Dead Eyes: A Tale From The Zombie Plague

by Dwyer, James

“They went to a private hospital thirty miles from here. Some of the survivors are diabetics and we’re running out of insulin. I begged Debbie not to go…she has a good heart. Too good.”

  “Sounds like Libby,” I said.

  “If you come with me, we can find them.”

  He placed his hand onto my shoulder. It trembled like before. “Would you help me? Help me find Debbie? And Libby too.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Excellent,” said Morgan, his eyes lighting up, “Keep it to yourself. If Stone finds out he’ll stop us.”

  “Why?”

  “He needs me. Doctor’s are in short supply. Besides, he won’t like my plan.”

  There was a desperation in Morgan’s eyes, not that of a man grieving. Something else. Could I trust him?

  “When Libby arrived, she spent time searching this board. Must have been looking for you,” said Morgan.

  Doubt left my mind instantly. “What’s the plan?”

  “We’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. Borrow one of the 4x4s and drive to the hospital.”

  “Will they let us take the vehicle?” I asked.

  “They won’t even know it’s gone. We’ll be there and back in no time, I promise. Trust me.”

  ✖

  After I had promised not to tell anyone about Libby or the plan, Morgan disappeared with a spring in his step. I was still unsure about him. He seemed to be constantly agitated, filled with a nervous, desperate energy. I wasn’t sure how much that was down to him missing his Debbie. Whatever happened when we went out on our search, I would have to keep an eye on him.

  The crowd of people who attended the meeting had left me behind, moving across to eat in the dining tent. Dinnertime. I ignored Maggie waving me over and took the nearest empty seat. It would be easier for me to sneak away if I avoided Maggie, I wouldn’t have to make any excuses and there would be no dodging questions about Libby or Doctor Morgan. Just eat my dinner and head off to bed.

  There was a strange atmosphere as the rations were served. No conversation, just the scraping of metal cutlery against plastic plates. A strange atmosphere. It was a long time since I had been so close to this many people. I had quite enjoyed hearing the conversations around the camp earlier, even if I wasn’t taking part. Made me feel a part of humanity again, instead of this…ghost…wandering the countryside, alone and lonely.

  The food was better than expected. The usual mix of tinned meat and beans, but with some vegetables thrown into the mix. Tasting something fresh for a change was better than any meal I had eaten in months. Forget ice cream sundaes or cheesecake. A plate of fresh carrots, peppers and bean sprouts was heaven. I could have licked my plate clean.

  Instead, I took my dirty plate to the empties table and made my way to the exit. I escaped just in time. As I was leaving, a trolley covered in board games, playing cards and chess sets was wheeled into the tent. I was sad that I had to leave. Seemed like Stone and the other camp leaders made a lot of effort to keep morale high. Would have been nice to socialise for a while.

  My first impressions of camp had been positive. For a moment I thought about cancelling my trip with Morgan. Was it worth jeopardising my place here for him?

  Libby was worth it.

  Stepping out of the dining tent was like a black veil lowered across my face. The evening light became nothing more than a gloom to me, removing all form and shape from my surroundings. Everything slightly out of focus. Luckily I had memorised the route to my sleeping quarters and navigated my way across the campground without difficulty.

  Nearing tent F, I could just about make out a dim glow of light coming from inside. Opening the flap, I saw Steveo lying on his bunk, book in hand. Two other men were also relaxing inside. I assumed they were Patrick and Matthew. My eyesight was so poor now, I couldn’t make out any distinguishing features on their faces. I just smiled politely and made my way to my bed.

  “Not taking part in the games?” asked one of the new (blurred) faces.

  “Not tonight. Exhausted from the day,” I said.

  I moved cautiously to my bed. My bag was still in the same position, dumped on the floor lazily. It was a stupid thing to do; I should have made my bed earlier, when I could still see things with something resembling clarity.

  “He only arrived at camp today,” said Steveo.

  “You’re on your own?” said the newcomer.

