Ultimate Undead Collection: The Zombie Apocalypse Best Sellers Boxed Set (10 Books)

by Joe McKinney

  The silence was deafening. It felt like a deadweight, pressing down on him, getting heavier by the minute. He made straight for his car: a silver Ford Fiesta Zetec. It was nothing special, but right now it felt priceless. The smell of its upholstery, the feel of the steering wheel in his hands, the noise the door made when he shut it… all reassuringly familiar. He started the engine and turned up the stereo to cancel out the quiet of the last twenty-four hours.

  He pulled out of the car park and onto the road, the familiar journey home already anything but. Progress was slow. It had been the height of rush hour yesterday when it – whatever it had been – happened, and every stretch of road now was clogged with mile after mile of stationary traffic. From time to time he was able to use hard shoulders, bus lanes and pavements to build up a head of speed, only to suddenly have to brake again to avoid crashed cars and other obstructions. He drove around bodies with care and concentration. Even after all that had happened, the thought of wilfully causing any further damage to these poor people was abhorrent.

  Home.

  He finally reached the front door of his house, but paused before going in. A deep breath, one last look over his shoulder at the devastated world, then he went inside. There was no one else there: he could tell from the way the alarm had been set and from the gaps on the pegs where Mom and Dad’s coats would have been hanging. The silence inside his home was as ominous as the lack of noise outside, but fractionally less intimidating. At least for now, this place still felt like it used to.

  #

  Another endless night followed; hours spent staring into space, looking for answers he was beginning to think he’d never find, imagining the fates of the people he loved and trying to block out the pain they must have felt when they’d died, trying to suppress his guilt at not going out and looking for them. The conversation from the nightclub still rattled around and around in his head. All that talk of trying to survive, of finding weapons and hoarding supplies. Fucking idiots, he cursed. They’d talked about the end of the world like it would be an adventure. Well, he was here to tell them it wasn’t. It most definitely wasn’t. It was a living hell. He was almost beginning to envy the dead. At least for them the torment was over.

  But as the hours progressed, he forced himself to get a grip. The initial shock was beginning to fade – whether or not it would ever completely disappear, he wasn’t sure – but he was, gradually, starting to think more clearly again. He was going to need food and, whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to think about his long-term survival. Either that, or maybe he should just end it all now. Fuck no, he thought. That idea didn’t bear thinking about, not even for a second.

  When daylight came, he got up (he’d fallen asleep fully clothed, lying on his bed), then made himself eat and drink something. His plan this morning was simple: get out, find enough food to fill the car, then get back. If it went well, he thought he’d maybe try something else tomorrow. Perhaps he’d drive a little further and start looking for other survivors, because he couldn’t be the only one left alive, could he?

  He drove along the roads he’d followed yesterday, knowing they were passable. His route was harder to stick to than he’d expected, because everything looked different driving in the opposite direction. A bike which had skidded out from under its dying driver had been easy to spot yesterday. Travelling the other way, however, Kieran almost didn’t see it until it was too late. He slammed on his brakes and stopped just short of driving over the driver’s outstretched arm.

  Where to go? The Waitrose near to work was an option, but there were nearer stores. He aimed for the Sainsburys near Thornhill, thinking that if things got difficult he could always disappear into the Pendragon pub next door and drink away his fear. He took a wrong turn in the chaos, the abhorrent sights all around distracting him. There was a car flipped over onto its roof, the bodies of its dead passengers trapped inside in full view, their faces smashed up against the broken glass. Every new face he saw made him think about the people he’d loved and lost; the people who mattered who’d be out here somewhere like this. Helpless. Dead. The thought of Dad out on the golf course really hit him hard and he began to sob. Was he as useless and selfish as he now felt for having abandoned them all? But he kept asking himself, what could he have done…?

  With his mind unfocused and tears in his eyes, he clipped the wing of another wreck then reacted too slowly and hit the kerb. He then overcompensated and lost his grip on the steering wheel. His beloved Fiesta ploughed into a low brick wall outside a house, the force of the unexpected impact throwing him forward. His face thumped against the steering wheel, and he felt his left eye immediately beginning to swell.

  He tried to reverse out of the rubble, but it was no good. He’d beached the car chassis on what was left of the wall. Dazed, he got out and began to walk back home, his feet leaden, the effort almost too much.

  He felt more vulnerable than ever. His head was thumping, and he could taste blood in his mouth from a split lip, and it was beginning to piss down with rain. He needed to get home – the only place left – but he wasn’t even sure where he was anymore. He’d probably driven along this road a hundred times before, but he’d never walked along it and even if he had, the devastation had rendered it unrecognisable today. As he walked, hoping he was moving in the right direction, but not completely sure, he thought back to that night in Oceana with Duncan, Marc and Drew again. He remembered their conversation: so trivial and unimportant at the time but now, in the cold light of this post-Armageddon day, he wished he’d listened closer. He wished he’d paid more attention and taken notes because, although half-drunk, his friends had clearly had enough about them to have been instinctively able to survive. But him… well he was a fucking disappointment to himself. The entire world at his feet, anything he wanted within reach, and yet here he was, soaked through and crying like a baby, limping back to hide away in his empty house. The harder he tried to survive, it seemed, the worse things got.

