Once Upon a Time in an Undead World
A L Grimes
Copyright © 2020 A L Grimes
Copyright © 2020 by A L Grimes. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Authors Note
I have written this story because I wanted to get lost in a world that I had created. While it is without doubt written in the realms of fantasy, apocalyptic, horror and I hope comedy I have tried to add a touch of realism.
It initially started life as a trilogy and after some feedback about the first and second book, I decided to merge them which I feel has been a better creation.
I did write this initially for my own amusement and interest however a few of the people who have read it said I should share it, so here it is.
It has been a family venture. With acknowledgements to my daughter Amy for believing and helping her husband Adam create the cover. Froggo (Ste) for his constructive words and helping me see the direction that was needed.
It has been a lot of fun writing this story but this is only part of it. I am writing the second part as publish this as well as plotting a prequel/character origin. It’s all a bit exciting that I am able to do this.
I don’t write full time. I work as a nurse and this year has been a strange one – I’m just adding my bit of strangeness to it.
Enjoy.
“There must never be anyone among you who . . . consults ghosts or spirits or calls up the dead.” (Deuteronomy 18:10-12, The Jerusalem Bible)
The Beginning of the End
February 20th, 2016 was a significant day for British politics. The Prime Minister announced that a referendum would be set for early summertime. The public would decide if they wanted to remain in the EU. Immigration would be at the top of the list when it came to decide whether to leave or remain.
Brexit as it was called campaigned hard for the leave vote in the months ahead. Members from all parties joined the band wagon, nobody really gave them a chance. The polls had the ‘remain’ campaign in the lead, it was a forgone conclusion. The British public went to bed that night expecting to wake up to the same old Britain.
By 10am, on June 23rd, 2016, the landscape of Britain was about to change. The public had voted to leave the EU, some people thought that meant cheap holidays had ended, others knew the real implications. Some politicians claimed it was the UK’s Independence Day, others feared it was the end. The Prime Minister resigned quickly; the economy slipped - fear set in. Scotland demanded their own independence.
Protests began across the country, a call for another referendum from those that didn’t like the result. Politicians resigned, some got fired and others regretted their choice. The country was in turmoil, a ship without a rudder abandoned by its captain. The people who had set this wheel in motion watched in anticipation. The UK, Great Britain was about to fall. The architects of destruction had infiltrated its infrastructure now they would eat away at its core.
The politicians spoke of austerity, inflation and recession returning. Job losses and cuts to services would have to be included in the dark days ahead. The public demanded that their country stay strong, they rallied, they organised.
The row and uncertainty continued for the next three years. The defeated demanded another vote, best out of three maybe. The new Prime Minister had survived numerous threats and defeats. She made a mockery of the country by attempting to dance in public on a couple of occasions, it wasn’t good. The country was looking for solid leadership, what it got was a caricature. It was sitcom time over the water in America too. A reality show host was running the country, it seemed they were trying to outdo each other. The UK was wining hands down. While the American’s were talking about building walls, it seemed Britain was content with demolishing them.
This continued for the next few years while ‘others’ watched, plotted and implemented an ambitious plan.
Four years on and the future had caught up with not only Europe but the entire world. This wasn’t about economies like the leaders of the countries thought, this was about world domination and the end of humanity. During the year 2020 the world was laid siege to a pandemic. A global disaster that the rest of the world blamed one country for, a new world war…they were all wrong.
In the end this was going to come down to a battle between good and evil, a war that had raged since the beginning of time.
Prologue
She had left the house that afternoon to buy some groceries. Her husband had volunteered to go but if she was being honest, she wanted, needed to get out the house.
Her maternity leave had made her feel cooped up; the lockdown only added to her misery; she chose her freedom this afternoon. She put a minimal amount of make-up on. Her hair was tide back. She put on her favourite jeans; glad she could finally get back into them. A scruffy pair of pumps and a grey hoody signalled she was ready to do battle at the supermarket.
She had walked straight into the demonstrations; it all went downhill from then on. Purposely she had left her phone at home so she wouldn’t be mithered every five minutes – how do I heat the milk, where are the bottles, why is he crying, how do I make him stop, she didn’t want to hear it. She needed this even less.
She heard a couple of lewd comments as she walked by a group of alcohol fuelled grunts. They must be drunk, she thought, I barely got myself into my jeans. That was barely an hour ago before the country descended into chaos.
People lying in the roads nursing injuries. Blood mixed with the rain to form streams of crimson. Screams, metal against metal, metal against bone, flesh against concrete…teeth against flesh.
Now she staggered along the road, confused. Car horns blared at her to get out of the way, her legs were moving but her brain was numb. She was a distance away from home, but she kept going, willing herself on.
She had managed to get herself away from the main disruption, the city centre was like a battlefield. She had been able to make haste initially but now she felt like her energy was draining quicker than the baby finishing his bottle. She found herself crashing through the door of a café. The customers turned to see what the commotion was. She sat herself on a stool at the main serving counter.
