Heal the Sick, Raise the Dead

by Jacob Prytherch

  We decided to draw them away from the door by throwing a plate from the window towards the tractor, pulling them away from the garage to give me as much time as I could get to assess the situation and deal with them. My throw was strong but inaccurate, curling inwards and striking the far wall of the farmhouse where it shattered in a shower of shards and chips. We didn’t risk another throw in case I fell short and they turned towards us, which could lead to them spotting us and blocking my way out, which would have ended our escape attempt before it had even begun.

  I quickly made my way down the stairs two at a time and pulled the dresser away from the door as quietly as I could manage, before tugging back the bolts and opening the door a crack. The reek of rotting flesh enveloped me, reminding me (as if I could ever forget) that this was the world now. Everything within the house was just a microcosm of the old ways trying to hold out.

  The way was clear, so I gripped the spade as tightly as my bruised fingers would allow and made my way outside, pulling the door shut behind me. There had been more rain in the night and the ground was a swathe of thick, churned mud, slowing my steps but thankfully also those of the dead. I could see them twenty feet away still struggling and staggering towards the remains of the plate and I bravely, or foolishly, decided to strike.

  The nearest corpse to me was a middle aged woman, wearing ragged jeans and a t-shirt that may have once been white but had long ago become brown and black from the blood that fell from her partly severed neck. The wound was wide and ragged, her throat obviously having been torn out with teeth. Her head was hanging at a ludicrous angle and I doubted she could have seen me even if she was looking directly at me, as she was having to stumble almost sideways to keep her eyes ahead. She was wearing Wellingtons, so I wondered as I got closer if she had been a neighbour or even a friend of Arthur’s, maybe a farm hand...

  Put them down. I had to keep that in mind. I had learned that truth from the way I had dealt with Isaac, desperately trying to preserve his soul within his rotting flesh, attempting to find humanity where there was none. I couldn’t show any remorse, because that might slow me down and I might hesitate, which could only turn out badly. Speed was my advantage; I had to make full use of it.

  I drew up behind her, as close as I dared to get and swung the shovel up and across my body, not hitting as squarely as I had wanted but still cutting deep into what remained of the corpse’s neck’s connective tissue. It’s body staggered and lost its footing but the thing’s eyes and mouth were still moving as it fell, gnashing slowly in the mud and slurry. Though it’s head was still connected by some skin there were no nerves left and the body had stilled. I left the head silently chewing the air, it’s white mucous lined eyes casting about helplessly as I went after the next one.

  The others had heard the spade’s impact and were slowly turning to look, although the nearest one had been an old man and was now in the late stages of decomposition, so it was taking an age to turn, it’s putrefying muscles more liquid than fibre. It was wearing an old dressing gown with the remains of a nightshirt fusing through rot to it’s body underneath and I morbidly wondered if this man was getting more exercise now than when he had been alive. I waited until I was closer this time before swinging the spade, to try and get more purchase. The blade caught the corpse well, caving in the side of it’s head as the body dropped like a stone, sinking into the mud.

  I was gaining confidence now and felt ready when I saw that the two remaining dead had seen me and were lumbering through the mire towards me. I wiped some gore from the spade’s blade on the dressing gown of the fallen corpse and readied the makeshift weapon. The nearest corpse was considerably faster than the other one, staggering hungrily towards me. It looked relatively fresh, a large, well built man who had obviously tried unsuccessfully to fight off the hordes with his bare hands, as they ended in ragged bone and gristle, with considerable damage up to his elbows. The shirt that had been covering his torso hung open to reveal yellowing pale skin above a distended belly no doubt filled with the gases of putrefaction. His head was shaved and his eyes still had some semblance of colour, dirty brown irises staring wide and unblinking. His moan was low and guttural, a rumbling call of hatred and hunger...

