The Givers of Life (Book 1): The Risen Dead

by Neil Davies

  Moving slowly towards the light, they could make out the vague silhouettes of other buildings, unlit, against the barely lighter sky. In the lit window, an old woman fussed at the glass with a duster.

  "Unlikely she's all on her own," said Joe.

  "But quite likely there's only others like her," said Brian. "This should be easy."

  #

  The first figures stepped out of the darkness from the direction of School Lane, and John turned to face them. Three men and two women, clothes grubby, faces smeared with dirt, eyes glaring hatred and hunger.

  “Who are you?” John asked, as he stepped back away from them. “Where are you from?”

  They moved suddenly, quickly, towards him, and his training took over.

  His first two bullets slammed into the chest of the nearest man. Small plumes of dust spat out of the holes and the man slowed slightly, but did not stop.

  His third bullet gouged a deep furrow along the jaw line of another man. Gristle hung from the wound, but very little blood. The man kept coming.

  The fourth and final bullet from his opening salvo, more by luck than design, punched through the forehead of one of the women, and she dropped immediately to the ground, unmoving.

  Only head shots? You’ve got to be kidding me!

  The moment of hesitation, as John processed the results of his gunfire, allowed the first man to reach him, hooked fingers grabbing for his throat. John twisted away, pushing the man aside. He raised the automatic and, at almost point blank range, shot the man in the back of the head. The body hit the ground and did not move.

  The remaining two men and one woman were closing fast. He took careful aim. It was no longer speed he needed, but accuracy. At such close range he could not, dare not, miss.

  Three bullets. Three head shots.

  There was no time to congratulate himself on his marksmanship. More figures were advancing out of the dark, from School Lane, the car park, Calday Rugby Club, Thor’s Rock. They surrounded him, some walking steadily, others shuffling. Their clothes were unwashed, uncared for, many torn or simply rotted away. Skin hung loose, ripped, hanging, bone and muscle showing on the most decayed. At the back of the thirty-or-so people he saw some who crawled, others with limbs missing.

  Although his mind fought against it, he could not deny the evidence of his eyes. Creatures that shouldn’t exist, that couldn’t exist in a sane world.

  So forget sanity and deal with what faces you. Fucking zombies!

  CHAPTER NINE

  Protection

  The thing that had been Graham watched silently as the two men approached the candle-lit window. There was a strange feeling in his stomach. Not hunger, he was used to that, but something else. Something fluttery, unsettling. Vague thoughts, possibly memories, tugged at his mind. What was that feeling? It was not totally unfamiliar, but he could fit it to nothing since his rebirth. Something older then, something he should have left far behind.

  It wasn't fear. The two men he watched held no threat for him. If he chose to kill them, he could. Why hadn't he? Why did he just follow?

  Curiosity.

  He wanted to know what two armed men wandering around the dark country lanes were up to, especially in his area. It was difficult to accept, but he could not deny he was curious.

  But that was still not the feeling in his stomach. Slightly nauseating, a twisting, griping pain.

  It grew stronger as the two men reached the window, first exchanging strained pleasantries with the old women inside, but quickly turning to raised voices, threats and the pointing of a gun.

  #

  Annie heard the voices downstairs, their unfamiliarity pulling her back from the edge of sleep. She heard Mrs Jenna too, but there was one, perhaps two people she didn't know down there.

  They had learnt to be cautious of strangers, especially those who called after dark.

  She pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, her toes just touching the floor, and strained to hear more clearly what was being said.

  The words no longer mattered, only the tone, as a male voice turned angry, demanding, threatening. Annie didn't hesitate. She made her way quickly out of the bedroom and down the stairs, not even stopping to consider that she wore nothing but a short t-shirt nightdress. Mrs Jenna needed help, that was all that mattered.

  #

  Brian hesitated, the revolver he held to the old lady's head wavering slightly, as he saw movement on the stairs. In a glance, he took in the attractive young woman, the t-shirt nightdress, the blonde curls peeking from beneath its hem from his angle of view.

  "Shit!" He licked his lips. It had been a long time. "Come down here, girl, or the old woman dies."

  Joe, standing in front of the closed back door, holding the Lee-Enfield rifle at his hip, had seen Annie as well. The sight caused his heart to sink. He feared what Brian would do.

  Annie, after a moment's hesitation, and realising, too late, that she was not only naked beneath the nightdress but exposed up on the stairs, stepped down into the kitchen. Her stomach turned in fear, both for Mrs Jenna and herself. Why hadn’t John returned yet? If he had been next door she would not be so afraid.

  Brian turned the Webley & Scott away from Mrs Jenna, slipped the end of the barrel under the hem of Annie's nightdress and lifted it up to her belly, smiling.

  "You leave her alone!" snapped Mrs Jenna, reaching to push Brian away.

  He swung the gun barrel up and across the old lady's face, cutting her cheek bone, sending her sprawling to the ground in a spray of blood.

  Annie moved to attack him, her protective instinct towards Mrs Jenna overriding her fear, but stopped short as he turned the gun back on her.

  "You want the old lady to live? You and me are going to have some fun. It's been a long time."

