When There's No More Room in Hell 2

by Luke Duffy

  The path was clear for Stu and Hussein, just ten more metres. Marcus waited for the jolt as the suspension rocked when Stu and Hussein climbed aboard.

  It seemed to be taking forever.

  Suddenly, a scream rang out from the rear. Marcus spun in his seat.

  Hussein had been pulled to the ground, a group of the attacking creatures suddenly falling on top of him. Stu stopped and turned; he crashed into the throng and began throwing and tossing the bodies aside while Hussein fought from underneath, trying to crawl to his feet.

  Gripping him by the arm, Stu yanked Hussein to his feet and flung him forward and toward the waiting vehicle.

  Now, Marcus felt the suspension sink and the vehicle rock slightly. Stu and Hussein were safely onboard. He slammed his foot down and crashed through the lurching figures that surrounded them. They fell to the side and underneath the wheels. The tyres gripped and the vehicle shot forward.

  They headed for the gate.

  14

  Hiding in the woods and attempting to live off the land was not Simon's greatest of ideas. In theory, while sitting in his underground bunker and surrounded with all the supplies he needed, it seemed like a good plan. He had done it on many occasions in the past. Back then, however, he had been well equipped for it and he had slightly more than a crowbar and a Swiss Army knife to help him survive.

  Now, drenched to the bone, hungry and cold, he realised that he had been much better off below ground. At least there, he was safe.

  During his escape, he had pretty much lost everything he needed to survive in the wild. The backpack had been filled with the equipment he needed to make a shelter, catch food and make fire to cook the food and keep warm. It also had extra clothing in it.

  It was no use. He had attempted to rough it and beat the elements for three days with nothing more than a thin jacket and a small knife. He had failed miserably. He even felt ashamed of himself for failing. With all the experience and knowledge he had, he should have been more than capable.

  He could almost hear his neighbours snickering and saying, "We told you so." However, they were dead and he was still alive. At least he had managed to outlive them and he put that down to his interests.

  After he had climbed the fence of his garden and narrowly escaped being eaten alive by the horde of diseased dead, he headed straight for the nature reserve. Its sprawling woods and open countryside provided the ideal location for a man to survive, away from the dangers of the built up areas.

  Simon had dreamed of building himself a little cabin deep in the woods and living free and without worry. He gambled that he would rarely encounter the dead due to the remoteness of his hideout. Though there were numerous tracks that crisscrossed the reserve, he doubted that many of the walking corpses would be in the area.

  He had seen enough of them to know their behaviour, and during his time barricaded within his house, he had made the effort to study them as best he could. He had noticed that they moved in packs. Whether this was actual pack mentality, he could not be sure, but he suspected it was more to do with the fact that they were always attracted to noise and movement and if one of them were to go stumbling off, wailing and throwing its arms about, a crowd would soon follow it.

  He also noted that they seemed to congregate in the urban areas. With the noise and amount of movement, even from themselves, Simon concluded that many of them were probably trapped within the cities, towns and housing estates due to their curiosity at the slightest noise.

  In the urban areas there was glass, concrete, steel; all made plenty of noise when knocked or broken. A bin being toppled over or a window smashed would probably attract hundreds of them, their movements and moans attracting more and creating a neverending circle of distraction as the crowds’ movements and noises kept them in the same place.

  On the other hand, the sounds of wildlife, birds and rats probably echoed much more loudly now without the sound of man and his machines to drown them out of their hearing. Simon pictured hordes of the dead tearing through the streets, trying to catch pigeons and vermin.

  Yes, he had hoped to be free from all of that, to be safe from the neverending threat of the dead. Maybe even enjoy life to a degree. He would have been doing what he loved; living off the land, surrounded by the countryside he held so dear.

  Now, after spending three long nights in a muddy ditch and his days traipsing through the trees in the hope of finding something that he could use as a starting point for his new life as a wild man, he was ready to admit defeat.

  Whether he liked the idea or not he needed to head to the built-up area again.

  The thought made him shudder as a knot grew and tightened in his stomach. The dead terrified him. Just the sight of one of them in the distance always caused the panic to grow within him and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. His heart rate would rise and his breathing would increase, and he had to fight with himself to maintain control of his nerves. So many times, while standing at the window in his house, he had been close to panic and ready to run out the door and to the bunker, and that was before everything had crumbled.

  In his lifetime, he had watched many a horror movie and read countless graphic and gory horror novels and comics. Nothing in any of them came close to this. The closest thing that he could compare them to was vampires. Vampires, even though they were dead and they fed on the blood of the living, which in turn caused their victims to rise as one of the un-dead, were nothing like the monsters he saw now. To a degree, Vampires were beautiful, romantic and he himself had on occasion, as many other people had, fantasized about what it would be like to be one of them, to live forever and have the power to come and go at will and to be able to control people under your spell.

  Simon considered that maybe the hordes of dead that now engulfed the world were, in fact, true vampires, and there was nothing beautiful or romantic about the rotting corpses that now staggered about the earth.