‘Hi,’ said the friendly waitress. ‘Can I get you anything?’
She sat staring into space, her face was directed at the menu, but she wasn’t reading it.
‘Are you ok?’ Asked the waitress again. Her name tag identified her as Cheryl. ‘Bob get out here,’ she shouted.
Bob trudged out, ‘What now, I’m halfway through an all-day breakfast.’ Cooking or eating he didn’t elaborate.
‘Whatever you’re doing, stop it and get this lady a bowl of hot soup and bring a towel out so she can dry herself off.’
‘What did your last slave die of?’ he said sarcastically.
‘Having a big mouth and blood loss…make it quick,’ she bellowed.
Bob took heed of the warning and was standing back next to her pronto, soup in one hand, towel in the other. ‘And I’m supposed to be the boss,’ he said to another customer.
What’s your name, sweetie?’ Asked Cheryl.
‘I don’t remember, they did something to me.’ She looked at her own wrist. She had bright red hand marks on her arm like she had been grabbed and forced.
Cheryl draped the towel across her shoulders and followed her actions with a hug. The woman flinched. Cheryl jumped. The woman spa
smed.
‘Phone an ambulance,’ cried Cheryl.
Bob was frantically banging digits into his mobile. ‘It’s engaged,’ he replied.
‘Probably inundated with call outs from all the football hooligans,’ said an elderly customer.
‘I think the riots are more to do with cutbacks and the government than football,’ snapped Cheryl.
She lowered the woman to the floor as her seizure intensified. Cheryl placed the towel under her head as a cushion against the hard floor. As quick as the seizure had started, it stopped…so had her breathing.
‘What’s that?’ Asked the elderly customer.
‘What?’ Asked Bob and Cheryl together.
He pointed to a red mark on her hoody. ‘It looks like a bite mark,’ said another.
By now all the customers were standing over the prone woman, Cheryl leaned in closer. She noticed the pallor of the woman’s skin, the coldness and the aroma that seeped through the wound.
The last thing she noticed was the whiteness of the woman’s eyes when she opened them again.
Part One
The End...
Chapter One
Saturday, October 31st, 2020.
The world had been on a lockdown for the past six months. No holidays, migration restricted, food shortages, job losses, education taking a nosedive and to some people the worst of all…the temporary suspension of football. The government had intended to commemorate Brexit Day on January 31st, the same day they left; however the pandemic was causing concern and social restrictions were being implemented.
The government would have you believe the first death was in early March, the truth…or coincidence…it happened the same day the UK left the EU. That was all in the past now. First wave, second wave or third wave…nobody cared. The public wanted to party, the government couldn’t police it, so they gave them what they wanted. More cases were reported but less deaths. They young and fit didn’t care, they thought they were immune.
Then the same conspiracy theorists who had dismissed the government for the past six months began to question their motives…a whole bunch of other conspiracies materialised…these were short lived. What came next…young or old, fit or not…there was no immunity.
*
The UK government had organised a weekend of festivities to celebrate its democracy, independence and unlocking. It was a shame the weather never got the memo. A drop in temperature and a mix of fine rain and torrential downpours dampened the ground but not the spirits of the public fleeing the restraints of a government lockdown. The weekend was starting with a bang and never going to recover. The American president sat next to the King of England; the excitement had been too much for his mother who had abdicated in the weeks leading up to Brexit. Many critics had stated that she no longer wanted the awkwardness of future state visits and the fact that her husband was more liability than use. The American president grinned from ear to ear, ‘What a load of horse shit, the UK’s Independence Day’, he said to his Chief of Staff. The Prime Minister who had stuttered his way through the past six months overheard and ignored the remark. The elderly Prince laughed loudly; his eyesight may be failing but his hearing was intact. The German Premier raised the corner of her mouth in a half smile. In truth she was anxious, if Brexit proved successful then Europe as a unit would fall soon enough. Other world leaders wondered what the senile Prince was laughing at.
The President had wanted to attend a music event, instead he was sat in Wembley stadium watching twenty-two men, twenty-three if you included the man in black running about a field chasing a ball. What better way to celebrate Independence Day than by having a tournament of the country’s national sport.
England were playing Germany, a rivalry that went much further than football. The Welsh were hosting South Africa in the second capital, Birmingham. USA were tackling Brazil in Manchester and the Scots were sitting at home hoping that an earthquake would detach them at the Scottish borders. The Russians had given a two fingered salute to their invitation.
The American President disliked football but even so he would much prefer watching his countrymen than two old adversaries that his ancestors had to separate 75 years prior. He had been advised to stay in the capital and accept the hospitality and that the weather up North didn’t get any warmer than cold. The American’s would be playing England the following day. In truth the UK had only invited other world leaders as a sign of respect and to maintain links. The leaders only accepted for the same reason. If England hadn’t been so far away, some of the leaders may have contemplated an invasion. They didn’t know that that agenda had already been marked.
