Hamsikker: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Russ Watts

  Two gunshots rang out, swiftly followed by more, and Jonas looked about him. Cordite and blood filled his nostrils and he pushed another zombie away. Someone was shooting. He prayed they could tell the difference between those who were alive, and those who were dead. The axe was out of reach, and another zombie charged him. Jonas side-stepped the attack at the last second. Grabbing the zombie’s shoulders, he threw it as far away as he could. Its head collided with a concrete wall, and its body slumped to the ground as its skull cracked open. The room began to spin, and all he could hear was shouting and gunshots. The voices were loud, but he didn’t hear a word. The dead moaned and sighed, their soulless whispers fading in and out amongst the tortured screams of his friends. Something pulled at his leg, and he looked down to see the decayed corpse of a young man trying to pull him toward his mouth. He freed himself easily from its grip, and hefted a large boot into the zombie’s gaping jaws, cracking its head back against the cold, hard floor.

  As he reached down to retrieve his axe, he realised the attack had stopped. The sounds, the cries, the gunshots, the fighting and breathing and dying; they all ended as abruptly as they’d begun. Jonas left the axe where it was, still stuck in a dead man’s skull, when he saw Tyler with his back against the door. The young man was leaning forward, doubled over as if he was about to vomit. When Tyler looked up their eyes met. Jonas saw such a lack of hope and utter desperation in the young man’s innocent eyes that he wished he could trade places with him. Cliff stood in the middle of the room unloading a clip into some poor dead idiot’s skull, and Jonas knew then who had been doing all the shooting.

  “That’s it,” said Cliff as he fired one last time. “That’ll do, pig, that’ll do.”

  As the room fell silent, the three men looked at each other in horror. All about the room lay dead bodies. They had walked right into it. The garage was supposed to be safe, supposed to be somewhere they could take solace for a while, and rest. Instead, it had turned into a slaughter. Jonas silently thanked God the others had stayed outside waiting for the all clear. They must have heard the gunshots, yet they had stayed outside. It didn’t matter why, it just mattered that there was still someone alive. After all this, someone still had to be alive.

  There was a banging on the door at Tyler’s back, and he turned around. Jonas could see the gun trembling in the young man’s hand, and went over to him.

  “I locked it as soon as I saw them coming. They couldn’t have helped us; they would’ve just got in the way. I’m not sure what happened to Anna though. She ran in and... I didn’t think they…”

  Tyler fell to his knees and Jonas caught him, lowering him slowly to the bloody ground.

  “I’m sorry, I... I need a minute,” said Tyler. His eyes were wild, and Jonas could feel the man’s whole body shaking. The kid had probably never been through anything like that. Hell, none of them had, at least not for a good while. Jonas couldn’t speak for everyone, but it had been a long time since he had been forced to put one of the dead down. The banging on the door increased, and Jonas heard voices from the other side.

  “What the hell is going on?” shouted one. Was that Peter or Erik?

  “Let us in, let us in,” shouted another.

  “God damn it, let us in!” The second voice sounded like Pippa’s.

  Jonas could hear sobbing too, and put his hand on the door. The vibrations as it shook in its frame were reassuring, a reminder of gravity, of reality; it was something simple and yet his mind was close to breaking. The shaking door was pulling him back to Earth.

  “Hold up. We’re okay. Just hold on and stop shouting, or you’ll draw more of them.”

  The banging stopped. Jonas heard faint sobs from the other side. The adrenalin still coursing through his veins wanted to tell him to run, to get away from here, and keep running; just keep running and running and not look back. He put a hand over his mouth as if it would stop the nausea, but the slickness of the blood on his fingers only made him feel worse. A woman’s voice whispered to him through the closed door, becoming muffled as it tried to work its way through the oak.

  “Jonas? Are you okay? Jonas?”

  There was a lone gunshot from behind him in the room, and the hairs on his neck stood up. The woman’s voice was familiar, yet strange. His senses were highly attuned, yet his memory momentarily left him. What was going on? Who were these people? Why was he standing in a room full of dead people?

  “Jonas, please, I need to know you’re okay.” The woman’s voice was faint and broke up into sobs. “Who’s shooting? Please?”

