I went into the main store area, loaded my backpack with supplies, and stocked up on some new weapons. Arriving at the front entrance, I removed the barricade. The undead were scattered throughout the street outside, moaning and stumbling about.
Opening the door, I unsheathed my new machete and stepped onto the sidewalk. The zombies noticed the fresh meat and began hobbling toward me. I charged the cluster of walking dead, disappearing into their ranks. My battle cry, a ferocious sound of rage and vengeance, ripped across the twilight, echoing through the night into the blood-red sky of dawn; a new day was born into a wasteland ravaged by walking death. Another day, born, in a nation undead.
TO BE CONTINUED…
John McCuaig is a Scotsman now living in London, England with his partner Pam. Over the past twelve months he has been accepted for close to twenty anthologies, most are horror with zombies being by far his favorite monsters. His first novel, The Church, should be published shortly and he is close to finishing his second, The Pyramid of the Dead.
For information please visit his website- johnmccuaig.com
attempts to contain deemed a failure * EWZN * Citizens holding
Eye in the SkyReported By John McCuaig
I can’t help but imagine the song blasting out across the city, people huddling around their old radios to listen. Even if it is the same one he plays every morning at eight o’clock sharp.
Highway to Hell—AC/DC
“Okee dokey, folks,” Terry Noble, the station’s favourite DJ, cuts in before the song has even finished. “It’s that time again; we’re going over to our Eye-in-the-Sky helicopter to find out how it’s looking out on the roads. Hey there, Matt, what news have you got for us today?”
“Good morning, Terry,” I have to raise my voice slightly to get above the hum of the chopper blades. “It’s looking pretty busy out here today.” I strain my neck to gaze down at the horrors below. “We’re now flying over the M77 motorway to the southwest of the city and it’s just crawling. There must be close to a hundred zombies milling around by the M8 intersection. My advice to anyone trying to get out of the city today is forget it. You sure don’t want to get stuck in the middle of that.”
The helicopter moves off, and the noise from the blades and wind grows louder. So here I am—Matt Evans, who Terry jokingly calls ‘our intrepid young reporter’—and I can only keep quiet for a few seconds.
“Wow, there’s also quite a bit of a gridlock down by Market Street as well. It looks like half a dozen zombies have got the scent of someone, Terry. And they’re now on the hunt. I can see them pulling at doorways and windows. Something’s sure got them all hot and bothered.” I feel my skin crawl as I begin to make out their faces less than a hundred feet away.
“It’s sounds pretty grim out there,” Terry says. “How about the rest of the city, is there anywhere quiet?”
“Yeah, we’re now flying right over the city centre, and at last I’ve got some good news for you all. It’s looking pretty clear down there. I can only see about two or three slow roamers, and even they’re pretty well spaced out. If anyone listening wants to go out scavenging today, then get yourselves over there right now while it’s this quiet.”
Terry, as usual, butts in when I start talking too much. “Thanks for now, Matt. While you’re doing your stuff and checking out the rest of the city, I’ll play the good folks back at home an old, but favourite tune of mine. Okay, people. Sit back, relax, and enjoy....”
The Devil’s Rejects—Rob Zombie
It has been over six years since the dead rose and began to feed on the living. No one knows what started it, but to be brutally honest, no one really cares anymore. After the initial panic, the running and hiding slowed down, communities started to reform, people it seemed, needed contact with each other. Glasgow, Scotland is one of these cities. Its citizens still don’t band together, they can only stay in groups of less than five. Any more than that and the scent gets too strong, they’d be overrun by the zombie hordes in next to no time. Even so, people still look after each other; they exchange information and help wherever they can. The local radio station is like a godsend. It’s on twenty-four hours a day, and I don’t mind saying its greatest tool is the traffic report that I do. For two hours in the morning, and the same in the afternoon, we check out the city and warn its citizens of any hot spots. It works very well. People can go out searching the ruins and stores for food, tend to their gardens or barter for goods as safely as is humanly possible.
As I glance over to my left I see them. My heart skips a beat. I press the call button to Terry. I press it again and again and again.
“Well, folks, I’m sure you’ll all agree that’s one cool song,” Terry says with his usual drollness. “Right, let’s go back up to the Eye-in-the-Sky and get an urgent update.”
I can hear the stress in my own voice. “Can I just say straight away if anyone is in the West End, anywhere near Whiteinch get yourselves the hell out of there now?” Sweat is pouring down my face, my throat feels as dry as sand. “I ain’t seen anything like this in all my life, Victoria Park is full of the dead heads. In God’s name there must be close on five hundred of them down there!”
“Jesus, Matt, that’s too frigging weird,” Terry says. “What the hell are they up to?”
“I’ve got no idea, mate. We’re going a wee bit closer to get a better look.” I point my finger downwards to the pilot. He doesn’t look too keen at first, I point again and he eventually nods. I get back on the radio. “They don’t seem to be moving much, just sort of standing around. And you’re right, it is damn weird.”
Inch by inch, foot by foot, we get closer. Too damn close for my liking. I can see right into their putrid grey eyes. “There’s more and more of them coming into the park, single ones and also in small groups. It’s like every damn zombie in the city is being drawn here! And you know what? They’re looking right up at me, Terry. They’ve never done that before, they usually just ignore us. God knows what got into them, but I don’t mind saying it’s bloody scary.”
