by Oliver Smith
Today was a day for action not procrastination. Jack had to continue moving forward to keep his mind from becoming consumed with the atrocities taking place across the globe. He decided to get the trip to the shop over with quickly. He wanted to be swift, so he rummaged around in the spare room trying to find a large, traveller style, rucksack. He would stuff everything he needed into it and still be speedy on his feet if it came to that. He also put on two pairs of jeans and multiple shirts as a shoddy form of body armour. The final prep for his shopping spree was to choose a weapon. This was an alien concept to Jack, he’d never been in a proper fight, never been beaten up and had never seriously considered violence an option. He was human, he did think about things he’d like to do to people, but these were just fantasies. Would he be able to attack and kill one of these creatures? Time would tell.
Jack chose his weapon, a hammer. It still had a B&Q label attached to it, having never been called upon to fulfil its purpose. Holding the hammer in his hand, feeling its weight, Jack smiled to himself and said aloud, “I christen thee, Colin.”
Amused with himself, Jack went to the front door with his many layers of clothes, large backpack, and newly named Colin the hammer in hand. He paused, took a deep breath, unlocked the door and stepped outside into the spring sunshine.
With his back to the door, Jack stood and listened. All was quiet, the sun was warm, the birds were singing, and he was burning hot in his multi-layered outfit. All seemed normal. There was still an element of doubt about the whole situation. He surveyed the neighbouring houses and couldn’t see any signs of life. The road itself had less parked cars than normal. Peering left and then right, there was nobody around. He could see one of the houses further down the road had its windows boarded shut with odds and ends of wood and what looked like an internal door over the downstairs windows. It looked as though someone else had decided to stay home.
Mentally prepared, Jack thought to himself, let’s make this quick, in and out, nice and tidy then back home to relative safety. He walked to the end of his drive, turned left and began the short journey to the shop. The eerie silence made Jack feel uneasy. Birds sang, but there was no hustle and bustle of human life. He thought he saw a few curtains twitch as he made his way past the dozen or so houses. He went the long way around, past the promenade of shops, avoiding the long narrow and enclosed alley shortcut, and came to the shop without encountering anyone or anything. So far so good.
Upon entering the shop, Jack soon realised that much had already been taken. Looted by the looks of the shop. A sense of moral outrage passed through Jack’s mind until he realised that he was doing exactly the same. Jack swung his backpack round and began to plunder. He picked tinned fruit, tuna, soup, and anything that looked to have nutritional value. He wasn’t above temptation and added a few bars of Dairy Milk for good measure. He was surprised that most of what he needed was there, the beer and wine section had been demolished however. He couldn’t blame people for wanting to get pissed to take away the pain of extinction.
Ambling around the shop, a noise burst through Jack’s subconscious to the forefront of his mind. It was that banging. Still banging. Repeatedly banging. Curiosity nagged at him; Jack needed to find out what it was. Moving once again to the stockroom door, Jack continued his swift decision making and decided to be brave and investigate further. It was unlike him to be so unfazed by what might be lurking in the back recesses of the shop.
Going further, he pushed the door open slowly, the irritating creak increased the tension that gripped his body. Why had nobody WD40’d this door? It was dark, but soon his eyes adjusted to the food in boxes on racked shelves, forever waiting to be consumed. Jack ogled at all the food which eased his nervousness. The ease was short lived however, the creak of the door intensified the banging coming from the dark recesses of the room. His curiosity had got him this far, he wasn’t going to stop now. Sense grabbed him as darkness prevented him from seeing what was at the back of the room, he searched for the light switch.
Finally, after some fumbling, much like his early school romances, he managed to find the switch and illuminated the room. His eyes focused on the source of the noise. Someone had hastily pushed the shelving racks together to form a cage and within that cage stood a girl that Jack recognised as one of the shop workers. She was not the girl of his memory. She looked at him, mouth open, hissing a husky noise, pushing her arms through the gaps in the shelving trying desperately to find a way to Jack. Fear took hold; his urge was to turn on the spot and run, but he was transfixed and stuck to the spot, unable to move, like a nightmare.