The government had given the day to the public, it was declared a national holiday. Clocks had gone back the previous weekend, which meant the darkness crept in earlier. Demonstrations were organised for one thing or another at the USA v Brazil match in Manchester and the England match at Wembley on the same day, it seemed people had forgotten the South Africans and Welsh were part of it. All were due to kick off at 5pm, mainly due to TV rights. Other protests were aimed at the financial elite. Businesses had stated some workers could go early to join in the pre match celebrations. From 3pm that day it seemed the whole country was on its feet. Whether they were celebrating, protesting against the Brexit result or objecting against the proposed cuts that were predicted it was hard to say. For whatever reason they were out, they all got caught up in the chaos that followed.
The end of civilised society in the UK was targeted when the streets were full to capacity and there was no escape. People heading to the matches struggled to get through the protests. London was peaceful for now, Manchester was bubbling. The weather had been moody all year, warm in February, freezing the following month and windy and wet since. The rest of Europe was experiencing similar weather. Thunderstorms had erupted across the continent. Flooding had occurred inland mainly in the North, rivers bursting their banks with people dwelling in the upper floors of their homes. The government was too busy rearranging its own house to be concerned with its citizens.
The UK was full of heads of state, governments, celebrities and other important people from most continents. These people questioned the UK’s ability to deal with all the unrest. The inept government gave assurances to the other countries that the disorder would be dealt with swiftly, if only they had understood the threat, their awareness instead of ignorance may have saved the country.
*
The match kicked off while the shouting outside matched the volume inside. The match had not reached half an hour before the sky darkened, the rain fell heavy and the floodlights sparked into life. Nearing the end of the match the news came across the airwaves.
The police standing on the touchlines looked nervous, they touched their radios constantly. News was coming into them that Manchester was under attack, a demonstration had gotten out of hand, people were bloodied, colleagues had been hurt. Rumours began to spread amongst them that there had been a terrorist attack and that they would be drafted up North. The fear crept into some of the officers, they didn’t want to go up North and they didn’t want to be involved in terrorism. They all heard it in unison, a wave of static followed by the words, ‘they’re dead and they are fucking eating people’. A young female support officer looked towards her colleague, an older man, grey, thirty years in the job with three stripes on his arm. He smiled to reassure her.
‘Repeat last message, over,’ said the sergeant.
‘The dead are walking about, its carnage.’
‘It’s just a prank, Halloween and all that,’ he said to her.
She eyed him suspiciously, ‘It’s not very professional, is it – taking the piss over the radio.’
‘No, it’s not,’ he replied. He squelched his radio. ‘Please confirm and explain last report.’
The doors to the stadium had been opened fifteen minutes earlier. The full-time whistle blew to signal the end of play. Wembley erupted into a deafening roar of boos from the home fans. Engla
nd had been beaten in their own backyard by a German team who had not won in their previous four matches. The England team tried to hurry off the pitch as some supporters made their way on to the pitch. The important people appeared agitated; the Prime Minister looked more confused than normal. Bodyguards appeared around the Royal family.
A commotion broke out in the main stand. The grey-haired officer looked towards the fighting, he expected to see rival fans taking lumps out of each other. He watched as a bloody face sank its teeth into a spectator. The cheers had turned to screams. He thought he heard gunshots outside the stadium. The bodyguards pulled out their weapons. Three simultaneous deafening thumps erupted from outside the stadium, the walls shook, fans ran.
The radio crackled into life, a voice on the other end coughed and choked. ‘Help us, they’re everywhere – the gas is not having an effect.’ The voice trailed off.
‘We must have initiated riot procedures, we’re using tear gas,’ he said to the young officer. She was gone.
The gas was highly effective, but the police hadn’t released it. The crowds began to spill onto the pitch. Football players were trying to dodge the pitch invasion, the England captain watched as several bloody faces tackled a teammate to the floor, they didn’t want an autograph they wanted his flesh. All he could think about was getting to his family. Gunshots rang out from the VIP area, he looked but couldn’t see them. Then he saw them briefly as they were lost in a swarm of bloodied faces on a rampage. His shoulders slumped as he witnessed them being torn to pieces, they were defenceless. The armed guards were shielding government officials and Royals to safety.
He was still lost in his thoughts when he felt the bite on his hand, he snatched his arm away and looked at it. He felt the rage swell but before it was unleashed, he felt more hands on him. He crashed to the grass, the same grass he had spilled blood on a half hour earlier in the name of a sport he loved. Now he spilled blood and didn’t know why. He felt teeth tear into him, his arms, calves and face and then it stopped. His attackers had moved on. The noise had dulled as his life slipped away. He didn’t feel his death as he thought about his wife and daughter. He had stopped thinking of them when he stood back up and clamped his teeth onto the face of a pretty woman.
The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World Page 1