  I froze suddenly, faced by this thing that seemed all too human. This would be different to the others, with their ludicrous gaits or withered frames. It would be like facing a man, with all the challenges that entailed. As he was almost upon me I managed to push myself to swing, however the action was wild and inaccurate. I was trying to slice upwards from my right hand side in order to knock the corpse’s head back and hopefully force it away, but instead the blade caught the ground and the unexpected impact pulled me off balance. My right boot slid across the mud as I fell backwards, the spade’s leverage against the ground twisting my wrist painfully. I managed to keep a hold of the spade’s handle as I fell, wildly thrusting it out as I collapsed into the slick mess that surrounded me. The corpse was strong but had no sense of self preservation and as it threw itself towards me it ended up ramming it’s chest onto the blade, spilling blood around the wound as it twisted and struggled to reach me. It’s arms were long despite the damage to its hands and the bloody spikes of bare bone were getting painfully close as the corpse pushed itself further and further onto the blade. The mud shifted and slipped under me, offering me no purchase as I kicked my boots, trying to force myself away. It’s mouth opened wide to reveal stained teeth that gnashed and crept ever closer to my face. I could just catch a glimpse of the other corpse limping closer to me on stiff dead legs.

  A hand burst out of the mud nearby, clutching the air with powerful fingers. Another hand was pushed out of the mire and they turned to press down upon the earth, pulling a head and shoulders from the mud. The sludge dripped and fell from a face covered in thick black spines that weaved and swayed beneath matted straw coloured hair. Razor sharp teeth gleamed. Red eyes glowed and span like kaleidoscopes.

  “No,” I managed to say through gritted teeth, as I continued to fight with the huge dead man. Some blood from the ragged remains of the corpse’s fingers dripped onto my chest and neck, the sharp bones mere inches away from piercing my skin. The fingers that still had tendons and muscle running from them up the arm waved sickeningly, like horrific spider legs. Marcus paused, licking the mud from his lips.

  “Need some help?” His voice boomed with raw power, an untapped well that was there if I just unleashed it and let go of my doubt. I tried to push the corpse away but only managed to push it up a little before my arms started to give out and it fell back, ever closer to my face. Every time I tried to twist sideways it readjusted itself to move with me, the blade cutting a swathe in the flesh and bone of its chest. Marcus started to laugh, pulling himself further out of the mud, his arm stretched out...

  I felt a sudden rush as the shot rang out, fired from above. It was slightly off centre and the majority of the blast shattered the corpse’s shoulder, causing it to fall sideways as the rest of the shot peppered the ground. I was just glad that it had missed me, as Arthur’s aim was always going to be unreliable when he was using the window ledge as his only support, guiding the shotgun and firing with the same hand. Marcus growled, sinking a little back into the wetness, although his face was still visible, dark hairs twisting, his eyes fixed on the dead that were still a threat.

  I shook my head to clear the noise and scrambled to my feet, boots still slipping on the mud as I pulled the spade up, before swinging it back down with force. The blade slammed into the skull of the corpse, shattering the face and getting lodged in the bone. I placed a boot on the body’s neck and wrenched it free, glaring at Marcus meaningfully as I prepared myself for the last corpse. It was slow moving and short, with a dark messy wound where its left arm should have been. It was no match for me now that I was standing and I swung hard and true, catching the side of the corpse’s head with the flat of the blade and sending it crashing into the mire. A few more blows from the spade and the
head was little more than pulp. I stood breathing heavily, gripping the handle so tightly that my knuckles turned white, sending pain up my arm from my bruised fingers. I looked towards Marcus but all that was left of him were small bubbles popping on the surface of the muddy water that only reflected my own rippling, shifting face.

  6

  Drive

  With all the nearby dead now sinking harmlessly into the mulch I was free to make my way over to the garage, my progress laboured by the mud that grasped at my boots with every step. When I got there I made my way up the concrete ramp that led up to the small brickwork structure, glad to be free of the swamp-like conditions. The metal garage door was painted a pale mint green and was punctuated with dried gore, dents and scuffs, yet was still intact. I pulled out the key that Arthur had given me and unlocked it, before pulling on the blood stained rope that trailed from underneath it, heaving the door open. I realised with a start as I peered into the gloomy interior – seeing the car under a brown dust blanket – that I had no idea if I could drive. The thought brought a nervous grin to my face and I almost laughed. It was ludicrous that I had no idea whatsoever of my own skill set. I was an empty creature, relying on instinct, hunches and muscle memory. It was as if I wasn't even human.

