Weep (Book 1): The Irish Epidemic

by Brady, Eoin

  “It’s not a gamble if we know we’re going to lose,” Fin said. “There are too many of them.”

  “True, but the bridge across the river was full of them. They would have followed the people through the woods. They know we’re here. We can’t go back, not for a while yet. I’m not saying we rush anything, just scope out a plan.”

  “No rush, only the risk of hypothermia.”

  “There has to be people still alive in the house or stuck up a tree,” George said.

  “I’m not ringing the doorbell to find out.”

  Swan-shaped pedal boats were moored to a stone jetty. During the summer, families rented them out for a few minutes on the lough. “We’ll have an easier time of it, sitting in one of those,” Fin said. “Better than lying on the boards in the open.”

  “Okay. I’ll distract them and you untie them. We’ll pedal around the shore and search for survivors.” George carefully took his radio out of his pocket. “How are you keeping, Rebecca?”

  “How many are there? I can hear them from out here. It’s like you’re at a concert-sized silent disco.”

  “Whole town is here.”

  “Do you want me to light these?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well hurry up. I’m too exposed out here and there’s a lot of movement in the hotel.”

  “Do you want us to come back?” George asked.

  “No. We’re committed now.”

  Fin lay on the board and slowly paddled to the last swan boat on the tethered line, keeping low. The infected soon lost sight of him. Using a steak knife stolen from their safehouse, Fin sawed into rope. It caught several times before he had a good rhythm going. The wind jostled the boats against each other, and the sound drew infected. They watched from the jetty with dispassion. Every movement that crossed his field of vision made him freeze.

  He expected hands to reach out from the dark water and drag him off the board to be torn apart while he drowned. Even after heavy rainfall the lough was usually clear, but now it was churned and murky. A string of bubbles rising nearly made him paddle back to deeper water. The boats bobbed together and jostled gently. The swan he was trying to free moved. Something blotted out the light, putting him in shadow. Just as Fin looked up, an undead lunged out of the boat.

  The zombie hit the water, narrowly missing him. It swiped out and scraped at his wetsuit. Fin saw it happen in slow motion. The hand found no purchase on the rubbery material. One of the only remaining fingernails bent back and hung loose.

  Unbalanced, Fin came off the board. He let out an involuntary yelp and got a mouth full of water. In his panic, he lost the knife and it disappeared into the rising cloud of silt. He caused too much noise trying to swim away from the blindly reaching weeper. He pulled himself into the last boat and checked himself for bites and scratches. His chest ached from his heart’s frantic pace.

  Infected along the shore moved towards him. His board had drifted into the shallows, too close to danger. Zombies spilled from the woods. They started wading out towards him. Hands and fingers of submerged zombies ruffled the surface of the water. Distorted sound and refracted light confused them. Fin thought back to the infected he tried to drown on the Greenway with Rebecca. He wondered how long it would take for the body to break down.

  Lying on the bottom of the boat, out of view of those unnatural things, he caught his breath. That zombie in the swan must have been bitten, tried for the boats and stayed there until turned by the infection. Without his knife he could do nothing. Fin sat up quickly from the contaminated bilge water. He felt it run down his back like acid. The disease!

  A shot echoed and a body hit the dock. Fin looked to George, but he held the rifle in the air in a non-threatening manner, shielding the sun from his eyes while he searched the building for the shooter. Somebody waved from a top floor window. The dead swarmed around the building again.

  A firework let off a high-pitched shriek as it shot into the sky on a column of smoke. It erupted in a spectacular blaze of light. Infected were silenced by the deafening boom. Several others followed in quick succession.

  “Did you ask her to light them?” Fin said, but he could see George was desperately trying to get his radio out to call off the rockets.

  He roared into the radio, but got no reply. “There’s about ten minutes worth of rockets to go off, before the infected come back.”