  Maybe Bram Stoker got it completely wrong, or maybe he felt that to write a story about what a true vampire was like would have been too terrifying for the times?

  Sitting on a fallen tree by the edge of a wood, Simon took some time to steel himself before he headed toward the house-lined streets of the town's suburbs. It was early morning and he could still see his breath forming clouds of mist in front of him as he breathed. The log of the tree was covered in moss and damp from the morning due, but it made no difference to him; he was already wet and he sat shivering with his shoulders hunched, wishing he had never left his underground lair.

  "You never appreciate what you've got until it's gone," he grumbled to himself as he twiddled a small twig between his fingers. "Okay, let's get on with it, Simon."

  He stood and slowly walked to the edge of the trees. The rustle of the leaves below his feet seemed amplified as he tried his hardest to be stealthy. His heart was racing and he dreaded stepping back out into the open. He could not shake the visions of hundreds of dead, standing on the dirt track, waiting for him to reappear.

  He pushed the foliage aside and after a short moment of hesitation, he stepped out into the morning sun. He squinted in its brightness and looked along the dirt path to his left and right. There was no one in sight. To his front, a river flowed and the sounds of ducks and morning birdsong were carried to him on the gentle breeze that blew in from the water. The sun felt good on his skin. Already, he could feel himself warming in its rays and the feelings of dread began to ebb from him.

  He crossed the small footbridge that spanned the width of the river and once on the other side he noticed the marked difference from wilderness to civilisation. The path was now tarmac and after three days of running about on dead leaves and soft soil, the sensation of hard ground below him made him feel strong and more nimble.

  He was beginning to feel confident. He knew where he was heading and what he needed to do when he got there. The retail outlet park on the edge of town was where he needed to be. He had been there on many occasions
in the old days. The outdoor activities store was there. It was where he had gone for the majority of his supplies for his trips into the wilderness in the past and he had made a mental list of the things he needed. He knew where everything was in the shop, so he hoped that he would not be there for too long. He could get in and out, head off into the wild again and begin his new life, this time with everything he needed on his back.

  His plan was to load up with all the kit and equipment he needed and head back for the nature reserve as quickly as possible. He had no desire to hang around, to go shopping. Shelter, food, clothing and tools were all available in the store. He just hoped the place had not been ransacked and now crawled with the dead.

  Steadily, he walked along the streets, leaving the safety of the nature reserve behind him. He gripped his iron crowbar in his right hand, ready to swing at anything that came near. His body trembled slightly with each step, a mixture of nerves and fear thrown in with the effects of cold and hunger.

  Within a mile he was deep in the urban area. Buildings were on all sides, from houses and shops to office blocks and fuel stations. The place seemed deserted. Nothing stirred and the light wind that gusted along the street, making its very own poignant sigh, made the place seem all the more eerie to him.

  The signs of panic and struggle lay strewn all around him. Buildings burned to nothing more than blackened shells, cars crashed into walls or upturned on to their sides. Newspapers, bottles and even clothing drifted along the roads, carried on the gusts of air that was channelled along the empty streets.

  There was no sign of the wandering un-dead.

  Had they all moved on? Were they off chasing some unfortunate soul?

  The absence of the dead unsettled him even more. The more time without sight or sound of them, the more he pictured them hiding, waiting in ambush for him.

  He continually glanced at the buildings around him, their doors and windows dark and uninviting. Curtains that twitched, he imagined them being manipulated by skeletal fingers as dead eyes watched his every move. The rustle of paper as it was caught by a gust of wind became the sound of a scraping foot being dragged by a bloated and maggot-infested corpse as it stalked him.

  He stopped and huddled in the shadow of a large overturned truck. He fought against his fear that continued to mount. He tried desperately to control his breathing and, in turn, his pounding heart.

  "It's okay. Not far now," he whispered in an attempt to calm himself down.

  After a short break, he stepped off again, still clutching his iron crowbar tightly in his hands. He made swift progress through the detritus of the streets. Bodies lay scattered about him, stripped to the bone and left to rot in the sun while flies and other insects buzzed over their remains in black clouds. Birds and stray dogs fought over the scraps as rats scurried in the gutter. One thing he did notice about the animals he saw: they all kept a watchful eye out for the dead, regardless of what they were doing.

  However, Simon saw nothing of the walkers. It seemed like they had swept through the town like a swarm of locusts, consuming all before them and then carrying on to the next one.

  As he travelled down an empty street in a housing estate, Simon caught a glimpse of something moving up ahead. It was a man, or woman, he could not be sure at that distance, but it was definitely human, and it looked alive.

  It stepped out from a side street further along on the right and began to walk across the road. It did not stagger or shuffle like the dead did. There were no lurching movements or uncoordinated flailing arms. It walked with deliberation and purpose. It seemed to know where it was going and headed straight there, rather than just clumsily shuffling about in the street until something caught its attention like what was to be expected from one of the dead.

