by Dwyer, James
Zombies were dead. Not alive. Dead. Whatever reason they came back, started moving again, became the undead, it didn’t matter. They were dead. Dead.
I calmed myself and climbed back onto my feet. I took off my backpack and removed my map from inside. If I could focus on my next mission, I would forget about the zombie.
Zone E2 was eighteen miles southwest from my position, zone F4. If I wanted to get there quickly, I would have to travel through Aylescombe. I had never head of the town before; it was too small to have a football team and had no real points of interest to anyone who wasn’t living there. Just a small unimpressive town, now most probably crawling with zombies. I had two options.
Travel directly through the town and make it to Camp Churchill before nightfall. Or try to circumnavigate the town and find a place to rest when nightfall comes. Still a little shaken by the Moaner back in the supermarket, I decided for the quick option. Sooner I could get into camp, sooner I could relax. Perhaps talk with other survivors about what I had seen. Find out if anyone else had the same experience. Anything to get the memory out of my head and shared with others.
It still didn’t make any sense. The zombie’s behaviour or my own reaction. Maybe it was the radio message, knowing that escape was so close. So close.
I placed the map back inside my pack and started towards Aylescombe.
CHAPTER THREE
I arrived at the outskirts of Aylescombe at midday.
The morning walk had been mercifully uneventful, with no undead encounters so far. I thought I had heard a few Daisy shrieks at one point. It seemed I was lucky. They weren’t being directed at me. Just some other poor bastard. Still I took this as a small victory. Especially since there was no way crossing the town would be event free. Survivors avoided what were once densely populated places. If you wanted to guarantee coming face to face with a zombie, you went for a trip into town or the city. I knew I was taking a risk, ignoring the warning signs that were plain to see. I trusted my own abilities. I would make it through It wouldn’t be easy, but I could do it.
Aylescombe had once been defended. Improvised barriers and fortifications had been built on the roads into the town centre. I had seen defences like this before. They had never worked. No matter how big the wall was built, the hunger made its way through. Especially in a settlement this size. There was no way you could plug every gap. Death always found a way inside.
Approaching the town, I visualised the route I would take. The quickest option took me along the high street, the most direct path that bisected the town. I decided that this route would allow me to move quickly through town, and give me plenty of possible escape routes through shops and side streets should the need arise. I had never even heard of Aylescombe before, so I would need as many options as possible should danger arise.
I made my way around the edge of town until I was close to the start of the high street. Looking at the map, I could see the town had spread out from the high street, with housing suburbs fanning out either side of the shopping district.
From my limited viewpoint the town seemed pretty quiet. No signs of the chaos that had took hold of the country. It was an old cliché but it fit: It was quiet…too quiet.
The fortifications seemed secure, there were no broken windows, no burnt buildings smouldering in the daylight. It was a town frozen in time. Like waking up early in the morning, where the only signs of life were the dawn chorus and the long distance commuters quietly rushing to work. I hoped that I would just meet the birds today.
Before I set out across town, I decided to have some lunch. This would give me time to watch the town in case there were any signs of life and prevent me from having to stop to eat during the crossing. I looked around for somewhere to sit down, a bus stop nearby the closest place. I took a seat, finding more relief in taking the weight off my feet than expected.
Reaching into my backpack for a meal, I pulled out a tin of tuna. Tuna in sunflower oil. This was Libby’s favourite food.
Seeing the tin, I immediately thought back to the night Libby left me. How had I screwed things up so badly, so quickly? One silly little argument and I had destroyed everything we had together.
✖
Up until that night everything had been fine. Travelling around with Libby took the edge off things. I was less nervous when searching buildings, if either of us spotted a zombie we would approach the situation rationally and calmly. She taught me a few things. Like how to shoot with a bow and arrow. She took up archery after the Olympics and had discovered a natural talent with it. I was not so gifted. Aside from that, she had grown up in the outdoors, her parents were keen campers and had taught her how to make camp in the woods with the barest of essentials.
I like to think I taught her some things. Truth be told, all I had were the lessons learned from my grandfather. Survival of the fittest. Back then I was still a full time subscriber to his poisonous doctrine. Libby wasn’t so keen. She kept quiet though, happy for me to take lead and make the tough decisions. I guess I made one tough decision too many.
The signs were there for a while. There was this one time when we met a survivor, Iain I think his name was. It was back at the start of our time together, when we had only spent a week or so in each other’s company. Iain was heading towards a city we had just passed. We knew it was overrun by the undead, we could tell by the fires and the screaming. We tried to tell Iain that to go there was suicidal. He wouldn’t listen to us, just kept saying he had to get home, had to get back to his family.
After a while he started to listen, began to realise just how serious it was. He knew going there alone would get him killed. So he asked us to go with him. We had seen the city; perhaps we could show him a safe path. We wouldn’t have to take him inside, just to the outskirts. Just see him as far as we could. Then he could go on and find his family. His wife. His boy. His newborn.
