‘Help me, please you’ve got to help me.’
Frank could see a group of blood-stained dead moving in his direction. The woman’s hands slapped against his window. ‘Please help me, they’re trying to kill me,’ she pleaded. He looked at her. Her eyes shined bright; the infection hadn’t taken hold yet. Green eyes penetrated him deep, he would never forget her green eyes, the jade sparkle. The green eyes that pleaded with him would soon be white and cloudy.
He didn’t give the woman an answer and didn’t feel the need to tell her she was already dead, but he did give her a chance by mowing down her pursuers. He glanced briefly in his mirror, she stood in the road screaming at him all hope gone as he disappeared in the distance.
Frank headed towards the motorway, the quickest route to his daughter. The motorway was about fifteen miles away but most of that was countryside and for the first twelve he was able to put his foot down. As he came off the dual carriageway into a residential area he had to slow down and manoeuvre around some abandoned cars. Signs of life were still apparent, cars moving, people running - the dead and the living locked in battle.
In other circumstances Frank would have been out of the car and helping the living but he knew he was on borrowed time or his daughter was. Only a few more miles to go and he would be on open road eating up the ground. He drove through a huge council estate; he knew the area and its reputation. The area was a crime wave hot spot, burglaries, drugs and plenty of shootings. The criminal activity was so bad the authorities had built a police station at the end of the road – it was very prominent. The police station was on fire with black smoke billowing high into the sky, it was like a beacon. Burnt out cars littered the street. The estate didn’t need an excuse to revolt, the infection had obviously added to the tension and with policing being stretched it seemed too good an opportunity to miss.
Survivors were being chased down by the dead; others had barricaded themselves in. The local shop had been looted of all food and the off licence had been stripped bare. The rest of the shops had been smashed in. He drove past the smouldering police station; he could see some movement in the upper windows but dead or alive he couldn’t tell. One more corner to navigate and the first stage of his journey would be complete. He didn’t like what he saw as he turned the corner.
He had a couple of hundred metres before his wheels touched the open road that led to the motorway. Before that stood three of the locals, still alive and enjoying the mayhem. Their enthusiasm for violence had reached new heights and seemingly without boundaries.
Frank slowed down as he passed the three, the older one who he guessed was the leader stared him down. He wore a stained vest with prison tattoos as sleeves. In his hand he held a baseball bat that had screws drilled into the business end. In his other hand he held a long stick with a noose at the end. In the noose was a dead policeman, its legs had been removed at the knee. The dead thing snapped and groaned. Behind, the two younger men slapped a man. He had his hands tied behind his back and was kneeling. The torture had included allowing the dead thing to feed on the captive man. Frank continued past.
The dead creature sank its teeth into the helpless man again, he screamed, the men laughed loudly – Frank stopped suddenly, Monroe looked towards him. He could spare a minute.
He turned off the engine and stepped from the car. He unclipped the fastener on the machete and walked forward. The tattooed man turned to face him.
‘I hope you’re gonna be asking for directions,’ he said to Frank.
Frank ignored him and walked towards the tormented man. The two younger men backed off. Frank slid the machete from its sheath and sliced the rope from the man’s wrists.
‘I don’t know how long you’ve got but if you hurry up you might get the chance to say goodbye to your family,’ said Frank.
‘Thanks.’ Frank turned without acknowledging the gratitude or the menacing stares.
He heard the crunch of shattered skull before he heard the cry of death. Frank turned to see the spiked bat embedded in the captive’s skull.
Frank’s question was simple, ‘Why?’
‘Cause he owed me money, now fuck off before you get the same.’
‘I’ll take the blade as compensation,’ said one of the others. He nodded towards the machete as he stepped forward.
Frank doubted that order would ever be reinstated in a world that had gone bad. Any morals that society lived by had disappeared with the breakdown. It was now as simple as survival of the fittest or ruthless. He had known how this was going to play out the moment he stopped the car. The idiots that stood facing him were too wrapped up in their own world of fantasy gangsters to allow him to leave without interference. Law and order may have gone but the world still needed justice to balance out the evil that would shadow the world.