He remembered this girl, her name was Suzie, he recalled her name tag when he’d frequented the shop on countless occasions. She was a sweet girl, seemed a little dopey, but always had a smile and was very polite. She was very pretty, in her late teens or early 20s and was, in Jack’s mind anyway, working in the shop part time whilst she studied for whatever direction her life was going to take her. This was now all past tense. The young and fresh complexion, the youthful optimism and her future had been taken away from her.
From three feet away, Jack could see that she was very dead. She smelt terrible, a mixture of rotten flesh and faeces. Her skin was grey, dark veins etched across her face and arms and her hair was lank. Her eyes were soulless, the whites were bloodshot red, and the pupils were wide like she’d dropped a tonne of acid. Jack thought maybe he was hallucinating. He knew he wasn’t though. Being up close to the living dead was everything that Jack needed to confirm the new world order.
This endemic was in his village, it wasn’t just miles away in Manchester, London, Leeds and Edinburgh; it was here and had been here for a couple of days at least. He knew this of course having encountered Bulldog, but still, this girl had been infected, most likely, in the village.
On closer inspection, Jack realised that Suzie had been the one to barricade herself in, he could see her phone laying uselessly on the floor beside her and could see how she’d taken provisions from the shelves in a vain attempt to keep her strength up as the infection gained pace and ate away at her until she was dead. Reborn again.
Jack could not take his eyes off dead Suzie, sadness filled him as he thought of the life this sweet girl had taken away from her. The panic that must have befallen her as her lifeless attacker sunk their teeth into her and forced her to flee and build a fortress amongst the goods of yesterday to waste away into darkness. Did she have parents looking for her or sat waiting around at home for their girl to return safe and unharmed? He decided not to leave her like this, he needed to end her rebirth and let her rest in peace. He didn’t believe in God, but he knew that if he was ever like this, he’d want someone to put him down permanently. He swallowed hard and took the hammer he had holstered in his belt out. Colin. It seemed so stupid to make light of this world. He chastised himself mentally. He edged closer to Suzie and the nearer he got the more agitated she became. She’d been trying to push at the corners of the barricade which held firm, but as Jack moved forward, he also changed the angle that separated him from the dead girl, which enabled her to push the racking apart. She was getting free.
Fear intensified and Jack lifted the hammer above his head. He knew he must strike hard and quick and remembered Lucy’s message about hitting the dead in the head. Dead in the head, that rhymes, Jack again had to chastise himself, why was his mind playing stupid games in a time of crisis. He was waiting for the racking to separate enough so he could attack dead Suzie with speed and power and not hit the racking. He counted down, three, two…
Suddenly the lights turned off. Darkness. Jack let out a petrified scream. He was brought to his senses by the sound of the racking scraping on the concrete floor, as dead Suzie moved it further apart. He couldn’t do it; he turned and ran towards the light of the open door. He stopped to pick up his backpack, lifting it to his shoulder, as he sped from the shop, his heart racing. He ran in blind panic to safety. Halfway down the alley he realised with increasing t
error that he’d run into a narrow ginnel with no escape. An idiotic mistake. His fear had removed any reasoned decision-making powers or intelligent choices.
He picked up pace, sweating in his thick layers, holding the heavy bag in the sunlight. He was halfway down the alley when from an opening, he was seized and then knocked sideways as a great weight fell into him. Top heavy with the big rucksack, Jack stumbled backwards and crashed through an age rotten fence panel that lined the alley, stench ridden hands were clumsily tearing at Jack’s layers of clothes, the world rolled around him as he fell.
Chapter 8 – Lucy
Lucy had seen the world deteriorate before her eyes. Three days ago, she had witnessed the first girl being attacked; now the situation looked bleak; the streets below her apartment window were awash with people who were infected; the dead.
