by Brady, Eoin
“Yeah, one. I’d choose that way out over being mauled to death.” George covered his face with his hands. “We’re done. The army can’t hold them off. All those newly infected.”
Fin took the radio out and called Rebecca. She did not take the news that the camp had fallen well. Time alone had made her more reclusive and less responsive. Talking to her was like trying to coax words from somebody that was already half asleep. “I’m going to make the crossing. Wait for me.”
“The water in the bay isn’t calm.”
“I’m coming back.”
Her radio was silent, she did not pick up again. There was nothing for them to do now but wait for her return. George could not sit still. He packed and unpacked his bag twice. Then he started working on his ghillie suit, adding branches, leaves, and pieces of neutral coloured cloth.
Fin knew the islands were out of the question now; anybody surviving the camp would think of heading there next. They were running out of options. The weather was too unpredictable to make supply runs safe. George was set on the empty highlands. Rebecca was bound for Achill. With every passing day, Fin felt further from home. There’s no outrunning this plague. Nowhere to hide.
Fin went out to the shed to see if he could find anything of use. He found turf, coal and plenty of sleeping spiders. That’s what we need to do, hibernate and sleep through this. I wonder what advice my parents would have for me now. His mind lingered on them hiding in fear, or worse. He was not sure when he had started smashing things with a garden rake. It was only when he became aware of George’s presence that his swing faltered. His chest ached.
“Find anything useful?” George asked.
Fin walked out and leaned the rake against the side of the shed. There was no weeping. They’re probably all in town now. “Petrol can is full.” The corners between his thumbs and forefingers were rubbed raw. “Has me thinking, we’ll find something similar in most gardens in the country.”
“Are you thinking boat?”
“Car, maybe. We could siphon out enough to fill a tank and a few spare cans for the boot from the houses around here.”
“Nobody cuts their lawns in winter, how long can fuel sit still before it goes off?” George asked.
“It’s another question to add to the ever-growing list that I cannot answer,” Fin said. “Can you drive a car? I can’t.”
“No. We need Rebecca, but she’ll try drive us to Achill,” George said.
“What harm? She knows the land. Plenty of hills to run up, if need be.”
“I’m afraid of going hungry. We need to stay close enough to large towns for the sake of food. Honestly though, lad, I don’t know why you’re asking me my opinion on this. I’ve no notion what to be at. I was serving pints not long ago.”
“And you weren’t even doing that well.” Fin went to the water’s edge and sat down. Unable to remain still for long, George periodically brought cups of tea down to him and would stay until their mugs were empty.
When he saw Rebecca coming around the headland, Fin felt a massive release of pent-up stress. He waded out to meet her. Pale and shaking, she dropped the paddle and used Fin as a support. She felt like a wisp in his arms. Her clothes were damp, she had fallen in on her journey. George had a steaming cup of tea and a blanket ready for her.
“I’m sorry…”
“I’m sorry.”
Rebecca and Fin interrupted each other.
“I should not have left you there by yourself. That was wrong of me,” Fin said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t go with you.”
“Let’s just say we’ll not do it again.”
“How is the wound?” She pointed to his stomach.
“Hasn’t killed me yet.”
They sat around the table to listen to her bleak account of the other islands. George filled a pot with water and put it over a gas burner. How many warm cups of tea have we left?
“Most of the ships were destroyed in the storms,” she said. “Weepers, hunger and the elements whittled away at the survivors. Scavengers were thick as flies when I flew the drone over boats. Remember, Fin, we saw lights on? They stayed on during the day. Solar or battery operated, I couldn’t get close enough to check with the infected on board.”
She charged her phone from one of their few remaining portable chargers. Her expression hardened when a message she was waiting for did not appear. When will we have a conversation about her family passing? Sensing her growing unease, George gave her a moment of privacy and analysed the drone footage, his cup of tea untouched. He slouched in the chair. “There’s nothing out there for us.”
“Let me see,” Fin said.
George turned the phone off. “No. I wish I didn’t look at it. No sense both of us having nightmares.”
Fin did not argue. “We’re running out of options.”
“What are we going to do about Westport House?” Rebecca asked.
George stared off into the distance, lost in thought.
Rebecca went on, almost excited. “They’ve got the largest cache of supplies we know about outside of Dublin. From what you’ve told me, people just wanted to get away from there in a hurry. When things calm down, survivors will pick that place bare. We’re so close. Imagine we took the risk of going in. It would be the last time we’d need to leave the attic. We could nail down the trapdoor here. Bring up some books and nest until this ends.”
“It’s some risk,” George said. “We’d be taking from all those holding up in the hotel.”
That did not deter Rebecca. “Like you said, we look after ourselves. Let them head off and find food elsewhere. Every building we go into means taking a greater risk. We use the paddle boards to get into the lough at Westport House. Scope out what’s going on and try to get as much as we can out of there. I’ve no interest in dying.”
Fin looked to George, but found he was already won over by the idea. “They were firing throughout the night. Every weeper within hearing distance will be there.”
