The Dead Don't Yell

by Shaun Whittington

  He paused.

  He could hear noises, shouting, and heard them growing ever so slowly. His name was being called and he turned and could see Stephen and Joanne waving whilst running. It was them that were shouting his name, and it wasn’t until a few more seconds had passed that he realised that they were trying to warn him about something.

  He looked to his left and could see a horde coming over the bridge and more were behind, passing the Wolseley Arms pub.

  “Where the fuck did they come from?” he muttered, and then his eyes answered his question for him.

  Behind the pub was a field and it appeared that there was a least thirty scattered about, heading down the hill. Vince had no idea what made them turn up in this area in the first place, but knew the screams from the leader of the three had now alerted the dead from the field and whatever was on the road.

  He turned and could see that the female ghoul that had attacked the man was still bent over, putting her diseased hands into his torn open stomach and stuffing its mouth with whatever she pulled out first.

  He put her down, and then looked back over to Stephen and Joanne who were still yelling and waving, but they were also pointing. But they were not pointing to where the horde were coming from, they were pointing the other way.

  Vince looked and could see some of the dead spilling onto the road from the field. The herd was at one side and now there were six at his other side.

  He was now surrounded, almost. The only way to escape was to go back down the hill, back down the river, but the bank ended a few hundred yards up ahead. The bank simply disappeared, and all that was by the side of the river was a concrete wall. And going into the river was a no-no. There could be some dead in there, and he had almost drowned the last time he had to jump in a river. No! Jumping into the Trent would be a death sentence for certain this time.

  He could see the horde getting near. Twelve of them so far, and there were now six to the other side of him. Stephen and Joanne managed to get up the bank and were now by Vince’s side, out of breath, still carrying their bags.

  “What now?” Rowley panted.

  Vince nodded to his left, opposite the horde, up the road that led back to Colwyn.

  “We need to get the fuck out of here, kids.”

  “But that horde behind is gonna follow us home, chap,” Stephen cried.

  Vince pointed over to the six advancing ghouls that had come from the field. “Let’s get by these six and worry about that later.”

  Chapter Forty Five

  “We need to get through these bastards to get back to Colwyn!” Rowley yelled, nodding to the six advancing beasts.

  “Nothing like stating the obvious, Steve,” Vince laughed.

  “It’s Stephen,” Rowley corrected, pulling out his knife.

  Joanne also carried a knife, but Vince wasn’t sure how much use she was going to be. She was shaking and the enormity of what she was facing was suffocating her.

  The six dead were yards from them, and the bigger problem, the herd, were twenty yards away.

  “We’ve got a minute to take care of these six,” said Vince, raising his machete. “Otherwise we’re gonna be dead meat once that horde over there catches up with us.”

  Rowley scoffed, “Now who’s stating the obvious, chap.”

  Ignoring Stephen’s remark, Vince front kicked the first advancing ghoul of the six and struck another one from behind, the blade sticking into the top of its head. Rowley had killed a fair few in the past when he used to go out with Nick Gregory, and showed his experience when he confidently stuck his knife in the temple of an advancing one. He punched the next one in the face, looking to the side to see that Vince had finally managed to free his blade.

  Vince barged by Stephen and, like his old days, he was like a man possessed. He swiped at two of them, both dead falling from the injuries to their heads, and could see there was two left. He was getting tired and this time Stephen pulled Vince back. “I’ve got this, chap,” he said.

  Panting, Vince looked over his shoulder and could see the horde not far away. Joanne stood in shock, holding her knife, and she barely moved.

  Stephen’s blade snapped as he tried to penetrate the side of the skull of one of the dead, but failed, and the other one grabbed him by the shoulder and fell forwards, the two of them falling to the floor.

  Vince could see the standing Snatcher, only yards away, heading towards the other dead being and Stephen who were still both on the floor.

  Vince brought his bloodstained blade back, ready to put the female advancing ghoul down, but panicked when he felt something touch his ankle. At first he thought he had been bitten by the Rotter that Stephen was trying to fight off, but it appeared that the fiend had grabbed his ankle with Stephen underneath it, trying to push its head away to stop him from being bitten.

  Seeing that Stephen was struggling and had no blade, Vince decided to take care of the Snatcher that was on top of Stephen first. Kindl rammed his machete into the back of its head, like a spear, and had to make two attempts to pull it out.

  Vince then felt his arm being grabbed from behind. Drenched in panic, he turned around and lashed out at the remaining female Snatcher, catching her shoulder, and took a step back as it almost lunged for him.

  Weakening, Vince pushed its face back and could feel his fingers slipping. The creature snarled and waggled its head like a distressed animal and caught Vince’s thumb in its mouth.

  Vince screamed out even before the beast bit down, and he fell over, dropping his machete, and stared at his missing thumb in disbelief. Blood began to pour down over his hand as he raised it up, and could see Rowley kicking the beast over and picking Vince’s machete off of the floor and destroying the ghoul.

  Stephen bent over and grabbed Vince with his free hand to help him up, then noticed that Kindl was injured and exclaimed, “Shit! Oh no! Not you, Vince! Not you, chap!”