‘Ok,’ said Frank.
The blade was so sharp that only Frank knew the younger man’s intestines were spilling on to the floor. The splash of crimson on the road caused the three men to look down. His legs buckled beneath him as his organs erupted from his body, he collapsed in a heap. The tattooed man let go of the stick and readied the bat. The dying man screamed, so did the dead man as it moved towards the steaming pile of fresh meat.
The tattooed man was less fortunate, he did see the blade coming. It caught him just below the left ear, almost shearing his head in two. He died before the blade had finished. The third one fled, he didn’t get far as he ran blindly into the arms of an advancing crowd of dead people.
Frank reached over and took the spiked bat. He thought about putting his first victim out of his agonising misery. He walked away while the dead thing continued to feast on him. He climbed back into the Land Rover and headed for the motorway. Cars lay sprawled across the road like they had been shunted. Just over the incline was the junction that separated the two smaller motorways that led to the one he needed. The junction was notorious for jams, crashes and roadworks…as he crawled over the top, today was no different.
It was a battle scene, cars overturned, others crushed. In the centre of the road he could see what had ploughed through the carnage behind him. A coach had overturned tearing up half the road with it. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, arms, legs and intestines like they had been used as human piñatas. Blood covered everything, so much blood it was hard to tell men from women. He could tell the kids though, he let out a sigh. Some were up and walking about, others were so damaged it was impossible to move. Dolls and teddy bears lay scattered amongst the destruction.
The road leading to the motorway was blocked, no way through. He would have to divert along the A road and pick up the motorway a few miles down. He moved the land rover cautiously around the debris of broken vehicles. Movement in some of the cars, dead or alive he didn’t know – too risky to find out. The dead bounced off his car as he drove through.
The gap to the road was tight, he would have to scrape though. As he forced the land rover between barrier and car a small body wandered into his path. She clutched a soiled Paddington bear in her right hand, her left arm was missing as was much of her face. The small dress she wore had once been flowered before the corruption of blood and horror.
Frank braked, he took the picture of Amy and looked at it hard. He remembered Amy at that age, dressed similar, scruffy hair. He would never allow Amy to walk the earth as a dead monster. He put the car into gear and moved forward, the dead girl never moved, and Frank didn’t stop.
Chapter Forty-Four
Liverpool, East of the port.
The kid was being eaten alive from both sides by what had previously been a middle-aged man and woman, possibly husband and wife. Tom was willing to bet the kid had never been hugged by parents, oh well his adoptive parents were nuzzling him now.
‘Serves you right, you little shit,’ he said to the kid as he stepped over him.
‘Help me,’ he gargled.
‘Too late for that,’ he replied flatly.
The two dead didn’t pay Tom much at
tention as they were feasting on the kid. Tom bulldozed his way towards the gate crashers. One after one he plunged his swords into eyes sockets, ears and the odd gaping hole of a mouth. By the time he had finished the kid was about to get back up.
‘Three more to go,’ he said turning towards them. It took him another ten minutes to heap the bodies out of the front door and secure it again.
He returned to the garden. ‘Aww fuck, I’d forgotten about you,’ he said to the hulking corpse that lay spread-eagled across the lawn. His mother lay still, an offensive grin across her face, her brains dripping onto the lawn and redundant holds still in place. Dave, Christine and the police officer lay in the same vicinity.
‘There’s no way I’m dragging you about,’ he gave the lump another kick.
Then he had a lightbulb moment.
*
He remembered a Sunday morning in the Summer, he was lying in bed having a well-earned rest.
‘What and who the fuck is making that racket,’ He got up and gawped at Dave trimming the hedges with a chainsaw.
‘A fucking chainsaw, really…are they even legal.’ That was that - he pulled on his slippers, then thought better of going out to confront Dave in Kermit the Frog foot attire. He pulled on his trainers, forgetting he was wearing Family Guy pants and stormed out.