“It’s worth a look,” George said. “If it’s too dangerous, we go out with the tide.”
“Do you think the infected called for a ceasefire?” Fin said. “They didn’t stop shooting because they ran out of bullets.”
“Is it a bad idea?” Rebecca said.
George drank his tea to give himself time to think. “With the New Year on the horizon and even though fireworks are illegal, I’ve managed to accumulate an arsenal of rockets.”
Rebecca let out a long breath. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing good,” George said.
“Will we take a photo?” Rebecca took out the Polaroid camera.
“I haven’t washed in days,” George said.
“I’m not looking to record your smell.”
“Yeah, but I must look like I reek.”
“The picture isn’t for us. I want to keep a record of our lives while we wait this out. Something to look back on.”
George tried to brush his hair with his fingers. “Rebecca, why would you want to remember this?”
“Because pictures are all I have left of some people. I’m worried that I’m going to forget faces.”
Fin did not like her reason for taking the photo.
The three of them gathered close.
“Smile,” Rebecca said.
Fin could not muster up the energy to. “Why lie?”
34
Swan Song
While scouting the bank across from the hotel, a few inquisitive zombies on the shore approached and were swept away by the current. It’s only a matter of time before one of them washes up in our back garden. The shore was clear of infected. They brought the boards onto the land and climbed up the sheep grazed hill. There was not much activity visible from the hotel – it was still early – and Fin thought, if they had any sense, the new tenants would occupy the back rooms.
“I wonder what they make of your finger paintings on the windows, George,” Fin said. He could just make out the faded pr
inter ink handprints.
He shrugged it off.
“I’ve always wondered what was over the other side of this hill,” Rebecca said.
“Prepare to be disappointed. It’s fields,” George said.
They crested on their bellies. Cold morning dew soaked through their clothes. Some zombies occupied the land in the distance, stragglers drawn by noise.
“I don’t think they ever planned on using that helicopter,” Fin said. “The sound of it undermines all their work.”
“If they did not mean for it to fly, then it wouldn’t have left the ground.” George planted a line of fireworks in the hard earth and handed Rebecca a fistful of lighters. “I’ve no idea how long the fuse lasts.” He checked their radios were working. “I’ll call and let you know when to start.”
“Why am I left out here?” Rebecca put her hands up to forestall an answer. “Now, I’m not saying that I’d rather be going in there, but still.”
“You’ve already paddled in from the island. I barely trust you have enough strength to start the lighter,” George said.
“Fair enough. This is going to grab attention for kilometres. What about the people in the hotel? We’re not doing them any favours.”
“If we can do this without lighting them, we will. It’s a last resort,” George said. “I don’t want to use them, but it could be the difference between life and death. If we have to go out, might as well be with a bang. It might just give some people out there a bit of breathing room too.”
“Be careful,” Rebecca hugged them both.
Fin and George returned to the boards to paddle the rest of the way. Fin used a small child’s board they had found in the back of the shed, leaving George with the steadier adult one. They only encountered one of the recently turned, a man hunkering on a slipway. He stood over the water’s edge, listening to the sound it made, or – more horrifying – looking at his own reflection. When it spotted them, the creature stumbled in its haste to reach them. It waded into the water, fell over and did not rise again.
“When you see how pathetic they are up close, you wonder how they brought the whole country to its knees,” Fin said.
George lifted his feet out of the water. “Because the whole country is like that.”
“Still want to do this?” Fin asked.
“Not at all, but if people were infected during the attack and managed to hide, then we don’t have long before they become mindless weepers. We need that food.”
“You mean you need an oxygen tank. There’s no guarantee there is one there.”
“Let’s focus on getting in safely first.”
“If we find more of the pills they gave us, would you consider giving the old woman one?”
George looked like he was about to punch him, but in the end he shrugged and went back to paddling.
The lough on the grounds spilled over a small weir. A body lay halfway over the falls. The water had pulled off most of its clothes and kept its arms flailing in the current. The noise it made swallowed the sound of their movements. A few bodies clogged the shallower parts of the river, and a few of them still moved. George took out his hammer and ensured they were all still. Fin rested the board against the moss-covered wall and joined in the slow execution. None of the infected could stand on the slippery riverbed stones. George hunkered low, resting his elbows on his legs. He retched, but kept himself from vomiting. Fin saw his eyes watering before he staved in the skull of a small infected.
One zombie was grotesquely bloated, its eyes were opaque and saw nothing. In his nervousness to be done with the deed, Fin went in too quickly and nearly slipped. The zombie’s hand shot out and gripped his leg with horrifying pressure. Fin brought the hammer down twice. The first strike only glanced off the skull. The second one connected with such force that the ghost went straight out of the corpse. He feared that if the gloves broke then the open blisters on his hands could become infected.
The last one Fin killed by letting out a ferocious volley of blows. The zombie’s face distorted into a bloody pulp. It did nothing to dull his growing rage. He held the gore-slick hammer under the weir water to rinse it clean. George startled him by putting a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”
Fin nodded. “It reminded me of Dara. I’ve never had something haunt me so much. I dream of hitting him. I hear the hammering like I’m just below church bells and no matter how often I strike him, the screams never stop.”
