by Dwyer, James
At first nothing happened, save for me feeling the heat more acutely on my face. Gradually, the darkness began to shift, changing from an impenetrable void into a cloud, a swirling cloud of black ash. Cracks of light began to run through the blackness, seams of vision breaking through. The light intensified, forcing the cloud away, dissipating the dark with flashes of fire.
It took a while for the cloud to fade completely, the darkness lingering for as long as it could. Not willing to give up without a fight. I stood up from the sofa and walked to the curtains, keen to open them and bask in daylight. Pulling them apart, I was greeted by a crowd of zombies staring directly at my naked body.
I ducked down quickly but it was too late, the zombies were coming towards the window, long deep moans revealing what stage they were in. I was naked except for the blanket, my clothes resting on the fireguard. How could I have been so stupid? Pulling the curtains open so brazenly. I was becoming far too emotional recently and it was clouding my judgement much more severely than the coming blindness.
I reached up and closed the curtains, trying to camouflage my movements as best as I could. Keeping low, I crawled across the floor to my clothes, picking them up and testing their condition. They were mostly dry, save a few damp patches here and there. I quickly dressed and packed away the rest of my things into my bag.
The heat from the fire had not spread through the rest of the house. The back dining room was cold, a taster of things to come when I ventured outside. I could see the garden was clear through the French windows, the alleyway beyond invisible behind the brick walls surrounding the garden. With the front of the house crawling with zombies, the back way was my only option.
I opened the window doors and stepped outside into the cold. The grass squelched underneath my feet, waterlogged turf from the storm the previous night. The rain had long passed, replaced by a cool breeze that pulled at your clothes to reach inside and steal from the warm centre. I pulled my coat tightly round me and made my way to the back gate.
The deadbolt lock on the gate was padlocked shut, with no sign of a key nearby. I looked up at the top of the wall, checking for any broken glass or ceramics to dissuade intruders. It was clear. Climbing would be the quickest option.
I jumped up and grabbed at the red brick, pulling myself up onto the still wet wall. My hands dug into the brickwork, red dust and painful impressions stained my hand as I righted myself atop the wall. From my perch, I could see movement in some of the gardens.
I lowered myself down to the ground, feet splashing on the wet brickwork. As soon as I had dropped, the shriek came out from behind me. I turned and saw the Daisy running towards me. How had I not spotted it before?
The creature shrieked again, closing on my position fast. It was once a young woman, loose strands of long blond hair and a tattered blue dress trailing behind her as it sprinted towards me. I turned and started running. Immediately I felt pain in my right heel. I had landed more heavily than I thought, the pain in my foot growing stronger each second.
The Daisy closed in fast, bare feet splashing through puddles, eyes wildly staring at me. There was no chance of me running away.
I reached for my pistol and turned, taking aim, holding off from firing until the last moment. I couldn’t afford to miss.
The Daisy paid no attention to my weapon, its head down charging at me. Driven by the hunger. Driven to destruction.
My hand was shaking, the fear inside my chest twisting and pulling at my nerves, trying to make me turn and run. To flee, get away, not understanding the weapon in my hand or the futility of escape. Primal urges just screaming inside “Get the fuck out of there!”
The gunshot echoed loudly round the back alley. Its sound was quickly followed by the moans of nearby zombies, attracted to the sounds of conflict.
The Daisy collapsed to the floor, the hole a perfect circle in the centre of its forehead. I had hit the target.
As the un-life left the zombie’s body, small white hairs started sprouting all across its skin, the largest clump emerging from the hole in its head. This small flicker of life made me feel extremely uneasy. The Daisy was dead. It had to be dead.
I tucked the gun back into my trousers and ran for the exit of the alley, limping as fast as I could. The barrel of the pistol felt painfully hot against my body.
Only four bullets left.
I left the alleyway, Moaners and Scratchers closing in on my position. Ignoring the pain in my foot, I began jogging my way back to the main road out of town. I was sick of Aylescombe. Time for me to get out of there.
✖
Finally I saw some good luck come my way. My shelter for the night was only half a mile from the edge of town and it wasn’t long before I was crossing the ring road and heading back into the safety of the countryside.
Leaving Aylescombe behind filled me with a great sense of relief. Sooner I was away, sooner I could forget about Dottie and the woman in the department store. No matter what happened, I would never come back to this place. This town was dead to me in more than just the walking way.
My eagerness to escape spurred me forward, the pain in my heel becoming nothing more than a minor nuisance. As soon as Aylescombe was out of sight, I stopped to check my map and check how far I was away from Camp Churchill.
Two miles.
I quickly folded the map and pressed on, not quite believing how close I was to safety. To people. Living people.
The path to Camp Churchill was a long country road through abandoned farmland. No one tended these fields anymore. Just a wide expanse of soil, the first shoots of defiant weeds breaking through the earth.
I remembered growing up and driving past farmland in my mother’s car, seeing the fields and fields of yellow flowers surrounding as far as the eye could see. Oilseed rape blossoming gloriously in the sun.
