by Oliver Smith
With a grunt and more shooting pains in his chest, Richie managed to get a finger to the knife and drag it to him. Picking the knife up with both hands he cut through the rope around his ankles. Placing the knife between his battered old Reebok trainers, he sat up and began to run the blade of the knife across the rope around his wrists. After a short while the rope gave way and with a rub of his wrists, Richie slowly rose to his feet. It had started to rain.
From inside the car, Naz stirred. Richie picked up his knife and took shelter in the car again. He looked over to Naz who was now taking stock of his situation. “Fucking hell Richie, I think I might have brain damage.”
“My head hurts.” Richie responded.
“You had brain damage already so you should be fine.” Naz snapped with his usual contempt aimed at Richie.
Richie fumed inside and picked his knife up, looking at the blade. Naz gulped regretting his words and said, “Just banter Richie.”
Lifting the knife, Richie smiled and turned his gaze to Naz. Bringing the knife down swiftly, he cut away the ropes around Naz’s wrists and then instructed him to lift his legs so he could cut the ropes around his ankles.
Without a thank you, Naz got out of the car into the rain, walked around it and looked down at the body of Dale, “Have you found his gun?”
Richie shook his head. Naz continued, “I’m in charge now. We need to find the fuckers who ran away. Cunts. Come on brain dead, let’s go.” Naz couldn’t help his vehemence towards Richie, it was habit.
Richie got out of the car once again and walking close behind Naz, he pulled Naz’s arm and turned him round with some resistance.
Naz scorned, “Get the fuck off me Richie, no. Richie, no-”
Grabbing Naz by the throat and squeezing it, Richie pulled the knife back and forced it into Naz’s chest and through his heart. Pain and shock showed on Naz’s face as his eyes narrowed staring into the dark eyes of Richie, the last thing he’d ever see. Richie watched with interest as the life drifted from Naz’s body, he fell limp, but was still held by Richie’s powerful grip.
Dropping the body, Richie muttered to himself, “That’s done. Good.” He walked past the roadblock and followed in the direction he’d heard the car heading off in. He was every bit the blood thirsty monster as the dead.
-
The raindrops were big and full. They were cold too. Blood stained trails of water flowed onto the road from Jack’s face. The refreshing precipitation was his saviour, waking him in time to see the feet of a shuffling dead person preparing to crouch and eat. His subconscious took control before he had a true understanding of what was happening, as the dead creature dropped its weight towards Jack’s face.
He rolled over barely escaping the grey hands with broken and ragged fingernails. He crawled himself to a move, using his feet and hands to scramble further away until he managed to struggle to his feet. Breathing hard, the world span around him as he tried to steady himself and gain some understanding of the situation. He couldn’t think straight or remember exactly what happened. Lucy. Where was Lucy?
The dead thing, slow to react to Jack’s movements, landed teeth first, breaking its top left incisor on the road as it tried to fall upon Jack. It was slowly raising itself once again, three others were close, blocking the way back home. Jack had no weapon and no choice, he began to run, giving in to the adrenaline which was helping to ease his aching head.
Running through the roadblock, Jack saw the body of two gang members and his memory came flooding back to him. Bulldog had hoodwinked Jack and gone to get Lucy. Holy shit, where are they? They could be anywhere. Seeing Dale’s body, Jack remembered about the gun, when Dale had been shot the gun had been thrown into the hedge at the side of the road, somehow he remembered seeing the gun fly through the air as if in slow motion as he had been mentally preparing to fight or die. With 10 metres now between the dead and him, Jack made a beeline for the approximate location of the gun. He saw it straight away, the luscious green of England’s spring contrasted the gun metal, living against death. He picked it up and ran until the dead were no longer visible.
