Surviving the Fall: How England Died

by Stephen Cross

  “What are we going to do?” said Amy.

  “Why don’t we stay here?” said Nan.

  Chris shook his head. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” said Amy.

  “Yeah, why not?” said Terry.

  “You saw Benno and his bunch of scrots downstairs, running round kitted up like a bunch of assassins or something.”

  “He’s a baddun that Benno,” said Nan, shaking her head.

  “There’s plenty of badduns round here. That’s what I mean. Think about it, no bizzies, no nothing. You think the zombies are bad? Wait til the scallies work out they can do what they like.”

  They exchanged nervous glances amongst themselves.

  “What do you reckon then?” said Terry.

  “I reckon we get out of here. Go to the beach,” said Chris.

  “Formby?” said Amy.

  “No, further. Reckon we go to Wales. Away from people.”

  “Sounds like a nice idea,” said Terry, “but how do we get there? You said it yourself, the roads are proper dangerous. We can’t all get on my bike.”

  Chris smiled. All eyes were on him, and he had the answers. “We don’t need to get on your bike, I know something better.”

  They spent the night at Nan’s.

  Chris offered to give up his room for Terry and Nate, secretly hoping that he would be able to sleep in the lounge with Amy, but they declined.

  Instead he listened to Amy and Terry talking and laughing in the lounge, into the early hours.

  Chris couldn’t sleep. He was far too wired. What a day. A beating in the morning, a zombie apocalypse by evening.

  What the hell would tomorrow bring?

  Especially given his plan for getting everyone out of here.

  Chapter 9

  It was an early rise for everyone. It seemed Chris hadn’t been the only one who didn’t sleep well. Everyone sat around the table, bleary eyed, as Nan served up the last of her eggs, toast and a good supply of tea.

  It was a grey day, a thick heavy coating of cloud covered the sky all the way to the city. Numerous columns of smoke rose like fluffy cotton wool pillars.

  “How we all doing?” said Chris.

  Amy smiled, “I’m ok, how are you, feeling any better?”

  “A little bit.” He had a booming headache, his jaw was a stiff as a board, and his eye felt puffier than a pack of Wotsits.

  He nodded sheepishly to Terry, “How’s your head mate?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “Put the telly on Nan,” said Chris.

  “Where’s your Ps and Qs? Bloody hell,” said Nan as she flicked on the TV with the remote.

  Silence fell over everyone as Nan flicked through the channels.

  Every channel, one after another, showed a still dark green screen with white writing:

  Please be informed that the country is currently in a state of emergency. Citizens are ordered to stay indoors until notified by official channels that it is safe to return outside. This is a national security directive and will be enforced in the strongest possible terms, with no prejudice.

  “What the bloody hell does that mean?” said Nan.

  “It means,” said Terry, “that if we go outside, you get shot.”

  “Dad?” said Nate his little face screwed up in worry.

  “Don’t worry son. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he hugged Nate.

  “Sounds like a load of bollocks to me,” said Chris. “They have to catch you first.”

  “But we can’t stay in, can we?” said Amy, “After what you said yesterday about having to get away from the city?”

  “No we can’t,” said Terry, “Look, they just want an excuse to shoot anyone, so once all this is sorted out they don’t have to fight a load of cases of murder.”

  “Typical bizzies, bunch of twats,” said Chris.

  “Language,” said Nan, nodding towards Nate.

  “Sorry Nan,” said Chris.

  “Is it dangerous to leave then?” said Amy.

  Terry rested his hand on Amy’s arm. Chris pretended not to notice. “Don’t worry. I think we ignore it. What do you reckon Chris?”

  Chris nodded. “They’ll be too busy with the zombies to bother about us. I reckon we still get out of here.”

  Nan cleared away the empty plates. “Well, that’s decided then,” she said.

  “You said you had a plan,” said Amy.

  “Yeah, let’s hear it,” said Terry.