She had followed the news, read Twitter, and most importantly seen the developments first-hand. She’d made the decision to document the changing world outside, so she could help others, who weren't trapped in a population so dense, and would have hope of survival.
Lucy had sensed that rescue was not that far away when the army arrived at the end of the road that her apartment looked out on. They had fought valiantly against huge numbers of the dead. For long periods, the army looked to be containing the hordes of flesh hungry creatures, fighting them back with wave after wave of bullets. She now knew that the louder the fight, the longer it lasted and the more futile it became. As ammunition diminished and the numbers of the dead increased, with backup seemingly deserted, the army did eventually succumb and the small number that were lucky enough to survive, made a hasty retreat.
Since then the dead ruled the streets. Constant screams, pleads for mercy, and the sound of desperate voices kept Lucy awake at night. She had had little sleep over the previous three nights and her morale had sunk to a new low. She’d contemplated taking her own life, but she knew suicide too well and just couldn’t do it to herself. The water in her apartment had dried up, but she’d filled up some pans and was rationing herself. Food was in short supply too, but she knew she could try and loot some of her neighbour’s empty apartments.
Lucy was 42 and originally from London. She’d moved to Manchester just a couple of months ago. She was a relative loner due to the fact that she didn’t know many people, but she was making friends through her work and was beginning to build a life for herself. She’d made the move because of tragedy.
Lucy had met her soulmate, George, a few years earlier and they were madly in love. It was the sort of love that most couples don’t have. They’d spend practically every waking moment together, listening to music and talking through the night. It’s not often that a relationship that is years old can still evoke such communication on a regular basis. A year ago, George took his own life. There was no note, no explanation, nothing. This event shook Lucy’s world. She couldn’t fathom the senseless act that made George feel like there was no escape other than to take his life. George had been a hugely popular person, but Lucy knew that he had suffered from self-esteem issues during his teenage years, but she assumed that he had grown out of it. Just teenage angst. She was wrong, the deep-set psychological problems that affected George were buried and never surfaced until it was too late; Lucy found him naked in the bath with both wrists slit.
She couldn’t figure it out, she thought of the conversations they’d last had and nothing could explain why George had commit suicide. From that day, she had felt hollow. But life was beginning to blossom again for Lucy, she’d made the move to start again and rebuild, restart and honour George by living her life. She was a fighter and wasn’t going to give up.
That was until three days ago when the uprising started happening on her doorstep. Lucy had witnessed what was unfolding firsthand. From a single woman being attacked to the army fighting in vain, the uprising of the dead had been swift. Her initial response upon seeing the macabre scenes was to help others, but she was gripped by fear, seeing how men much larger and stronger than her had been overpowered by the grasping reaches of the hordes. Her part of videoing and distributing the action from her window was partially to help others, but if she was honest with herself, it was more to be doing something, anything other than waiting to die.
However, for the past few hours, Lucy had sat in silence, contemplating her last few days on earth. She had eventually resigned herself to waiting out the disaster in her flat until thirst took her away. She didn’t see an alternative, but reasoned it was a more dignified way to go when compared to the prospect of being ripped limb from limb out on the streets.
The hours passed as Lucy contemplated her life, her friends, George, and the way things were supposed to be. Not this, not the end of the world, not the end of George. Lucy was lost before, but now she was desolate. She gulped down some water, desperately thinking of nothing. Nothing was better than reality. A noise stirred her from her melancholy stillness. It was from outside.
She moved to her window ledge and watched as a group of hooded teenagers ran through the streets. The dead that had loomed motionless sprang to life, zeroing in on the teens as they sprinted down Portland Street outside Lucy’s flat. If the world was normal, Lucy would have been appalled at the site of these youths, running down the street, lawless and menacing. But that was the old world, Lucy watched in awe as the exuberant and fearless young men worked their way through the dead. They were organised, quick and deadly. In just a few minutes, scores of the creatures were permanently dead.
