by T. W. Brown
Home.
It chimed and flooded her with a brief barrage of images. Sometimes she saw several faces…none with actual names that she could recall, but each with its own associated feeling.
There was the dark-haired little girl whose face was the most prevalent of the bunch. She felt something stir in her when that image would come. There was a man…he was the second most common, but the feeling from his image invoked the most of what might be considered “feeling” if a zombie were actually capable.
There were others, and they all came sporadically and far less frequent than the other two, but each sent a sensation through the little zombie girl.
The other way had only one image that came with any consistency. It was one man’s face that returned time and time again. Yet, there was something that came just as suddenly and would wipe that image away to the point where all she saw was one of the larger ones staring up at her. Still, she could not deny the pull that came. Despite so much more depth and vividness to that collection of images that would roll through when she considered the mountains to the east, it was still that one image that she felt most drawn to when she looked west.
Morning broke, and it was not really any different than any other. However, the large ones were restless. They were coming in increasing numbers. More and more stumbled through the streets; to the point where Emily-zombie and her group of zombie children felt the pull to stay close to the mother cat and her kittens.
As the shadows vanished and the orb above shined its light and sent its warmth, Emily-zombie continued to hear noises from many places. Sometimes she would not be able to resist, and it was one of those times when she found herself alone amidst a big group of the large ones.
They were moving towards a sound that came with a strange regularity. It was just that peculiarity that had drawn Emily-zombie out. However, once she reached a large, open field that stretched before her, Emily-zombie halted.
She did not like to go out into such large, open spaces. Something about them made that message of ceasing to be come with more power. So Emily-zombie stopped and watched as many of the large ones passed by.
In the distance, a few of the sources of warmth appeared. It was from those sources that the noise came, and now, as many of the large ones drew close, those sources of warmth only increased in the amount of noise that they made.
Something was wrong.
Emily-zombie could not know what she was seeing. It made no real sense to her. She could not comprehend on that level, and so she watched as a group of people banged on garbage can lids to draw the growing number of zombies into a hastily built corral.
“Keep ‘em coming!” a voice hooted. “As soon as the signal comes to let us know that them folks up in Island City sent out their teams, we set these puppies free. That should derail their little train.”
None of it made any sense to Emily-zombie, but she did see more and more of the large ones coming. She puzzled over why they all reached a certain spot and then just stopped. Her eyes did not see the fence, nor did they see the big gate swing shut.
Eventually, Emily-zombie felt drawn to return to her group of zombie children. She was more certain now than ever before that it was time for them to move on. They did not need to stay and hunt these sources of warmth…they really brought nothing that lasted. She was more certain now than ever before that being anyplace where those sources of warmth existed meant one thing and one thing only.
End.
And while she still held no actual fear or concept of death, Emily-zombie was content to be as she was now.
Alone, Emily-zombie walked down streets. On many occasions she had to withdraw into the shadows between a pair of buildings or underneath an abandoned car to avoid the flitting sources of warmth. They were out and in numbers greater than she had ever experienced. All of this combined to cause the spark that would fire to repeat the same message again and again.
Hide.
The image came in the form of darkness, of places with lots of tall grass. It did not take long for her to actually understand that concept for what it meant.
Moving past a house, Emily-zombie turned towards an opening. She made her way to a back yard and stopped when she reached the edge of a large wooden structure. There was room enough that she barely had to dip her head to move beneath it.
Enveloped in the darkness, Emily-zombie stood still and waited. She heard more noise, and once, just beyond the fence that still stood at the back of this overgrown yard, she saw a group of the sources of warmth move past.
It took all of the newly developing and learned abilities that Emily-zombie possessed to remain still for so long against the barrage that her senses received. Twice she observed a massive group of the large ones amble past. She heard their cries and moans, yet Emily-zombie stayed where she had hidden.
She had been still for a while when a new wave of sound came. It was strong enough for her to feel it in her feet as well as actually hear it. No sooner had the overwhelming amount of sound actually subsided when it came again. No less in intensity, the sounds rumbled from what seemed like every direction at once.
Emily-zombie felt the urge grow. It was time. She could put it off no longer if she did not want to cease. She would go find the rest and they would leave. They would go towards where the bright light in the sky vanished every day.
Staggering through the tall grasses and making her way back to what had been a sort of home for the past several weeks, Emily-zombie arrived at last. She was met by what remained of her group; a cluster of zombie children that had gathered in a yard.
There, on the ground in the midst of her fellow zombie children were several misshapen figures. While she could not actually “see” them, she had come to know their shapes. Only, now their warmth was gone.
Cease.
That was the image that came in its varied forms as Emily-zombie looked down on the broken and dead remains of the mother cat and her kittens. Dropping to her knees, Emily-zombie picked up the cold form of the mother cat. It was limp in her hand and did not nuzzle or lick as it had always done in the past.