I refused of course. It was pointless, the city was a dead zone. If his family were alive, they weren’t there, they would have moved on somewhere else. When we passed, we had seen at least a few dozen Moaners there. It would not have been long before Daisies started appearing.
Of course Libby wanted to help Iain. She didn’t come out and say it directly, instead tried bargaining with me. “We could walk him as far as the outskirts. Maybe just help him check on his family. It wouldn’t take us too long.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Had she even listened to all that I told her? My grandfather’s philosophy, that had kept us alive for so long, why give it up now? For one lunatic with a death wish.
In the end I drew the route we had taken on a spare map from our supplies and handed it to Iain. I disliked giving up some of our resources. It was just the only way to keep Libby reasonably happy. Iain thanked us and said his goodbyes. We waited for him to disappear from view before continuing.
“Why couldn’t we have helped him?” Libby asked me afterwards.
“If the situations were reversed, would he have helped us?”
“I don’t know,” Libby said, “There’s no way of knowing.”
“Then take an educated guess. We have to think of ourselves, cause no one else will.”
Libby went quiet after that. I could have picked up on her mood then, but I was too caught up in my small victory. I had won, convinced her to leave Iain behind. Leave him to die.
These little incidents continued throughout the time we were together. Happiness when we were alone, simmering conflict whenever we encountered other survivors. I never understood her community spirit. Why she was so keen to help other people. Things had changed. Since the dead came back, there was no community. Only the individual.
Perhaps I had been a bit too forceful with my views, and I never really listened to her side of the story. I’ve changed now. Too late. My grandfather’s indoctrination would cost me big time.
Two weeks later, Libby and me were searching for shelter from a pretty severe storm. We were crossing a huge expanse of open
land, fields as far as the eye could see on every side. We saw the storm coming, big black ominous clouds closing in fast on our position.
The nearest point was a small hamlet a mile or so away. We could hear the rain coming in, that’s how intense the storm was. If we didn’t find shelter, we would end up soaked, probably catch pneumonia or hypothermia.
We were running blind, no idea if the hamlet would be safe or not. Villages were often safe. Less people meant fewer zombies, less chaos. During our happy periods, Libby often mentioned finding a remote village somewhere to settle down permanently. When we became bored of wandering.
We reached the hamlet just as the storm hit us. The rain was ice cold, soaking our clothes; if we had been caught out in the open it would have been deadly.
The first building we came to was a small school. Through the thunderous rain, we spotted candlelight in the windows of the assembly hall. Someone was home. The candles made me uneasy. Even though the hamlet was empty, having light in the window was asking for trouble. The rain didn’t give me time to second guess. We had no choice but to go for it.
We made our way to the school building, Libby pressing on, me staying cautiously behind. As we drew nearer, the doors opened and an elderly woman waved for us to come inside. This raised more alarm bells with me; the casual way in she welcomed us inside. It was too easy, too trusting.
We hurried inside regardless, escaping the downpour and embracing the warm welcome of the assembly hall. Once inside, my heart sank. I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt so…sad, so defeated. Looking back, I must have known deep down that this would be when I parted ways with Libby.
Inside the assembly hall, around fifteen children huddled together in a shivering mass, two more elderly women posted around the group, offering words of encouragement and reassurance. The children said nothing, staring at us with sad eyes, faces gaunt through lack of nourishment. The women came over to us, taking our wet clothes, giving us warm towels to dry ourselves off. All the time the children watched us, never uttering a single sound. They had been trained, to keep silent in case the noise attracted danger. It made me shiver more than the chill from the rain.
Once we were settled and fed, the woman who opened the doors to us, Mary, took us both to one side. She explained that they had been sheltering there since the beginning of the undead outbreak, surviving on rations from the village store and church donations. These rations were dwindling quickly, with the children growing unhealthier as time wore on. Mary and her sisters could no longer venture out into the hamlet for supplies. The local stores were all empty and it was becoming dangerous. There used to be six sisters.
With the danger growing each day, Mary had decided to take the children cross-country to a nearby military base. It had to be operational, she said, they had picked up transmissions on their radio. If they could get the children there, they would be safe and cared for. That was all that mattered.
To me it sounded like an insane. Trying to shepherd all these children cross-country. If any zombies attacked, it would be a nightmare. I could see the panic, children scattering, being picked off. There was no way Mary’s plan would work.
Libby thought otherwise. Before Mary could ask, she volunteered to help in any way she could. Well, she volunteered the both of us. I was furious. This went against everything I had ever said. She had betrayed me.
I took Libby away from the others and explained to her the situation. I was trying to be diplomatic, at least I thought I was. In reality, I was rude and aggressive. Agitated by being forced into the corner, when someone volunteered me on my behalf. I still remember the last part of the conversation. The end of everything.
