Zombies!

by David K. Roberts

  Moments later the zombies announced their arrival with the banging of fists and half-hearted kicking against the door. At least the furniture would hold them off nicely unless the integrity of the door itself failed; it was one of those cheap two layer jobs with honeycombed cardboard acting as the central layer, so I reckon it hadn’t been tested for zombie resilience. My gut said we had a guaranteed five minutes, no more.

  I rushed over to the windows in the living room and tried to open them but they only gave a couple of inches - some sort of suicide prevention technology I imagined. If I lived in a high rise I suspect this feature would have been worth its weight in gold to me. Off the kitchenette there was a glass door leading onto a small patio. Patio was probably over-stating it, more like a three foot by six foot concreted area the architects didn’t know what to do with so they sold it as a patio. To prevent falling from this worthy architectural feature was a barrier of frosted glass topped with a metal railing, in all about three feet high. Maybe I could have committed suicide from this place after all. Just as well I lived in a ground floor flat. The recently deceased occupant had re-designated it as a dumping ground and the door barely opened wide enough for a single person to get out there.

  I squeezed my way out and threw a few of the larger boxes and old toy bikes overboard, making it possible for me to get to the railing. With only a small sense of guilt at my actions I peered over the edge and saw that I had not killed anyone. Leaning out and peering along the building I could see that it might be possible to move between apartments using these open patios if we could just ignore the five storey drop. I was sure we could get into the next apartment and lay low. After that it would have to be a downward climb to those below.

  I tossed the rest of the clutter off the patio and it sailed down to the almost empty car parking area below and then beckoned Becky to come outside. She had been fixated on the front door, watching it rattle and shake in the frame. Even from outside I could see the hinges were giving way already and the top of the door was bouncing visibly as the zombies increased their efforts, sensing victory. Looked like the five minutes had been a little optimistic after all.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “I think you know,” I replied.

  “Oh, god,” she muttered. I half-expected her to cross herself as her face drained. “I don’t like heights.”

  “I really don’t either, but just remember it isn’t the drop that kills you, it’s the sudden stop.”

  She rolled her eyes and punched my arm. It hurt; damn she was good.

  “What I mean is, just focus on holding on; work with me and we won’t have to consider the consequences I just mentioned.”

  I took the key out of the inside door lock and close the door. Locking it from the outside I jumped back in shock as the front door finally gave way and dozens of zombies poured into the apartment. They climbed over each other in their struggle to get to fresh warm meat and made a beeline to our patio. If we had needed an incentive to get to the next apartment, then this was it.

  “I’ll go first and then help you over,” I said, holding Becky’s hand tightly. I looked her in the eyes. “We’ll be alright, trust me.”

  By now the glass in the kitchen door was shaking and bowing with the zombies’ vigorous efforts; it wouldn’t last long either, we’d have to hurry. Slinging the rifle over my shoulder I climbed quickly up onto the railing and used the thin wall between the apartments to balance myself before jumping immediately into the next patio. It was easier than I’d expected. Not once had I thought about the drop below us thanks to the urgency of the zombies’ antics. I beckoned Becky to do likewise. Having passed me the machete she carefully hauled herself up onto the metal rail and clutched the partition wall as I had done. Thank god for cheap builds I remember thinking. It was easily narrow enough for her to put an arm either side and step over to the new rail. When she was close enough I grabbed her around her waist and hauled her in. Moments later we were sprawled on the floor of the patio with Becky on top of me. I exhaled in relief.

  “See, it was easy,” I said. I earned a quick kiss.

  Scrabbling to our feet we tried the new kitchen door. As I had hoped it was unlocked so we hurried inside before our scent, or whatever it was they used to track us gave our position away to the pursuing zombies.

  *

  16 - The End?

  The first thing I noticed upon entering this new apartment was the stench of blood and death; it was all pervasive and I immediately went on guard. Becky gasped as she saw blood splashed all around the walls. It was as if a chicken had been beheaded and it had run around the room in its frantic death-throes, spraying its lifeblood everywhere. I suspected that something similar had happened but the headless chicken had been those dwelling within. Because this apartment was a mirror image of the one we had just left I felt confident moving forward, weapon at the ready. I slowly entered the living room and there was Pius, sitting on the settee, his head fallen back against the headrest. His front was slick with blood, his hand clasping the wound glistening with slick redness. The door to the hallway was barricaded by a wooden chair, its back under the handle.

  On the floor in front of him was a body lying face down. Well, I presumed it was face-down; the clothes were androgynous and loose while the head was in a corner having been bounced off a couple of walls like a basketball shot. I could tell that because there was bloody hair and head prints on the white walls.

  Pius realised someone was in the room and his head lifted, his eyes focusing vaguely on us.

  “They…” he began, his face crumpling in abject grief. His teeth were bared bloodily as he grimaced in what could have been emotional or physical pain. His free hand pointed weakly at the door.

  I ran across to him and checked him over. His neck wound seemed to be the only injury, albeit relatively slight and I reckoned, non-lethal; then I saw it - a small, child-sized bite mark on his right hand, the one clasping his neck.

  Becky came over and gasped.