Dead.
For the first time, that signal came in place of the old “cease” signal that she had begun to comprehend. This time, however, she did understand. The mother cat was dead. No doubt killed in all of the noise and activity that had been occurring. She could not actually connect the two in any logical way, but a part of her “knew” the cause and came to the realization that she and the others like her would be next.
Setting down the empty shell that had once been the mother cat, Emily-zombie began to walk. The others fell in as if they sensed a change.
***
It had been three weeks. During that time they had found and lost two sets of bicycles, equipped themselves with some high-quality backpacks that they actually took off of zombies after putting them down for good. Not that it had been a challenge. The two pathetic creatures had been like turtles flipped onto their backs.
The couple had been younger, perhaps in their early twenties by the look of it. It had actually been the easiest re-supply that Vix had experienced. The packs were still brimming with useful items. There were salt tablets, MREs, iodine pills, filtered canteens, and a varied assortment of tools. In addition, there was one other find that brought squeals of delight from both Vix and Gemma when the younger girl had pulled the sealed Ziploc bag from one of the packs and held it overhead like the prize that it was.
“Bog rolls!” Gemma crowed.
“Worth its weight in gold,” Vix said dreamily as she pulled the first of three white rolls from the plastic protection and gave it a squeeze.
Harold shook his head. While it was certainly a nice find, he did not see what all the fuss was about. He had been doing just dandy these past months without it. He maintained that stance all the way up until the first time he used it. He had forgotten what such a simple luxury an item that he had completely taken for granted could be.
As the t
rio travelled east, they made it a point to skirt any major areas of population. While there may indeed be a treasure trove of items—including more tissue paper—the risk far outweighed the potential reward. They had been running on luck for quite a while and he had no desire to see the last of it used up.
Staying parallel to the A13, they eventually were faced with a decision. Having made camp on an overpass just west of a community that the signs announced as Aveley, Harold poured over the map.
“We need to decide if we want to risk crossing a bridge, The Queen Elizabeth Bridge is just south of here…or we can hope to find a small boat…perhaps in Grays or Tilbury…and give a go at making our way up the Thames.” Harold laid out the map and pointed so that both Vix and Gemma could see.
“Which do you think is safest?” Vix asked.
She had her own preference, but she was discovering that more often than not, the young man thought very similar to her. By letting him think that he was making decisions, it was easier to bring them to her way of thinking on those occasions when they differed. She would let Harold speak first, and if it was close to what she felt, then she would agree, thus stocking up more points for when she would have to draw a line.
“We are going to have to take to the water sooner or later,” Harold said.
“That is a good point,” Vix agreed. Ever since she had taken this particular tactic and made it at least seem like the other two had a say in things, it had been almost a miraculous turnabout in the group mood and dynamic.
Harold traced a potential route on the map, explaining as he went. “We stay with our track along the A13 until we spot the overpass on this side of Orsett. From there, we just go due south until we hit the water. There are a few small towns that we may need to swing wide from, but sooner or later we will have to venture in. We can put it off all the way to Tilbury if need be.”
“Excellent plan,” Vix agreed.
They resumed their trek. Vix was feeling better than she had in a while. The countryside was turning a lush green with the spring rains, and twice they had passed a huge pasture with actual living horses. Gemma had wanted to stop everything and go after them to exchange for the bicycles, but Vix had used one of her stockpiled veto votes.
“We would need to provide care for them, and we would also have to search for harnesses and bridles…all that sort of thing,” Vix explained patiently. “The lovely creatures seem to be doing well for themselves. Let’s not muck it up for them.”
Gemma had agreed and Vix had celebrated inwardly. Her new approach was working exactly as planned.
“Hey,” Gemma called, snapping Vix out of her state of road hypnosis, “what’s that up ahead?”
They had been pedaling along down a road marked as “Stifford Clays Rd.” for the past several minutes. Everybody applied their brakes as the trio came to a staggered halt.
“Looks like a small town,” Harold called over his shoulder.
“No…” Gemma huffed and pedaled up beside the young man, pointing off to the right. “I see the village, I am talking about that!”
Both Vix and Harold followed where Gemma’s finger pointed. Harold cocked his head and pushed off, starting his bicycle forward. The other two followed until they got close enough to be able to make out the mysterious object.
“Is that sign made from arms and legs?” Harold choked.
Vix swung her leg over and laid her bicycle down on the road. This was more what she had expected in a zombie apocalypse. Most of the sane and rational people had likely perished due to a mixture of trying to save the foolish or completely disbelieving the events unfolding around them. That left the nutters.
“That is exactly what it is,” Vix breathed as she read the sign. It had a simple message: Fort Tilbury is zombie free!
“I wonder how many poor souls that sign has trapped?” Vix muttered.
“What?” Gemma gasped. “Are you saying that is just some sort of trap?”
