by Brown, TW
“…any trouble, please just take what you want and leave me be,” the voice of an old man begged.
“Where did you get all this shit?” a voice snarled, emphasized by a hard smack.
“Henrietta—” the weak voice of Mr. Ivanoff gasped, but was cut off by another vicious sounding attack.
“I told you to shut up about trying to tell me some old bird came and delivered food to you in the middle of a bloody zombie apocalypse,” the same voice that seemed to be doing all the talking spat.
Shadiyah knew there were a couple of thugs with this ring leader simply because she could hear the hoots and laughing. She had no idea what weapons these animals might be carrying, so she would need to be careful as she approached. Entering the corridor, she set her flashlight down and drew her blade.
Hugging the wall on the same side of the hall as the door to Mr. Ivanoff’s flat, she crept up cautiously. As she did, she could hear the clatter and crash of things being tossed about. With each step closer, she found a sense of calm becoming more and more prevalent.
At last, she reached the open doorway. Crouching low, she peered around the corner. At the end of the hall she could see old Mr. Ivanoff sprawled on the floor. He was bleeding from his nose as well as a nasty cut above his right eye which was already swelling shut. Standing over him was a tall, skinny male wearing an ill-fitting jacket that looked like it had been stolen from somebody twice his size. His dark hair was styled into a drooping Mohawk with the sides of his head sporting nothing but stubble. Even from behind she could see a number of hoops and such dangling from both ears.
Beyond the scene playing out just a few feet away, she saw at least three more young males, none looking much older than mid-to-late teens, digging through a collection of boxes and bags that were on the floor in the living room. She actually recognized one of the large burlap totes that Mrs. Raye had carried when they were out scavenging. Tins of all sorts of things were scattered on the floor, but there was a large black carry bag that looked to be where they were putting things they had decided to take. As she watched, she saw one of the looters hold up a plastic bottle of some sort.
“What the blazes is puh-silly-um husk?” the one holding the plastic container asked.
“It’s psyllium, you dolt. It helps you crap better,” one of the others answered. “My auntie used to take it.”
That answer seemed to satisfy the one asking the question. He also apparently deemed it unnecessary and tossed it on the floor, giving the container a stomp with his boot for added measure.
Shadiyah took in a long breath and held it as she rose to her feet. She moved silently down the entry hall until she knew that she was in range. Due to the confined space, she could only thrust, driving the sharp point through the back of the head right at the base of where it attached to the neck. She actually felt the blade shiver off the spinal column just a bit as it drove through.
Yanking back, she brought her knee up to stop the body from colliding with her. The look of astonishment on Mr. Ivanoff’s face was a mix of relief and terror in a confusing mask of wide eyes and open mouth, but Shadiyah paid him only a second’s worth of attention as she winked and stepped past his prone figure.
Entering the living room, she saw that there were only three males accompanying their now dead leader. (She supposed him to be the leader since he was doing all the talking.) The closest was immediately to her left. He was kneeling over an open box, holding what looked like a container of instant oats. With a backhanded swipe, she brought her blade around and buried it in his face perfectly bisecting his wide open mouth that was making an ‘O’ of surprise at that instant.
She had to bring up her foot and shove her latest victim away and off her blade. Surprisingly, he did not seem dead yet and was making a horrific amount of noise. The other two had been stunned to the point of inaction and were just staring at her. One was holding an economy size package of bog rolls and the other had an open tin of sardines that he was obviously stuffing into his own mouth; a hint of oil dripped down his chin as evidence.
Knowing that her advantage of surprise was about to come to a conclusion, she jumped up on a squat end table and brought her blade down hard. The man threw up an arm and her blow dug into the shoulder, the feel of bone breaking under the blow sending a buzz of electric pain to Shadiyah’s hands.
This man howled in agony, his noises adding to the strange gurgles of his comrade that was thrashing back and forth, hands over his mouth as blood poured through his fingers. The one uninjured man had an apparent lack of desire to confront this crazed woman and ran for the door. Unfortunately for him, he did not take into account the possibility that the old man he hurtled would try to trip him.
He stumbled and crashed into the corpse in the middle of the hall that had been the first of the group to fall. His breath came out in a loud grunt and exhale. He was trying to scramble to his knees when Shadiyah came up behind him. She thrust her blade into his back and then pulled out. He howled and flopped over, throwing up his hands and crying for mercy.
Shadiyah could see the blood not only forming a pool on the floor, but also spreading across the front of his shirt, indicating that she had run him all the way through. The man was babbling something, but she did not hear the words. Instead, she kicked his legs in order to spin him just so that she could move in and swing again. She drove the blade down but at an angle that caught her target just below the armpit. The strike was lucky (for her at least) in that it went right between two ribs and pierced a lung. She had to brace herself with a foot on the individual’s side to free her weapon.
Stepping back, she could see the dull-eyed stare of a corpse looking up at her; the face still a pleasing mask of terror. Returning to the living room, she made short but violent work of the two remaining and then returned to Mr. Ivanoff who was still lying on the floor.
“Miss Kasim,” the old man croaked as he struggled to sit up. His normally thick Ukrainian accent was masked by the tightness of pain that rang in his voice.