  Rowley took a step back and could see that the six Creepers were bleeding out on the road, but the horde that had come from over the hill were just seconds away from ripping all three of them apart.

  Joanne began to back away from the horde, passing Rowley and Kindl. Vince was sitting up and had his hands flat on the ground and saw Stephen standing over him and raising the machete over his head.

  With tears in his eyes, Vince nodded. “Just do it.”

  Stephen paused for a couple of seconds. “I don’t think I can.”

  “I don’t wanna turn into one of those freaks,” Vince snarled, but had tears in his eyes, “so just do it, you fucking pussy.”

  “I’m sorry, chap,” Rowley said.

  Vince closed his eyes and Joanne looked away once Rowley brought the blade down, striking Vince Kindl.

  Chapter Forty Six

  Drake had told one of his men to show Pickle and Karen around the hospital, and seemed quite pleased with himself at what he had built. Drake told his two guests that he wanted someone else to give them a tour because it would give them a break from looking at his ‘ugly mug’. He then came clean and told them that he had something to do and he would meet them both back at the staff room.

  Pickle and Karen’s guide was a man of average height, had a dark beard, and was hairy all over. He had hairy arms, and Karen guessed that the man could probably do with a back wax as well.

  Of course, Karen already knew the layout of the building, but the front part where the reception, A and E, and Outpatients department was had changed. The rest of the building was abandoned, but had been cleared of the dead that had been put on a huge pile at the back of the hospital, on the grass, and had been set alight many weeks ago.

  Also, behind the hospital was where they kept the vehicles. Pickle and Karen never counted them, or asked their guide how many vehicles they had, but there were many mopeds, a couple of black jeeps and five pickup trucks, as well as a row of large solar panels that stretched for many yards.

  The area where the ninety or so people lived seemed immaculately cle
an, and the pros of taking over a hospital was that it already had generators in case of a blackout; it had cloakrooms, where people had left their jackets, many beds, and hundreds and hundreds of clean sheets in the laundry room.

  Pickle turned to his hairy guide and said, “Yer seem really well set up.”

  “We are,” the man spoke up. “In the beginning, admittedly, we had to rob to get what we wanted, but now things are falling into place and we’re growing our own food as well.”

  “Really?” Pickle queried, but Karen remained silent.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about her old work colleagues with every door and corridor they went through. The hospital visit had produced an avalanche of memories for the young woman, and she was becoming upset now that she was back.

  “That’s right,” the male guide answered Pickle’s short query. “We’ve also set up greenhouses outside, near where the maternity unit used to be.”

  “Definitely better set up than we have.” Pickle nodded and said to the guide, “Yer would think that going to a hospital during this kind o’ apocalypse would be the last thing yer should do. After all, when people got sick in the beginning, these are the kind o’ places they went to.”

  “Coming here in the beginning would have been pointless, and dangerous,” the guide admitted. “But we came here months after. It was bad then, but it was more than likely worse in the first couple of weeks.”

  Pickle looked at Karen and wondered why she was so quiet, but he decided not to press her.

  “A question, if yer don’t mind,” Pickle said with a smirk.

  The hairy man smiled. “Sure.”

  “What don’t yer have here?”

  “A lot of things,” said the male guide who hadn’t introduced himself or was introduced by Drake. “But we have water filters, detergent, plenty of toilet roll, battery-powered radios and lamps, purification tablets. We also have a cistern for collecting rainwater, despite having running water anyway.” The man paused briefly, gulped, and then continued, “We also have plenty of gas; we have torches, candles, some spare clothes, amongst other shit. And the solar panels help us out with showers and light, but it’s not perfect. Thankfully, we have gas generators as well. That’ll come in handy when the winter kicks in and we get less daylight.”

  “Okay.” Pickle nodded at the man and then looked at Karen again.

  She could feel his look and told him, “I’m okay.”

  “Right,” the man clapped his hands together and said, “I’ll show you the nursery and then we’ll head back to the staff room, back to Drake.”

  “Nursery?” Pickle scratched his head.

  “Yeah,” the guide began to snicker. “It’s not just men that stay here, you know.”

  “I know that,” Pickle said. “I’ve seen a few women while we’ve been walking about.”

  “We also have five teenagers under the age of sixteen somewhere. Two of them don’t have dads anymore, after what happened at your street a week or so ago.”

  “Oh.” Pickle lowered his head.

  “We also have seven kids, all under the age of twelve, at the nursery. Which is where I’m taking you now. You’ll get to meet Jody who runs the small place.”

  “Can’t wait.” Pickle smiled.

  *

  Drake knew that he had about twenty minutes before Karen and Pickle would return. He sat in silence in the old staff room of the hospital. He told some of his guys that he didn’t want to be disturbed and that he needed some time to himself.

  As always, his guys obediently nodded and Drake headed into the room. Aware there was no lock on the door, he picked up a chair and placed it against the door to prevent people from coming in, just in case some were unaware of his instruction.

  He went over to the fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of water, and then went over to the couch and slumped in it.

  He unscrewed the bottle and sighed before taking his first swig of the clear liquid. He gazed into nothingness and began to lose himself for a while, thinking of nothing in particular.

