by Dwyer, James
The woman’s face turned, giving away that she was very much not alone inside. “Yes, I was locked inside and can’t get out.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said.
I walked up to the glass and began banging loudly. The woman begged me to stop, turning her back to me so she could watch the rest of the store. Sure enough, there was movement at the back. I couldn’t see who it was exactly, just that they were moving slowly, knocking over mannequins and piles of clothes.
“Please,” said the woman, looking at me for as long as she dared before turning back to the unseen newcomers.
“Fuck you,” I said, “If you had been honest…”
I didn’t finish my sentence, turning and walking away from the department store. I was unsure why I had become so angry. The woman had lied to me, but who wouldn’t? It was like I said to Libby, if the situation was reversed, would she have helped me? If I had told her that the undead were hunting after me?
I was walking away down the high street when I stopped, realising what I had done. Left the woman to die. Some deep horrible part of me told me to keep walking. “Survival of the fittest. Self preservation at all costs.”
I realised it was the voice of my grandfather, his poisonous words whispered into my ears as if he was standing right beside me. I was not alarmed by this sudden hallucination, more furious that he was trying to control me from beyond the grave.
“Keep walking. It’s what I would do.”
“Stop!” I screamed to the empty world around me, “You can’t tell me what to do.”
I couldn’t shake his voice from my head. It seemed to linger, echoing through my mind, bringing up bad memories as it bounced around inside. Then Libby’s words came to me. Breaking through the poison to give me a moment of clarity. “If we keep turning our back on those who need our help, then it isn’t surviving. Its just…its just inhuman.”
Torn between going back and running away, I looked around for something to smash the window. If I saw nothing, then it was a sign for me to keep moving. If I found something…
A loose piece of concrete kerb beside the road. Small enough to fit in my hand, heavy enough to smash the glass. I picked it up and ran back towards the department store. The woman was gone from the glass. In her place, at least seven Scratchers, moving between the aisles like diseased disinterested shoppers browsing for a bargain. I moved as close as I dared, hoping to spot the woman and signal to her. Looking round, I spotted her ducking behind one of the counters, two of the Scratchers closing in.
“Get away from there!” I screamed, trying to grab her attention.
The woman either didn’t hear or didn’t listen. She was scared. She had no idea that she could easily outrun the Scratchers. Fear would get her killed.
The piece of kerb weighed heavy in my hand as I held it raised, contemplating whether to throw it or not. If I did, I would attract the undead attention. If I didn’t, I would condemn the woman to death.
I took a step back and launched the kerb at the glass. The window shattered into big pieces, leaving a razor sharp entrance into the store. The Scratchers turned at the sound, slowly contemplating my sudden appearance. I quickly climbed inside, wincing in pain as I sliced my hand on the glass, my palm becoming wet with the sickly flow of blood.
“Come on,” I yelled towards the woman.
“I’m trapped,” she said.
The Scratchers split into two groups, one going towards the woman, the other towards me. I moved away from the window, trying to keep the Scratchers away from my escape route. My hand was hurting bad, the cut was very deep.
I ignored the pain climbed up onto one of the displays, letting me get a better vantage point of the shop floor. “If you don’t get up-“
“What do you care?” she said, “You left me.”
“I came back,” I said.
My attention moved from the woman to the back of the store. More Scratchers were pouring out from the back. I could see they were relatively fresh. There must have been a survivor camp nearby that had become infected. “Quick!” I said.
The woman stood up from the counter and began running towards the open window. “Not that way, go left!” I screamed, “Turn left!”
It was too late. The woman just ran in a straight line towards the exit. I could see the pair of Scratchers ahead of her, closing in like a pincer movement. She didn’t see them until it was too late.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The woman tried to stop herself, skidding on the tile floor. The Scratchers lunged at her, grabbing hold and pulling violently at her body. Bloodied streaks broke through her skin as they dug their fingers inside. The woman screamed out in agony.
Witnessing the attack, my head started to swim. The splotches of blindness from before started filling my vision, little black holes of death appearing amongst the chaos. More Scratchers started moving towards the woman, drawn by the sounds of her struggle. They could sense the kill, the hunger driving them towards the victim.
“Please!” the woman screamed, arm outstretched towards me, eyes begging me to save her.
I heard bones snap and then silence. The woman became limp, blood pouring from her wounds, body like a ragdoll being fought over by toddlers.
What had I done?
Before I could think of it further, a Scratcher lunged at me. I spotted it just in time, the zombie flying past me and into the glass. The huge pane shattered, impaling the zombie on jagged razor blades of glass. It fought violently to break free, tearing itself apart on the broken windowpane. I didn’t hesitate a moment longer, jumping down off the counter and running out through the exit.
Soon as I was outside, I heard the Moaners. Now I longed for the uneasy quiet. I looked around and saw the zombies coming towards me. More emerged from smashed shops nearby. The undead had been waiting for a sign of life, and here I was. Caught in their ambush.
My escape routes were quickly filled by the undead mob, my only option was to make a run for it. I checked quickly for any Daisies. I hadn’t heard any of their shrieks, just wanted to make sure. I was lucky.