Dave jumped and took a chunk out of the hedge when Tom popped his head over the fence. ‘Alright mate,’ he said to Tom.
Tom smiled, briefly. ‘I’m not alright actually, some layabout twat who has all week to piss around in his garden waits until the weekend when the rest of us are catching up on sleep to get creative with a chainsaw.’
Dave looked behind himself, just to check if Tom was talking about somebody else. He realised he was holding the chainsaw. ‘Now wait a minute Tom.’
Tom pointed his finger, ‘If I hear that thing again today, I’ll come back and trim your nose hair with it.’ He turned and left. His pants snagged an angry nail sticking out of the fence. The tear was significant, exposing his left buttock as he stormed across the lawn.
He heard Dave laugh, ‘I am warning you Dave’.
He walked past his mother, ‘Is that a pimple on your arse.’ He gave her the two fingered salute.
He got back into bed, settled his face into the pillow, smiled…then the chainsaw started up again.
*
‘Well Dave, who’s laughing now,’ he said to himself as he kicked in the door of Dave’s shed. He revved up the chainsaw and got to work. By the time he has finished he had sixteen limbs, four torso’s, four heads and a pool of blood.
He tossed the remains into Dave’s garden and patched up the fence. He kept the chainsaw. His mother watched him with her bleached beady dead eye.
He looked at his mother, she looked back, he looked at the chainsaw. ‘Nope, I can’t do that to her.’ He trotted over to the shed and brought out a heavy-duty spade. He couldn’t stand looking at her bashed skull any longer or the beady eye looking at him all lopsided. He retrieved a freshly cleaned and folded sheet from the kitchen and placed it over her tenderly. The white immediately stained.
He dug enthusiastically, eager to get his mother in the ground. He had dug a shallow grave, maybe a bit deeper he thought.
‘Please don’t put me in the ground, I want to stay with you,’ said his mother, her voice calm and gentle.
Tom’s next breath lodged in his throat; he was too frightened to turn around. His swords were out of reach, the chainsaw further away. He gripped the handle of the shovel.
‘Don’t be frightened my boy, we can be together forever.’
Tom pondered this for a moment, ‘Err I don’t think so, you’re dead’.
‘We can be dead together,’ she replied. ‘Take some of my tablets, hang yourself with the washing line, cut your head off with the chainsaw…who cares just do it.’
Tom smiled to himself, ‘Let’s see if I can muffle your voice under some topsoil.’
‘My voice will be with you forever,’ she hissed back.
‘I never doubted it,’ he replied. He turned, just to make sure. ‘But you’re still going in the hole’.
‘Who are you talking to,’ the voice was small, feminine, a touch of chav to it. He searched his memory; this was a new voice. ‘Hey weirdo, over here’.
Tom looked up. The fourteen-year-old neighbour was peering over the fence. Her eyes were blackened with smudged make up, wild hair and a curious smile. He remembered hearing somewhere – “Don’t work with kids or animals,” then the dog started barking.
‘You’re calling me a weirdo, I thought Gene Simmons was back on tour’.
‘Who?’
‘He was a singer with the band Kiss, bad make up, worse hair style.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘The 80’s rock and roll scene’.
‘You really are a strange person,’ she replied. The dog barked in agreement.
‘Can you keep your pet gerbil quiet,’ he said sarcastically.
‘She’s not a gerbil, she is a Chihuahua and her name is Lola.’
‘All the same, if she keeps yapping, we’ll have more of those dead things heading this way.’
‘Fair point, Lola…quiet’. Impressive he thought, the dog immediately ceased barking and sat.
Tom found himself in a strange situation, well no stranger than how the day had started but now he had a dead mother behind him and a teenage Harley Quinn with a Chihuahua as a sidekick in front.
‘Where are your parents?’ he asked.
‘Same as yours,’ she said nodding in the direction of his shrouded mother.
‘Did you…’ His voice trailed off.
‘Yeah, I caught them chasing Lola around the kitchen. Mum got a screwdriver in the eye. I bashed Dad’s brains in with a hammer.’ She held it up for effect.