  “Oh, Pius,” she began. “Who did this to you?”

  I gripped her left fore-arm to stop her speaking further. The one thing Pius really didn’t need at that moment was someone asking bloody silly questions to which the answer was obvious - he had arrived home. It seems we had been only one apartment away from him all along when the shit had hit the fan. My guess work had been surprisingly accurate - but still too late, nonetheless.

  Pius seemed no longer to notice us and I took the opportunity to pull Becky back to speak to her.

  “He’s been bitten,” I whispered. “It’s only a matter of time before he becomes one of them. Frankly, I think that he’s not turned already because he’s so big.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to help him?” she implored.

  “I truly wish there was, my love, but this thing seems completely unstoppable.”

  I looked back at the settee and could tell that Pius was completely out of it by now, he just lay back mumbling something unintelligible. Perhaps he was praying, perhaps talking to his wife or children, who knew.

  I hoped against all logic that he would be alright, we’d come so far together; this seemed a bigger tragedy than most for him to die at this point. At this moment I sure as hell wasn’t about to kill him on the off-chance; he deserved better than that.

  I looked around the room and saw the curtain drawstrings. They appeared to be nylon and so would be strong enough to tie the man up - just in case. I pulled them away from the curtain rails and began to bind Pius’ hands and feet. I worked quickly because I could hear his breath becoming irregular, a whisper; the stentorian man was fading in front of me.

  Finally I tied his hand binding to his feet binding with a short remaining length of drawstring to stop him straightening up should he try to stand. All the while I could hear a mewling and scratching from the other side of the hall door and realised that he had been unable for whatever reason to end the lives of his wife and/or kids.
I was in no hurry to find out who of his family remained in this world because from the sound of it they were likely to be of the other, other world.

  With nothing else we could do we sat watching Pius fade. Becky had found some wine in the kitchen and when I saw it I realised just how badly I needed a drink.

  “Here’s to you, Pius, my new friend,” I toasted and drank a long swig from the bottle. Becky took the bottle from me and tilted it at Pius before also taking a long draw of the liquid.

  I felt the alcohol’s effect quickly because our stomachs were empty, not having eaten since the sandwiches in Victoria. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it would be good to have some food.

  “Becks,” I asked. “Would you take a look in the kitchen for some food? I’m famished. I’ll stand watch over Pius.”

  “Sure,” she replied and disappeared into the kitchen, I think grateful to get away from the vigil. I could hear her opening cupboards and the fridge. Next moment I heard an electric can opener running and a can pop open. My mouth started to water in anticipation. There was a clanking of dishes and Becky returned with a plate each of tuna in oil and a slice of bread. I wolfed mine down in a minute or so. Damn, the Zombie Apocalypse made you hungry. Becky ate more slowly but seemed also to appreciate the energy input. I wiped the bowl with the bread and that too disappeared quickly.

  I put my bowl down just as Pius began to stir. Perhaps the smell of the tuna had awakened him. He twitched a little, his hands spasming uncontrollably. As I watched, his face paled until it was ashen, his features drawn as if in cadaverous death. His whole bulk seemed to desiccate as I watched; his death rathe. I had been right about the bite thing. I usually like being right but this time, hell, I’d have been happy to have been wrong.

  I stood up and picked up my rifle. Becky got out of her chair in anticipation of violence. I was frightened; Pius was a strong man in life and would probably be strong in death. I had to act before he could attack. I stood, rifle at the ready like I had seen in war films, bayonet out front. His eyes opened and I could see they had become like boiled eggs, white and frightening.

  I lunged at his head but the fact that his hands were tied to his feet caused him to be pulled sideways as he stood and I missed, scraping along his skull. He seemed not to notice the new gash I had made above his temple.

  He stood up straight, his great strength dislocating his arms as he did so, the graunching of the cartilage and sinew chalk-on-blackboard scrapingly hideous. I could never have foreseen this uncaring behaviour. Using what movement he had, Pius fell towards me and trapped the rifle under him, pinning my left hand against the forestock. His teeth snapped at me almost face to face, reminding me of the time he had saved me from an almost identical attack.

  I saw Becky’s hand grab at the man’s shoulder to no effect.

  “Use the machete on his head!” I cried out in fear.

  “I can’t!” she responded, terror in her voice.

  “Do it!” I pleaded.

  After a moment the machete came down on the back of Pius’ head and stuck in the bone. She had pulled back at the last moment in revulsion at the act and so it had not done the job. The upside was that it did deflect Pius’ attention away from me for a moment enabling me to force him away and off my hand. I rolled backwards away from the danger. We were both now weaponless.

  Pius stood up, the image of him crazy with dislocated arms and machete worn as a crown. His face distorted as his mouth opened and closed, his bloody teeth searching for flesh. For a moment he didn’t know which one of us to go for and lunged anyway causing his body to corkscrew against the ropes securing him. As he fell he lunged towards Becky slashing her arm with his teeth. I screamed at him in fury and anger as I realised what he had just done. His face registered nothing at all. I dove for the machete as the handle came close to me. My fury gave me the strength to wrench it from his head and I brought it down so hard on him that it bisected his head and was halfway down into his chest before it came to a stop. I pulled it free and in my pent up anger kept on hacking at him until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I swung around and saw Becky’s face. Her serenity stopped me in my tracks. She held me tightly, causing me to drop the bloody machete and reciprocate. I was suddenly racked with sobs, I just couldn’t help myself. She held me tightly for the last time before pulling away from me and wiping the tears from my face.

