From Despair to Where

by Oliver Smith

  Loss. Fear. Hope.

  OLIVER SMITH

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 Oliver Smith

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever with the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published in the United Kingdom of Great Britain & Northern Ireland and subject to the Laws of England and Wales.

  First published 2020

  ISBN 978-1-5272-6206-5

  Published by Oliver Smith

  dystopiannovels.co.uk

  For Rebecca, James & Finn

  Chapter 1 – Meet Jack

  Jack had worked in marketing for about 15 years. He began his career as a salesman, but wrongly thought a career in marketing would be less soul destroying and provide him with the means to buy a nice car, a house, and enjoy the occasional far flung holiday, trinkets. Trinkets that were important to so many people in the world as it was.

  As it turns out, the world that it is now, material luxuries and having an in-depth understanding of Photoshop and web design is of no value. Now, of course, being the zombie apocalypse.

  Had Jack decided to forego his hazy University days, stayed in his childhood home in rural Yorkshire and chosen a career path in one of the trades; he would have been far better equipped to survive in a world where men with soft, delicate office worker hands were being eaten alive.

  Jack, in truth, was quite an unextraordinary person, and probably still is. He would have been described as middle-class, although he hated society’s incessant need to classify people into boxes, Jack felt like an individual, on his own. He was about 5 10”, early 30s if he was lying, late 30s when telling the truth, average build, handsome to some, but middling to most.

  He coasted through school and university and into his work life. Through forged CVs and an ability to sound like he knew what he was talking about, Jack masked his general averageness. He had managed to get himself an above average job, not great, but not bad. It paid him a wage which was the only motivation when it came to his career. He was dancing society’s dance.

  Having no real purpose was only half the trouble with choosing a career so meaningless; it also meant that Jack lacked any practical skills for survival. A half-finished marketing diploma and understanding how to create a pretty email newsletter aren’t exactly in-demand skills come the breakdown of civilization.

  In Jack’s mind, however, he had been surviving for years. Trudging through a meaningless existence. In stasis. Jack was about to rouse.

  Chapter 2 – The Beginning

  How the zombie apocalypse started will probably stay a mystery. From the information available, ground zero remains unknown, early intelligence said it started in Africa, but Africa is often the scapegoat when it comes to hearsay. There are several reports from a similar time detailing outbreaks in Asia, South America, North America, and Europe. So it was quite possible that it started everywhere; all at once. Sometimes it is impossible to know the truth no matter how hard you look.

  Stories also surfaced stating that the zombie apocalypse was a result of a disease that had been lying dormant in humans. Reports that corroborate this tale suggested the disease belonged to a family of human and animal diseases known as transmissible spongiform encephalopathies. Probably the best-known example of this type of disease was BSE, or, as it was better known, mad cow disease.

  The mad cow outbreak only became apparent in people years after the route cause. It was partly put down to feeding very young calves with infected protein supplements deriving from sheep that were diseased with scrapie. More extreme theories even suggested that infected human bones somehow got mixed into cattle feed in China, who then sold and shipped it off to Britain.

  Feeding herbivores with meat, infected meat too, is not part of nature’s planned food chain. Certainly, human remains should not be feeding the food that feeds fellow homo sapiens. Could the zombie outbreak have been started as some sort of side-effect from mankind’s meddling into the natural order of things? Quite possibly.

  The outbreak of the living dead could even have been started as a manmade virus. Mankind had been interfering with stem cells and genetically modifying living creatures, without a true understanding of the implications, could a team of scientists somewhere have unwittingly unleashed Armageddon? Quite possibly.

  Another plausible theory suggests that the rise of the dead may have been a biological weapon. With so much hate in the world as it was then, could a government or terrorist organisation have developed a new weapon aimed at wreaking havoc on the world? It wasn’t entirely unfeasible that the tensions between the little maniacs of the once great United States and North Korea prompted Trump or Kim Jong-un to find a weapon a little more inconspicuous than a colossal nuclear bomb. Again, quite possible.

  Mankind has a habit of going into things with both feet. Just look at the first nuclear weapons. In 1945 when the first tests took place, some scientists believed the powerful explosions could result in a chain reaction that would destroy the earth. The superpowers took no notice and considered the risk worth taking, so the bombs were set off anyway. No chain-reaction followed. Whatever the cause of the current predicament, manmade or act of God; there has been a chain-reaction, a reaction so big that it twisted the fabrics of Mother Earth in a blink of an eye.

  These were just some of the thoughts that went through Jack’s mind in the early days of the outbreak. Whatever the cause, which was of little importance now, the effect was terrifying. Jack knew that outside of his door, mindlessly prowling the streets, were the monsters of nightmares. These monsters were the dead, the living dead. They were people who had been infected, by a bite or through contamination of the bloodstream. Once contracted, the mystery illness, disease, infection; whatever it was, was lethal. The length of time before the living passed and then rose again in their new state of existence varied from what Jack could tell. As a general rule of thumb, the more serious the injury, for example a bite to the neck, the quicker the transformation. It wasn’t an exact science and Jack certainly wasn’t a scientist.