  Those still alive in the house must have thought there was a plan in place. Fin saw the shooter rush back inside and others filled the upstairs windows to get a look at the fireworks. They cheered, their hope renewed.

  Fin could see them moving through the house, trying to get downstairs and out. Windows shattered on the lower floors, infected fell out in their thoughtless efforts to reach the noise. Those upstairs would not be able to know the full extent of the infestation. How did anybody survive?

  George screamed at them not to leave, but Fin could barely hear him above the sound of the horde and explosions. Soon the survivors would be outside, thinking they were saved.

  “There’s no plan. Stay inside! Please!” George shouted.

  There is no plan.

  35

  Express Route to Hell

  When George fired the rifle, dust rose up from where the shot struck the building, a good foot above the tallest zombie. He loaded another round and took aim again. The house took another beating, but he was getting closer. He looked to Fin with an awkward, near-apologetic desperation. It did not matter if he managed a kill with every shot, there were too many infected. The only observable benefit was drawing the undead into the lough. They were incapacitated in the water. So many nameless faces disappearing beneath the surface was a nightmarish sight. Some floated, their backs barely warmed by the winter sun. Beholden to the breeze, like mines, harmless until you came upon one.

  The boards are useless. Fin could imagine the surface of the lough hardening over with ice-like human flesh.

  The hammer. Fin’s hand went for his belt. Relief flooded through him when he felt its hilt. He rammed the claw hammer between the metal tether and the hard white plastic of the swan and pulled with all his strength. The plastic cracked and shattered. He stopped before the boat came free. How many people are in the house? One boat won’t be enough – if they manage to get out.

  Trapped at the end of the tethered swans, he could not risk swimming to the dock. A crowd of undead watched him from the shore, held back from the water by a low stone wall.

  “Where are they coming from?” George reloaded with shaking fingers. “Most of these are weepers.”

  “Maybe all the survivors didn’t make it to the hotel. They could have followed the train from Dublin,” Fin said.

  They heard gunshots from inside the house. George’s hands were shaking so badly that he dropped a rifle round. It fell into the water with a plonk.

  Fin pulled on the rope connecting the boats, dragging himself alongside the others. They were all empty. Leaving a space of less than two boats between him and the dock kept him far enough out of reach from the weepers. His presence invigorated them. They jostled, some fell in. Most were unable to manage in the deep silt, but one kept its balance and started wading out towards him.

  Fin hurried. In his haste he found it difficult to get the claw beneath the metal ring. The zombie was nearly on him. Cursing, Fin turned his attention to it, waiting for it to get closer so he could crush its skull. Its skin was ashen. Wounds on its face had left one eye ruined. Its hands reached out to strangle the neck of the swan. Before it got closer, a bullet destroyed its brain. Bone, brain and blood splashed into the water. The zombie fell backwards, to stare blankly into the sky.

  A soldier on the top floor of the building waved at Fin to hurry up. Then he took aim at the other zombies by the boats. He fired twice and two zombies dropped from their standing with a wet, fleshy sound. Fin struck the metal ring with the blunt end of the hammer. The plastic casing cracked and the mooring came free. Pedalling as hard as he
could, he barely managed to pull the rest of the boats away from the jetty. George paddled over, climbed in and set his own feet to the pedals.

  “Hit anything yet?” Fin asked.

  “Keep that talk up and I guarantee I will.”

  “From two feet? I like those odds.”

  The slack and drag from the other boats made it awkward to maneuver, but the shore below the house was not far.

  The fireworks and gunfire caused enough confusion that the infected no longer paid any attention to them. Faces crowded around windows throughout the house. Glass shattered as the dead inside reacted to the shrieking explosions. On the ground floor, fingers wriggled through the boards barring the windows.

  “That could have been us in there,” Fin said.

  “None of those people probably thought that this was how they would end.”

  Weepers toppled out of the higher floors, indifferent to the fall, others were pushed. Hardly any of the bodies stayed down. Grotesque marionettes rose up with broken limbs and deformed faces.