  “Hold up,” Jonas said as he tried to recall whose voice it was. Dakota. The woman was Dakota. Random thoughts came to his mind as he pushed the images of the zombie attack to the back of his fizzing brain. She had long brown hair, laughed at bad sit-coms, hated ironing, played tennis on Thursday evenings, liked pizza, hated politicians, and yet, and yet... Something important forced its way to the front. She loved him. She loved him. Dakota loved him. God he loved his wife.

  “Dakota? Honey, I’m fine. We’ll be out in a minute.”

  His stomach churned, and he fought down the still rising urge to vomit. He turned to face Cliff. The man was holstering his gun and scanning the room casually, sizing it up as if deciding on what wallpaper to pick out.

  Jonas couldn’t wait any longer. The others wanted answers, and so did he. They had come here on the basis it was safe. Jonas had even said they should all get inside off the street immediately. It was only Erik who had suggested some of them wait, just in case. He always made the right decision. It was something Jonas was trying to do, but he wasn’t convinced he was achieving it yet. Today was a classic example, and now people were dead.

  Jonas approached Cliff, looking him up and down. The mechanic’s greasy overalls were covered in bloodstains, the dark grey cotton now a muddy brown.

  “You hurt?” Jonas asked him.

  Cliff wiped the sweat from his eyes, grinning. “They never laid a finger on me. Easy as pie, brother. Reckon I took at least a dozen down. How about you? I saw you take a few down. You are one mean motherfucker when you’re cornered, Hamsikker.” Cliff removed his cap and slapped it on his thigh. “Hoo-hah!”

  Jonas punched Cliff square in the jaw. The mechanic reeled backward, too shocked to react, and he rubbed his jaw. As he slid to a halt, Cliff’s feet found traction on the slain body of a zombie, and he braced himself. He raised his fists, and snarled at Jonas.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Cliff’s dark eyes were set on Jonas, and he was all too eager for a fight.

  “My problem?” Jonas was astounded that Cliff even had to ask. “Do you think this is a game? That was a fucking massacre. Look around you, Cliff. How many of us are left?”

  Jonas could see confusion in Cliff’s eyes. They shifted around the room lazily, taking in those who were left standing, and those who had fallen.

  “So what?” he shrugged. “It’s not my fault they haven’t learnt how to defend themselves by now.” Cliff softened his stance. He knew Jonas didn’t want to fight; he was just making a point. They had argued bitterly over the last few weeks, and today was just another fight.

  Jonas clenched his teeth together, and walked over to the body of a woman wearing slim jeans and a grey cardigan, now drenched in blood. He pointed at the body. “Anna Redburn. Been with us four months.” Jonas pointed out another body in the corner of the room. “James Bracken. Three months. The woman next to him, his wife, Gloria, cooked us supper last night. You may remember telling her the soup needed more salt?”

  Jonas bent down putting his arms around the neck of a smaller body. It was just a girl. He carefully lifted the child’s head so it was facing Cliff. Her wide lifeless eyes stared out, her pale cheeks splattered with blood and a ragged, gaping hole in her neck proof of how she had been killed. Jonas’s voice softened. “Mary Redburn. Six years old. Think she should’ve defended herself better? Huh, Cliff? I guess it’s her fault she’s dead.”

&
nbsp; The mechanic looked away. Jonas couldn’t tell if it was through embarrassment, or boredom.

  “How was I to know? I thought it was safe here. I thought…” Cliff trailed off and looked down at the gun in his hand. His thick sausage fingers were red and sore.

  “Sorry, what was that?” asked Jonas. “Was that an apology?” Jonas gently laid Mary down on the sticky floor of the garage. There was so much blood he could almost swim in it. It soaked into his shoes, and squelched every time he took a step.

  Cliff looked up, his jaw locked in a stiff expression of anger. “Fuck you, Hamsikker. You can’t make me feel guilty for this. Look there’s likely to be someone still upstairs. I’m sure I saw them moving. We need to move on quickly and…”

  “Move on?” scoffed Jonas. “Cliff, do you even hear how you sound? I very much doubt there is anyone alive up there given the state of things down here. Most likely, you just saw a zombie, and took us on a wild goose chase. This place is nothing but a death-trap.”

  “I told you, I thought it was safe. How was I to know?” Cliff visibly bristled.