  “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I want to keep on doing this anyway.”

  “Oh, Becky,” I croaked, my throat constricted in my grief.

  “You will be better off without me.” She paused a moment. “I can feel it in my veins. It won’t be long now.”

  I looked at her and she seemed to age before my eyes. Oh, God. It was really happening - I was going to lose her and have to kill her.

  “Pick up the machete,” she said gently. “It won’t be long now.”

  On automatic I picked up the weapon without taking my eyes off her. I held her hand and we just stared into each other’s eyes.

  It came surprisingly fast, one moment I was looking into those beautiful eyes, next moment they were gone, replaced by uniform whiteness. She snarled and the grip on my hand tightened painfully. Closing my eyes I thrust upwards and caught her under the chin. I felt the blade enter her flesh, penetrate the lower palatine bone and drive into the brain.

  We collapsed to the floor together, me holding her closely and not daring to open my eyes and see what I had done. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, nursing the woman now I knew, once and for all, that I loved. By the time I opened my eyes, it was dark outside, the world quiet apart from the drumming and insistent beating on the outer door of this apartment. The bastards had found me again.

  *

  17 - This Is The End, My Friend

  A fury welled up from inside me, reaching a level I did not know even existed. I gently laid Becky down and withdrew the machete from her lifeless body. After covering her with a throw I took from the settee I picked up the rifle and stood it next to the kitchen door to the patio.

  Holding the machete I went back inside, breathed deep and opened the door to the hall. All of Pius’ family was behind the door; he’d been unable to raise a hand against them after all. Not me, I was punishing them all for what had happened to my Becky. I cut and thrust long after they no longer moved. I was exhausted.

  I could hear dozens of the bastards beyond the door and I felt like a fight. Opening the door I charged into the fray, using the machete to its best. After a while, covered in blood, the berserker in me flagged and I realised I was surrounded, the only way out was back to the apartment. I hacked my way through them once more and slammed the door shut. From my earlier experience I knew that I only had minutes until the eager zombies had forced their way through and into the apartment.

  Back in the living room I looked at Becky’s prone, covered body somehow hoping I had imagined my earlier experience and would see her sitting there waiting for me. I was wrong, so I walked calmly through to the kitchen, wiping my hands and the machete of blood on a tea towel. I suspended it in my belt and picked up the rifle, slinging it over my shoulder. Looking over the balcony I tried to work out my options - there weren’t many. Zombies stared lasciviously at me from the previous balcony, groaning and reaching out to me. One overbalanced and toppled soundlessly to the ground. I followed its trajectory. It landed next to a Luton van and popped like a watermelon. I shuddered, only now truly associating the height with violent death.

  The van. It gave me an idea. The rear of the truck was essentially a fibreglass box, designed to contain things, the roof hard but perhaps not lethal to land on. It would be the fastest way to the ground, and right now the only way I could think of. Maybe I could climb down to the patio below this one without falling but it would probably be the same story as this floor. Anyway, the distances felt unmanageable. The building seemed to be a veritable hornet’s nest and I didn’t want to linger any longer than I had to.
I threw the rifle and machete into the bushes just past the van; I didn’t want them to kill me after what might just be a righteous thing to do. At that moment I don’t imagine I was thinking particularly clearly, not sure if I wanted to continue living either, perhaps it would be too much like hard work. Especially as I was now on my own in this undocumented and peculiar circle of hell.

  *

  And here I am, suspended about one hundred feet or so off the ground and back at the start of the story. Now maybe you can believe that I might be insane, possibly with grief, or perhaps I simply don’t give a shit any longer. Whichever way you see it, at this point I don’t really care if I live or die. If this works then I continue on until I die, whenever that will be.

  Standing on the railing, balancing by putting my hand on the ceiling above, I looked down, the end run tantalisingly near. I looked over at the zombies on the next balcony.

  “Fuckers!” I shouted. I heard a crash behind me and the first of the hallway hoard poured into the apartment. “Oh, well.”

  I’ve often thought about what it would be like to fall to my death. Would I feel elation? Fear? Which would be the dominant emotion? As it turns out it was neither in my case. I fell, back towards the ground, looking upwards - I didn’t want to see death coming up to greet me. I felt weightless for about three seconds but no emotion stirred that I was aware of. A blinding flash erupted, filling my senses. It was immediately followed by a darkness the likes of which I’ve never encountered before - obviously.

  *

  Lying there, looking up I can see the bright blue sky of a new day above me through a ragged hole in an opaque fibreglass roof. I lay there contemplating the view, serenely watching clouds pass by when I was struck by an overwhelming hunger. My stomach cramp overwhelmed all other thought.

  “Mmm, brains,” I thought, or perhaps imagined, I don’t know which.