  “There’s nothing else we can do,” George said. “We wait. Want to try out the rifle?”

  Fin took it from him, pulled the bolt back and loaded a round. Aiming down the sight, he tried to ignore the faces. It was hard to think of them as anything other than human; when he looked at those faces, ravaged by sickness, they were still human. It was easy to dismiss them as people, once they stopped acting as such. Now that he was trying to put a bullet in their skulls, his hatred for them only just surpassed his empathy. There was a bit of a kick once he pulled the trigger. The shot went wide.

  “Harder than it looks, right?”

  “I was trying to save your pride,” Fin said.

  “In the movies they always say to take a breath and let it out slowly and you’ll get a perfect shot. Maybe the sight’s off.”

  Fin rested the rifle on the swan’s head and reloaded. This time he was more careful, aiming squarely for the body of a man wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown. The movement of the water, though minute, was enough to put him off again. He could not tell how far off he was. Fin put the rifle down. “I don’t want to waste any more ammunition.”

  George laughed. “You know what? I think these must all be blanks.”

  There was no further sign of survivors in the building. They heard automatic gunfire and a percussive bang that shattered a quarter of the remaining windows on the second floor.

  Fin’s heart raced. He felt like he was trapped inside with the survivors. “How do you think they got in? How could the walls have fallen so quickly? None of this should have happened. The infected don’t have any wits.”

  “Fear makes people stupid. Look at me for instance. I’m in the middle of a freezing lough, surrounded by zombies because I’m afraid to be alone.”

  That caught Fin off guard. “You’ll not be alone. We’re with you.”

  “You were nearly gutted. Rebecca… she becomes more frayed by the day. I lost most of my people. I think I’m the last of my line, that’s such a weird thing to say. Think of all the generations, all the chance meetings. The history of the world and I’m the forefront of it. I’m one of the last Synotts.”

  Trying to reassure him about family was dangerous territory; there was no way to soften the truth, not while surrounded by so many broken homes, shattered dreams and ended lives. How many mourn for these? “Well, stay alive then, put more Synotts in the world. Though I’m not sure anybody will thank you for that. I think Rebecca is dealing with things better than most. Before you came along, I was in a dark place, she took care of me. That’s what we are now, a family of necessity. And I wouldn’t go commenting on her sanity, giving that you only wear a jumper that you outgrew years ago.”

  George smiled, lifted the hem of his jumper up to his nose and sniffed. It brought him some comfort, like a talisman. “My family went on to Dublin, I stayed behind to look after those that could not. Going through my belongings, it was easy to leave all my possessions behind. They’re just things after all. I found this in the back of the wardrobe. It was a gift from an ex. I’d say it’s two – no, three – years since we broke up. I’ve had the jumper longer than that. She became a stranger to me after the split. I just forgot to throw this out. I’ve tried, but I can’t. Throwing it away would be like throwing the last bit of her away. I can’t stop wondering if she is already gone. I’m talking out my arse though. I keep it because it means that, at one point, somebody cared enough about me to dress me.”

  “As soon as we’re finished here, I’ll get you a jacket that fits.”

  “It’s a memento of good memories, anything I get from you will just remind me of late nights behind the bar.” George pointed to a first floor window. “Look there.”

  A zombie turned away from the glass and moments later was violently pushed out backwards; a soldier stood in its place, gauging the ground beneath him. Bags were thrown down, while shooting increased behind him. They could not go any lower, the windows on the ground floor were all welded shut to keep out the dead. Ropes were dropped out. The soldier rappelled down so quickly that Fin thought he had fallen, until he slowed just before hitting the ground.

  George and Fin were shocked into action when terrified, crying children started clambering over the windowsill. Makeshift rope harnesses were looped around them. Soldiers inside the building lowered them with little more care than they showed the bags. The fireworks cleared a path between the building and the shore where the swan boats floated. The survivors would have to swim out a little bit, but it was better than their only vessels becoming swamped by infected. Once on the ground, the soldier took a knee and started shooting with restraint. A single bullet per target. The fireworks kept most of the attention off them. As the children reached the ground, they lay low until everybody was ready to run for the lough.