“Mr. Ivanoff, are you okay?” Shadiyah asked as she knelt beside the elderly man.
“I have not been okay since the days of Brezhnev.” The man made a weak attempt at laughing that ended in harsh coughs.
Helping the elderly gent to his feet, Shadiyah was amazed at how light the man felt. He was little more than a skeleton. She eased him to his well-worn chair and then stepped back and looked around at the carnage.
“Perhaps you should come across and stay in my flat,” she suggested.
“Ah, it has been so long since a young lady has invited me over,” the old man gave a waggle of his amazingly bushy eyebrows, but then he gave a shake of the head. “No, Miss Kasim, I do appreciate the invitation, but I believe that I shall spend my final days right here.”
“But…” She turned, her arm extended towards the corpses littering the tiny flat.
“Just take them outside the door. My eyesight is not what it used to be, so I won’t be bothered by a few more stains. And with all the death in the air, what are a few more bodies adding to the mix.”
Shadiyah shrugged and dragged the bodies out into the hallway. After that, she came in and picked up the scattered supplies and placed them back in the scattered boxes. Looking around, she simply could not leave things in their current state. She hurried over to her flat, grabbed some supplies and returned to clean up a bit. By the time she was finished, the better part of the day had passed. She only stopped long enough to share a meal with Mr. Ivanoff.
By the time night fell, the pitter patter of rain had turned to something a bit stronger. With the power gone, the flat grew chilly enough that she could see her breath wisping up in curls of misty vapor. After fetching a few blankets from the closet in the hallway and covering up Mr. Ivanoff, Shadiyah took a seat on the couch until the man drifted off.
Once she was certain that he was asleep, she slipped out of the flat. Twenty minutes later she was up on the roof of the tower. She walked the edge
of the entire building, her naked body becoming drenched by the downpour as the blood washed away.
6
Running
“Run!” Simon yelled. He gave Cedric a shove and then spun to take out the zombie that was only a few steps away now and closing.
They had made a terrible mistake. In two days, they were not even out of the city yet. They had been forced to head south shortly after they left the Clyde Court Towers. They had originally followed the A58, but when they reached the bridge over the River Aire, they had encountered a major obstacle in the form of a bridge that was a hive of undead activity. They had no idea why, but with the cars packed in bumper-to-bumper and hundreds of zombies weaving in and out of all the defunct automobiles, crossing the bridge would not have ended well.
They had followed the rails through the Holbeck District and come out when they made it to the junction where the A61 and the M621 met. They opted to spend the night in a warehouse complex instead of the nearby neighborhood across the A61.
“But there are a hundred empty beds right over there!” Cedric pointed to the cluster of houses.
“And ten times that many zombies most likely,” Simon had said with a shake of his head.
As it was, they had to take down a few walkers that were stumbling around the parking lot. Simon had climbed up on a freight truck and gotten on to the roof of the building after once again having to explain to Cedric that breaking in a door or window would keep them from having a secure location in addition to making a great deal of racket.
The next day had been miserable with a steady drizzle that would turn to heavy rain every so often. Cedric seemed to complain so frequently that eventually little Annie had turned to him and pointed a scolding finger.
“You are supposed to be the grown up, stop being such a baby.”
Simon suppressed his smile, but Mrs. Raye made no such attempt and gave a snort of approval. It seemed to work, because the man had remained quiet for a considerable amount of time until he let loose with a moan as they were crossing East End Park heading almost directly east. That sudden sound caused everybody to spin on him at once. The man did not even notice; he was turned to the south and pointing at the tree line that separated the park from some train tracks. Coming through those trees were hundreds of the undead.
Simon had urged the group to pick up their tempo, but told them they would be wise to save their energy for when they really needed it. That ended up being the case just as they emerged onto Ings Road on the far side of the park.
Two-story brick houses lined the streets on both sides. Obvious signs of chaos were apparent as far as the eye could see. Bodies were everywhere it seemed; many had been torn apart to the point where it was impossible to determine age or even gender. However, this was where they encountered one particularly horrifying scene that caused them all to come to a sudden halt.
They had turned north on Skelton Road at Mrs. Raye’s urging after she insisted that it would get them to York Road, the A64. That would be their best and hopefully fastest way out of the city. Once they were clear of Leeds, they could regroup and make their way south to the M1 and their eventual target of Mickelfield.
They had reached a tee-junction and veered right when they spied an iron fence with a closed gate. The logic was that they could get over the fence and be clear of the growing mob of undead on their heels that only seemed to be gaining in number as it poured through the neighborhood, collecting every zombie as it passed. Simon had given Cedric a boost over and then Annie. Next was Mrs. Raye who was surprisingly spry and needed very little help from either of the men. Simon came last, and just as his feet hit the ground, Annie screamed.
Considering all that she had already seen, the sound was a big surprise. Everybody’s gaze followed to where she was pointing and saw a pair of large dogs barring their path along with several undead children and a handful of adults.
It was the dogs that had caused her reaction. One of the animals was missing its back half and looked as if it had been torn in two by a pair of giant hands. The insides trailed from it like hideous gray serpents. In its mouth dangled what Simon was pretty sure had to have once been a kitten. All that remained was tufts of orange and white fur fouled with blood.