  Chris settled into place, all eyes on him. “Right, I’ve been out on the roads, pretty dangerous out there,” he glanced at Amy, “cars are all over the place, zombies everywhere. Reckon it will be a bit better today. Most people won’t be driving I reckon.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’ll be dead, they’ll be zombies, or they’ll be hiding out,” Chris counted of his reasons matter-of-factly on his fingers.

  “Oh, God save us,” said Nan.

  “So we want to get somewhere safe,” continued Chris, “Out of the city, before people come out of hiding and all the gangs get going.”

  “How do you know so much about this?” said Amy.

  “It’s in all the films. Standard survival stuff,” said Chris.

  “You watch all them Bear Grylls things too, don’t you?” said Nan.

  “Yeah, he’s pretty good. Ex SAS and that.”

  “So, about the roads?” said Terry, getting impatient.

  “Yeah, right,” said Chris, “ So we need something pretty hefty-like to get us to Wales - something we can all fit in, we can all get our stuff in, something that can handle messed up roads…”

  He paused for effect. Everyone was waiting on his word.

  “How about a Hummer?” he said.

  “A what?” said Nan.

  “Hummer,” said Terry, “it’s an American military vehicle, except some people have them as cars.”

  “Arnie has one,” said Nate.

  “Does he?” said Chris “Didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, he got one years ago.”

  Chris nodded, it seemed like the sort of car Arnie should have.

  “Hummer would be nice,” said Terry, “but don’t reckon they’d have many round here.” Terry held up his arms. “Hardly LA hills is it?”

  Chris took a sip of tea. “I know exactly where there’s one.”

  He paused again for more effect.

  “Bloody hell Chris,” said Amy, “will you just tell us?”

  “Ok, sorry. Simeon has one in his lock up.”

  Nan threw up her hands. “Oh, I should have known he’d have something to do with this. Thought you didn’t hang about with him any more?”

  “I don’t!” said Chris. “I just saw it a few weeks ago. Big bloody thing. We’d all get in that.”

  “So we steal it? From Simeon?” said Amy. “You’re off your head, you.”

  “Good at stealing, aren’t you Chris?” said Terry. “Maybe we bang him on the head with a bat.”

  “He’d deserve it though,” said Nan. “Nasty piece of work.”

  “Drug dealer,” said Amy. “Messes up all the kids around here. Thinks he’s some sort of drug lord. Right nobhead.”

  “Ok,” said Terry. “So let’s say this Simeon fella hasn’t already done a runner, how do you reckon we get this Hummer?”

  “I told you, I know where it is. We can rob it,” said Chris.

  “Guess you don’t need the keys do you?” said Terry.

  “Reckon we might do with a Hummer. Has microchips and all that.”

  “So we’ll have to do the same you did with me? Get the keys of Simeon?” said Terry.

  Nan shook her head. “Don’t like the sound of this, he’s mad that Simeon fella, a proper baddun.”

  “Don’t worry Nan,” said Chris. “I reckon me and Terry can handle it.”

  “Do you now, soft lad?” said Terry.

  “I do,” said Chris.

  Chapter 10

  Si
meon’s apartment was on the top floor. He had a network of scallie spies dotted around the high rise estate, ready to let Simeon know if the bizzies where coming. Being on the top floor meant he had plenty of time to prepare.

  That’s what Chris used to do, be one of Simeon’s spies. It had given him some status, and stopped others from messing with him. Of course, it didn’t stop Simeon from messing with him, but that would have happened whether Chris worked for him or not, so it had been a no brainer.

  After keeping dixie for a few years he started doing little drug runs round around the estate, then robberies, then beatings, then moved onto having his own territory, down by the docks.

  And then the zombie apocalypse.

  Chris and Terry stood by the door of Simeon’s flat. Music blared out from further up the hall. Some RnB shit. Chris preferred his music sixties and seventies, proper Rolling Stones and Led Zepplin. Dylan too, of course.

  Chris held his hand up to signal Terry to stay still. He pressed his ear against Simeon’s door and listened.

  He heard nothing.

  That didn’t mean anything of course.