  #

  When Kieran got up next morning, there was a woman in the street in front of his house. He’d dragged himself out of bed feeling no better than when he’d crawled under the duvet last night, but now, suddenly and wholly unexpectedly, things had changed. He ran downstairs, pulling on his dirty clothes as he tripped down the steps, checking from every window he passed that she was still there, desperate not to let her out of his sight. He ran outside, ignoring the cold and the gravel digging into the soles of his feet. Without stopping to consider the improbability of it all, or wondering why she hadn’t reacted to his noise and bluster, he grabbed the woman’s arm and turned her around. Her flesh was bare, and he immediately thought she felt unnaturally cold. Her face was vacant and inexpressive, and his legs weakened with nerves. The way she looked through him but not at him, the way she almost tripped over her own feet as she turned, the way she failed to acknowledge him at all… He let go and she began to traipse away, barely lifting her feet off the ground as she shuffled down the street, now moving back in the direction from which she’d originally come. She was dead…

  And then Kieran saw more of them. Many, many more of them. The nearest tripped ever-closer, its mouth hanging open as if stuck mid-scream. Temporarily paralyzed with fright, at the last second he stepped out of the way and the creature dragged itself past. Then another, coming from a different direction this time, but again seeming to be moving directly towards him. Kieran ran back to the house, not knowing what else to do. He locked the door, then ran into the front room and peered around the corner, watching that person – that thing – coming towards his home. It crashed into the window then fell back and collapsed in a heap on the drive before picking itself up, agonisingly slowly, and walking away. No matter how impossible it seemed, the things swarming in the street outside his house today were dead.

  He sank to the floor and covered his head. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

  #

  Kieran didn’t move for ho
urs. He didn’t dare. Didn’t even get up to look out of the window. He knew what was coming next. He’d seen more than enough horror films over the years. Those damn things would gravitate around his house, eventually flushing him out and ripping him apart. He’d watched countless scenes of desperate survivors fighting with each other in their inadequately fortified shelters, dead arms reaching in through the gaps between the planks they’d hurriedly nailed across windows and doors. Damn. All that talk the other week about surviving and lording it up over the rest of the world, and what had he done? Drew, Duncan and Marc had talked about mankind’s imagined downfall as if it would be some incredible, liberating event, but instead of opening up the rest of the world to him, everything had become infinitely more restricted. He couldn’t get those damn zombie movie survivors out of his mind… something had always bothered him before, and now it positively terrified him. Those people almost never made it to the end of the film alive. When they barricaded themselves in, it was like they were giving up; no longer running, resigning themselves to their inevitable deaths at the vicious hands of the living dead.

  But something happened as he lay there, sobbing. In the quiet emptiness, he thought back over the last few days of hell, and realised how pathetic he must have looked. He was cold, scared, hungry and dirty. He’d always taken pride in his appearance, but he’d let himself go since the world had fallen apart, and he couldn’t understand why. Was it shock? Grief? Sheer fucking laziness? He thought about what his friends had said in the club that night, how they’d made excited plans for Armageddon together. And here he was, with all the chances they’d foolishly craved, ready and waiting for him. He thought about his family, and how he’d abandoned them – wherever they were – because he’d been too afraid of finding them.

  Fuck it.

  It’s not too late.

  Was he really going to allow himself to go out like this, with the most miserable of whimpers rather than a bang? He was in an incredible position – incredible yet terrifying – and there had to be more he could do than this.

  Kieran cursed himself, stood up and brushed himself down. He checked himself in the mirror, wiped his eyes, sorted out his hair, then stared at his reflection.

  Last chance, mate, he said to himself. Make or break.

  #

  The terrified survivors hiding in the ruins of Cheetham Castle ran to the gate when they heard the engine outside. The smoke from their bonfire must have worked. Shirley was too afraid to go out, but Melanie had had enough of the other woman’s timidity and wittering.

  ‘Get out of the way, you silly cow.’

  ‘But you can’t go out there. Please, Mel, please don’t open the gates. They’ll see us. They’ll get in…’

  ‘That’s what I’m counting on.’

  She shook Shirley off and pulled the heavy gate open just enough so she could slip through the gap. She ran down the track, waving her arms and screaming, desperate to be seen before the truck disappeared. Some of the dead which had gathered at the bottom of the rise now began to climb towards her, moving painfully slowly but with inexorable intent. Others moved towards the approaching truck, sniffing the air like animals, oblivious to the danger.

  ‘Melanie!’ Shirley yelled, before hiding again, terrified the bodies would see her too. Mel ignored her noise and kept running, pushing one corpse out of the way and side-stepping another. It might have been her nerves playing tricks, but they seemed a little quicker than last time she was out here, more determined.

  Another burst and she was through the bulk of them. She stopped in the middle of the road and waved down the driver of the vehicle now hurtling her way at a terrifying speed. She could see its headlamps rapidly increasing in size, could hear the roar of its engine getting louder and louder by the second. Christ, what was she doing? She hadn’t intended playing a game of chicken with almost the only other living human being she’d seen since this nightmare had begun.