Jack needed a plan. He saw a large house to his right that was protected from the outside world by a high wall and gate, without hesitation or much thought he started to climb over the gate. He managed to grip the flat tops of the stone pillars that supported the gates and pulled himself up. From his elevated height on top of the pillars, Jack could see the dead still wondering in his direction. He threw the gun in a bush below and began to lower himself down. He did so painfully, scratching his chest against the pillar as he ungraciously lowered himself. Landing with a stutter, he looked at the house in-front of him, it was a giant house, it looked newly built with a mixture of timber and brick. He was secure in the front garden, gated off from the road, so he had a bit of time to figure out how to get into the mammoth house.
It occurred to Jack that somebody might be hiding away in here. It was a fortress really. He’d do the courteous thing, he’d use old-world rules and knock on the front door, not before holstering the gun in his belt under his clothes. He didn’t want to look like a bandit, he was also worried about the gun, he’d never seen a gun, never mind hold one. He didn’t know where the safety was or how to reload it, he was a novice and he didn’t want to shoot himself in the backside accidently.
Ringing the doorbell, Jack sighed, it didn’t ring as there hadn’t been power for a couple of days. He knocked on the door loudly and waited. Nothing. He knocked again and went to look through the windows to see if there was any movement. He saw his own reflection in the window and gasped in horror, his jaw was swollen and his face was a mixture of mud and blood, he looked up into the pouring rain and began to scrub frantically with his hands, desperate to remove the other man’s blood from his face. The horror made him more resolute to find a way into the house, get out of the rain and make a plan.
Jack knew that Mick must live close by, although with nothing other than that to go on, it could take months to track his house down. He had to believe that Lucy was well, but he needed a better plan then randomly searching around. His immediate plan was to get in the house in front of him and hope and pray for some inspiration.
Searching the rear of the house, there were no open windows or doors, Jack would have to smash his way in. The doors looked too sturdy to force so he opted to smash one of the large glass panels of the bi-fold doors that spanned the back of the house. He found an intricately carved stone plant pot that weighed a lot, with a struggle he lifted it and began swinging it back and forth to build momentum. Suddenly Jack heard an engine. The momentum of the stone pot was too much, he let go and it shattered the glass and carried its journey into the open plan kitchen and dining area.
Jack turned around and headed for the front garden again, running as the engine sounded louder, as if driving down the road outside. He jumped onto a low wall that connected with the stone pillar holding the large wooden gates, and scrambled up the pillar, holding himself up looking out onto the road. It was Mick’s blue pick-up truck. He’d come back. Jack watched.
The truck slowly moved past the house Jack was hiding in and passed the four dead that were still milling around. Jack watched as Mick turned the car around and parked facing the way he’d come, a few feet away from the dead. Does he know I’m here? Mick jumped out of the car wielding a fire axe with his rifle holstered over his shoulder. He was quick on his feet for his age, Mick attacked the four dead with speed and relish. The first he sprinted on and powerfully put the axe vertically through the creature’s skull. With a couple of severed arms and cracked skulls, Mick’s fighting was impressive. As a coup de grâce, he performed a pirouette whilst swinging the axe and decapitated the last of the dead. The head flew a few feet and landed with an absurd hollow clonk on the road. Mick raised his arms in the air, still holding the axe, and let out a battle cry, “Bulldog is Mick the Warrior!”
Reality seemed to hit Mick as he lowered his arms and surveyed the
surroundings, looking a little embarrassed at his outburst. Jack ducked as Mick peered over at the house. Peeking over the gate pillar again, Jack saw Mick walking over to the roadblock. He rummaged around the bodies and the rest of the scene. From Jack’s distance he couldn’t make out any details, but could see that he was looking for something. It occurred to Jack, whilst watching on, that Mick didn’t go and check on his welfare, Jack had been knocked out just down the road and Mick had no intention of seeing whether Jack lived or died. Jack was angered by how little consideration or respect this man had for his life; he was a mere nuisance to Mick.
Mick eventually finished searching the site and did go to check on where he’d left Jack. The rain had stained the road red, the blood caking Jack’s face when he had regained consciousness. The blood stain had satisfied Mick, he assumed Jack had been bitten and was now one less worry in his mission to keep his women alive. He went back to the roadblock and made one last search before heading off into the trees in the direction the three gang members had escaped. He disappeared from Jack’s view.
