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

by Grimes, A. L.

  ‘Crazy bastard, how is Sally?’

  ‘No idea, that’s all I got over the radio. I’m on my way over now, they are trying to hold him, but he keeps trying to take chunks out of anyone that goes near him.’

  ‘Let me get Miles to the doc and I will be over, I’ll put him back asleep,’ he said rubbing his clenched fist.

  Miles had taken in the whole conversation, the infection that was spreading across the country had breached the walls of the hospital and everybody in here was too dumb to realise. He thought about letting Gerry in on the secret but that would compromise his plan. Knowing Gerry was a stickler for most of the rules and he would either sedate him or use restraints, he decided Gerry would have to find out that the monsters on the inside were not a match for the ones coming.

  This was the conclusion to Miles’s journey, a confrontation with the remaining monster from his childhood; it was time to slay the beast. He had never really been bitter about the existence he endured; it was more a case of giving back what he had received. His dislike towards bullies bordered on hatred, a controlled hatred and patience. He enjoyed the psychology of reminding the perpetrators of their past crimes.

  He remembered how it began, he thought the first time would be the worst, but it wasn’t. The men took it in turns to treat him as their plaything. When Miles entered the home, he was a quiet boy, much quieter than the report read. He stood in front of a horrid looking man. Long greasy hair, stained teeth and an eye not sitting straight. He asked Miles a question, when he didn’t respond he caught a slap across the face. He didn’t flinch. Cockeye, that’s what I’ll call him thought Miles.

  ‘A tough little bastard, hey.’ It was more observation than question. ‘We’ll knock that out of him won’t we Jimmy.’

  Miles felt heat in his stomach at the sound of his father’s name. The scruffy looking man in the corner wasn’t his father but he appeared to have the same attitude towards Miles. The other man in the room was the social worker who had seemed nice, now his approach was different. Gideon would be the worst, then Dr Martin came along and it was difficult to say which one hurt him more, it was like they were in competition.

  They gave him a settling in period. Cockeye was the first to visit him. He bit the lower half of his ear off and spat it in his face. After that they got authorisation to use restraints.

  When Miles was twelve Dr Martin entered his life. He wasn’t called doctor back then. Miles never spoke of his treatment; he barely spoke at all. It helped the perpetrators to hide their crimes. James Martin became Miles’s keyworker; his purpose was to help him. Instead he mentioned his mother to provoke a reaction, Miles held the fury inside. When James Martin raped him, he held him tight and called his mother a whore. Miles thought he heard a whimper from his own throat, he blinked the tears back.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Gerry.

  Miles almost responded, so deep were his thoughts. He realised that Gerry’s words were more for himself than Miles. He maintained his act. He focused his thoughts on the man he was about to see, a predator who would become the hunted and a paedophile who would see justice.

  *

  Gerry drove the chair clumsily into Dr Martin’s office. ‘Here you go doc, your nine o’clock. Sorry we’re a bit late, there’s a level two going off in the visitor’s block.’

  Dr Martin was a short bespectacled man. His hair had gone on top, but his ego prompted him to initiate a comb over with a few wispy strands. He radiated academic intelligence he also looked like a loner. ‘Yes, I heard the commotion. It’s quite troubling with all that is happening around the country.’

  ‘I’m sure the government will work it out soon enough,’ said Gerry.

  ‘Really, I’m not so sure the government aren’t the cause,’ he responded.

  ‘Listen doc I would love to debate the conspiracy theory, but we have a lunatic causing havoc and I need to be there.’

  ‘What’s one more,’ he smiled. ‘Very well, run along.’

  Gerry wasn’t the only one in the hospital that disliked the doctor’s patronising comments. In fact he was disliked by most. Gerry often wondered why Miles got on so well with him. Usually Miles didn’t take to the know-it-all types.

  ‘Excuse me Gerry but you haven’t restrained the patient. Procedure dictates that dangerous patients should be docile and restrained.’

