
made obvious to the viewer by marking the zombie in some way so it stood out from the rest. I refused to fall into the same trap as those many hapless movie characters. Added with the idea that I would need to retreat if I hit trouble further up, then I could possibly retreat straight back into that zombie. I sighed. I had to take care of the walking corpse. I stepped out of the tent and crept along slowly. I moved slow enough to be quiet but kept my posture ready to burst into a full sprint should I get noticed. My eyes watered as I breathed in the smell left by the zombie. It was almost as if the dead left a stink trail wherever they went. I wiped my eyes without even breaking stride. Within seconds I was behind the zombie. I raised the machete high and brought it down heavily towards the zombie’s skull. The zombie must have realised something wasn’t right, because it started to turn as the machete made contact with its head. It hadn’t turned fast enough to save itself, though. The machete split the rotten flesh from which its matted hair hung loosely. The skull cracked and split like the shell of an egg. The zombie fell to the ground in a lump; blackened brains poured out of its head in a congealed puddle on the floor. This zombie was clearly in the latter stages of decay. The stench hit me and I began to dry heave. I had barely anything in me to leave on the ground. I almost regretted opening its skull. The way the smell left the body reminded me of the time my mum had once opened some rotten chicken which was in an airtight container. It looked bad through the clear plastic, but we still had to dispose of it appropriately. The moment the seal was broken, everyone in the room was instantly hit with the stink of rotten meat. It was like that. The zombie stunk, but splitting its skull made matters so much worse. I barrelled away from the zombie as fast as I could, retching as I did so. If I hadn’t alerted any of the undead, then it would be a miracle. And a miracle it was; not a single zombie appeared. I counted my blessings and moved onwards.

  My next goal was the first aid tent. I hoped there would be some medical supplies in there that I could pillage for future use. I knew things like that would be a valuable commodity in the near future, and I wanted to cash in on it. I pretty much pranced between tents, desperately trying to move quickly yet silently. On several occasions, I almost walked straight into a zombie, but I had much quicker reactions than them. I put them down before they even noticed me. They barely let out a moan as my blade crashed through their skulls. I had been prepared for the putrid brain liquid to spill out again and had stuffed tissue soaked in vapour rub up my nose. Sure, it left me without my sense of smell, which was a pretty valuable asset when fighting an enemy which smelled the way the undead did, but I was at even less of an advantage if I nearly vomited after every kill. It worked wonders. Before long I was at the medical tent. The contents were exactly as I had expected, and not as I hoped. There were a few stainless steel desks left behind and medical boxes. They were, however, as empty as the other tents. Not even a used needle to suggest it had ever been used. I restrained myself from kicking the metal table; the racket surely would alert the undead. I bunched my fists tightly instead; the machete handle cut into my hand. I knew there was no point checking the mess hall or any of the other hundreds of tents. The military had well and truly cleared out and left almost no sign of their existence. It was time to move on.

  I strolled back between the tents from the way I had come. Anger and frustration overrode my need to be careful. I had cleared out the area previously, so what did it matter? That attitude almost got me killed. I was walking along, not a care in the world, when a zombie stepped out of a tent in front of me. I swore I had cleared out that section previously. Confusion halted my response. Surprise didn’t halt the zombie. It lunged for me, moaning as it did so. The rotten flesh tore as the face contorted into a snarl. I plunged the machete up through the bottom of its chin. Its dead eyes went deader, if that was even possible. I panted. It had surprised me, but at least I had managed the situation. I was just catching my breath when I heard more shuffling from behind me. I turned to see undead walking out from between the rows of tents. It was like they were lining up to see a grand attraction. Me. I didn’t waste another second. I bolted into a run. The undead chased me. I just needed to make it to my motorbike.

  I dodged between more tents, taking lefts and rights. I was trying to throw the undead off my trail. It didn’t work. For every zombie I lost, another ten stepped out to take its place. There were just so many of them! They were moving between the tents like a flood. The idea of climbing up the tower to escape came to me, but I quickly dismissed it. The tower was unstable, and that many undead would simply topple it. If not that, the undead could wait at the bottom until I starved to death. I had to reach the motorbike.