  “Yes Matthew,” said Steveo, “Let him be. I told him this was a quiet tent.”

  “That was before Stone’s little briefing today. Won’t be long before the airlifts are cancelled permanently,” said Matthew.

  “You sound surprised.”

  The other newcomer, Patrick, rolled over onto his back, staring up to the ceiling. “They’ve been risking their neck for a long time now. Why bother? ‘Specially if the military are shooting them down. Why risk your life for nothing?”

  “Nothing?” said Steveo; “It’s their obligation to help us if they can.”

  “Yeah yeah,” said Patrick, “They didn’t before. Why now?”

  “They’ve been helping for months. Stone has overseen fifteen airlifts.”

  “That’s what he tells us. Who knows if he’s telling the truth.”

  Steveo put his book down and sat up on the bunk. “He has no reason to lie to us.”

  “He has every reason. Look how safe this place is, the community he has built. We all do our chores in the hope of a place on the airlift. Soon as the supply of carrot runs out, he’ll have to turn to the stick. Fact of life.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” said Matthew.

  “Believe what you want,” said Patrick, “All I know is that when the airlifts stop, it won’t be long until every zombie in the area converges on the place. No matter how big the ditch is, you won’t keep them all out.”

  “The hunger.”

  I felt the attention suddenly turn to me. The words had escaped my lips almost involuntarily.

  “The what?”

  “Hunger,” I said, “Its what I call the disease. Well the affect it has on the zombies.”

  “So you know I’m right?” said Patrick.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “If all the zombies become Daisies-“

  “What do you mean, Daisies?”

  “It’s what Lib-, its what a friend of mine called the zombies when they get to a certain age. When they become most aggressive and desperate.”

  “Why Daisies?” said Steveo.

  “Because there bodies are decomposing, should be dead and buried underground. Pushing up the daisies, you know the expression?”

  “Clever,” said Patrick.

  “So these Daisies are scary?” asked Matthew.

  “Terrifying,” I replied.

  “That doesn’t mean anything though. We can be alright if we stick together. Airlifts or not. I’ve been here for almost a month now. I’m happy. If we all work together, we can rebuild.

  “Wouldn’t take much to make this some sort of castle community,” said Steveo, “At least I think that’s what it’s called.”

  “And who is king of this castle?” said Patrick.

  “We’ll take a vote,” said Steveo.

  “I’m sure Stone would agree to that,” said Patrick.

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “You’re lying to yourselves. Human nature will fuck us all over.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “What do you think Daisy chain?” Patrick said to me.

  “Survival of the fittest.”

  Again, the words seemed to escape from me involuntarily. Almost as if I was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and my grandfather was sat beside me not moving his mouth. “He gets it,” said Patrick.

  Steveo picked his book back up and rolled away, facing the canvas wall. I saw Matthew do the same, Patrick dealing himself a hand of Solitaire in front of him.

  I used their distractions to make my bed, being careful and methodical not to give away my weakness. It was slow and I was
sure that I would be caught. The negative conversation had helped. Their minds were elsewhere.

  My bed made, I climbed into my sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep.

  “I give up,” said Patrick, throwing his cards onto the floor.

  He sat quietly for a moment before his boredom turned its attention on me and the others for entertainment. “Daisy chain,” he said, repeating my new nickname, “Tell me a story about out there. Something interesting.”

  “Let him sleep,” said Steveo.

  “He can,” he said, “After a story.”

  I sighed loudly, trying to show my disdain. “A quick one?” I said.

  “I don’t care if its War and Peace, long as it entertains me.”

  I searched through mental filing cabinets for a suitable story. I was coming up with nothing until I suddenly realised I could use a story to see what the others knew about “zombie hair”.

  “Well I was at a supermarket two days ago. Staying there for the night, it had been yellow painted so I thought it would be safe. Inside was this one guy who hung himself. I thought that was it and I was safe. But when I woke up, it was attacking me.”