“Maybe you need to work on your swing. Do you need a hug?” George said.
“You’re a bad man, George,” Fin smiled.
“Are you good to go?”
In answer, Fin picked up his paddle board and slid it onto the grass near the falls. He checked the coast was clear and tried to climb up, but slipped. The sweat of his hands made the gloves cumbersome. Taking them off would risk infection. Trapped in small ways.
George went up instead and bent to give Fin a hand. They heard weeping from the woods. Wide-eyed, George let go of Fin and disappeared to deal with the weeper. Fin landed hard among corpses. He rallied and tried to climb up again, grabbing hold of a fistful of grass and dragging himself up.
George swung the pack from his back and threw it at the zombie’s legs. It paid no attention to the bag and tripped. Its momentum carried it to the edge. Fin rolled out of the way just as the weeper careened into the shallows, meeting bedrock face-first, stopping its weep.
The sound coming from the woods was a horrendous harmony of countless dead and dying. “And we’ve just gone and ruined the surprise,” George said. Before he could pick up his pack, two infected ran from the road. Fin threw his board into the lough and jumped in after it. He glided over the shallows to deeper water. The densely wooded banks were full of movement. Bodies bobbed on the surface. The smell of smoke was strong, muffling the stench of death. George joined him and together they gazed in muted terror at the sheer size of the horde.
No birds sang, but the carrion gulls, ravens, and crows gathered in the leaf-barren trees.
“They can’t hold a tune worth a damn,” George said.
“If they could harmonise, then you’d have packs of barbershop quartets laying melodic traps in the woods.”
“Fin, it’s no wonder we get on. You talk as much shite as I do. Right, we’ve just started and our plan has failed. What now?”
“This was your idea,” Fin said.
Despite the clear danger they were in, George still seemed undeterred. He brought out his ancient, scavenged rifle from his back and carefully took it out of its plastic covering. “Still dry,” he said after a quick check. He carefully set the box of ammunition on the board between his legs.
“Don’t stand up to shoot that,” Fin said.
“I’m not that daft.” George angled the paddle board point towards the manor.
“Go for the fast ones first,” Fin said. “A shot anywhere on the body will incapacitate them, otherwise the slow ones need headshots.”
“I know as much about guns as you do, if I hit anything I’ll be doing well.”
The grounds were ruined. During the night the barricade had come down under the sheer weight and effort of so many bodies.
“See how they crouch down, the ones by the house?” Fin said in a whisper.
“It looks like they’re in prayer.” George aimed down the sights of the rifle. “I don’t want to know what goes through their heads.” Many of the creatures were kneeling, others lay against the walls in a torpor that looked like death.
“Do you think they remember the people they used to be?” Fin asked.
George let out a long breath and a laugh. “Shut up with that nonsense. I bet you wondered if the cow your burgers came from had a name like Daisy.”
“It was Mootilda, actually.”
George scoffed. “If there’s anything left of who they once were, then I reckon they’d crave a well-placed bullet.”
“Well, their luck is unchanged, considering you’re the one trying to place that bul
let. They can only hope for a ricochet. Zombie rights activists will hunt you down if word of this ever gets out.”
“You know, I bet there will and all, be zombie rights activists.”
“All life is sacrosanct. Hallelujah, brother.” Fin held his hands aloft and bowed his head reverently. “I’d say there’s a Satanist somewhere sweating and pulling at their collar right now, wondering if they lit the wrong end of a candle in a pentagram.”
“You’re some man for messing, it’s time to work.”
Fin’s smile fell away. He would not admit the truth to George, but joking and rambling was like a release valve on a build-up of pressure. His lips quivered and he shook. He knew it was not due to the cold, but he hoped George believed so. Surrounded by such horror, he felt like weeping himself. There were too many zombies to count. To stop his mind from racing, Fin studied them. There’s little sense to their movements. The slower ones are being targeted by the faster ones. They eat each other.
“Have you noticed that there aren’t many old weepers?” George said. “I think whatever pathogen is causing this kills a sick host. They skip the weeping phase and go straight to zombie.”
They showed no signs of communal bonds or communication. All of them were slaves to stimuli, often attacking their own. George squinted down the length of the barrel, tested both eyes before choosing one. “It’s how they walk that gets me. It’s like they’re wearing a human suit they learned how to pilot by watching a drunk stumbling home after the pub.”
“Think of it this way, every one of them you stop, is potentially a life saved. If we could kill all of these here, how many lives do you think would be spared?”
“Alright, okay, feck off. You’re putting too much pressure on me. I’m only practicing. I can make out a bit of movement in some of the windows of the house,” George said. “We’ll know if they’re alive when the fireworks start.”
“You good? Fin asked.
“Absolutely not, but sure, it’s a bit late to worry about that now. Focus on all the supplies in there. It’s worth taking one big risk, instead of a load of small ones.”