  Joe, his stomach turning and twisting, could stay silent no longer.

  "Brian, don't," he said, flinching as his companion turned angry and less-than-sane eyes on him.

  "What do you mean, 'don't'?"

  Joe swallowed and gathered his courage. There were some things he would not be part of.

  "This isn't us Brian. We're thieves, yes, and we've killed people in self defence or in war, but we're not murderers, and we're not rapists!"

  "The old lady keeps quiet and there won't be any murder," said Brian, turning back to look first at the bleeding and barely conscious Mrs Jenna on the floor, and then at Annie, standing shaking and scared before him. "And this won't be rape, 'cause this girl is going to give me everything I want willingly, aren't you?"

  He waved the pistol in front of Annie's face, smiling. Slowly, she nodded her head. She couldn't see she had any other choice.

  Joe turned away. "This is bullshit Brian. I want nothing to do with it."

  "I wasn't offering to share her with you anyway."

  Joe was unsure what he should do. He didn't want to be in any way a part of this, but he also did not want to end up alone. Why couldn't Brian see sense? Sex wasn't worth sinking to this level for. He had no moral problem stealing from people to survive, and he would kill if threatened, the army had taught him that. But this was different. Whatever Brian tried to claim, this was rape, and if the old woman tried to interfere again, Joe had no doubt that Brian would kill her. Did he stand by and let it all happen? Did he walk away? Should he try and stop it, doubting, as he did, his own ability to take Brian in a fair fight?

  It was a decision he would not have to take.

  He saw a brief shadow from the corner of his eye through the frosted glass of the back door, and then it crashed open, the glass cracking with the force.

  The creature who rushed through wore tattered clothes, was smeared in dark, almost black, dried blood, and growled like an animal.

  The thing that had been Graham knocked the man nearest the door almost casually aside, moving to attack the one threatening the girl.

  Brian turned at the sudden interruption, saw Joe tumbling to the floor, and tried to bring his weapon
to bear on the rushing madman. He could do nothing but shout in surprise and sudden pain as he was bulldozed off his feet to fall beneath his attacker. The Webley & Scott revolver skittered across the kitchen floor, the metal barrel scarring the linoleum.

  Annie staggered backwards, screaming, staring at the struggling bodies, recognising the creature who had attacked her the other night, who had killed her father and survived the bullets from John's gun.

  The thing that had been Graham gave the man beneath him no time to fight back, locking his teeth around the man's throat, pulling, tearing, feeling the skin break, muscle and blood vessels ripping, blood splashing over his face. He swallowed raw meat, growled in satisfaction, continued to rip and tear and eat.

  Brian was dead within seconds of hitting the floor.

  Joe, struggling to his feet, lifted the Lee-Enfield and fired, point blank, into the back of the man who had so obviously killed his companion. The bullet hit, penetrated. He fired again, hit again.

  "Die you fucker!" he growled, determined to avenge Brian's death. "Die!"

  He stared in disbelief, and dropped his weapon, as the man he had just shot twice in the back turned, snarled at him with raw viscera hanging from his lips, and leapt.

  He had no defence, falling beneath the onslaught, feeling teeth rip at his cheek, his nose, tasting the blood that poured into his open, screaming mouth.

  The thing that had been Graham hesitated, looking up to where Annie stood, paralysed by fear. The girl stared back, knowing she would be his next victim.

  He stood, leaving Joe barely conscious, still hanging on to life despite the horrendous injuries to his face. For a moment, the thing that had been Graham looked into Annie's eyes, saw the abject terror there. He felt his rage soften, his anger pull back, and knew that he did not wish to frighten her any more.

  He bent down, grabbed Joe's coat in a bloodied, torn fist and, without looking back, walked out into the night, dragging Joe after him, blood snaking a thick trail as they went.

  Joe's screams of terror were heard long after the two were no longer visible in the dark.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thor's Rock

  John pushed his last clip into the automatic, raised the gun, and put a bullet through the brain of the creature climbing to its feet directly in front of him. He knew it was through the brain, because he could see the grey matter inside the collapsed skull and taste it as he quickly wiped the splatter from his face.

  Instinctively, he had fought his way to Thor's Rock, scrambling up the sandstone outcrop, gaining the high ground. It gave him some time to think. Although the things surrounding the rock could climb, most struggled with the narrow pathways and smooth footholds worn by generations of climbers. For some, lacking the arms or legs to do anything but crawl, it was impossible. For the first time since he had been surrounded, he had some moments to take stock of the situation, try and plan his way out of it.

  He had twelve bullets left. His only other weapon was the USMC Fighting Knife on his belt. He had no qualms about using it, but it meant getting in closer to these creatures than he really wanted to.

  They had surrounded the base of the rock. At first, several had attempted to climb after him, but between bullets and his boot he had sent them crashing back to the ground. There seemed enough intelligence in them that they had chosen simply to wait. An occasional maverick, like the one he had just shot, would scramble up, hoping, presumably, to catch him off-guard, but they were few and easily dealt with. The others just waited, looking up, groaning, drooling.