  The sniper that aided Fin still remained on the top floor. He took careful aim and helped thin the numbers of the curious infected. A string of people went out the window, many of them children. A wounded soldier was lowered down.

  “That’s the captain,” Fin said, incredulous that she should still be alive.

  Eight escaped. Just as the ninth was about to leave, he was pulled back into the building. There was a short period of yelling, a spray of bullets and after a brief relative silence, a loud blast warped the building. Splinters, stone and debris rained down on the survivors.

  “So few,” George said.

  The blast broke the spell of the fireworks for many of the infected. The children ran in the middle of two protective lines of soldiers. Their combined effort kept the captain standing. They were slowed by the water. As they waded out, the dead and dying behind them closed off all other means of escape. George used a paddle to push infected off balance.

  Fin dragged two children into their swan and helped steady the other. The captain roared as she was hoisted in. One soldier lifted the children on board. Fin saw him go rigid and gasp. All colour drained from his face. Unsheathing a tactical knife, he kept it close to his body so those behind could not see it. In one swift motion, he plunged it into the water. When he lifted it out, there was blood on it. Fin could just about make out the outline of a body sinking further into the mirk. The soldier froze when he saw Fin watching him. The man’s shoulders slumped. He let out a long, shuddering breath and seemed to relax to the chaos around him. Snapping out of it, he went back to lift the few remaining children out of the water. He protected the rear so his comrades could get to the boats. He was the last one to leave the water.

  Only three swan boats were needed. The soldiers carried thick duffle bags on their shoulders. The muzzles of several rifles peaked through the top. Once all the survivors were on board, they pedalled and paddled to be free of the shore. Most of the weepers had long followed the sound of the fireworks, leaving the slow and injured ones behind. They made easy targets for the soldiers. Without a word, they set to thinning the infestation. With each loud abrasive shot, a body crumpled.

/>   The zombies became disoriented, frenzied by so much stimulation. They started attacking their own kind. One bit down on the neck of another and, using its body weight, dropped to the ground, ripping flesh from bone. When the assault ended, both got up and parted as if nothing had happened. They were creatures of base instinct, soulless. Fin wished he was a marksman. With grim satisfaction, he watched the soldiers ending them.

  “What about your man on the top floor?” George asked. “Should we draw the zombies off and come back for him?”

  “No,” was all the captain said. She was ghoulishly pale, her breathing shallow and ragged.

  After a while, they just gave up shooting. There were too many infected for them to have much impact, like trying to cut a lawn one blade of grass at a time. They pedalled into the middle of the lough. Rebecca was still sending up fireworks. A soldier cut through the rope tethering the boats to each other.

  “I can’t say I’ve said this much lately, but I’m glad I didn’t shoot you,” the captain said to George. A pistol rested on her lap.

  “You would have made my life a whole lot easier if you had,” George said. “Are you okay?”

  “All considered, no. It’s a gunshot, not a bite. As luck goes, it’s not the worst. What’s the plan now?”

  “The weepers will be blocking our escape. So we wait for the tide to rise and pedal these over the waterfall and get you to the hotel on the quay.”

  “How long away is that?” the captain asked.

  “Two hours, I think,” George said. “Are you in a rush?”

  Blood darkened the front of her uniform. “I’ll happily be late for my own funeral.”

  Fin tightened his grip on the hammer when the first soldier out of the building pulled off his mask. Leaning back in his seat he wiped sweat from his face. Burke. He recognised the soldier he followed to the train, the very one that threatened to shoot him and then abandoned him in the boatyard. The presence of his rifle was no longer a relief.

  “Thanks for that,” Burke said. “I didn’t think we were going to get out of there.”