  “No shit,” said Patrick, “It got the jump on you.”

  I embellished the story, wanting to impress. “Its head was hanging loosely from its neck, all the muscles and stuff broken from where it had pulled itself free. It was like being attacked by a bobble head, those shaky figurines you put on a car dashboard.

  “I’ve never fought a zombie so strong. It smashed open a door and lunged at me, trying to bite me with its head moving back and forth like crazy. Would have been funny if I weren’t so close to being chewed. I manage to fight it off, put a bullet between its eyes. Strange thing was, when the zombie was dead, I mean “dead” dead, on the ground. These white hairs sprouted from inside it. Like mould. Any of you seen anything like it before?”

  “Nope,” said Steveo.

  “Never,” said Matthew.

  “Me neither,” said Patrick, “Anyway your story is boring. Tell him yours Matt.”

  “I’m tired,” he said.

  “Come on. Pretend we’re sitting round a campfire, four old cowboys in the Wild West, resting for the night. Regale us with your tale.”

  “Fine,” said Matthew, “I was working in an old people’s home when the dead started walking. This state of the art care home, with secure doors, heart monitor alarms, the full works. Ideal refuge from the zombie invasion.

  “Problem was the residents. These old people in their silverest of silver years. Basically waiting to die. A whole complex full of potential zombies, too stupid or senile to realise what was going on. And they spend all day in front of the television, so they have front row seats as the apocalypse comes. Me and the other worker who cared enough to stay behind decide to fortify ourselves in and wait for help to come. We lock the doors, secure the gates, make this place into a castle.

  “It would have worked if everyone had followed the plan. But some old bastard starts feeling unwell. Instead of telling us, he goes to his room and drops dead. Out of sight out of mind. Until his buddies go looking for him. Soon the whole place is infected, geriatric chompers marauding their way through the care home. I had no choice but to run away.”

  “On your own?” I asked.

  “It was the only way,” said Matthew, his voice cracking a little as he said it.

  “You did the right thing,” said Patrick, “What you should have done from the start.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Its not that simple,” said Steveo.

  “It really is. Same thing happened to me. I was living in a tower block when it happened. Another place ideal to defend from the zombies. We barricaded the doors, sealed ourselves in. Even had a rota of tasks and duties, including being on watch, cooking, cleaning etc. We gathered all the food together into one store, moved everyone onto the same three floors. It was perfect. Until one selfish bastard who is feeling a bit mopey goes back to his apartment and tops himself. Didn’t have the decency to blow his brains out, just slits his wrists in the bath. So he wakes up a zombie and begins wandering the building. It was like some shitty serial killer film, one by one getting picked off. I wake up one morning and there’s a dozen zombies coming down the stairs. Panic ensues and the whole thing goes to shit. What else can I do except run as fast as I could out of there?

  “You see, everything was going well in our hippy happy community until human nature took over. Greed, envy, pride, you know the list. It doesn’t work. Survival of the fittest does. You’re a smart one Daisy chain, must have been how you survived for so long.”

  I didn’t respond, my attention was on Steveo. Even though I couldn’t see him clearly, I could feel the anger burning from him.

  “You think you have it figured out. That life is just an equation that you have to solve. Well I wish I knew that, and I wish my son knew that. Instead Sam gave up his life for me. Sacrificed himself for me. If only he had known that it was survival of the fittest, and only the strong will live to spread their seed.

  “Instead, he gave himself up to the zombies to give me a chance to escape. Not just me, but a group of complete strangers too. All stuck inside a petrol station when the undead came marching on us. He didn’t even know the other people’s names. Just that if he didn’t do something, then we all would die. So he opens the door, goes out there and gets all the undead attention. Thirty or so hungry dead men circling in on him, no chance for him to escape.

  “For you it may be all about survival of the fittest. But I know true courage. I know how great a human being can be. It is a knowledge that will weigh heavy on me until the day I die. Just don’t you dare lump everyone else into your group of nihilists and egomaniacs. It is not survival of the fittest. It is just survival. You make your path, I make mine. Leave it at that.”