  I did however realise that we would need to be careful getting the car to the road that lay around fifty feet away. The mud was getting worse by the minute and we wouldn't be able to bring the car to the front of the house as was first planned, for risk of it getting stuck. I carefully made my way around the car, double checking that there were no dead inside the garage and also checking for some materials that would help us get out of the yard. Although I didn't have a candle, there was enough gloomy sunlight seeping from outside through the open front to be able to see everything well enough.

  It was a slightly cluttered if well kept storage area. I found several rough shelves lining the walls that were piled high with paint cans, tools and various DIY implements and materials, and thinking quickly I unloaded as many of the shelves as I could, dumping their loads at the back of the garage. I found that they weren't nailed down but were simply balanced on the struts beneath, so I was able to lift them up and ferry them awkwardly outside, keeping my eyes on the periphery as I created two rough tracks that led at least part of the way towards the road.

  When I was finished I headed back to the house, spade at the ready just in case. All seemed quiet but the rain was still falling, creating a background roar like static, dangerously deadening other noises. I looked up and saw the clouds were moving quite quickly in the breeze, so I hoped that soon the rain would pass. I opened the door and headed inside, wiping my feet on the mat despite the fact that the elderly couple were leaving, possibly never to return. It just seemed right, a mark of respect to the house that had kept them safe.

  I did a couple of quick trips to ferry the bags out to the car before heading upstairs to check if Arthur and Dorothy were ready to leave. Arthur was gently wiping Dorothy's brow, so I waited for him to finish. As he glanced at me I saw a shadow cross his face. This was the point of no return, a last vital throw of the dice.

  “I'll have to carry Dorothy, the mud is too thick for the car," I said to Arthur as I walked alongside the bed. Dorothy looked no better today, her cheeks puffing in and out with each laboured breath. Arthur's brow creased with a frown as I pulled back the covers and slid my arms under her legs and back, though he didn't speak out or make any move to stop me. Maybe he disliked the idea of anyone touching his wife or it could have simply been frustration at the fact that due to his injured arm, it couldn't be him carrying her.

  Dorothy was so frail and light she probably weighed no more than a ten year old. She wheezed with each movement to the left or right so I tried to hold her as close to stationary as possible as we walked slowly down the staircase. I was starting to recognise where each creak was now as if the staircase was an old friend. I could only imagine how well the old couple knew those sounds.

  Arthur opened the door, checking that the outside was clear before waving me on. I stepped out across the mud as the raindrops started mixing with her sweat, making the nightdress cling to her emaciated form even more. When we got to the car, Arthur unlocked it as quickly as he could with one hand before opening the back door. I gently laid Dorothy on the seat and pulled a blanket over her that Arthur handed me from the boot of the car, before pulling the seat belts across her body as securely as I could manage. We never spoke a single word to each other throughout the task, instead communicating with nods and gestures. The danger of the dead was too present.

  As Arthur manoeuvred himself around the other side of the car and into the passenger seat I spotted movement from the left hand side of the garage door and I quickly and instinctively reached for the spade, before realising I had left it in the house. The corpse shuffled in front of the car and I froze on the spot. It was – or rather had been – a small girl, no more than six years old when she had died. She wore blood stained pyjamas and most of the hair and skin had been torn from her scalp, leaving bone which glistened in the rain. Arthur pulled his door shut quickly, pushing the lock down and also leaning and checking the locks on the back door as the corpse struggled around the car, small hands outstretched, teeth clicking and chewing. She elicited a little moan of intent, her hands grabbing ineffectually at Arthur's window. I ducked down and opened the drivers seat door as quietly as possible, slipping inside and locking the door behind me. Small bloody hand prints started to make a pattern on the glass as the corpse kept clawing, feebly trying to feed on us.