  She could see the driver now, his face screwed up with concentration, eyes flitting from side to side, trying to anticipate the random movements of swarms of impossibly mobile corpses all around him.

  ‘Stop you fucking idiot!’ she screamed.

  At the last moment she dived to one side, a trio of lethargic corpses cushioning her fall. She was faintly aware of the sound of screeching brakes somewhere behind her, but she was so focused on getting back up the hill and escaping the clumsy swipes of countless dead hands that she didn’t see the truck until it thundered past her. She watched as Shirley hauled the gate fully open to let the driver through.

  By the time Mel had reached the top of the climb and was safely inside the castle grounds again, the truck had stopped and the driver was out. He was a tall, relatively thin man who looked remarkably well groomed for the end of the world. He’d certainly had more chance to scrub himself up than she had.

  ‘You could have given me a lift,’ she yelled at him, furious but relieved.

  ‘You’re lucky I didn’t run you down. Bloody hell, what were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that? You got a death wish?’

  She didn’t bother answering. Instead she just looked him up and down, then peered into the back of his truck which was piled high with supplies. She noticed he carried a shot gun, though she didn’t like to think where he’d got it.

  ‘So who are you?’

  He put down his weapon and visibly relaxed. For a moment he seemed overcome, so much so that it was impossible for him to speak. He gazed around at his ancient, though still substantial, surroundings, and nodded approvingly. ‘I’m Kieran Cope,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a fucker of a time getting here, wherever here is.’

  ‘Where’ve you been until now, Kieran?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘Lost,’ he answered, ‘but I think I know where I’m going now. I’ve got my gun and my supplies, and this place looks as good as any. Don’t know about you two ladies, but I plan on surviving as long as I can.’

  INNOCENCE

  It was fun to begin with; a game, almost an adventure. But now he’s had enough. He doesn’t like being on his own anymore. He’s hungry, he’s lonely and he’s scared. He wants everything back to how it used to be.

  Dean McFarlane is seven years old.

  The day before yesterday, as they were walking to school, Dean’s mother dropped dead.

  #

  ‘Dean,’ Mom said, sighing, ‘you’ve only been back at school for a couple of days, so how comes you’ve got yourself in trouble with the teacher already?’

  ‘She don’t like me,’ he said as he followed her at speed, late for school. He’d been dragging his feet all morning. Even though she was heavily pregnant, Dean’s mom marched along at twice his pace. ‘She picks on me,’ he whined. ‘She lets Gary and them lot get away with anything. I never done nothing and she blames me when…’

  ‘What do you mean, you never done nothing? What kind of a way to talk is that? If you never done nothing, then you must have done something…?’

  Dean looked at her and screwed up his face. What was she on about now? She didn’t believe him, did she? Anyway, he decided, he didn’t care what she said because he knew Miss Jinks was picking on him and he knew that he was going to get Gary Saunders back at lunchtime or afternoon break because he’d got him into trouble yesterday afternoon and he’d had to see the headteacher and…

  ‘When I tell your father what you’ve been up to,’ Mrs McFarlane warned, ‘he’ll kick your backside. You know what he’s like, he just won’t stand for this kind of behaviour. I suggest that you…’

  Mrs McFarlane stopped talking suddenly, then stopped walking. She was in the middle of the pavement, pulling that kind of puzzled, almost angry face that she pulled when she was out shopping with him and she couldn’t remember what she needed, or when she didn’t know which way to go, or when Dean’s baby brother growing inside her started to kick. Dean carried on a little further but then stopped and turned back when he realised she still wasn’t moving. She was s
tanding in the same spot, rubbing at the side of her neck. She looked in pain.

  ‘Mom? What’s the matter?’

  Mrs McFarlane looked down at her son but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She tried not to let him see, but the sudden pain in her throat was rapidly worsening, taking hold. Her eyes bulged with searing agony and she dropped her shopping bag. Dean immediately began collecting up her spilled belongings, still looking anxiously into her face.

  ‘Dean, I can’t…’ she said, her voice fading to a whisper. ‘My throat’s…’

  She dropped to her knees directly in front of her son and he jumped with surprise. Her eyes now level with his, she began to retch and gag violently. The inside of her throat became swollen, and blood began trickling from lesions at the back of her mouth. She hung her head forward and dribbled a long, sticky string of bloody saliva onto the pavement, spitting up on the corner of one of Dean’s shoes.

  ‘Mom…’ he whined, jumping back with panic. He looked around for help but he couldn’t see anyone else nearby. If he could just find another grown-up who could help… He looked for Mrs Campbell who lived three doors down at number seventeen – she always seemed to be looking out of her living room window. Maybe she’d come out to help him and—

  Clutching her stomach in agony, Mrs McFarlane let out a strangled cry of pain then rolled onto her back, her body convulsing. Now sobbing, Dean crouched down next to her and held her shoulders, trying to hold her steady and stop her throwing herself about. He wished he knew what to do, but he’d never learnt about this kind of thing at school or at cubs. He was scared she was going to hurt herself or the baby. Her eyes were wide open and she stared at him with an expression on her face which frightened him more than anything he’d ever seen before.