  Anxiety built up in Chris’s stomach. The next move would be declaring war on Simeon, and there would be no turning back.

  Of course Simeon might not be in the flat, he may have done a runner. Or turned into a zombie. Chris hoped he’d turned into a zombie.

  “I can’t hear anything,” said Chris. “Reckon we check it out.”

  Terry nodded and motioned for Chris to stand clear.

  Terry took a deep breath, raised his leg and kicked against the door.

  It shuddered violently in the frame, made a huge banging noise, but didn’t give.

  “Keep going Terry, these doors are shit. Cheap crap.”

  Terry nodded and kicked again.

  A door opened further up the hall and a teenager with a shaved head popped his head out. His eye’s opened wide.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Simeon’s going to kill you!”

  There were no phones, no internet. No-one could get hold of Simeon to tell him.

  “Wind your fucking head in, or your next.”

  The teenager held up his hands and retreated back into his flat.

  “One more,” said Terry. He kicked hard and the wood around the lock splintered. Another kick and the door flung open.

  Terry ran in first, the baseball bat held high in his hands. Chris followed.

  They ran into the lounge, where Chris had received his beating the previous morning. It seemed like a world away.

  Terry whistled, impressed, as he looked round the room. Brand new stereo system. Massive flat screen that took up half the front wall. Smooth leather couches. An intricate eastern rug. Beautiful glass tables. Modern art.

  But no Simeon.

  “What now?” said Terry.

  “Keys, look for keys. Could be anywhere.”

  They started to tear the place apart. Terry went to work in the kitchen, pulling open drawers, cupboards, looking in all the appliances.

  Chris went into the bedroom and pulled the black silk sheets off the bed. Pulled all Simeon’s expensive clothes off the rack. Emptied all the drawers.

  He found the trashing of Simeon’s apartment deeply satisfying. He ripped some of Simeon’s expensive shirts. He ripped the silk sheets. He pulled the pillows off the bed and- he paused.

  “Terry, check this out!”

  Chris picked up the gun that had been under the pillow and ran into the kitchen. He held up the gun, a wide grin on his face.

  “Bloody hell,” said Terry. “You know how to use that?”

  “Course I do,” said Chris, checking to see if the gun was loaded. It was. “Loaded n’all. Nice.”

  “Be careful though eh?”

  Chris dismissed him, put on the safety, and tucked the gun in the back of his belt. “Those keys must be here somewhere.”

  Chris looked in the lounge. He pulled the cushions out of the couch, turned over the glass coffee table. He pulled the large flatscreen off the wall, which fell to the floor with a huge crash.

  Chris surveyed the destruction of Simeon’s flat, and he was pleased. He just hoped that Simeon would come back to find it.

  “Bingo!” shouted Terry.

  “You found them?” said Chris.

  “I have! In the bloody Rice Krispies.” He pointed to the emptied cereal box on the kitchen table.

  “Nice,” said Chris.

  Movement in the corner of Chris’s eye. It was a split second, but enough to save his life. He dived to the left, away from the corridor. A gunshot sounded and the lounge window shattered.

  He landed on the floor but scrambled up and ran into the kitchen. Terry jumped back out of his way and grabbed the baseball bat, holding it high in the air, ready to strike.

  Chris aimed the gun at the wall that separated the kitchen and the corridor. The sound of heavy footsteps, running.

  Chris let off a volley of shots into the wall. Plaster sprayed into the air.

  A yell of pain and a thumping sound.

  Chris darted out of the kitchen, and ran to the corridor. It was Tony, the man who had beaten him yesterday. He was on the floor, holding his neck, blood was pumping out over his fingers and onto his white shirt.

  Chris raised the gun and fired three more times, the bullets hitting Tony in the chest, and one in his head. Tony slumped back.

  Terry appeared.

  “Bloody hell,” he said. “That one of Simeon’s guys?”

  “Yeah. He’s a nobhead. Was a nobhead, I mean.”

  Chris was shaking, he could hardly hold the gun. He tucked it back into his belt. He rubbed his face and ran his hands through his hair. He breathed fast and panicked, like a rabbit who had just escaped from the hounds.