‘Nice,’ he replied, no sympathy.
‘Yeah, loved your work with the chainsaw,’ she said with a smile.
‘Piss off.’
‘You want a hand putting your mum in her grave?’ she asked.
‘Thanks…err,’ he replied.
‘You’ve forgotten my name, haven’t you?’
‘Watch yourself,’ said his mother’s voice. ‘She’s got that ABC thing, you know…all the kids have it these days’.
He ignored her and searched his memory banks. He knew it sounded boyish. She eyed him, waiting. ‘It’ll be easier if I just tell you,’ she said.
He held up a finger to silence her. It began with a B he thought. ‘Barry,’ said his mother’s voice. ‘Barry,’ said Tom. ‘Fuck, sorry I meant Billie,’ he smiled externally and scowled mentally. His mother’s cackle was already filling his head.
She smiled, Well done you, it’s Billie-Jo to be exact’.
‘Nice name,’ he said.
‘Really, I think my mother was a country and western fan…I suppose it’s better than Dolly,’ she laughed.
‘Or Kenny,’ he replied returning the laugh.
He stopped laughing as she passed over Lola. The dog was all fur and teeth. He took her and held her at arm’s length. Billie-Jo climbed over and took Lola back. When released she headed towards Tom’s mother and growled.
Billie-Jo looked at Tom embarrassingly. ‘Don’t worry about it, she usually brought out the worst in people, I’m guessing dogs are no different.’
‘Let’s get her in the hole before Lola has that toe off,’ she said nodding towards a grey cold foot.
*
As Tom was burying his mother, he had two voices vibrating simultaneously. His mother cursing, mainly about the “silly young ‘bleep’” who was dragging her feet towards a freshly dug ditch and the teenager who was saying some nice but inaccurate compliments about his mother.
‘You’re dead for fucks sake, I never expected you to make more noise than when you were alive’.
‘I’m only trying to look after you. Who will iron your shirts or cook your tea. I’ve got burgers in the freezer, 100% beef.’ She replied.
Tom almost dropped h
is half of her (eyes rolling). Billie-Jo noticed his distraction. ‘Are you ok Tom…sorry, silly question. I mean do you want to take a break and I can roll her in…I mean bury her’.
‘No thanks, it’s fine. Would you believe me if I told you she is still talking to me now. Her voice is just stuck in my head. The really weird part, is everything she is saying is present and in context.’
‘Maybe you’re having a breakdown,’ she replied, a little distracted.
He laughed, ‘Who wouldn’t living in this house’.
Lola waddled over, seemingly pleased with herself. ‘What has she got in her mouth?’ asked Billie-Jo.
‘That’ll be one of Dave’s fingers,’ replied Tom
After a pulse raising chase around the garden, a mini tug of war and several minutes of trying to prise Dave’s finger from Lola’s snapping jaws…the digit was resting with the rest of the body parts.
Lola unable to realise that wrestling the finger from her mouth was in her best interests continued to show annoyance as Billie-Jo examined her mouth for any cuts or sign of infection.
‘She’s a savage one’, said Tom. ‘You’re going to lose a finger if you’re not careful.’
‘She is a bit snappy,’ agreed Billie-Jo. ‘Do you think she could be infected.’
‘I doubt it, she didn’t have the severed end in her mouth.’
‘That’s true,’ replied Billie-Jo.
‘Besides, she has big brown eyes bulging out of her skull…if they turn white, I’m hoofing her over the fence.’
‘Don’t say that, she’ll be fine,’ Billie-Jo tickled her under the chin. Lola growled, clearly still annoyed.
Tom finished rolling his mother into the grave he had dug. Billie-Jo offered her assistance again, but this was a task that Tom felt he should do alone. Billie-Jo gave him some space while she attempted to get back on Lola’s good side.
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore his mother’s voice as he began shovelling dirt over her.
The Good, The Bad & The Dead | Book 1 | Once Upon A Time In An Undead World Page 21