  Steveo reached across and switched off the camping light. The uncomfortable silence remained there in the dark, no mercy in the blackness of night. I heard Patrick shifting uncomfortably in his bed, twisting and turning, unable to get comfortable. I waited for him to apologise. Even if he didn’t mean it, he should have said something to ease Steveo’s hurt.

  But he didn’t.

  I closed my eyes and tried to settle down to sleep. It wouldn’t come easy to me. I couldn’t help worrying that I was like Patrick. Blinkered by stupid rules and beliefs. Survival of the fittest.

  Patrick. A man after my grandfather’s heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I was dreaming of my grandfather when Doctor Morgan woke me. For once it wasn’t the dream with the armchairs. Even though it was a new dream, it felt familiar. Almost like a memory from deep in the recesses of my mind.

  I was sitting in a darkened house, all the lights switched off, no light from outside except the faint ambient glow from the night skies. In the distance, I hear my grandfather shouting. “Help me! Help me! Don’t leave me alone like this. Sitting here, rotting in the dark. You can’t treat me like this!”

  And then suddenly, the voice was right beside me, a whisper in my ear dripping with menace. “You should have listened to me. Now you have to suffer what I suffered. You deserve what’s coming.”

  It should have scared me. This uneasy familiarity with what I had imagined. It made me happy. The dream was changing and my grandfather couldn’t stand it.

  “Wake up, for fucks sake.”

  I opened my eyes and saw Doctor Morgan kneeling beside my bed, shaking me as loudly as he dared. “We have to go.”

  He stood up and backed away, giving me room to get out of bed. I was unsure why my eyesight wasn’t suffering, there was no blurry haze or gloom. Maybe things had turned after all. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t going to waste this little gift. Libby was waiting.

  I followed the doctor out of the tent, grabbing my bag as I left. “Quietly,” he said, looking quickly round him.

  “What about the guard duty?” I said.

  “Don’t worry about them,” he said, �
��Just get a move on.”

  The camp was deserted save for Morgan and the gently humming 4x4 jeep in the centre. I looked round me, certain that someone should have spotted our early morning excursion. No one. Not even in the guard towers beside the walls. Something didn’t sit right with what was going on.

  “Hey. Hey! Can you drive?” Doctor Morgan asked me.

  He was annoyed with me already, irritated that I was looking around instead of focusing on his plan. “Yeah I can,” I replied, defensively.

  “Then get in. When I open the gate, drive out and wait for me.”

  “What about the ditch? It took two people to push the barrier across before.”

  “Stop asking questions and do what I say.”

  I climbed into the jeep. The interior was cold, my breath fogging the glass around me. It had been a long time since I had driven, and when I was driving it had been a small one-litre hatchback, not a big 4x4.

  I watched the doctor moving around beside the gate. He was not moving with confidence, sneaking around back and forth, pausing after every action. Waiting for the alarm.

  Where were the guards?

  I looked closer at the two guard towers beside the gate. At first the darkness shrouded them, preventing me from seeing inside. My eyes adjusted to the dull morning light and saw a shape slumped over the guardrail. He had to be unconscious. If he were dead, he wouldn’t just be lying there.

  The main gates slid open, Doctor Morgan struggling to move them by himself. I opened the jeep door and was making to go help him when he turned and angrily gestured for me to stay inside the vehicle.

  I sat back inside and buckled my seat belt, getting ready to go as soon as Morgan signalled. The gates slowly parted, revealing the chaos outside camp.

  Immediately I saw the zombies approaching, four or five of them moving directly towards the open gate. Doctor Morgan saw them too, freezing in panic. “This is a bad idea,” I said, to no one in particular.

  I quickly released my seat belt and opened the door. “Close the gate!” I shouted to Morgan, pointing at the approaching undead.

  My shout broke him free from his trance, the doctor moving once more.