One of the youths looked up and saw Lucy, he was laughing. Laughing! He shouted something up at her, but she couldn’t hear him. He turned and continued in formation with his friends down Portland Street. Armed with, what looked like a machete, he was dropping the dead with ease. As were the others who had an assortment of blades and bats. These young men were having the time of their lives and making a mockery of the army and all those who had perished in the streets. They worked their way to the end of the street and got into a car and sped off as quickly as they’d arrived.
Lucy moved away from the window energised with what she’d just seen. There was hope. She realised that the army had failed as they’d made a stand with the objective of defeating the ever-growing numbers of dead. There was simply too many to do this. Stand still and die. Move and survive. She made the snap decision. I need to live. I need to honour George. I will survive.
She made a quick plan. She needed to get out of the city. The way she knew was south, so south was the direction of her plan. Lucy couldn’t walk out of the city, she had a bicycle, but didn’t fancy trying to weave in and out of countless hungry monsters. She also knew that when she tired, the dead would continue to pursue her. It was about six miles south to exit the city. She needed a car.
Fate or luck was on Lucy’s side. Her neighbour was some sort of financial man who rented the apartment as somewhere to stay when he visited from London. He was rich and Lucy knew that he had a Range Rover parked in the car park under the apartments. She also had a key to the apartment. In Lucy’s mind, her neighbour, Lucas, was a player. She knew full well that he had a wife and kids in London, but this didn’t stop him making unsubtle advances on her whenever he was in Manchester. She put up with it as he was handsome and she liked the attention, although she’d never have acted upon any temptation. One of Lucas’ reasons for visiting Lucy’s flat and flirting without shame, was to drop off a key in case the alarm ever went off when he was back at home.
The plan was set. Get the car, get out of the city, and then find an empty house to bed down and determine what the next move would be. For now, survival was a good enough plan for her.
Chapter 9 – Danny
Jack was on his back, hands clawing at him. He’d managed to get one arm across the creature’s throat forcing its head back. But the brute was over six foot and had a weight advantage. Jack was fighting for his life. The huge figure on top of him was wild, writhing with anticipation for fresh meat. It lurched forward making Jack
lose his hold, teeth launched for Jack’s neck, but Jack managed to wriggle sideways. The gnawing teeth connected with Jack’s shoulder, he could feel the clench of the jaw as the dead man sought to rip out a chunk of Jack and end his life, either now or through the coming hours with infection.
Jack let out a half scream, half shout, “help me, help me, help me.”
He pushed the man again, but it was no use, he wasn’t strong enough, he couldn’t free himself. He knew he was doomed, his shoulder hurt and he was close to losing what little resistance he had left. He didn’t want to be eaten alive. Fear and sadness filled the pit of his stomach. So much for all his planning.
Suddenly the powerful corpse stopped struggling and all was still. Jack wondered if this was a ploy to get him to give up, but was certain that the dead didn’t have the intellect to play dead or trick the living. Lucy had taught him that much from her videos.
The body slumped onto Jack heavily and was then forcibly moved as Jack looked up. Stood above him was his neighbour, Danny. Danny was speaking, but Jack didn’t hear, he was lost in the moment, the fear had paralysed him.
Danny repeated, “Were you bitten?” Urgency in his voice.
Jack looked towards the remains of his attacker and saw a kitchen knife protruding from the back of its head, he cleared his throat, realisation hitting him, “It got my shoulder, it got my shoulder. I’m dead, aren’t I?”
Danny reached down and pulled Jack to his feet, “Come on. Let’s go back to mine. We’ll talk about that. You need to sit down, and we need to see your bite. Come on, before more get here.”
They walked rapidly back to number 14, the house next to Jack’s. Danny had picked up Jack’s supplies and pushed Jack forwards as he stumbled with each step, his feet not catching up with his racing mind. He was dead, he knew it.
They got in the house and Danny locked and bolted the door behind them. He threw the supplies in the hall and told Jack to take his top off. Jack did as he was told. He needed a second command to take the second layer off. Then further prompts to take layers three, four and five off. Danny came over and looked at Jack’s wound. His face gave nothing away.