The inspiration came to Jack in a flash. He was grateful for his slice of luck, or Mick’s stupidity in coming back to the scene of the crime. In a perfect world, Jack would sneak into the back of the pickup and hide under some tarpaulin, but the back of the pickup was uncovered and empty. No hiding place. Jack decided he’d have to follow Mick and find out where he lived so he could rescue Lucy.
He went around the back of the house and stepped inside through the broken window. He didn’t really know what to do next or what he was looking for. If he followed Mick in a car, he’d be spotted, after all there wasn’t much traffic these days, but he needed to follow him somehow without being seen.
Rummaging through the kitchen drawers he took a large knife. He heard a noise from inside the house, he looked up and stood in the kitchen door was a little girl, staring at Jack. No more than seven years old, the girl was grubby, she held a teddy close to her as she asked, “Who are you?”
Jack was taken aback; he hadn’t really taken the time to notice the mess around him in the kitchen, he put the knife he was holding back in the draw and said, “My name’s Jack, sorry about your window. Where are your mummy and daddy?”
“Daddy left to get mummy and hasn’t been back. Do you know my daddy?” The girl asked.
He knew that daddy or mummy wouldn’t be coming back and that this girl was alone, he lied, “Yeah, I’m a friend of your daddy, what’s your name?”
“My name is Chloe, I’m seven.” She then started to cry.
Jack walked over and picked her up and cuddled her. She smelt terrible; she’d been living in her own filth for some time. This was a problem for Jack, he couldn’t look after himself, how could this girl look after herself? He wondered whether she was his problem or if it really was a dog eat dog world, but he quickly put that thought to one side.
The girl’s sobs died out, so he put her down. He asked, “Does daddy have a bike I could borrow. I need to go out, but I’ll come back and check on you later today.”
The girl pointed to a shed in the garden and asked, “Did they get in past the gate?”
It hadn’t occurred to Jack that this girl might be aware of the zombie apocalypse, he responded, “No, no, there aren’t any out there now. You’re safe here. Stay here and I’ll come back for you.”
“You promise?” She asked peeking through the teddy she held covering her face.
“I promise.” Jack didn’t know if he was lying or not.
With promises made, Jack ran to the shed and found a mountain bike. He wheeled it round to the front of the house and thought about how to get the bike over the gate. He tried the gate handle and surprisingly it opened lightly. He cursed his own idiocy for not trying the gate in the first place and pulled the gate shut behind him. Peeking out of the drive, Jack looked left, he saw Mick’s pickup and then looked past it, Mick wasn’t coming back yet. Getting on the bike, Jack peddled hard and quickly came to a junction in the road, the road turned right to where Jack had agreed to meet Lucy. He didn’t come across any of the dead, but couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. A car was conveniently parked on the corner of the junction that he could hide behind with the bike. Here he waited to see which way Mick went.
After 10 minutes hiding, Jack heard gun fire. Three sharp bangs at long intervals. They weren’t that close, but sounded like they came from the direction where Mick had vanished into the trees. More time passed and Jack heard the now familiar engine. It was Mick.
The car turned right down the road; Jack had made the right call waiting at the junction. He waited for the car to pass and move into the distance before revealing himself and mounting the bike. Mick was travelling slowly, no more than 30 mph, but Jack had to peddle hard to keep the pickup in sight. Every corner that he turned he caught a glimpse of the pickup as it vanished around another corner. With thighs burning, Jack continued, he evaded a dead woman in leisurewear, her headphones still over her head, and continued. He got to the entrance to Ancoats Lane, where he was supposed to have met up with Lucy, but he’d lost sight of the pickup. He made a quick decision to head down Ancoats Lane, he was left-handed so quite often chose left when given a random choice.