Now the fields were fallow. Destined to return to the wild. Thinking of the disused farmland made me yearn for a loaf of fresh bread. Something that wasn’t tinned and stale. Something fresh. I wondered where exactly the safe zone the radio announcement had advertised was located. It had to be overseas, somewhere the infection couldn’t spread to. Was life there carrying on? Could I return to some semblance of normality?
Perhaps in this new world I would find a place for me that had eluded me in the old world, before the zombies came. I was a skilled survivor now. Maybe I could teach others so they could find more survivors and bring them to safety.
This idea was followed by a crushing sadness as I realised that the blindness would take me long before then.
I pressed on, not wanting the mood to have any affect on me.
Hand painted wooden signs started appearing sporadically beside the road, pointing the way towards Camp Churchill. Some of the paint on the signs was still fresh. It was as though they anticipated my coming. The road here had been cleared recently. Old abandoned cars were pushed to one side. Whoever was behind the camp had been active in the area. I quickened my pace, keen to reach camp.
Ten minutes late, Camp Churchill appeared before me. It was a large square construction in the centre of a field, built like an old fort with high metal walls, guard towers at each corner. In the centre of the wall stood a tall metal gate placed behind a large ditch. Two more guard towers sat either side of the gate, spotlights resting idle on the edges of the platforms.
Getting closer, I could see dead bodies, impaled on wooden stakes that lined the floor of the ditch. Each body was covered in white hair, just like the dead Daisy back in Aylescombe. It looked to me like mould growing on rotting fruit. Maybe when a zombie died, whatever stopped the decomposition process stopped working and nature ran its course.
I walked up towards the gate, raising my arms up above me to show that I came in peace. It felt like the correct action. The pain in my heel sharpened suddenly, making me limp pathetically. Almost as if to guilt the gatekeeper into letting me in.
When I was a few metres away from the ditch, two masked figures app
eared on the watchtowers, armed with rifles.
“That’s far enough,” shouted one guard, “What business brings you here?”
“I heard a radio message. This is Camp Churchill right?”
I moved to reach to my backpack, hoping I could show them the radio. “Don’t move!” said the guard, “You do as I tell you, alright?”
“Chill out Al,” said the other guard, a calm female voice, “We invited him here. Wait for the bridge to lower then come on in stranger.”
The guards disappeared from view. I waited impatiently, suddenly feeling exposed and alone outside. I had to get into camp. No matter what.
The gates opened. Two men pushed a narrow strip of metal out from inside and placed it across the ditch. It was just about wide enough for one person to walk across. “Come over,” said one of the men, offering out his hand.
I wasn’t too proud to accept, allowing him to help me cross. Feeling his grip on my arm had a strong effect on me, filling me with a mixture of emotions that threatened to spill out. I resolved to stay calm, not show any weakness to my new campmates. Prove that I could be of use somehow. Worthy of a place in camp.
The interior of the camp was a maze of tents and large metal containers. I was aware of many eyes upon me, greeting me with a mixture of mistrust and caution.
“Have you been bitten?” said the guard named Al, looking me up and down, sizing me up.
“No,” I said.
“Scratched? How did you hurt your hand?”
“I cut it on a window pane,” I said, looking at the dried blood that stained my palm. I should have cleaned it up earlier; it was bound to attract attention.
“There’s no need to lie to us,” said the female guard,
“I’m not lying,” I said, becoming defensive against my better judgement.
“We didn’t say you were,” said the woman, “We just have to know. If you’ve been bitten, we can cure you.”
“You have a cure for the disease?” I said.
“For the infected,” said Al.
“We have to make sure,” said the woman.
“Honestly,” I said, “I cut my hand and hurt the heel in my foot. Nothing more.”
The female guard removed her helmet, revealing a middle-aged woman with close cut hair and a warm smile. “Where’s the rest of your group?” she asked.
“There’s no one else,” I said, “I’m on my own.”
Her face dropped at my words. “I’m so sorry. When did you lose the others?”
“There aren’t any others. I’ve been travelling alone for months.”
The guards seemed shocked at my confession. “Captain Stone is gonna love you,” said Al.
“You poor thing,” said the woman, “My name is Maggie. Come with me and we’ll get you checked over. You don’t have to worry about being alone now. You’re with friends here.”
I don’t know how Maggie knew I was worrying about being alone. Probably wasn’t too hard to read my expression. Something in the maternal tone in her voice made me feel instantly at ease, the emotions inside swelling up, threatening to overflow.
Maggie saw the look in my arms and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Lets get this over and done with.”
I nodded, not wanting to speak in case I betrayed my emotions. As Maggie lead me to the tent, I thought of all the horrible things I had seen and done in the past few months. Dottie. The Woman in the department store. The suicide zombie in the supermarket.
Libby.
It didn’t seem to matter so much now. After all the trouble I had been through, I had made it to a place of refuge. At long last, I was safe.
CHAPTER FIVE
The examination tent was filled with a hushed quiet, the noise of the outside camp seemed a world away.
Maggie sat on the camp bed beside mine, smiling politely, unaffected by the awkward silence that weighed heavily on my mind. I was unsure why I felt so…drained. Maybe it was the relief of being somewhere safe. No longer having to watch my back with every step, where any bad decision could get me killed. A heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders and it left me feeling dizzy, almost delirious. My eyes started welling up, a dam of hysterics waiting to burst.