  I rubbed my temples and eyes, feeling my fingers come away moist. Arthur's eyes were also welling up but I didn't want to ask if he had known her when she had been alive, even though there was surely nothing that I could say to make this worse. She had been a girl, and now she would never grow up.

  I took the key to the ignition from Arthur's unresisting hand and started the engine. The sound seemed to drive the corpse of the girl into a small frenzy, as she clawed frantically at the windows. I pulled away as quickly as I could across the planking, wanting to be rid of this charnal house of the dead, not even noting until later that clearly, yes, I could drive. Slowly but surely I drove us off the planks, through the mud and finally onto the rain soaked tarmac of the country road, turning left towards town as storm clouds raced across the sky above us. The desperate wails of the dead child faded away and soon the only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the rain on the windscreen.

  Despite the relief that I felt for leaving, my heart was still heavy as I knew full well that whatever we were driving towards would be much, much worse.

  “I've been wondering about when you said you had learned your lesson the hard way. It was just after you had come out of your house. You said that if their life was threatened, people were capable of acts they usually wouldn't consider...” I said to Arthur after we had been driving for ten minutes. The town wasn't far but there had been too much rot and pestilence this morning. I wanted some human contact before we delved into more. There was also no extra risk of speaking when we were already making so much noise, turning and twisting through the country roads, being careful not to go too fast in case of any cars that may have be abandoned in the road, causing an obstruction that we might spot too late to avoid.

  “Ah, yes,” said Arthur, clearing his throat and glancing behind him at Dorothy. I took a quick glance myself. She appeared to still be sleeping but she could have equally just been trying to concentrate on breathing. Fever and delirium were especially dangerous at her age. Arthur looked back ahead at the road, apparently confident that he could talk freely.

  “It was just after the first time we had been attacked, which was the first that we knew of any sickness. We have a television but never seem to watch anything on it. It's always doom and gloom, or... well, this particular brand of doom and gloom would have been worth knowing about. Anyway, there was only one to begin with. He wasn't... it, I need to refer to it as
an "it"... it wasn't especially large but I suppose it didn't need to be, as we certainly weren't expecting it. It kept slapping the wood of our door, which sounded like slow, irregular knocking to us, so we... Dorothy... opened the door to it. Anyway, you know all this. Dorothy fell against the stairs and I drove it onto the ground with the poker from the fireplace, thinking it was alive, some sort of crazy burglar or thug. When I saw the colour of its skin, the maggots already laid in... well, I don't need to tell you about them, do I? The worst thing was the stench. At the time it was the most rancid thing I'd ever smelled. That's changed now, of course, after the amount of bodies that accumulated outside.

  I didn't know what to think. I've never been especially devout, even though my parents were. It never stuck with me but even so my first thought was that this, this had to be the work of the devil made flesh. I suppose we still can't know for certain if that's not the case, can we? I remember that it started to reach for me, moaning... the moan was like nothing I had ever heard from a person before. It had no urgency, it sounded like... sickness, if sickness had a sound. It was then that I knew what I had to do. I dispatched it as quickly as I could, hitting...” he paused, composing himself as he relived the memory, “hitting its forehead until it stopped moving. Then I dragged the body outside. I tried ringing the town police station for hours but I never got through, it was always busy.”

  Arthur fell into momentary silence as we drove past a roadside pub, his eyes drawn to the scene. The sign that swung in the rain said something like “The Dog and Duck,” or “The Hound and Geese” but I didn't see it too closely as my eyes were focussed on the group of corpses that were staggering out of the front of the building, stumbling over the broken remains of the door. The pub showed signs of fire damage, with soot marks leading upwards from most of the windows and a large part of the roof having collapsed inwards. I moved up a gear and drove on before the undead could block our path. The car was driving quite smoothly despite its age but I had little confidence in its ability to plough through a mass of bodies. Their moans were just about audible over the engine, sending a shiver down my spine as we moved past them and onwards. Arthur took a deep breath and continued his account.