  He had to escape. He couldn't just stay there on Thor's Rock forever. The bullets would run out, he would tire, perhaps fall asleep, if lack of water didn't get him first. Then he had no doubt they would be up the sides of the rock and on him. He could take a few out with the knife, but he had no illusions. In the end, they would overwhelm him.

  Did these creatures sleep? He wasn't sure he could wait to find out. Although he had depleted their numbers significantly, there were still more than enough to make a mad dash nothing short of suicidal. For the moment, he could do nothing more than wait, just as the things waited. But that brought its own worries.

  What about Annie? Were there more creatures out there, perhaps even now surrounding the houses? He thought back to the man who had killed Chris Thomas, and how he had shot him at point-blank range with little effect. The answer, now, was obvious. He had been one of these things. And where there was one, there could be more. He had to get back to the houses, to protect Annie and the others. He just wasn't sure how.

  Noises from further back on the hill. Rustling in the gorse. Footsteps. Murmuring voices.

  For a moment, his hopes were raised. Perhaps other people, other survivors, were nearing? They could help him escape.

  Eagerly, he looked towards the sounds, along the pathways that snaked across the hill. The things at the base of the rock had heard them too, and some turned to look.

  The shuffling gait, the tattered clothes, crushed John's hope in an instant. This was not potential rescue, this was potential disaster. More creatures. More than he cared to try and count.

  He backed to the far side of the rock, unsure what to do. If he didn't try and escape immediately, the creature reinforcements would reach the rock and make it impossible. But there were still too many to make running for it anything other than probable suicide.

  A sudden popping sound, a gout of sandstone dust some three feet away.

  "What the fuck?"

  Another pop. More dust, a little nearer.

  Someone was firing at him.

  #

  Graham, for at some time during that night he had changed from being 'the thing that used to be called Graham' to just 'Graham' in his own mind, sat sated and confused behind the dead hedges of the fields. He was sated because of the meal he had just finished, the remains of which, the blood and gristle of Joe's body, was spread around him. He was confused because of what had happened in the house just a short time before.

  From where he sat, he could see the candle still flickering in the window, but the rest of the house, the rest of the whole night, was complete blackness. What little moon had been out was now hidden behind heavy cloud.

  The girl. He was confused about the girl.

  He wasn't completely certain why he chose to attack at all, but having done so, he should have killed everyone in that kitchen. It would have been easy, the natural thing to do, but something had stopped him. He still didn't understand what it was.

  Flashes of images, perhaps memories, had disturbed his eating earlier. Images of a girl. Not the girl, just a girl, but similar enough for him to know they had some connection. The girl in the house reminded him of someone, perhaps the one in the images. But how could anything remind a creature such as himself, with no certain memories and little enough grasp on the present? The Givers Of Life had not intended for him to remember his life before death. Even the reclamation of his name was rebellion beyond anything he had thought possible. Yet, if he could reclaim his name, perhaps he could reclaim something more of the life he had once had? More of who he was, and why the girl in that house caused him such confusion and turmoil.

  If he was going to understand, however, it would need to be soon. He could sense the army on the march. He could sense the nearness of at least one large group. They would have no confusion over the girl, or anything else. Once they reached the houses, everyone inside would be dead. It should be what he wanted too.

  So why did the thought cause him discomfort, and what exactly was that drop of liquid squeezed from the corner of his eye, running lazily down his dry, cracked cheek?

  #

  John stared harder at the advancing abominations, saw several raised hands, the unmistakable shapes of automatic pistols and revolvers held in the cracked fists. Saw a muzzle flash, heard the bullet zip past his ear. The bastards were finding their aim.

  Whoever said zombies couldn't use guns?

  Raising his own weapon, John
loosed three quick shots in the direction of the shooters. He doubted he had made a head shot, but at least the hands dropped out of sight momentarily, as the bullets hit.

  There was no longer any time to wait. The newcomers, the shooting, had distracted those creatures around the base of the rock as much as anything would. He had to risk it before the shooters opened fire again and got a lucky shot.

  Not giving himself time to think, he pulled the knife from its sheath and, with the automatic in his right hand and the knife in his left, jumped off Thor's Rock.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Waiting

  Annie checked on Mrs Jenna. The old lady was asleep, tucked up in the bed she and Geoff Hobsen had carried her to after the attack. The makeshift bandage covering the gash on Mrs Jenna's cheek was wrapped around her head. It made her injuries look worse than they were, but it was the only way Annie could find to hold the thing in place. Blood had already soaked through the layers of gauze to blossom as a crimson stain.

  Annie felt nauseous and had barely stopped shaking. Her head ached with fear and confusion, and she was grateful that Mr Hobsen was there to sit her down on the bedside and make her a cup of tea. She wasn't sure she could have returned to the kitchen herself.

  "It was him," she said, taking her first sip from the mug Mr Hobsen handed her.

  "Are you sure? I mean, it sounds like everything happened pretty fast. Can you be certain?"

  "Oh yes, I'm certain. I'll never forget..." She shuddered and paused, taking another sip of tea to calm herself down. "It was the same... thing!"

  Thing. She wondered about that. He certainly seemed more creature than human, but he was undoubtedly a man of some kind. What was he exactly? She was not sure.