  I ran and ran. My legs felt as though they were no longer pumping blood but a thick sludge through my arteries. It slowed me down. My chest tightened. I could feel myself on the verge of an asthma attack. I began to panic, which made my situation worse. I hadn’t had an asthma attack in years! Why did I have to have one then?! Soon it wouldn’t matter that I was faster than the undead. Although they were only ever a hair’s breadth behind me, they soon would wear me down through exhaustion. My body started to give up and my windpipe tightened. That was it. I was at my end. I was going to … I saw the sandbag barrier where I had left the motorbike. New energy surged through me. I pounded my feet against the ground harder and propelled myself forward. I managed to get ahead and crossed the extra few crucial feet necessary to get on the motorbike safely. I had never been more thankful of being too lazy to go back and do something. I kicked up the motorbike stand and raced away, dodging between the undead and tents. I pretty much flew out the other end of the encampment. I was free to explore Essex.

  CHAPTER 40

  Essex had a statue on a roundabout to commemorate the county’s part in the 2012 Olympics. It was of a man riding a bicycle, but all modern art styled; it was odd to look at. It was a proud monument for a proud time, and it was soiled. A body hung limply from it. Some poor soul had decided to “opt out” of the situation. He had somehow managed to tie a length of rope to the statue and hung himself. Now he dangled from it like a wind chime, swaying gently in the breeze. The young man’s legs had been stripped of flesh; bare bone and muscle were exposed beneath it. The undead had clearly enjoyed the hanged snack. Was he still alive when he had been eaten? Or had he passed from the world when he became a meal for monsters? I would never know, and that man would probably remain there until the end of days. I continued to stare at him. I couldn’t look away for some reason. There was a small chance that I had passed him in the street once upon a time. A few more minutes passed before he started to twitch. Tiny muscle spasms hit his body; in his legs at first, then arms, and eventually all over. I thought he was still alive and tensed myself to help him down. It was only when he opened his lifeless grey eyes that I realised he was still dead.

  It stretched its mouth open hungrily. A gaping hole ready to consume everything. Its eyes wandered before they set on me. It then began to thrash around in an attempt to escape its noose so it could eat. I looked away from the swinging corpse and rode away on the motorbike.

  I had a good idea which way it was to Alice’s house. I had been there before, so I thought I could remember. There was a niggling bit of doubt in my mind though. I could expect a few wrong turns. Human error was always an issue. So I started to ride there. I was surprised by the complete lack of military presence, or people, in general. Essex was always very bustling when I had visited previously, added with the fact there had been an evacuation of London to there. The lack of people was strange, yet it had become commonplace. The further I travelled, the more I saw signs of life, or where there had once been life. Shop windows were smashed, which could be attributed to the undead, but there also appeared to be stuff missing from the shops. It was the work of looters. Why did people resort to looting useless stuff in times of need? The streets were also packed with cars. The cars didn’t look like they had been going through an evacuation. Rather, it looked like it had been an
average day of shopping and travel when they had been abandoned. Perhaps that was what happened? Essex felt well-defended and continued as normal before the infection spread like wildfire. People panicked. People looted. People died.

  I saw an odd corpse or two lying about. Always in groups of one or two; adults and children alike. No one had escaped the undead. I didn’t want to wait around for long, as the dead would soon become the undead. I carried on driving and weaved between cars. I found it was easier driving on the pavement than the road. Plumes of smoke rose into the sky in the distance. I thought I could also hear the staccato of gunfire somewhere, but that may have been me being hopeful about the outcome of an entire county of people. I drove along slowly and followed the roads. I remembered many years ago when I made that mistake, I had travelled by coach and was meant to be picked up by Alice’s family at a stop. I, however, missed my stop. I ended up in the roughest part of Essex. I stood in the street, suitcase in hand, being eyed up by every person there. I was fairly certain I was going to be shanked there and then. Luckily, Alice’s dad knew where I was and picked me up. I survived to see another day.

  However, this time I recognised my stop. I knew that I was on the right track. I took a turn down an alley, which I knew led to a car park with a shortcut. It would make it easier to get where I needed to go. The alley was intended to be a foot path, so it was a tight squeeze for the motorbike. The handles bounced softly off the wall and wooden fence on either side of me as they made contact with each surface. I tried to steady myself and kept going. I whizzed round the corner and into the open car park. There were a lot of cars there. There were even more zombies. They turned to look at me as I came into view. I stared at the large crowd of undead, and they stared at me. They charged forward.