  Gerry rolled his eyes and turned towards the doctor. ‘Okay doc, I forgot the restraints, but he is very much docile.’ Gerry took hold of Miles’s right arm and watched as it flopped back down. ‘As I said I am needed elsewhere, so if possible, would you strap on the restraints if needed please.’

  The doctor waved him away and ushered him towards the door. ‘Very well Gerry, on this occasion I shall restrain the patient myself.’ He placed his hand on Gerry’s back to move him out quicker. He locked the door behind him, a thin smile creasing his lips.

  When the doctor turned towards Miles the smile flipped over. Standing before him with an unnatural smile was Miles. ‘Hey doc, surprise.’

  *

  Dr James Martin was a man who bestowed fear upon his patients. He had become accustomed to dealing fear through both physical and mental means. As a young man with unnatural desires he was able to use his size and authority against adolescent boys to persuade them what he wanted was in their best interests. As he grew older and his career path diverted, he used sedatives, restraints and hulking orderlies to control his patients and in some cases, victims. Any power he believed he had was draining from his body as Miles stood between him and the door.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, you sit back in the chair while I call for an orderly and have you restrained. I’ll have Gerry’s job for this breach of incompetence.’ He tried to speak with authority, but his voice broke several times during his speech.

  Miles paused for a good half minute, just looking at the doctor. As Dr Martin opened his mouth to speak again Miles struck him with a fierce back hand slap. The blow caught him under the chin causing his jaw to rattle and his head to snap back. His legs folded in and he crashed to the floor, his spectacles flew through the air. He tried to rub the stinging from his reddened flesh.

  Before the doctor made the mistake of speaking again, Miles pressed his finger against his own lips as an act of silence towards him. He didn’t acknowledge the order, but Miles knew he understood.

  ‘Doctor or if possible, may I call you James.’ Miles nodded an approval for the doctor to respond.

  ‘Doctor will be fine, and might I add?’

  ‘James,’ said Miles just to prove who was in control. ‘You may not add anything that I do not ask. At this moment in time you are probably thinking you are part of my escape plan. Let me divert your mind from its current path and tell you that while an opportunity seems to have arisen for me to depart this prison – you are not part of it.’

  A wave of relief passed over the doctor, Miles recognised it.

  Believing his mind was a lot smarter than Miles’s the doctor chanced another slap and began to talk. ‘Take my car keys, they’re in the top draw with my wallet.’

  I’ll play along thought Miles. ‘Thank you.’ He moved across to the desk.

  Dr Martin jumped to his feet and raced for the door, Miles anticipated the move and kicked the wheelchair into the fleeing doctor. He howled as the chair stuck him in the side, both crashing to the floor. As Miles walked around the desk, he noticed a large pair of scissors, he picked them up and advanced.

  He stood over the doctor who was trying to untangle himself. Miles held the scissors in a threatening manner. ‘Now listen to me Miles you don’t want to do anything stupid, help me up and we can resolve this like gentlemen.’

  Miles almost smiled, the doctor was trying out his psychology on him. The doctor held out his hand in a gesture of help. Miles remembered when he was a child and James Martin stood over him. Miles didn’t cry for help, he resisted and he fought and he got hurt. He thought about how James Martin had tried to strip every l
ast piece of dignity from him. How he pushed harder when Miles failed to cry out or plead for him to stop. As a child Miles refused to give this monster any type of satisfaction.

  With a devilish grin and a hard swipe of the scissors Miles separated three of the doctor’s fingers from his left hand. He screamed like a birthing mother several times before passing out.

  *

  When the doctor came around, he was firmly strapped into the wheelchair. He noticed the remains of his first aid kit scattered around the floor. Then he felt the throbbing in his hand and remembered. He tried to scream but the adhesive bandage wrapped around his face muffled the noise, not that it mattered there were much louder screams ringing around the building. Miles was watching from the window as the living and dead fought, taking note how quick the battle had escalated. It seems the man who had the heart attack wasn’t the only infected case to walk through the door that morning, some of the staff had shown symptoms.