The zombies closed in. I zigzagged through the gaps between their lines until I was clear of the thronging, hungry masses. Hands clutched at me, jaws snapping at air as I passed. A vicelike grip clamped down on my arm and I was stopped, pulled back towards the horde. I swivelled within the grip, feeling the zombie bearing down on me, mouth open, desperate to bite. I quickly reached for my pistol, taking aim and firing.
The grip released and the zombie fell lifeless to the floor. The moment’s delay had given the undead time to close in. I was surrounded on all sides now, a circle of death growing smaller and smaller around me.
I tried to calm myself, focused on the end of the high street, on Camp Churchill waiting for me a few miles away. Visualised my escape route out of there.
The image spurred me on and I charged into the crowd, knocking the undead to the floor, forcing a path through them. I was determined. Nothing would stop me.
Finally I broke free from the attack, running and running until I was alone once again. My heart was pounding in my chest, my hand dripping blood onto the floor, the pain sharp and urgent. Thoughts of tending the wound passed quickly through my mind, replaced by the urgent feeling of fear inside my mind.
I was safe. I was safe. I was safe.
I could hardly believe it. I had escaped, against the odds I was…
My legs went weak at the knees and I collapsed onto the floor. The last thing I thought of before slipping into unconsciousness was my grandfather standing over me, shaking his head. “You could have got yourself killed. Why didn’t you listen to me? Forget the bitch, it’s my words you have to remember. Mine.”
CHAPTER FOUR
My dreamless sleep was ended by the spattering of ice-cold rain on my face. I woke with a start, suddenly aware of my situation. I sat up, my legs stiff, numbed from the cold water that soaked my clothes through to my skin.
Panic took over. I w
as sure I was going to look around and see zombies coming for me. There was no way I would be safe now, not after passing out so exposed.
I pulled myself up onto my feet, using a nearby wall to balance myself. There were no undead around me. I was safe. Spared an embarrassing death.
What the fuck had happened to me?
The cold made me shiver uncontrollably, warmth a long forgotten memory. It seemed to intensify with each passing second, the wet clothes sticking to my skin and sapping the warmth from my flesh. I would have to find shelter soon; there was no way I could travel like this. I wouldn’t get far before the cold and the wet became dangerous. Pneumonia and hypothermia were not part of my plan.
Above me the storm clouds grew darker, threatening to unleash more of their lode upon me. There was no way I could beat the storm to Camp Churchill. My options diminishing, I began searching for a place to bed down for the night.
I had passed through the shopping district of the town and was back in the suburbs. There were plenty of homes for me to choose from, mostly terrace houses that ran in rows of eight or ten. I just had to find one that was secure enough to defend, open enough for me to get inside.
The rain fell harder, almost forcing me to rush my decision. My body was shaking non-stop now. No matter how much I ran, trying to coax some heat into my muscles, the cold had control.
In the end I settled on “101”. The number held little significance. What was more promising was the front door left open, the lock still intact. It could mean that there was something inside, waiting for me. I didn’t have time to think too much.
The house was in the middle of the terrace; its pebble dashed exterior reminded me of my grandfather’s house. Seemed no matter where I travelled, the ghosts of my past were always one step ahead.
The storm clouds closed in overhead, plunging the area into a grey gloom that instantly affected my vision. I ducked into the alleyway beside the house, a small tunnel in the terrace allowing direct access to the gardens, and removed my torch. The light flickered weakly on. I made a mental note to search for batteries sometime soon.
First I walked to the back of the house, to check that the rear was not compromised. Thankfully it all seemed intact, my only concern the French windows opening onto the garden. A potential weak point but it would do for now.
I returned to the front of the house and prepared to enter. I shone the beam of my torch inside, the spotlight taking a moment to force back the darkness. My eyesight playing tricks on me. Everything seemed neat and orderly inside. I tried flicking on the light switch. The bulb remained dead above me. Since the undead came back, power had slowly been switching off across the country. Seems this town’s juice had ran out too.
“Hello?” I called out, just in case.
No one answered. I made my way through the hallway. To my right a staircase up to the next floor. Ahead of me I could see a living room, kitchen and dining room. The downstairs was empty, each room impeccably tidy. Whoever used to live here was extremely clean. The panic when the undead rose had not entered inside this house.
Judging by the old fashioned décor and the large display of photos of children in the living room, this house had belonged to an elderly person. The furniture gave me a shock at first. Two armchairs positioned beside each other. Almost like my dream, I could almost imagine my father and grandfather sat there, smiling at me as I entered. One armchair was missing; enough to snap me out of the shock and back to the business at hand.
The gloom from outside reached in, snuffing out the light from between the curtains, my torch growing weaker against the darkness. I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating, but I could swear that the shadows seemed to linger for a second longer before fading underneath the torchlight.
In the kitchen, I found a collection of empty medicine bottles clustered together. Each had names I could not pronounce and definitely didn’t recognise, except for one - diazepam. Whoever lived here had been very unwell.