BEEP...BEEP...BEEP
“We’ve got a problem, Terry...shit...all the instruments are going crazy...the fucking alarms are going off.” The damn noise fills the cab, then the pilot starts mumbling. “What’s that...? Say again...? You’re frigging kidding me!”
“Matt...Matt, what the hell’s going on?” Terry shouts.
My hands grip my seat tightly. “The pilot says we’re losing oil pressure, we’ve gotta land the chopper before the damn engine packs up. I’ve gotta go, I’ll contact you again as soon as I can!” The ground, and those damn zombies continue rushing closer.
The radio goes silent. For once, even Terry is quiet. All he can do is put on another song.
Good Luck, Bad Luck—Howard Jones
I try to pull myself together, but instinctively I also grab for the mike. “Terry, I’m calling you from the grounds by Strathclyde University, the damn engine packed up before we could land. We’ve frigging crashed.” I glance over to my right hand side. “I’ve got some bad news as well. Charlie, the pilot, hasn’t made it. He broke his neck when we hit the ground. He’s dead.” I throw open the door and scramble out onto the still-wet-with-dew grass.
“Shit,” Terry replies. “Sorry to hear that, man. That’s just crap. There’s nothing more you can do for him, so get the hell out of there, mate. Get yourself home now. We’ll work something out later about the chopper. I’ll send some guys back to see if they can salvage it.”
“No can do,” I say. “I still need to find out what the fuck the zombies are doing. Look, I’ve got the mobile radio set with me; I’ll keep you guys updated when I can. Now, sorry, but I’ve gotta get moving, the noise from the crash is sure to attract some of the undead.” Shit, what the fuck am I doing?
Even Terry doesn’t know what to say. “Okay, Matt, just be careful. Please just remember this...everyone at home is thinking of you, we’ll all be saying a prayer.”
*****
“Matt Evans reporting to you live from Westland Drive,” I said, from crouched down behind a burned out car. “The sight before me is horrendous, the undead are everywhere. What were once men, women, and children are staggering around in the overgrown park. It looks like an easy summer Sunday, except the kids haven’t got ice cream all over their faces, nowadays its blood.” I’ve wanted to be a proper journalist for as long as I can remember, but so far all I’ve managed is the stupid traffic reports. This is now my big chance, and I’m taking it with both hands.
“I still can’t see what they are up to, Terry. I’m going to have to circle around to get a better look. The roads seem pretty quiet to me, and it appears that most of the zombies are inside the park already. Wait a minute...shit...”
I can’t reply, but the sounds of the struggle can be heard. Terry needed to get that noise of the air. I could hear him mumbling. “Okay, while we’re waiting for Matt to get back to us, here’s another song.”
Just Out Of Reach—The Zombies
“Hold on, folks. Good news—Matt’s back on line.”
I speak while looking at the congealed blood splattered all over my hand. “Sorry about that little break in transmission, Terry. A damn zombie sneaked up on me. Thankfully it was just a little kid. Must’ve been only about ten years old when it turned. Good job it was, too, only took a couple of smacks with my hammer to sort it out.” My eyes are fixed on his unmoving little body. “Sorry again, mate, I’ll do my best to keep these distractions down.”
“Hey, good stuff, man, but please be careful, there are also some big boys out there. They won’t be so easy.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Terry.” I was doing enough of that myself. “I ain’t planning on fighting my way home. Hold on, wait...damn it! The fuckers are starting to move.” I watch the ghastly procession stream as one out of the iron gates. “They’re heading straight for the city centre… and they’re moving frigging fast. We need to clear that whole area now.” Then it dawned on me. “Crap...I just remembered, we went and told everyone it was okay there. Terry you need to get them the hell out now!”
“Attention! Attention!” Terry screams into his mike. “Clear the streets, everyone get off the streets. Get back to your homes and get locked down tight. The horde is on the move. Get out now!”
I also get moving. “I’ll try and keep up with them for as long as I can, Terry. I’ll give you updates of their location so you can warn everyone.” I keep as close to them as I can. “Right now they’re moving down Pointhouse Road. At this rate, they’ll be in the city centre in about five minutes.” It dawns on me that I’m not helping much. “Sod it! I’m going to try and get around them, get ahead of them, and see if I can warn anyone that hasn’t heard the radio.”
I ran as fast as I could, far faster than anyone would normally risk. I take a guess that there will be no zombies on the side streets; I hope they will all be in the main pack. To be honest, I’m praying that I’m right. I won’t have time to react if I’m wrong. I’ll run smack bang into them.
Born To Run—Bruce Springsteen
“Terry...I’m now at Argyle Street,” I say. “Some of them got here before me and they’ve already found a group out scavenging. I’m too frigging late...there are four men... they’re being attacked...they’re on the ground being ripped to pieces.” I turn away, unable to watch the carnage. “Shit, Terry. I’ve gotta keep moving...more people might still be around.”
“Matt, get the hell out of there! Come on, you’ve helped more than enough. You need to get somewhere safe.”