  “How were you supposed to know?” Jonas couldn’t stand any more of Cliff’s defensive attitude. For months, Cliff had been irritating everyone, and his bad attitude was bringing the group down; now he had cost some of them their lives. “Maybe because you were the one who told us this was safe. Maybe because you were the one who scouted the garage out, and brought us in here. If it isn’t your fault, then whose is it? You’re a first class moron, Cliff, and I’m done with you. You need to leave us. Make your own way from here on in. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t bury any more of my friends. With you around, there won’t be many of us left soon.”

  Cliff raised his gun at Jonas. “You know what, Hamsikker? If I have to listen to one more of your sanctimonious bullshit speeches, I’m going to throw up. You’ve been on my case since day one. I came to you, remember? I gave your group everything I had: my guns, food, matches, everything. Do I ever hear a ‘thank you, Cliff,’ or ‘you’re welcome, Cliff’? No. All I hear is you bleating on about eating too many rations, or that damn bitch of yours, Dakota, telling me to pray to Jesus. Cliff do this. Cliff do that. Well fuck you. I’m sick of this pathetic group you have. I’m sick of the lot of you. I will make my own way. I’ll be better off on my own without you lot dragging me down. I’m taking my shit with me. My guns and my food. It’s all going with me.”

  Jonas couldn’t contain himself any longer, and he hurled himself at Cliff. He saw the surprise in Cliff’s eyes, but he didn’t care anymore. The man was a liability. If he was leaving the group, then it was going to be on Jonas’s terms.

  Cliff didn’t expect Jonas to attack, and without even thinking pulled the trigger. The gun was aimed straight at Jonas’s head, and Jonas wondered why he was still standing. He flinched as Cliff pulled the trigger again when Jonas was only a foot away. They both realised at the same time that the clicking noise they could hear was the gun’s empty chamber. Cliff had used all the bullets taking down the zombies, and finishing off the wounded survivors making sure they didn’t come back.

  Jonas barged into Cliff and they went down in a heap. A large powerful fist crunched into Jonas’s jaw, and he was sure he felt a tooth dislodge itself. He had the advantage of being on top though and head-butted Cliff, breaking the man’s bulbous nose. Jonas pushed himself up off the floor, and punched Cliff square on the chin, causing the man to squeal in pain. Now the man’s nose and jaw were broken, and Jonas couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t care what happened. He couldn’t see, feel, or hear anything, except the pathetic creature beneath him howling in pain. He launched a tirade of punches at Cliff, repeatedly striking him in the head, raining down blows on the man’s face until Cliff’s arms began to sag. Jonas screamed as he pummelled Cliff into the ground. A tornado couldn’t have stopped Jonas then, such was his rage. The mechanic’s eyes had swollen shut, and his face was a bloody, broken mess. The man was not just a liability, but a murderer.

  “Jonas, stop, you’re going to kill him.” Tyler put an arm around Jonas. “Leave him.”

  Jonas sank back, his chest heaving as he drew in breath. He spat out bloody saliva, and turned to face Tyler. “That’s the least he deserves.”

  Tyler nodded. “Maybe so, maybe so. Here, let me help you.” Tyler lifted Jonas to his feet, and the men looked at each other. Nothing needed to be said about what had just happened. They both understood the gravity of the situation.

  “We need to get out of here,” said Tyler. “There’ll be more. There always is.”

  “Just a second,” wheezed Jonas. From where he stood, he could still see Mary’s body, and his rage hadn’t dissipated yet. He didn’t want to go back out there to Dakota, to the others, and still be worked up like this. He needed to let it out. Beating Cliff had seemed so just, and so right; so why did he feel so bitter? Why did he want to cry? He hadn’t hit a man for a long time, much as he had been tempted to during the past few weeks. He had to clear his head. Once they were back outside, they had to be alert, careful, and quiet. If he wasn’t on the level, he was a liability, and there was more than just Dakota to worry about. The whole group looked up to him and Erik for leadership. If he couldn’t get them out of this mess, then it was all up to Erik. The man had a family though, and neither of them wanted to put more responsibility on the other. It wasn’t fair. Cliff had royally fucked them over.

  “What do we do about him?” asked Jonas. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cliff. He could hear the rasping breaths behind him, and knew that if they took Cliff with them, they would have to carry him. If they didn’t take him, they were essentially condemning him to death.

