The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World

by Grimes, A. L.

  The news was telling a visual story of chaos, death and plenty of it. He turned up the volume. Crowds of people fighting, throwing punches, swinging sticks and biting. Biting - what is that all about he thought, the world is fucked up. The news reported of people being attacked and bitten by protestors and police alike. The coverage was jumping from one location to the next. London, Glasgow, Birmingham, Southampton and Manchester with fresh reports of more serious attacks. The worst report he saw was when a camera panned a close up of a man with half his face ripped off, his jawbone and teeth visible – he thought it looked like a walking corpse. He didn’t really care what was happening in other parts of the country, let the fucking government sort out the mess, it was probably their doing he thought.

  While Frank didn’t like politics it was the politicians who annoyed him most. He could never understand how poverty was possible when they stood preaching in their expensive suits. He didn’t see any of them on the TV today, giving interviews saying they were going to fix the problem. Frank’s anger with society never boiled over, he remained calm even when confronted with an aggressive situation.

  The clock in the corner of the screen showed the time at just after 6am, he would give his daughter a ring in a few hours. He wasn’t sure who was checking in with who. Him to see if she was okay and if she had a boyfriend and her to see if he had found himself a woman yet. Today they could talk about other things if the fighting was going on in Leeds – just another normal night there.

  Bored of what he was seeing, he headed back to the kitchen and made himself a bowl of porridge. The clanking of pots and the smell of food brought Monroe into the kitchen, her tail wagging.

  ‘Something you’d like to say?’ he said to her. She stood completely still and averted her eyes. ‘What did you do?’ her head began to lower. ‘You want some porridge?’ Her head was back up and the tail wagging frantically. She was an intelligent creature, a bit too intelligent at times.

  Frank carried two bowls back towards his laptop, he placed one on the floor and began eating while he watched more of the carnage on screen. He had been a serious doubter of news broadcasts ever since the BBC had shown footage of some war in another part of the world. It was later discovered that the footage was actually a scene from a video game, used to add drama to the conflict. After that he had tossed the TV.

  He stood up, put the bowls in the sink to be cleaned later although Monroe’s looked pretty clean – she stood gawping up at him with bits of porridge stuck to her chin. He walked towards his workout bag, twenty minutes later he was pulling on shorts and running shoes. He slipped a vest over his muscular torso and a lightweight bag across his shoulder, containing his keys, phone and a water bottle.

  He briefly caught a glimpse of a map on his laptop screen, it highlighted the trouble hotspots. London had an expanding red circle flashing, Cardiff too…good he thought, keep the trouble in the South.

  ‘You’re in charge,’ he said to Monroe. If she could talk, she would probably respond with ‘What’s new?’

  He headed down the stairs and towards the rear of the shop. The map continued to flash, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds – all major cities had the red circle flashing.

  If Frank had seen the latter, he would have been in his car and on the motorway. Instead he flicked the remote and listened as the gears of the shutters grated. He flipped the latch and walked into a gentle breeze. He was in his early forties, some days he felt in his late fifties but today he felt both his body and mind had found life in his mid-thirties. He was energised and raring to go. The sun had not touched the early morning yet; it was still trying to break through some grey cloud. He left the door open and powered down the electric shutter. He gave a few quick limbering exercises, plugged his earphones in and pressed play, Imagine Dragons, one of the few currents bands that he liked. A good tempo to run to erupted in his ears. While every major city in the UK flashed red, the smaller towns were starting to flash amber.

  *

  He took his normal route around the lake and up towards the promenade, a quick speed lost in the music and his thoughts. He sensed movement before him and looked up just in time to side-step a homeless man or late-night reveller. He glanced back briefly to see the man waive his arms in frustration; he looked like he had been in a fight. He couldn’t hear the man groan or the scream that came from the direction he was headed.

  Further on he looked up to see a familiar female jogger heading towards him, she wasn’t jogging - she was trying to break a record. Behind her three men chased, not fast but with purpose. The female jogger slipped and crashed to the gravel path. He took the music from his ears and slowed his pace. The woman’s screams as the three closed in propelled him forward, he had heard a woman scream like that before and it still haunted him.

  The three fell at once upon the woman, he connected with the first under the jaw, the crack of foot meeting bone was like a brittle branch snapping. The suited man sprawled across the walkway. The second he grabbed by the lapels and pulled him to his feet, the dead eyed thing glared back. Its mouth was pulled back from its teeth in a grisly smile, it opened its maw. He smashed his head into its nose and let go, the creature fell into the lake. As he turned to the woman the third thing sunk its teeth into her arm, it ripped a chunk of her bicep and began chewing. The woman screamed louder than before, he yanked the head of the fiend back and raised his fist. He hesitated; this wasn’t a man staring back - it was a monster. A black bloody hole were its nose should’ve been penetrated its face, its ear hung by a thread and its eyes were white pools of pus. Then the chorus of screams and shouts broke through his senses, the smell of blood was thick in the air. The world was ending, he forgot about the woman and thought of his daughter.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Leeds, Northern UK.