Jack’s luck was in again. After peddling around a chicane, he saw the pickup in the distance, Mick must have been half a mile or more in front, but the narrow lane was long and flat, so Jack could see the top of the pickup over the hedges. Standing on the pedals and pushing his body to the limit, Jack couldn’t get enough speed to close the gap, but saw the brake lights flash on and thanked Allah, Buddha, Jesus and all other deities he could think of, the truck swung left into a lane and drove into a dip and vanished from sight. Bingo! Jack thought, he was onto something, he cycled to the small lane and proceeded down there with caution.
A cottage came into view and Jack stopped, jumped off the bike and threw it into the open field next to the track, the young crops were not tall enough to mask its presence. Creeping through trees and bushes, Jack stealthily made his way closer to the cottage to get a better look. He could see Mick who was unloading some large bags from the back of his pickup. Mick’s mission into the woods must have borne fruit. Jack watched as Mick unlocked the door to the cottage and stepped inside, he left the door open and Jack could make out Lucy sat in the front room unhurt. He was beyond relieved, but he didn’t really know what to do next. Drawing the gun from his belt, he looked at it, he was going through the familiar countdown, he was going to rush the house.
The front door shut, and Jack heard the rattle of a key as Mick locked the door behind him. Surveying the rest of the house, Jack could see bars covering the bottom windows. He couldn’t storm the house now; one failed attempt and Mick would be aware of his presence and Jack already knew that Mick had a keen aim with his rifle. His hopes of a reunion with Lucy were dashed for now. Wrestling with his emotions, Jack had to leave the cottage and come back early in the morning, he needed Mick to open the door before he made his move. His moral conscience reminded him of Chloe, he had promised her that he’d return. He made mental pleads with any and all of the Gods to keep Lucy safe and out of Mick’s clutches, not feeling happy with his decision to leave the woman who he’d grown so close to in the hands of a deranged lunatic.
Jack cycled back to Chloe with less gusto. He was tired, and he was down. The end of the world was less than a week old, but anarchy spread amongst the survivors like wildfire and Jack didn’t like what he’d experienced.
He was going to help Chloe, for her, but more for himself. He needed her innocence to remind him that the world had some good left in it.
Chapter 22 - The Next Day
Chloe had been waiting in the kitchen for Jack to return. The temperature had dropped with the rain and it was cold in the room. The little girl wore a princess outfit, some Disney character that Jack didn’t recognise, and shivered in the fading light. She was a very trusting child, and this worried Jack, he loved her innocence,
but he was sure that this trait could get you killed out there in the wilderness.
That night he took care of the little girl. There were lots of bottles of water in the grand pantry and the gas hobs still worked so Jack made some pasta with tinned tomatoes, onions, and garlic. It wasn’t the most ingenious of dishes, but Chloe gulped it down with relish. Jack looked on in astonishment at the amount of food the girl ate, it seemed to bend all logic. Inspecting the house, the bathroom was a mess, the natural order of bodily movements was stinking the top floor out from the toilet. Jack had seen some buckets outside that had filled with rainwater. He carefully poured one of the buckets down the toilet and cleared the mess. With the remaining water he filled up the sink, found some soap and called down to Chloe who was playing in the lounge.
She came bounding up the stairs and Jack asked her to get a spare change of clothes and for her to wash herself in the water he poured. Chloe didn’t look happy at this and said, “It’s cold.”
“Look, you don’t smell too great and you need to get those grubby clothes off. I’m going to bring a special lady to meet you tomorrow and want to make sure you look your best. Now wash and get changed and I’ll read you a story” He said, not really knowing how to communicate with children anymore, he feared he was too direct? It worked, and she began to undress. Feeling awkward, Jack went downstairs and lit the fire, that was already made, using matches he found on the mantelpiece.
Chloe joined Jack in the living room, he had arranged cushions from the sofas into two makeshift beds and brought two duvets downstairs. They were bedding down in the sitting room. The little girl looked at the surroundings and her face showed delight, she said, “It’s like a slumber party.” She was carrying a copy of Roald Dahl’s George’s Marvellous Medicine, one of Jack’s favourite books as a child.