I concluded my search of the downstairs and made my way up to the next floor. The house was even darker upstairs, my torch barely able to breakthrough. The first room I reached was the bathroom, again impeccably clean. The bath had been converted to add a sort of pulley system, lowering someone down into the tub. More evidence the house belonged to an elderly person. I left the bathroom and moved onto the other rooms. There were three more on this level.
The first was once a bedroom, now filled with boxes from top to bottom. The only sign of mess in the house. Each box was filled with either photographs or old papers. Nothing of interest to me in my current situation, but clearly of some sentimental value to the owner. A room full of memories stored away. Perhaps lost forever.
The next room was a single bedroom. It looked to me like the room a carer could stay in. Single bed, single wardrobe, almost like a hotel room in its simplicity. For overnight visits, not any longer.
The final room’s door was closed. A note had been attached to the door. I tried to read what was written, my poor eyesight and even poorer torch making it impossible. I opened the door and stepped cautiously inside. Immediately the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, instincts inside my head saying, “Bad idea. Get out!”
The room was like a hospital cubicle, an array of various monitors and machines standing dormant beside a large double bed. In the centre of the bed, what was once an old woman lay decomposing. I could still make out the woman’s features, the desiccated corpse just about recognisable as human. Whoever the woman was, she had not turned. She had died human and remained that way.
Behind the bed, a wooden bedstead was covered in thin scratches. I stepped forward to take a closer look and almost tripped over a wheelchair that was behind the door.
In the chair sat a portable radio. I quickly opened the casing at the back and removed the batteries. A perfect fit for my torch. I switched them over and the spotlight burst into life, back to its former glory.
The brighter light did the dead woman no favours. Her peaceful slumber was not how it had first appeared. The scratches on the bedstead were not random. The words “Help me” had been crudely written again and again. I walked back to the door and took the note, holding it up in the light. It was as I thought. The old woman had been abandoned.
“To whoever finds Aunt Dottie, we are sorry. We couldn’t look after her anymore. Not with how things are. I hope you found her in time and have it in your heart to help her. We just couldn’t cope any longer.”
I looked over at the old woman in her bed, left to die and rot all alone.
Survival of the fittest.
I tore the note up and threw it to the floor. I would not absolve her family of their sins. I exited the room and closed the door.
“Rest in peace Dottie,” I said.
It felt like the right thing to say, even though it was far too late.
I went back downstairs and closed the front door, bolting it shut. Then I double checked the French windows at the back were shut, and that the back door in the kitchen was also locked. Safely secured for the night.
The storm was growing stronger outside. The noise of rain pelting against the glass reminded me how cold I was. My body had become so numb, I had almost forgot. I moved quickly to the living room and the fireplace. Thankfully it was gas, not electric, and I was quickly able to light the fire. I removed my wet clothes and hung them at the edges of the fireguard. Feeling strangely comfortable, I sat naked before the flames, allowing my whole body to warm and dry before dressing again.
How could Dottie’s family have abandoned her? It couldn’t just have been about what was best for them, it was too callous. No one was forced to flee here. It was almost as if they used the undead as an excuse to turn tail and flee. Forgoing their responsibilities and leaving the vulnerable person to die.
Survival of the fittest.
My grandfather’s words circled around at the edge of my thoughts, making their presence known. Once again I was angry with myself for thinking like this.
Was it always so black and white? The decision this easy to make? No room for sentiment or emotion. Just cold logic like some sort of machine.
“Yes, but what about the woman in the department store? The one you let die?”
The thought was my own, the words my grandfather’s. Whispered in my ear once more, as if he was right there beside me. An invisible presence haunting my every move. There was a sense of glee to his words, as if he had set this all up as some sort of trap. To make me realise that he was right all along. If I had kept on walking, left the woman behind, she would have been neither alive nor dead. Schrodinger’s cat, only this time in a zombie apocalypse with a human being. Going back was a mistake. Now I would have to face the consequences of my actions. My cowardice.
The thoughts made me feel miserable.
My body started to regain feeling, the cold ache replaced by the soothing warmth from the fire. I opened my backpack and took out a blanket from inside. Tiredness had suddenly come over me, even if I had been sleeping outside in the street. I wrapped myself up in the warm blanket and lay down on the sofa, trying to sleep away my problems. Falling asleep, I could hear my grandfather’s voice again.
“Look after yourself and yourself alone. No one else cares about your ongoing existence as much as you do. If it’s a choice between us and them, it is always them. Always.”
✖
When I woke from my slumber, my eyes opened to darkness indistinguishable from sleep. I tried to remain calm, telling myself that this was not the present, just a glimpse into the future. I had not turned blind yet. I wasn’t ready.
Even so, waking up and opening my eyes to find no difference from when they were closed filled me with a nervousness that would not shift. I had to make it to Camp Churchill today. Find someone to help me, either physically or mentally.
How I wish I had Libby with me now.
I could hear the fireplace burning in the room, feel the warmth from the flames on outstretched palms, smell the gas igniting in the hearth. I focused my sleeping gaze on the fire, hoping the flare of the flames would help break through the cloud.