  He looked at the battery-powered clock on the wall that was above the sink, and could feel his throat tightening.

  He was dreading tomorrow. He was dreading August 29th.

  That date would have been his and his wife’s twenty-second wedding anniversary.

  He grunted, trying to reduce the swelling in his throat, paranoid that somebody might try and come in, and stood up and walked over to the sink. He crouched down, opened the cupboard under the sink, and put his hand underneath the pot that was never used. He pulled out a photograph and went back over to the couch. He finished the water in one sitting, sat back and held the photograph with both juddering hands.

  It was a picture of his wife and his seven-year-old son. The photo had been taken on his phone and he had had it printed for his office table, back in the old world. Now, it was all he had left; the only reminder that once upon a time life used to be good.

  He thought back to when he had taken the photo. It was at a park, taken four months ago in May, and Drake had remembered that his son, Jack, had fallen off of a roundabout and had grazed his elbow, minutes after the photo was taken. He remembered the inconsolable child running straight to his mother, and all three having to leave early.

  A month later, they were both dead.

  On the day of the announcement, Drake was out with his group, planning on riding out to Great Wyrley, and the news began to filter through his and the other guy’s phones that things were happening, macabre things. They all went their separate ways and headed for their homes. Drake stayed at Brereton, a town next to Rugeley, and had returned home on the evening to find the remains of Jack and Coral, his wife, on the front lawn, with his street also awash with the dead. He screamed as he saw his son’s little decapitated head and the body of his wife with her insides out, and began attacking the dead like a maniac with his bare fists, until they overpowered him.

  How he never got bitten, he would never know.

  There were so many of the dead that he had to abandon his bike and fled his street on foot, tears still running down his face. He fled to the woods and phoned his pals. Some of their stories were similar to Drake’s, but there were some whose families were okay. A lot of his men had contacted Drake by phone and decided to meet up with him, although some remained in their homes with their families and tried to ride it out in their own way.

  Wrath of Evil was just a name. They weren’t a gang that terrorised people or were into organised crime; they were simply a group of men who liked to ride out twice a week, enjoy the outdoors, and visit a pub once in a while. However, it didn’t take long for Drake to kill his first human, and after that he did what was necessary to protect his gang. His wife and son’s death had clearly affected him mentally.

  They went from one place to the next, until they reached Stafford, and since he had stayed at the old hospital he had mellowed a little and wasn’t as vicious as he used to be in the beginning.

  He looked at the photograph of Coral and Jack and ran his finger down his son’s face. He and his mother were smiling, had their heads together, and were standing by the baby swings, near the pond.

  Drake lowered his head and sobbed for a few seconds, but suddenly pulled himself together when a knock came at the door. It couldn’t have been Karen and Pickle returning, he thought. They’d only been gone for a short time.

  “What the fuck is it?” he snapped.

  “Erm...” was the only sound he heard from behind the door.

  “Wait a minute!”

  Drake went over to the sink and splashed his eyes. He then grabbed a tea-towel and rubbed his face. He went over to the door, moved the chair, and opened it to see a man in his twenties. He was called Gary Bond and was an incompetent arsehole that Drake had never warmed to.

  “What is it, Gary?” Drake huffed.

  “Erm... we ... we…” Gary was nervous, he always was in Drake’s company, and was struggling to string a sentence together.
>
  “Come on, you stuttering cunt,” Drake hissed. “Out with it.”

  “We have a problem,” was all that Gary could release.

  “Problem? What kind of problem?”

  “With the tomatoes in the greenhouse.”

  “What in cunt’s name are you talking about?” Drake scratched his shaved head and hunched his shoulders at Gary Bond, waiting for an answer from the nervous young man. But Drake wasn’t getting one.

  “Speak up, son,” Drake snapped, losing patience. “I haven’t got all fucking day, you know.”

  “The tomatoes…” Gary was now shaking with nerves and tried again. His second attempt of stringing a sentence together was a success. “The tomatoes have gone all funny, off.”

  “So, why are you bothering me with this shit? Isn’t Henry in charge of produce?”

  “I … I can’t find him.”

  Drake rubbed his eyes and sighed, “And that’s my problem because…”

  “Um…”

  “Sort it. And if you bother me again about trivial things, you’ll be getting a kick in the bollocks.”

  “But you said last week that you need to know everything what’s going on.”

  “Not everything, you stupid bastard.” Drake narrowed his eyes at Gary and shook his head in disbelief at his stupidity. “I was talking about things that affect security, you gormless cunt.”

  “Oh, okay.” Gary lowered his head and looked close to tears.

  “Now fuck off, and see next time you need a shit, I don’t need to know about it. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Gary kept his head lowered. “Sorry, Drake.”

  Drake huffed and slammed the door shut, shaking his head. “Fucking bell end.”

  Chapter Forty Seven

  After the nearly half-hour tour, Karen and Pickle had returned. They stepped into the staff room, Drake thanked the man that had taken them round, and their host asked Karen and Pickle to take a seat in a room which used to be the staff room that Karen used to use, whenever she was allowed a rare break.