  The doctor’s attempted cry for help refocused Miles’s reason for being there. He casually walked towards the bound and gagged doctor. ‘I’m going to remove your gag, I don’t want you to scream, and not that it matters anymore but for tranquillity purposes please don’t for your own sake.’ Miles squeezed the top of the doctor’s deformed hand for emphasis on his threat. Miles allowed the silenced scream to pass before he removed the gag.

  ‘We don’t have much time doctor,’ said Miles. ‘So I’ll try to be brief. I want to take you on a trip down memory lane. To a time before you became a real doctor, a time when you thought abusing young boys in your care was for your amusement.’

  ‘That’s absurd and defamatory.’ The doctor wasn’t really grasping the seriousness of his or the outside world’s situation.

  ‘Greaves Hall 1988, you were the man in charge of dormitory D. That is correct isn’t it doctor?’ Miles was going to cut off his other fingers if he lied.

  ‘How could you possibly know that; have you been searching through confidential files while I was passed out?’

  Without a flicker of emotion, Miles severed all the fingers on his right hand. He jammed the gag back into his mouth as the screaming erupted from the tortured man’s mouth. Miles picked up a heavy book from the shelf and clattered the doctor’s temple with it, a homemade sedative. The doctor went asleep long enough for the screaming to stop. The heavy slaps to the face soon brought him back into his agony.

  ‘Let’s try this again but this time doctor I want you to focus on the fact that you no longer have any fingers for me to cut off.’ He waited for his statement to sink in. ‘Which means, if you choose to answer me with your cryptic response again, I’m going to cut off something else. Do we understand each other?’

  The doctor’s eyes were bloodshot and tearful. He had never experienced the level of pain or fear that he was experiencing now. All the training had gone from his mind and only his survival instinct remained. If he had of retained any of his working knowledge or history of Miles, he would have known that Miles was like a spider, once in his web there is no escape.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Southport, North Coastal Town, UK.

  As soon as he had put the phone down to his daughter he moved with a purpose. He flew up the stairs and almost tumbled over Monroe. Reluctant to go down she had sprawled out at the top and observed. He pushed her along trying to inject some urgency into her.

  He changed into combat trousers, a pair of thick soled boots and a heavy jumper. He continued to shove food into his mouth as he moved. He flicked on the news to see a country in chaos. Every channel had scenes of death and undead. Unprepared people running into the jaws of their loved ones. How stupid can people be he thought? That reminded him, He rang Kerry and Phil and unsurprisingly he had woken them up. Was it possible to sleep through the end of the world? He explained what was going on and where he was going. She only believed him when she wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked out the window. He could have sworn the cry of fear he overheard came from Phil’s lips, he didn’t mention it. He told them to barricade themselves in and he would get them once he had got Amy. With any luck somebody has already eaten his ex-mother in law, he kept that to himself also.

  He unplugged his half charged mobile and put it into one of his trouser pockets. He grabbed a holdall and rammed it with chocolate bars, crisps and bottles of water. He headed downstairs and walked towards the cellar door. He pushed the key into the heavy padlock and turned, releasing the clasp. He walked down the dozen stairs and flicked on the light. It doubled as an office and a den.

  Frank was a man who liked the outdoors, he spent as much time as possible on survival adventures and camping, preferring the noise of the woods to that of overpopulated camping sites. The only thing he enjoyed more than the solitude was the company of his Amy and Monroe. He opened a cupboard and took out an arm length machete, sliding it from its sheath he admired both its beauty and menace, sharp as a cut-throat on one edge and serrated on the other. He also took a double headed axe slightly smaller but just as deadly. The axe blades had been grinded into a razors edge – he handled both weapons with ease.

  He pushed some ropes, tapes and other survival essentials into the shoulder bag, the axe also went in, its head protruding for easy use.