  Terry put his hand on his shoulder. “That the first time you shot someone?”

  Chris nodded.

  “Alright lad. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got what we need.”

  Terry leant down to the body and took Tony’s gun. He searched the pockets and found a knife and another magazine for the gun.

  “You’ll have to show me how to use this,” said Terry.

  Chris nodded. “I will do. Hey Terry?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t tell me Nan, ok?”

  “No worries. Wont say nothing.”

  “Ta lad.”

  Chapter 11

  The lock up was a good ten minutes walk from the high rise.

  “We’ll go get the Hummer first, then come back and get the others,” said Chris. They set off from the apartment, quickly but cautiously.

  Not trusting the lifts, they took the stairs.

  “The power will go any minute” said Chris. “Sure of it. Don’t want to be in a lift when it does.”

  When they got to the entrance of the high rise, the gang of lads from before where there.

  “Alright,” said Benno.

  “Yeah, sound,” said Chris.

  A few eyes were on Terry. Looking at his size. His head.

  “What happened to your head mate?” said one of the lads.

  “Banged it,” said Terry.

  The lad said nothing but continued to look at Terry.

  “Where you off?” said Benno.

  “Going for a walk,” said Chris. He motioned to Terry to follow them.

  “Dangerous going for a walk at the moment. Them zombies are everywhere.”

  Chris shrugged. “We can handle it.”

  “Need anyone to look after your Nan while you’re gone?”

  Chris stopped walking. He turned to face Benno.

  “Why, what do you think’s going to happen to her?”

  Benno shrugged. “Don’t know mate. Anything could happen with these zombies around. Thought you might want us to keep an eye out.”

  Chris shook his head slowly, but was careful to try and not let his anger show. “Nah, reckon she’ll be alright. We’ll only be gone ten minutes.”

  “Whatever
you reckon mate.”

  Chris and Terry walked away.

  When out of earshot of the gang, Terry said, “I see what you mean. They’ll be feral by the end of the day. Soon as they realise the bizzies won’t be round… Jesus.”

  “That’s why we need to get out of here. Bad enough fighting zombies, never mind them little pricks n’all. They’re like terriers, bloody hundreds of them. Let’s hurry up and get this done.”

  They broke into a jog and ran through the car park, into the back alleys of the estate.

  They met their first zombie within a minute, round the corner.

  Terry shouted in surprise and swung his bat, almost a reflex action. It connected with the zombie, a clean strike. The zombie shook its head and stood stunned. Terry took another swing, and it fell to the floor, blood spurting over the fence of the small alley they were in.

  They moved quickly, meeting a few more zombies, but luckily no more than two at a time.

  They arrived at a large yard, lines of garages.

  “This were you saw it?” said Terry.

  “Aye, that one there, number 40.”

  “Think he’d put a Hummer somewhere a bit more secure.”

  “Everyone know’s it’s his lock up. You’d have to be fucking nutter to break in.”

  Four zombies shuffled in at the far end of the yard. Looked like a group of nurses, blue uniforms covered in blood. Skin and unidentified organs hanging randomly around their bodies. Large rips in the flesh on their faces, arms, legs.

  All moaning, excited.

  “Here,” said Terry handing the lock up keys to Chris. “I’ll sort this lot out. Best keep the numbers down while we can.”

  Chris took the key and ran to the garage door. He held his breath and tried the key. It turned and clicked.

  He let out a sigh of relief.

  A quick glance to check that Terry was handling the zombies. He was, his bat swinging hard to the left and right. Dull clanging thuds and flying brain matter. Bodies falling to the ground, dead for the second time.

  Chris opened the lock-up door, it moved with a loud metal screech.

  The Hummer.

  It sat in the darkness, black and gleaming. He had seen it driving around the estate many times, as out of place as a priest at a disco. Simeon had always driven slow, made sure everyone saw him in his black killer whale of a car, made sure everyone knew the power, the money he had at his disposal.