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying. If we help these people, we will never be able to leave them. They will be dependent on us, relying on us to protect them forever. Why do you think it’s just these old women here? Why has everyone else abandoned them? If we want to survive we have to leave.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Libby said, “It shouldn’t just be about survival. If we keep turning our back on those who need our help, then it isn’t surviving. It’s just…it’s just inhuman. We should be better than this, better than the disease, the undead, the hunger. We have to help. I’m staying. You should stay too.”
“Staying is just going to get us killed.”
“I’m not going to turn my back on anyone else who asks for my help. Even if it ends in my death.”
“Then your wish will be granted.”
I left after that. Grabbed my things and ran out into the night. I found myself an empty cottage not too far away and bedded down for the night. In the morning, things would be different. I would go back and speak with Libby, apologise for being rude and then convince her I was right. We would collect our things and leave before it became too awkward. She would to come to her senses, see things from my point of view. The correct point of view.
Morning came, the storm passed with it. When I returned to the assembly hall, they were all gone.
✖
My moment of toxic nostalgia passed and I felt miserable. I threw away the rest of the tuna tin, each bite tasting bitter, tainted by regret. There was just one option for me. Get moving and take my mind off things.
Everything was ready - route planned, supplies secured, mentality correct. Well it would be once I was moving. One final check. I took out my service pistol and counted the bullets. Seven left. Six for zombies. One for me. Ammunition seemed to be getting lower by the day. I should not have wasted one in the supermarket.
I tucked the pistol into the waistband of my trousers and began my journey my into town. Crossing the ring road, the quiet had remained undisturbed since I had stopped for lunch. It was an uneasy silence, desperate to be broken.
I followed the main road through the suburbs, keeping my head down and moving as fast as I could without over exerting myself. I had to save my energy for any life or death situations. No point getting exhausted with the walking when getting exhausted running would get you killed.
Still, despite my attempts to conserve energy I felt drained. It was the tension in my chest, that feeling inside that something would happen soon. It had to. There was no way I could cross Aylescombe without meeting a zombie.
The first hour of my journey was uneventful. My route along the high street had been clear for the most part, save a few barricades made from the burnt shells of cars and buses. There was no sign of any conflict having occurred here. Perhaps the town was abandoned, I thought for a moment. If there were no zombies, why was it abandoned?
At one point, I thought I could hear some Moaners, somewhere nearby. I didn’t stick around to find out if my suspicions were correct. What concerned me most was the lack of yellow paint. If the town really was clear, then surely there should have been some safe houses? It was a possibility that the use of yellow paint as a symbol had not reached this town yet. But the supermarket was only a few miles away, so I didn’t believe that.
My nerves increased when I reached the high street. That ominous quiet was still present, it was the other senses that revealed the chaos. Most the Shop windows had been smashed, cars and buses rammed through storefronts, graffiti sprayed across every available space. “This town is dead”, “Zombies ate my baby”, “God has damned us all”.
I began walking the centre of the road, trying to keep each side of me equidistant. Every alleyway, every darkened shop was an ambush waiting to be launched. I quickened my pace, keen to make my way out of there as soon as possible.
I was about halfway through the shopping district when I heard knocking on glass. Normally I would have ignored the sound, but my growing unease made me turn to see a frightened woman standing inside a department store. She gestured for me to come over, looking nervously behind her in between frantically waving at me. Something made me hesitate. Before I would have carried on walking, perhaps moved even faster to get quickly out of sight. This time though, I began walking over towards her, wonderin
g just how deeply Libby’s disappearance was affecting me.
The woman pressed herself up against the glass, talking just loud enough to make herself heard. “I’m trapped inside,” she said, “The doors won’t open.”
Instinctively I walked over to the glass double doors beside the window and tried them myself. Sure enough, they were sealed tightly. “You need to get me out of here,” said the woman.
“How?” I said, becoming defensive.
I hated being told what to do. If she had asked me I would have thought nothing of it. Instead she had told me that I “needed” to get her out. Like it was for my own benefit. It was a stupid thing that irritated me a great deal, no matter if she meant it or not.
“Smash the windows or something,” said the woman.
She looked over her shoulder again. She was hiding something. “Why can’t you smash the window?” I said.
The woman waved her arms wildly around her, gesturing to the shop floor behind her. It was a large department store, fronted by a huge clothes section. “Can you see anything to break it with?” said the woman.
I looked around the store, saw what I was looking for and pointed. “Third floor - hardware. Check there.”
“I can’t,” said the woman.
She was becoming tense now; I could see the sweat rolling down her temple. Her tension passed to me, as I realised this store was one of the few left untouched by the chaos surrounding it. “Are you alone in there?” I said.