  He reached into a corner and took hold of a sledgehammer, scraping it across the floor. He centred it on a spot in the centre of the floor. He was about to re-open the remnants of a past life. He swung the sledgehammer with ease, it crashed into the concrete sending chips flying in all directions. He hit the floor harder each time, not stopping until his prize was revealed. He moved the rubble with his hands. Underneath lay a large case, made of iron, he released the catch and opened the lid.

  He looked at the files that lay neatly in the right-side compartment, all full of wrongdoers and their victims but that was a past life. He took another case from the left side and checked the contents, he could feel the energy, he closed the case quickly and moved. He would wait and see just how bad the outside world was before he needed it.

  He returned upstairs and looked out the window. The car was parked on the other side of the road. Only a few dead creatures patrolled the area. He strapped the machete to his right leg. The bag looped into both his arms and nestled tightly into his shoulders; he clipped the buckle around his waist. Monroe looked up at him, she had sensed the energy from the basement. He shook his head. ‘Stay,’ he said firmly to Monroe. ‘I’ll be back for you in a minute.’ She gave him her dopey look and sat down.

  He picked up his car keys and headed downstairs picking up a twenty-litre jerry can of diesel as he crossed the garage floor. As the mechanics of the shutter grated against each other the dead turned towards the noise. He recognised the first one to reach out, she owned the takeaway at the end of the block. Dressed in her whites turned crimson she stumbled forward. Frank placed the jerry can and case on the floor and released the machete. He swung the blade in an upward arc, shearing through her lower jaw and into her skull. He wrenched the blade free as she crumpled to the floor. The next three were just as unfortunate. He picked up the jerry can and case and moved to the car.

  He opened the door of the Land Rover Defender and a placed a key into the floor at the vehicle’s rear. He put the case in and locked it again. The jerry can was secured. The backpack was riding up front with him. Monroe would ride shotgun as usual, but she would have to be secured. He attached the seatbelt harness to the front seat and padded the seat with blankets. While he was adjusting the seat a dead man walked into his home.

  Monroe caught the scent, her fur tingled. She raised herself and began to growl. The dead man moved through the garage and into the store towards the growling meal. It navigated the corners of the store like a sightless person, it bumped and bounced. It knocked over a display of tin eating pots, the noise made Monroe bark and Frank look up.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said as he raced back towards the store. The dead man was slowly climbing the stairs, Monroe was getting louder. Frank c
harged through and knocked over the remaining pots. The dead man looked his way, Monroe growled louder. The walking corpse had most of its face eaten away and it reeked. Frank caught it by the legs and pulled hard. The face of the dead man hit the stairs hard. Before it could move Frank unleashed the machete with force and precision in equal measure. It didn’t move again, and Monroe quietened. He dragged the corpse out and threw it with the others. He closed the shutter and regrouped. He picked up Monroe and headed out. As he walked through the store, he picked up a holdall and filled it with weapons like axes, hunting knives and a couple of hammers – you never know who’ll need help.

  Outside he could hear the dead getting closer. He secured Monroe then started the engine. He had bought the Land Rover for both its reliability and strength. It was a powerhouse of a vehicle, built for rough terrain that packed a punch when needed. It was needed now, as Frank turned the corner onto the main road a small group of dead had congregated. They all looked towards the roar of the V8 engine together. Frank pressed the accelerator to the floor. Bone and tissue was no match for a high-speed juggernaut of roaring metal. Dead bodies were tossed through the air as limbs disconnected from their owners. Blood and organs sprayed across the windscreen as the wheels snapped and crushed bones. A skull disintegrated as it bounced across the bonnet and disappeared over the roof of the car. He sprayed the screen and activated the wipers. The smear of blood and guts across the front would act as a warning to the rest of the dead – a warning they would ignore.

  He sped along the coast road without too much incident. The dead had become scarce. In truth the living hadn’t made it this far. The coast road was peaceful compared to the town; the oncoming traffic was invisible. The end of the coast road was coming into view, a solitary car had veered to the side of the road. Frank drove past slowly; blood smeared the inside. He slammed on the brakes as a female appeared in front of him. He could hear her voice screaming for help – he could also see the bite marks along her arms.