“Soon, my friend.” I can’t leave yet. “Just let me check a few more streets, then I’m out of here, I promise. I’ll call you again in a few minutes...I just need to get my breath.”
Breathe—Pink Floyd
“Terry, are you still there? Can you hear it? Can you hear the screams? They’re getting slaughtered out here, what can we do?” I try to cover my ears. It doesn’t work.
I watch a woman try and fight off three of the zombies. She won’t run even though it looks like she has a chance. Then I see why. Cowered in a shop doorway are two small children, ages about five and six. The way she fights I know that she is a mother, only a mother would face three full grown monsters with only her bare hands. She doesn’t last too long, but sadly it’s just long enough to see them grab hold of her screaming children. I see that the doorway they’d been standing in is a toy shop; their mother must have taken them there for a special treat.
“Matt...Matt,” Terry says. “Are you still there? Talk to me, man, come on. Please say something.”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I’m pressed up tight against a wall. “They’re on every road. I think I’m surrounded, I can’t see how I can get out of here. It’s only a matter of time before they catch hold of my scent. Fuck it. Looks like my first proper reporting job will also be my last.”
“Pull yourself together, Matt. We can do it, we can get you out of there. Take a few deep breaths and get thinking. Use that brain of yours. Come on, buddy, don’t you dare give up on me.”
You can’t run, You can’t hide—Dilated Peoples
“I guess I can try and get across the river,” I mutter after listening to the song. “I just need to head back south. Get back to my flat, then I’ll make a run for it.”
Terry sounds more than a little excited. “Tell me your route as you go, mate. Our listeners will know where you are, and they’ll help you. Get your frigging arse moving now...we can do this, Matt.”
I glance up and down the once posh, store-lined street. Both ways have about a dozen zombies searching, sniffing, and eagerly seeking out some fresh meat. I need to go left, so after closing my eyes for a second, I run again, but this time I run right for them.
“Fuckers!” I scream, barging past the first pair. I can feel their hands grasp at my body and clothes. The stench from their rotting flesh fills my nostrils, making me gag. I’ve never been this close to a fucking pack of zombies before. I’ve always managed to keep my distance.
As I run through the next group a hand grips my sleeve, a middle-aged woman gets a good hold of me. She is sure in no mood to let go, her single good eye locks onto my face. I set my hammer to work. Whack. Whack. Whack. It takes three heavy blows to the temple before she lets go, but it has taken way too much time. Seven of the zombies circle me, groaning and grunting as if in delight at their fresh, sweet find. Looking at their pus-filled, crusty faces, I know my hammer won’t save me this time.
“Hey, over here, you fuckers!” a voice screams from away to my left. Three young men are running full speed towards me. They are three alive young men. With swords raised high above their heads, they look ready for battle. As soon as they arrive I see they have the skill to use them as well. In a few flashes the monsters are destroyed, heads and bodies are easily parted. A couple of the bodies twitch wildly on the floor.
“Get moving,” the first teenager says. “We’ll watch your back, Matt. Keep broadcasting, get the word out. The people need to know what’s going on.” I smile and nod at the young ginger-haired man who is wearing little white earphones. He returns the smile, then, with his friends, he walks towards the horde.
Terry cheers and puts on another song.
Thank God for my life—Daz Dillinger
“I’m getting onto the bridge now, Terry,” I call out. I sense a little slice of freedom, but not all of my news is good. “Every street I’ve seen is crawling with them. They are also attacking some buildings. They are hunting en masse. There ain’t going to be many defenses that’ll be able to hold out to that force. Please be careful, folks. If you’re in the town centre, get out if you can, even if you are locked down. Don’t risk staying around here.”
Halfway across the bridge I grind to a halt. Coming towards me are the pack of zombies that I first saw this morning. They’ve walked along the motorway for a c
ouple of miles to get to the city. It seems they want to join in on the fun. Coming behind me are even more of this undead army.
“Terry...Terry, I’m trapped.” I peer over the edge of the bridge, desperately looking for an escape. It’s over a hundred foot drop down to the fast flowing river. There’s no reply coming from the station. “Terry, fucking answer me!”
A few seconds later my radio crackles back to life. “Sorry, man, was just checking on something. It seems they’ve found me.” Too late I remember the station is located near the city centre. “They’re through the front doors and making they’re way up the stairs. I ain’t got long, my friend. Seems like this is the end. You take care, just do one last thing for me—don’t let them get you, too.”
“Get out of there, Terry, please,” I plead.
“No can do, buddy. It’s way too late for me. No way out except for the stairs.” Pounding can be heard in the background followed by the sound of smashing glass. “Well, my friends, it seems this is the last song that I’ll be playing. Goodbye and farewell.”
Time, The End—Megadeth
Quickly I clicked the radio off. I didn’t want to hear what was coming next. Standing up on the edge of the bridge’s traffic barrier, I decided that there’s no other option available. I’ll take my chances with the water. I jump. I land. It hurts.
Even though I’m badly winded by the fall, I somehow manage to ride the fierce current down the river. It’s a couple of miles of struggle before I crawl out onto the bank.
Eye Witness: Zombie Page 17