  The dead were driven by a thirst for blood. Someone who was recently turned would not necessarily be a grotesque flesh dripping beast. They could look quite normal if their wound was small or discreet. Jack was sure that many people will have perished having sought refuge among their peers, only to find that they were no longer people, they were the infected with emotionless and hungry eyes. The eyes were always the tell-tale sign, no soul, no window. One other fact gave the dead away, and that was their ruthless determination to turn the living into cuisine.

  The dead didn’t have superpowers, they were effectively as strong as they were when they were alive. They were not as coordinated as the living, something in the infection crossed wires in the brain, but they could move at slow staggering pace. There was no running or jumping, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous to face. The fact that they felt no pain or fear, had no conscience, could be injured without effect, and most of all, their determination to eat, made the dead a very formidable opponent. They wait, they march, they push through all obstacles, inevitably, they achieve their desire.

  Jack was quick to understand the strength of the dead and he was certain that this was the main reason that he kept on living. If it could be called living.

  Chapter 3 – The Beginning II

  The beginning for Jack was just beyond the critical breaking point of civilisation. Jack had recently learnt of Earth Overshoot Day: the day that humanity used all the resources that Earth could naturally produce in 12 months, which he was disturbed to find out, fell in August: a four-month shortfall, meaning that sooner o
r later, Earth, or humanity at least, was screwed. Jack became aware of the outbreak of the infected way past Zombie Overshoot Day: the point where the living could no longer control the dead.

  Jack lived in Cheshire, in the North West of England, about 20 miles from Manchester. It was quite populated for the countryside with just over 2,500 people living within a three-mile radius. He lived on a quiet street in a terraced house.

  He had been working from home for most of the week, it was 2017 and spring. He was taking a break from the office so he could get some peace and quiet to enable him to write the content for a new website he was due to launch at the end of the month. Which all seems quite laughably trivial now.

  Being a marketing man, Jack should have had Twitter open, ready to interact with his company’s audience. Jack, however, detested social media so liked to keep away from what he thought were the irrelevant opinions of irrelevant people. If he’d been a little more social himself, he’d have had a lot better understanding of the situation that was taking place all over the world.

  The front of Jack’s house, number 12, was facing the street, the rear of the house looked out onto back-to-back gardens meaning the building was only accessible via the front; which was once a burden, having to traipse things through the house into his back garden, but now turned out to be a beneficial security feature.

  It was upstairs at the back of the house where Jack had his cramped office, which in reality was just the spare bedroom with a desk. He’d been in there for about four days from eight until six trying to finish off the content for his employer’s website. On an evening he’d cook something to eat and then either play on his X-Box or maybe, ironically, watch a couple of episodes of the Walking dead.

  It was a Thursday when Jack realised something was wrong and that life wasn’t going to be quite the same. He’d finally run out of milk and wanted a cup of tea. He thought it was probably best to get some fresh air too. The shop was a two-minute walk away, so he slipped on his New Balance and popped out of the door. The street was quiet, it was about 10:00am and all seemed normal. He could hear the distant drilling and hammering of builders doing something to a house, but paid no attention. He saw a couple of cars speed past at the top of the road, making him a little angry as they were going well above the 30mph speed limit with no regards for the kids that played around the streets; he chuckled to himself as he realised he sounded old.

  The way to the shop involved turning left out of the front door, walking to the end of the road, turning right onto a main street, and then going past a hairdressers, pharmacy, and takeaway. There was also a short cut. A narrow alleyway that went behind the row of businesses and directly to the shop. This is the way that Jack walked. Jack entered the shop and wondered around the aisles. It was empty. He got the milk and then browsed the array of sugary treats and chocolate before showing some restraint; he felt like his stomach was growing a little round. He stood at the counter waiting to be served, assuming that the staff were in the back somewhere or having a crafty cigarette. He waited, waited, waited, and became a little impatient. Some coughing. Nothing. He counted his change, could he leave some money, nope, not enough, he’d have to pay with a note. He wasn’t going to spend most of his day doing a job he didn’t like to just give his money away. He could steal the milk, but he remembered the saying, ‘don’t shit on your own doorstep’, plus they had CCTV. He decided to say ‘hello’. A little louder this time. And then a little louder still. Finally, he heard a noise at the back of the shop. It was a banging, not that loud, but on closer inspection it was persistent. He edged past the counter to the last aisle that ran perpendicular to the tills. He knew that the sound was coming from the storeroom or whatever was behind the door next to the beer fridge.