  Tyler looked at Jonas. “You want to bring him with us? Even after this, after what he did? Where do we even go? I mean, Jesus, we’ve lost our safe house, we’ve nowhere else to go, and it’ll be sundown soon. There are zombies out there who will have heard this, you know? If we leave him, he’ll die, no doubt about it. Perhaps between two or three of us, we could carry him, but…”

  Jonas grabbed Tyler’s gun, turned around, and pointed it at Cliff. He wanted to fire a bullet straight into the man’s temple. He wanted to forget this nightmare, to get rid of the bad egg, but he couldn’t do it. He lowered the gun and handed it back to a startled Tyler. Rage had turned to defeat, and Jonas’s shoulders slumped.

  “We’ll say he was bitten. He wouldn’t have made it. He’d have just slowed us down until he turned. Understand?”

  Tyler nodded, and looked at Jonas as he took the gun back. “I got it. There were too many of them and…”

  “I don’t want you to lie for me,” Jonas whispered. “Your conscience is clean. This is on me.” Jonas looked at Cliff, and he knew he couldn’t leave him like that.

  Jonas plucked his axe from a zombie’s head, feeling his bones ache as he bent down to retrieve it. He had to do it quickly. His hands shook, and sweat stung his eyes, but he had to do it; just not think about it, and do it. Before Tyler cottoned on to what Jonas was doing, he brought the axe down on Cliff’s head, the blade splitting Cliff’s skull open, killing him instantly.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Tyler turning away as Cliff’s brains oozed out over the floor.

  Jonas put a hand on Tyler’s sweaty back. “Remember, Tyler, this is on me. Forget about it. This whole fucking thing has been a nightmare.”

  They walked over to the door as the pounding on it increased. Jonas unlocked it, and Erik nearly knocked him over as he charged into the garage, an aluminium baseball bat held high above his head.

  “Relax, Erik, they’re dead, they’re all messed up,” said Jonas, pushing him back. He knew Erik could see the mountain of dead bodies behind him, but he didn’t want him to explore it. Once Tyler had followed Jonas out of the garage, back into the forecourt, he closed the door. “There’s nothing you can do now. They’re all dead.”

  “What was that, Hamsikker? What the hell happened in there? Why’d you lock us out?” asked Eri
k. He only saw a fleeting image of the bloody room, but it was enough to know things had gone bad. His mouth dropped open as he realised only Jonas and Tyler had come out. “Where’s James? Anna? Oh Jesus, not Mary too?”

  Dakota rushed to hug her husband. “Jonas, I thought…” Her words became muffled sobs as she buried her head in his shoulder.

  More of the group filed closer to hear the conversation, demanding to know what had happened. Mrs Danick and Pippa were already crying, and all too aware that their friends were dead.

  “What happened?” asked Erik. He rested his baseball bat by his side, unable to believe so many zombies had found them so quickly.

  “Cliff sold us down the river,” said Jonas. “He said the garage was secure, but when we got in there, two doors on the far side opened and they just poured in. I don’t know what he was thinking. He probably never scouted it out at all. Tyler and I managed to take a lot of them down, and Cliff did most of the shooting, but…”

  “Anna and Mary didn’t make it,” said Tyler. “James too. I saw him go down fighting. He was a tough son of a bitch.”

  “Cliff too?” asked Erik remembering the larger-than-life mechanic. “They got him?”

  Tyler and Jonas looked at each other.

  “Yeah, they got him,” said Tyler. “They overpowered him, and he got bit. I made sure he couldn’t come back.”

  Erik murmured something about it being the right thing to do, and then turned to Jonas. “Any sign of the person upstairs Cliff thought he saw?”

  Jonas shook his head. “Nothing. It was just a zombie. There’s no one alive in there.”

  “So, what now? We’re going to have to make tracks. Who knows how many more are hiding around here.” Erik looked around the forecourt nervously. Standing out in the open in this world was never a good idea.

  “Where are we going to go?” asked Pippa.

  “Yeah, Dad,” said Peter. “This was supposed to be safe. We can’t just wander the streets looking for somewhere to go.” Peter was holding his sister Freya by his side, wishing she didn’t have to hear this stuff. He wished for a lot of things that didn’t come true anymore.