I smiled at Maggie, trying to hide my true feelings. The concerned look on her face showed that she saw right through my ruse.
“I’m so sorry for this,” I said, “Normally I’m much stronger.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, “You’ve been through a lot.”
Her words did little to ease my embarrassment. What sort of first impression had I given to Maggie and the other survivors? Just another burden to add to their considerable load. If they wanted to chuck me out of camp, I would have no argument.
“I have to go speak with the others. Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine, honestly. Do what you have to do.”
She patted me on the back. “I’ll be back soon as I can.”
Soon as the canvas flap door of the tent had closed behind her, I threw my bag to the floor and punched the camping bed I was sat upon. How could I have been so stupid? To make myself seem so weak to the people I would soon be relying upon for everything.
“Demonstrate your strength. Your value. Make yourself a tool that others cannot cope without.”
I looked up and saw my grandfather sitting on the empty bunk opposite me. He shook his head derisively. It was supposed to be a gesture of disappointment, but the old bastard couldn’t quite contain his delight. “You never listened to me. Always thought I was just an old man rambling on…”
His milky grey eyes fixed upon me, the anger and bitterness still visible behind those hateful clouded eyes. “They should throw you into the stake pit with the other scum.”
“Enough!” I said, standing up and walking around the room.
I had to take my mind off things, to clear this menace from my thoughts. Willing him away would not work. I focused on what was tangible, the reality around me.
The tent I had been placed in was some sort of holding area, with four canvas bunks. There were no personal belongings here, no signs of anyone having made this their home. I noticed a patch of darkness on one of the beds and moved in closer. It was a bloodstain. Someone had tried to clean it and had removed most of the gore. The reddish tint to the stain gave it away.
My thoughts travelled back to Maggie and what she had said when I came in. That they had found a cure for the disease. The hunger. Could it be possible? Some way to prevent the infection spreading? If they had found a cure for the zombie plague, perhaps there was a hope for me. If you could prevent the dead from rising, surely you could prevent someone from going blind?
This realisation, this small glimmer of hope, relaxed me a great deal. All thoughts of my breakdown disappeared from my mind.
There was a small plastic window in the tent, just at the top between the roof and the wall. I decided to take a look at the camp, not having had much of a look around upon my arrival. Unsure if I was allowed to leave the tent or not, I pulled across one of the beds and climbed up on top so I could see out the window.
The area outside was a hive of activity, with uniformed survivors moving busily back and forth. I couldn’t see the survivor’s uniforms clearly through the plastic window. They didn’t appear to be military or have any identification marks. More like army fatigues salvaged from somewhere.
Most of the activity was focused on two large 4x4s. Each of the jeeps had been modified to hold a dangerous looking metal guard on all sides. An improvised way to keep the zombies at bay. Seemed to me that the camp felt large sharp weapons were the best way to defend against the undead menace. It must have worked for them so far.
I spotted a group of survivors led by what must have been the camp leader walking towards me and quickly ducked out of sight. I moved the bed back to where it was and sat down where Maggie left me. This time I would make a good impression.
The canvas door was pulled back and a stern, grey h
aired man entered followed by three new faces and Maggie. I moved to stand but he gestured for me to stay seated. He looked me up and down as he walked towards me, stopping a few feet away. Keeping a safe distance. “Are you carrying any weapons?” he asked.
“I have a pistol and some tools,” I said, reaching around to my backpack.
It was gone. Impossible. I began searching through my things, embarrassed that I had lost the weapon, my lifeline on so many occasions.
Maggie laughed and reached to the back of her belt. “I have it here,” she said, producing my service pistol from behind her back.
“Sorry for the deception,” said the grey haired man, “A small test to judge your character. If you had hidden the weapon from us, there would have been complications.”
“So I passed?” I asked, a little irritated that I had been pickpocketed so easily.
The grey haired man chose not to reply.
Maggie walked over and handed my pistol back to me. “You could have just asked me for my gun,” I said, “I didn’t travel all this way to cause trouble.”
“We couldn’t know that.”
The grey haired man took a seat on the bed opposite, relaxing slightly as he came down to my eye level. “My name is Captain Stone. I’m not really military or anything, it’s just a nickname from the other survivors that has stuck. I am in charge of this base and responsible for everyone inside. That now includes you.”
I offered him my hand to shake. “I’m sorry, no physical contact until you’ve passed a medical exam.”
I looked at Maggie who smiled her warm smile once again. She had been hugging and consoling me since I arrived, not waiting for any medical check. She seemed to read my intentions. “I’ve washed my hands, don’t worry.”
“Once the medical exam has been completed,” Stone continued, “You will be shown to a bunk and briefed on your responsibilities. Safety of the camp is now your number one priority. Do as we ask and you will be on the airlift out of here. Disobey and see what happens. I am not your boss, nor your carer. I am one of the few who has chosen to stay in the infected zone. If everything goes smoothly, I will get you out of here. That’s a promise. I am here to help you. Make it easy for me.”