“What fresh slice of hell is this?” Mrs. Raye gasped.
The adult zombies all began to stumble for them along with the pair of zombified dogs. Simon shot a confused look at his people and then back to the zombies. The children were staying put. A few had taken a step or two closer, but they were not advancing, and instead, were seemingly observing the situation. A few of them cocked their heads back and forth as if considering whether Simon and his group represented a threat.
When the first adult reached them, Cedric had stepped in with his sickle and taken the top half of the head off. He kicked the body back and set up for the next. The adults continued to advance, yet, for some unfathomable reason, the children all stayed bunched in close and continued to simply observe.
“We can’t go back,” Mrs. Raye said with a quiet calm. “That mob coming up from behind has brought out every zombie from all those houses. I would be willing to wager that there are at least a thousand coming from back that way.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder for emphasis.
Simon looked around and spotted a path leading down the side of the school that was partially blocked by a crashed car that had smashed into a large rubbish bin. It was narrow, but it also looked like the best possible escape from their current location. He pointed it out to the others and grabbed Mrs. Raye, giving her a little push in that direction. The woman was surprisingly compliant and took Annie by the hand, pulling her away from where she had been frozen in horror at the sight of the zombie dogs.
Once he was sure that the two had made it over and past the crashed car, he told Cedric to go next so that he could take up the rear. He had a plan, and it would mean he had to be fast, Cedric was in a sort of battle lust and pushed away Simon’s hand twice before Simon forcefully grabbed the man, spun him away from the zombies and towards their escape route, and then gave him a hard shove while imploring him to run.
Cedric finally seemed to shake his mind clear and comply. That left Simon to attempt his plan. He hated that this was even an option, but he really saw no better way to give them a chance at a clear shot through to Mickelfield.
Simon took down the one adult zombie that still remained close enough to be a problem with his trusty mace and then shot another look at the children; they had retreated back to the entrance of the school! He had no idea what to make of that, and it also made what he was about to do seem just a little bit more unpleasant.
Simon had not always been the good boy that everybody believed. In his teens, he had run with some real thugs. It was while he was with this gang at the age of fourteen that one of his best friends died during a nasty little dust up by the train tracks near the Wortley Recreation Grounds. It had not been anything like the movies, and even worse, nobody really seemed to take notice. It was just another kid from the bad side of town on the mortician’s slab.
During his time with that gang, he had learned how to properly blow up a car from a young Irish street kid who had been accepted as one of their own. He hurried to the vehicle and looked inside the open trunk.
“At last…catching a break!” he said to himself as he popped open the tool box he had discovered. Grabbing a small mallet and a screwdriver, he swiped up a crumpled Daily Mirror from the bin. The headline made him almost start laughing.
“THE DEAD WALK!” was in large, bold print across the top of the page. There was a very good picture of a man in a business suit that had been torn up pretty bad in an attack. He had a visible rip on his throat and there was also a massive blood stain all down the right side. In addition, you could see the black tracer-filled eyes staring blankly straight on at the photographer.
Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the leading edge of the large zombie horde arriving at the gate they had climbed ove
r. There was still no sign of the zombie school children advancing, but he simply could not spare any part of his focus to ponder their odd behavior. He would just be thankful that they had not attacked. He was not sure how easy of a go he would have when it came to taking down children.
With a few well-placed strikes, Simon managed to puncture the fuel tank on the vehicle sending the sharp odor of petrol fumes up his nose to battle with the stench of the undead. He quickly shoved the newspaper against the leak and used the screwdriver to stuff it into the hole where it began to soak up the leaking petrol. He had to rummage for some more paper real quick, but there was plenty and he allowed just enough moisture to soak the already applied paper before slapping a new piece in with that moisture acting to make the new piece of paper adhere. Stepping back, he pulled out a small butane lighter and lit the end of the paper. Just as he did, he heard the groan of the gates.
Jumping over a nearby hedge, he landed on the narrow walk beside the school building. He took one more look as the crush of that many zombies finally became too much for the gate, folding it down and allowing the massive mob of the walking dead to pour through. A moment later, there was a bit of a flash as the vapor cloud from the leaking petrol caught and became a small fireball.
Just as Simon reached the corner of Victoria Primary School, there was a concussive thump that caused his ears to pop, and then the car’s petrol tank exploded sending a black, oily cloud skyward with a twisting braid of flames wrapped throughout. The blast blew several of the zombies back into their group, but it also proved to be a new focus for the horde. While they would not actually walk into the flames, they did just as Simon had witnessed with the train car explosion: the zombies oriented on the new sound and stimulus.
He emerged from some bushes to discover a building that was trimmed in orange and had a tall fence surrounding it with large white letters proclaiming it to be ‘The BIG Bathroom Shop.’ Skirting that fence, he reached the concrete river known as York Road, or the A64 where his group stood staring back to the west. He joined them, and it took him a moment to realize that, mixing in with the low clouds of the dreary day was a wall of smoke. The wind at their back was sending the majority of the smoke and ash away from them.