  Amy sat in her university dormitory watching the news and typing on her laptop, she hadn’t slept. She was updating blogs, commenting in forums and chatting to friends. Bloggers were already predicting the end of the world, one had uploaded a video of his neighbour being attacked, he hadn’t helped just watched the whole scene of carnage unfold. His last post had said they were trying to get into his house that was over an hour ago.

  She stepped out from her room briefly to get some food; the kitchen was at the end of a long corridor. She knocked on each of her four roommates doors; she thought she heard Jen stir at the third door, but no reply came from any. She grabbed a large bottle of water, some fruit and a pack of biscuits. Outside in the grounds of the apartments she could hear shouting; she looked out to see people charging about in all directions. As she passed a knife block, she eased the largest blade out and slid it into her pocket.

  A thud at her front door caused her to drop her food; she reached for the knife as she looked through the peephole. It was just one of the science geeks, the same one who pestered her daily; he was useful for carrying the shopping. Jack was also Amy’s best friend at university. He never tried to chat her up, mainly because she was the wrong sex for him, but she also suspected he was a little intimidated by her. Amy was intelligent, blonde and extremely tough. Her tone of voice was often blunt, and her eyebrows pointed inwards when she was angry – this caused most people to take a step back. Her love of horror movies also made them nervous.

  Jack banged hard again, ‘Amy are you in there?’

  In a fluid motion she snapped open the lock, looked up and down the hallway then dragged him in.

  ‘Are you OK?’ He asked with genuine concern.

  She gave him the pointed brow look. ‘Fine,’ she replied. He hugged her, more for his own benefit.

  ‘How bad is it out there?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you gone deaf overnight…have you seen the news – its fucking carnage out there.’

  ‘Really, it’s that bad and you decide to dress for a day at the beach.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed.’ She looked at the sandals, attached to his foot by a piece of rubber
between two toes. ‘Fair enough,’ he sighed.

  Amy picked up her food and headed back to her room, she nodded for Jack to follow. The walls of her room were covered with movie posters, mainly horror. She had an enthusiasm for vampires, zombies and anything undead. In amongst the pictures, movies and horror books was her love for Marilyn Monroe. Her room gave Jack the creeps, especially the skull she kept on her desk - he felt it was watching him.

  She was back at her laptop searching for information; the news reports were going international. She was shoving food into her mouth with one hand while the other typed rapidly. According to the news and internet gossip the attacks were more frequent and getting more violent. Confirmed reports said that the biters were infecting the normal people. The change wasn’t immediate but followed a period of incubation and shortness of breath, possibly death.

  Jack became restless and annoying, ‘Are we staying; is anybody else home, how much food…’

  Amy cut him off; she leaned into his ear and calmly said, ‘Shut the fuck up.’

  He gave her his best annoyed look, but she had already turned away. ‘I’m going to the kitchen.’ She waved him off.

  He was about to give her the finger, ‘I saw that,’ she said. Jack scurried off.

  As Jack moved passed the row of doors, he heard a sound, a slow groan followed by a thud. He stopped and put his ear to the door. The groaning was constant. He looked up to see whose business he was listening in on.

  ‘Jen is that you, have you got a man in there – you dirty cow.’ She seemed to respond. He heard shuffling behind the door followed by a thud as she walked into it.

  He reached for the doorknob and turned, ‘I bet it’s the hangover from hell’. As the door swung open something that resembled Jen lurched towards him.

  He slapped her hands away and laughed, he laughed harder when she fell in front of him. ‘Amy come look at this, she’s still hammered and bring your camera - her make up is a mess.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ Amy didn’t bother with the camera.

  Jack reached over to help her up. As she turned towards him, he saw the bite mark on her neck, it was oozing yellow pus. Her hand grabbed his exposed skin. The flesh of the thing was cold and clammy. The other hand pinned his chest to the wall. Her blue eyes had faded grey. Jen, his friend, the dead thing before him opened her mouth.

  The first thrust caught her in the temple, ‘That’s for being dead.’ The second forced itself through her fading eye and lodged in her rotting brain. ‘And that’s for being a horrible housemate,’ screamed Amy.

  Jen’s reanimated corpse dropped to the floor, truly dead.

  ‘Shit, what the fuck – you just killed Jen.’

  ‘She was already dead.’

  ‘She was what, what the fuck…she was moving.’ He took a breath. ‘Oh my god, you’ve killed her.’

  ‘Jen was going to eat your face.’

  He was about to continue with his hysterical rant when the second corpse moved in Jen’s room. Kristina, another roommate was struggling to her feet. Her right arm looked corrupted and her face was a bloody mess. The guttural moans and rheumy eyed expression were the signs that Kristina was no longer friendly.

  Amy looked at her dead friend then turned to Jack. ‘In a few minutes when she gets to her feet, our friend Kristina is going to eat us, any suggestions?’ He stood hypnotised and slack jawed.

  ‘Thought not,’ Amy said as she pulled the knife from Jen’s eye socket.

  As the creature extended upwards, Amy drove the knife through its chin. The blade stopped when the point hit the top of the skull. Kristina departed again. Amy yanked the knife from her dead friends head and wiped it on a sheet; she put it back in her pocket.