“That is exactly what I am saying,” Vix said with a shake of her head as she returned to her bicycle. “Perhaps we can go a little further up and search for our boat there.”
“We aren’t even going to go have a look?” Gemma asked with a hint of a whine edging into her voice.
“It’s a trap,” Vix repeated with a sigh as she prepared to use another of her precious vetoes. “Let’s just go a bit further up the Thames and search for a boat when we have put some distance between us and the Tilbury Fort area.”
“No!” Gemma actually stomped her foot and Vix was not in the least bit surprised when she turned to see the girl had her arms crossed over her stomach. “We should at least go look.”
“That place is probably full of degenerates, perverts, and the worst of the nutters,” Vix insisted.
“You read too many of those stupid books,” Gemma argued. “You think that everybody is evil or has some secret plan. What could it hurt to just go and look?”
“She’s right,” Harold chimed in. “We could just go see. Maybe this is for real.”
“And so normal and decent people make signs out of zombie arms and legs?” Vix pointed out.
“It got our attention!” Gemma snapped. “Not like paint stores are open these days.”
The argument continued to the point where a few straggling zombies, drawn by all the shouting, limped out of the tall grass.
“So we can leave behind a perfectly good compound with a female football team to start a place of our own, but you two want to just go barge into a camp that announces itself with a sign made from the severed limbs of the undead?” Vix challenged.
“I’m not saying that we would stay…I am just saying it is worth taking a look,” Gemma huffed.
Vix shook her head. She’d tried, she knew that perhaps she had been a bit strong-handed early on. She even accepted that all the major decisions had been hers and these two had been dragged in her wake. Still, she cast another glance up at the sign and stifled a shudder, this had all the markings of one of those worst-case situations from her books. Sure, the zombie apocalypse had been more than a bit disappointing in comparison to her favorite brand of fiction. There had been no carefree runs through an empty market. Most of those had been looted by deadly mobs in the first few days. But this was just too much.
“Fine,” Vix waved a hand. “You two go on. I will wait for you…” She looked around and spotted a big grove of trees just to their south beside the A13. “I will wait in those trees. Three days…no more. In three days I go on with or without you.”
“Won’t you come with us?” Harold asked sincerely.
“Not on your life.”
Vix got off her bicycle and pushed it to some tall grass. She would leave the bicycle near the road and make her way to the trees on foot. Drawing her machete, she gave one final look over her shoulder and then disappeared into the grass, her head barely peeking above the top.
***
Juan ushered the group away from the makeshift barricade and pointed for the nearby field. This one had not been touched since everything began, and the growth was almost at shoulder height on him. That actually put it above the heads of a few of his small group.
From behind, he heard an increase in gunfire. He hoped desperately that some of that might actually be from Keith and his team. Unfortunately, he had no real idea where they might be. For all he knew, they could have packed some supplies, taken their pick of the choicest weapons, and ran for the hills.
Somebody yelped as bullets whizzed past, cutting down stalks of whatever it was around them that had grown so tall. On instinct, Juan dove for the ground. He was basically on his own now. He heard the rustle and noise as the others continued to try and escape.
There was a pause in the gunfire and Juan thought he heard a whistling sound from nearby. Turning his head first to the left and then to the right, he found the source. One of the members of the group was on his back. His hands were clutching his throat as blood leaked through his fingers. That whistling had been the a
ir coming in and out of the hole. Unfortunately, now it seemed that the hole had filled with blood and the man kicked his feet, flailing and trying to stave off the inevitable.
Getting up to his hands and knees, Juan began to crawl away. The man was dead, he just did not know it yet. And there was not a damn thing that Juan could do about it. Like it or not, it was every man and woman for themselves.
There was a muffled explosion and Juan felt a wave of heat wash over him from almost directly behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he was hit in the face by a cloud of dust and debris. Sputtering, coughing, and nearly blind from all the grit in his eyes, Juan forced himself to ignore the discomfort and move.
More gunfire came and there were commands and shouts, none of which he could actually make out or understand. Between the distance, the closely packed in growth, and the fact that he was much more interested in getting clear of this particular scene in order to try and regroup, Juan could only tell that there was a lot of yelling going on and it sounded disagreeable.
In what felt like an eternity later, he emerged from the field to find himself on a mostly overgrown dirt track that had two distinct ruts from years of being driven on. Climbing to his feet, Juan looked back to discover that there were several small fires burning in the field. He could not actually see the road, but he could still make out the peak of what remained of the old bridge. What he saw made him almost want to be ill.
There were people on the bridge; lots of them. He was willing to bet that just those he could see had to number close to a hundred. In addition to that, the field was dotted with the heads of even more invaders. They had spread out and were systematically making their way across. Also, as he scanned, he saw plumes of black, oily smoke rising from the first five towers on either side of the bridge tower. He could only hope that the people who had manned them had been smart enough to fall back.