  Simon felt his confidence surge. There was another living, breathing person. The first he had seen in what seemed forever. He picked up his pace and hastened along the street toward the figure. He wanted to get a better look at them before he made his presence known. He wanted to be sure. If there was one thing that he had learned from all of this, it was to double check and be sure of things.

  The distance between them lessened as Simon walked at a brisk pace, still nervous and on guard, wary of the houses that lined the street on both sides of him. He constantly glanced about him, his eyes scrutinising every corner or doorway. He could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

  The person at the other end of the street moved at a steadier pace. They did not seem to be in a rush. Whoever it was, they did not have a care in the world and just strolled along the street, enjoying the weather.

  Simon began to question why someone could be moving about so casually, so indifferent to the new environment that was filled with danger. He was fifty metres away now and he could see the person more clearly. It was a man. He had crossed to the other side of the street, walking away from Simon, and he feared that the man would be gone if he did not try to communicate with him soon.

  Maybe the man was drunk, or somehow completely unaware of the things that had happened over the past few months. At the very least, Simon felt that he should at least warn him and inform him of what was going on.

  Simon went to call out, but before he spoke he felt his own hand cover his mouth. He paused, turning his head in all directions, his eyes flitting from one window to the next, seeking out every dark corner, every shadowy alcove. For a long time he had been careful of the noise he made. He had spoken to no one for weeks and the only words he did speak had been to his self and always in a whisper. The idea of hollering to someone in the street was as alien to him as walking on the moon now.

  He was sure there was no one and nothing around other than the man ahead of him. The adrenalin had kicked in and he could feel his stomach tighten. The hairs on his neck stood on end and his knees trembled as his heart surged the blood to his limbs, ready for flight. One more glance around him, and he was sure they were alone in the street. It was now or never and time to make contact with the man.

  "Hey," he hissed from behind a car that was parked at the side of the road. "Hello?"

  The man continued to walk away from him, completely oblivious to his presence.

  Simon feared that he would soon be gone if he did not make himself heard. He stepped out from behind the vehicle and in plain sight in the street. He began to jog along the road, carefully placing his feet with each step in order to keep the noise to a minimum.

  He was closer now and he was sure that the man would hear him. Again, he glanced about the street around him, eyeing the doorways and windows with suspicion. A warm breeze was blowing from behind him toward the man and he was sure that his voice would be carried to his ears this time. He crouched slightly in the middle of the road, keeping a number of cars between him and the man ahead.

  "Hey, you, over here," he hissed again. Louder this time and more confident, but as he said the words, he bobbed back down below the roof of the car.

  It was an automatic reaction and he realised that the man would not be able to see him if he stayed hidden. Slowly, he raised himself upright again and peered over the top of the vehicle.

  The man had stopped in his tracks but did not turn and remained facing in the direction he had been travelling in.

  "You, hello, behind you, over here," Simon hissed again.

  The man's head tilted at the voice that he had heard. Slowly, the man's head looked to the right, almost cautiously. Simon straightened to his full height, making himself visible in the street.

  He took a few steps closer. "Hey, mate, behind you."

  The man spun on his heels and turned to face Simon.

  Simon was about to speak again, but as the man turned around, his heart skipped a beat, his chin trembled, his stomach knotted and his knees threatened to give way underneath him.

  "Fuck!" he stuttered.

  The man glared at him. His mottled pale skin with its shiny green hue looked stretched across the bones of the skull beneath. The lips
were curled back, exposing the yellowed and broken teeth that looked even longer due to the rotting and receding gums. The eyes, fixed and dilated, flat and lifeless like the eyes of a fish on a market stall, stared back at him, unblinking and focussed on him alone.

  For a moment, both of them stood stock still, their feet bolted to the floor. Simon was in complete shock. The man before him was, in fact, a walking corpse. His brain screamed out to him to run, to get away from the form in front of him as fast as he could. Nevertheless, his body refused to budge. It had frozen to the spot.

  His mind had already accepted the figure as a living person. It was ready to open conversation with it. He had been so convinced that it was not one of the un-dead that his brain had stalled at the sudden revelation.

  The body opened its mouth, its black and bloated tongue falling to the side and sliding over its withered and cracked lips. A bone-chilling moan rasped from within it and it took a step forward, raising one of its hands, its bony claw-like fingers outstretched and reaching towards Simon.

  Simon staggered backward. That horrible sound that the dead made had shaken his body out of inaction. He was still reeling from the initial shock of realising that what he thought was a man, and a possible friend, was actually another of the walking corpses that would want nothing more than to tear him limb from limb.

  "Fuck," he mumbled again as he continued to step backward.

  The creature let out another moan, longer and louder this time, as though calling to Simon to come to it.

  "Fuck."

  Simon began to turn as the corpse let out another long wail, sounding more like a demand, as though its authority would convince Simon and he would turn back towards it. It began to move faster, its feet taking steady steps as it quickened its pace.

  Simon whimpered at the thought of one of the dead being so close and being completely exposed in the open terrified him. He broke into a run and began to motor away from the advancing creature. It followed.