  She slapped Jack back into reality with a blow so hard it rattled his teeth. ‘What was that for?’ He said rubbing his face.

  ‘I was helping you back to your senses, now help me drag our friends back into their room. We could be here a while and we don’t want them reeking the whole flat out.’

  Jack did as he was told, they dragged their dead friends into the bedroom and covered them with sheets. ‘Should we say something?’

  ‘Like what?’ She said bluntly.

  ‘I don’t know, a prayer or something.’

  ‘Do you know any?’ She asked him.

  ‘Nah, I know a good rap song though,’ he replied.

  ‘Rap away then,’ she said moving towards the door. ‘And open that window on your way out.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Liverpool, East of the port.

  Tom Tweed had issues, serious issues. He disliked society. He had never fitted in, at school, at work or at home. People disliked him for his honest and blunt approach to communication. He wasn’t one to suffer fools and ignorance got on his nerves.

  His mother was the worst, never a good word to say about him, always complaining about something or most days about nothing. He didn’t know why she bothered getting out of the bed in the mornings. He had moved back in with her a couple of years earlier after the break-up of his relationship. He didn’t really want to go back but it made financial sense at least while he was at university. He had just started a new job; he was looking to get away.

  On a good day he could tolerate her, on the worst days, he wished her dead – mostly by his own hands. If she got up in the morning and had a cup of tea, it would be a good day. If it was a fag and a bottle of vodka chaser then the monster came out. He tried to ignore her most of the time but sometimes her words struck a nerve, he would argue back. One day he put his hands around her throat just to see if they fitted.

  He found it best to ignore her. Murder wouldn’t look good on his CV and it was bound to have an effect on his nursing career, nevertheless he could always fantasize about killing the old crow.

  On the morning he carried out his daily thoughts, she had been hovering over him. He had finished a night shift at the hospital, it had just got busy before he left. There was a mention of over time, he mentioned the word ‘fuck off’ and he was gone out the door. Today had been worse than normal, lots of people coming in with bite wounds and smelling of shit. Fuck did he hate society.

  He had crept in, careful not to wake her from an alcohol induced coma. He had slipped into bed and closed his eyes, sleep was immediate. He woke with a start, it only seemed like five minutes since he closed his eyes, it was. She was nudging him to wake up, her slurred speech barely understandable. She was babbling on about the dead, for fucks sake I wish she would join them he thought. She was one annoying sod; she wouldn’t leave him alone. Pulling the duvet over his head wasn’t blocking out her noise. He was definitely putting a bolt on that door to keep her out. After several minutes he gave up, sleep would have to wait while he listened to the ramblings of a mad old cow, who was on the outside of a bottle of vodka and it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.

  ‘Get out my room,’ he said angrily.

  ‘It’s my house, I’ll go where I want.’

  ‘Do you have to drink at this time in the morning, you’ll end up with liver failure. If you haven’t already.’

  ‘I’ve got to die of something, might as well go enjoying myself,’ she cackled.

  Tom doubted she had ever enjoyed herself, least of all while she was drunk and reminiscing about the past. Her mind wasn’t the best on a sober day but on the intoxicated days it was a fractured inventory of memories that lived permanently in her thoughts. When she was sober she manged to keep them at bay but when the drink flowed the thoughts flooded out and with them came aggression and hostility.

  ‘Will you get out my room and leave me alone, I’ve not long finished a night shift and you’re screeching down my ear about shit I have no interest in. And watch what you’re doing with that fag.’ If Tom had had a fire extinguisher handy he would have given her a blast. Mainly to nullify the threat of the cigarette she had hanging from her face but also as an attempt to sober her up.

  She took the exhausted cigarette from h
er mouth and stood it up on the end of his desk. ‘There you go, it’s standing up dead like those silly bastards on the news,’ she spluttered between coughing fits.

  ‘For fucks sake, get out and take your filthy habits with you. Go and watch that Jeremy Kyle shite you’ve usually got on,’ he was getting wound up.

  ‘Can’t, they’ve taken it off because of the news. Dead people walking about eating each other.’ She let out a gassy burp.

  He got up out of bed angrily, knocked his desk and tipped the dead cigarette butt onto his floor. ‘Fuck, you’re going in a nursing home,’ he said as he stormed past to the toilet.

  She laughed at him, ‘You’ll be in one before me.’

  He ignored her and went to the toilet. He deliberately left the door open and pissed loudly into the pan.

  ‘Dirty bastard shut the door,’ she screeched. He laughed to himself and ignored her, he enjoyed his little victories. He farted a couple of times, just too really annoy her. She mumbled some more obscenities before making her way back downstairs.

  He couldn’t be arsed with her mouth straight after a night shift, he climbed back into bed and got comfortable. He closed his eyes for maybe two seconds before the female screech sat him upright. He bolted from the bed to the window ready to launch a tirade of abuse in the direction of the screamer.

  He had expected it to be the lay about who lived directly behind, the one with the pink bathrobe permanently attached. He wasn’t wrong. She was standing in her back garden, screaming for help. Great he thought, another misuser of alcohol who had obviously got into a fight with her useless partner.