  He crept closer, he wasn’t really sure why he was creeping, maybe not to scare who was in there. He decided to go to the door and say hello so he could just get out of the oddly quiet shop. It occurred to him that he’d been in there for about five minutes and nobody had come in. It was all a bit odd and Jack was feeling a little uneasy. He got himself out of his daze and picked up his pace to go to the door where the banging was emanating from. As he approached the door he noticed a few specks of red liquid on the floor where the door was slightly ajar. It was a shop, this was the storeroom, items get smashed. Basic logical thinking. No need to worry over spilt ketchup. He pushed the door slightly, it creaked open slowly and the banging from inside began to get more frantic which startled Jack. He regained his composure and began to say, ‘he…’

  From behind him, he heard the automatic door open and then rushed footsteps. Then what sounded like cans being knocked over and groceries being thrown around. It was a commotion and Jack was now beginning to wonder what the hell was going on. He backed away from the door, where the banging still persisted, and thought he’d just go back home, forget the milk and have a glass of water. He had no idea who was rummaging around the shop only two aisles away and he didn’t really want to find out either. Whoever it was, sounded rushed, unpleasant, and not someone he wanted to interact with.

  Jack crept away, past the counter and tried to sneak past the remaining two aisles. He tip-toed past the half price Coke display near the door and slipped towards the exit. The door sensor registered Jack as he slowly approached, the door noisily slid open. He was about to leave when from behind him he heard, “What the fuck is going on?”.

  It wasn’t the swearing that made Jack stop, it was the urgency and fear in the voice. Jack turned and saw a man in his 40s with packs of nappies, baby milk and bottled water piled high in his shopping basket. Not wanting to engage with the man who was clearly distressed, Jack responded in an attempted light-hearted tone, “No idea mate.”.

  The man continued, barely waiting for Jack’s response, “What’s going on? People are fucking eating people. It’s out there, I just drove past it two minutes up the road. Manchester is rioting and the news says it’s everywhere.”

  Jack was now freaking out. People eating people? Did he just say that? Jack was now concerned, was this man dangerous, was he in need of help? Jack decided the second option sounded more feasible. With slight hesitation, Jack asked, “What do you mean? Do you need some help?”

  “Help? What help can you give me? Do you have a castle? Do you have a gun? Can you tell me what’s going on?” He said trailing off with more expletives.

  “Look, just start from the beginning, what the hell are you talking about?” Jack said, feeling his irritation starting to build as the man added more confusion to his trip to buy milk.

  The man stopped frantically rummaging through the shelves, looked directly into Jack’s eyes and had a desperate look of resignation. “People. Are. Eating. People. Have you not seen the news? If you walk out of this shop and walk down the road, you’ll see for yourself. Look, I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got my kid and woman in the car.”

  “Please.” Jack said. “Are you being serious. This can’t be right. Are you telling me that cannibals are wondering the streets of this village? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Just walk out of the fucking door if you don’t believe me. I haven’t got time for your shit.” The man shouted with such aggression that Jack took a step backwards.

  On that note, the man looked down, made an unconscious decision that he had everything he needed and made a hasty retreat out of the shop. As he approached the exit, Jack having taken a couple more steps backwards, next to the safety of the Coke offer, the man turned and said in a more reasonable tone, “Please son, take me seriously, get yourself to safety. I’m telling you the truth, I’ve seen it. Go. Go now.”

  And with that he ran out of the door. Jack, regained a modicum of composure and slowly left the shop, noting that the incessant banging from the storeroom was still a recurring background noise. As he walked out into the bright sunshine, he heard a muffled scream.

  Looking over in the scream’s direction he could see a car with a man beating on the window. He s
aw the frantic man from the shop drop his stolen items and begin to sprint to the car. It dawned on Jack that the screams were coming from inside a car, not one scream: two screams. A woman and a baby.

  Jack not being one for confrontation felt the adrenaline kick in straight away. It was never a help for Jack, the adrenaline would make him shake and as a result he’d always involuntarily choose flight over fight. This was probably why he’d never experienced a beating of any sort or struck anyone with anger. Still, he managed to overcome his desire to escape and wandered closer as the man from the shop approached the stranger banging with unnatural coordination on the car window.

  To Jack’s astonishment, the man from the shop charged the attacker of the car with a fierce shoulder barge knocking the assailant flying so that he stumbled and fell heavily over a curb. Jack got closer and could now see blood on the felled man. He wasn’t finished, he was attempting to stand again, like Bambi on ice, ungraciously to his feet.

  The man from the shop rushed hurriedly to his car opening the door and caught Jack watching him from the corner of his eye. Leaning on the open door with one foot in the car, the man shouted, “There’s your proof son. Take a closer look. This is what I’m talking about, this is what you need to know. Look. Loo-”

  A low unnatural moan murmured from behind the car, the person that was knocked to floor was lurching towards the man from the shop. Seeing Jack and the frenzy of overcoming his wife and baby’s attacker had made him over confident, his bravado at wanting to prove to Jack that he was in control had led him to turn his back on the man he’d knocked down.

  From inside the car, another scream, and a shout, “Mick, it’s right behind you…Miiiicccc-”

  Mick turned in an instant as the attacker lunged, arms outstretched, mouth wide open, saliva glistening in the sunshine, reaching over the open car door. Mick was pressed up against the car as the attacker lurched closer, mouth biting as Mick held the attacker off with one hand pushing the car door and the other pushing the head away as teeth chattered.