by Ryan Colley
It continued to pull me down. I struggled and kicked. It was no good. Further and further down I went until I felt a sharp, blinding pain in the back of my calf. The pain of broken, rotten teeth breaking skin.
CHAPTER 11
I screamed. Agony ricocheted through my nervous system. I thrashed and kicked, but the zombie’s teeth remained attached to me. I could feel every single shard of every single tooth piercing my skin. Every movement tore flesh. Every movement caused me to sink further. I tried to pull myself up, the pain reminding me that I wasn’t going anywhere.
The zombie began to move away, chewing on my flesh. The flesh tore and ripped as it pulled away. Adrenaline and the wound on my leg were in a constant battle of dulling and renewing the pain. It would start to become numb, only for the simplest movement to set it off again.
Flesh, still in the zombie’s mouth, fell away from me. Blood leaked down my leg. I could see the red dripping off of me and onto the undead. Their undead hands were still clambering for me, trying to get a piece for themselves. Any hands that did grab me, slipped away, slick with blood.
I pulled myself up in that moment of freedom, faster and faster. No undead could reach me. I was out of their grasp, and they showed no signs of being able to climb. Lucky for me. I climbed up to the lip of the boat, a tarp covering it. I gritted my teeth and stabbed my machete into the elastic cord which held the tarp in place. The tarp loosened and the wind took the rest of it away.
I rolled over the side of the boat and collapsed onto the floor of it. It was pristine white, plastic and painted. It even smelled new. I was ruining it. I had left splashes and trails of blood everywhere I touched. It had formed a puddle around me as my leg continued to bleed. I felt cold and clammy. I was shaking. Was it shock? Shock was setting in. I was exposed to the elements there also. I would freeze and die when the sunset and nightfall came, if shock didn’t take me first. It doesn’t matter. I tried to bat that thought away. The voice of cynicism was right, though. It didn’t matter anymore. I would be dead soon. I had been bitten after all, and a bite meant only one thing. Death. Death followed by reanimation, followed by the killing of people I may or may not have known.
“Dammit,” I sighed, then pushed myself up onto the box that probably contained fishing gear.
Up as high as I was, I could see a lot of things. I could see the decks of other boats. I could see the ocean. I could even see a random boat that appeared to be abandoned not far from the docks and out in the seas. It bobbed up and down on the water. My gaze finally fell on the dark windows of the boathouse. I smiled, remembering my meal there with Alice. A lovely meal in taste and atmosphere.
I took Thundy out of my belt loop and sat him next to me. I said to him, with a weak smile, “We had a good run, didn’t we?”
“Not good enough,” I replied, imitating Thundy’s imagined voice.
“I just hope Alice can deal with the thunder without you,” I croaked. A lump in my throat had formed. “I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t know who I was saying sorry to. Thundy? Alice? My family? Myself? Probably all of them. I was so, so sorry.
I could feel my insides clenching as thoughts of death and the dark abyss after came to the forefront of my mind. I’m not ready to die! I felt sick. Fear gripped me.
“Oh, God!” I sobbed. Tears ran down my face and blinded me. I would never see anyone again. No one would know what had happened to me. I would just be a faceless zombie, waiting to kill someone like me. Waiting to be killed by someone better than me.
Determination came over me. I would not become one of those things. It was better to take myself out of the equation. My face twisted into a snarl. Sadness and fear replaced by anger. I reached my shaky hands for my handgun and held it loosely. I stared at it. I could see blood pooling on the floor, out of the corner of my eyes. My blood. The gun felt so heavy. Heavier than the first time I’d touched one. For a fleeting moment, I wondered how the man who had given me my first gun was doing. Probably dead.
I stared at the finer details on the gun. The grooved handle for grip, the small screw. I knew what I needed to do. I raised the pistol up. I turned the barrel of the gun towards me and placed the end on the underside of my chin. It was cold. I could feel tears rolling down my face, tickling me. I didn’t know if it was the coward’s way out but I did know it was the better option. I didn’t like the idea of my shambling corpse killing others. There was too much of that going on as it was. The world didn’t need another. I would die on my feet, with my eyes open. I stood. I could see the undead’s hands up and around the boat. They hadn’t forgotten about me.
I would have many regrets. I regretted never saving Alice or returning Thundy to her. I regretted leaving my family. I definitely regretted being bitten and dying there on the boat. That was it, I suppose. I pushed the gun harder against the soft skin of my chin. I would fire the gun. The bullet would enter my mouth. The bullet would only be in there momentarily before exiting through the roof of my mouth. Every exit is an entrance. It would then tear through the hypothalamus. Up and up, destroying all brain tissue as it went. Everything I could be or had been would be nothing in a few moments. It would’ve been that way. But the human survival instinct is very strong.
I began to squeeze the trigger. Ever so slowly I applied pressure to it. I was ready to end it all, but I hesitated. There was a distant buzzing sound in my head. Blood rushing to my ears? Except it wasn’t in my head. I turned around to find the source of the noise. What I saw was a complete surprise.
CHAPTER 12
A small, silhouetted object was moving towards me. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a plane. Not a big one. A remote-controlled one perhaps? I looked to the boathouse, where the plane was moving from. I could see a figure standing in the doorway, looking towards me. I couldn’t see the person in much detail, but I could tell that he was male, alive, and concentrating on the plane. There was a small box in his hands. The remote control?
I lowered my gun, curiosity overtaking my need to end my own life. The plane got closer and closer. It was definitely a remote-controlled plane, probably a hand-built model. It was white plastic-styled material with a red trim. Looked like a biplane. It flew low enough that I could’ve touched the underside of it. Then it began to circle overhead. The rotating buzzing made me feel a little motion sick. The plane did a few more wide rotations before continuing away from me and toward the boathouse.
I just stared in confusion, unsure of what the whole point of the display was. Then something amazing happened. One by one, the undead surrounding the boat turned and began following the direction of the plane. It was only a couple at first, staring at it above them and running awkwardly to follow it. And then more started to follow. They seemed to be chasing the other undead that had left. Perhaps they weren’t following the plane but the others who had left? Mindless creatures just following whatever they saw.
Before long, there was only a couple of undead around the base of the boat, and they seemed to have forgotten what they were doing there. I marvelled at the use of a model plane being used as a distraction. This could change warfare against the undead in humanities favour!
“Run!” a voice bellowed. The man at the boathouse. I snapped my head to look at him and saw that he was waving me towards him. He used sweeping arm movements as if to emphasise his point to me across the distance. My glorious moment of self-sacrifice was forgotten as my survival instinct kicked in with a full fury. My leg was weak, as was the rest of me from blood loss. That wasn’t going to stop me. I walked wearily over to the edge of the boat, stared below. Eyes blurred in and out of focus. Arms felt heavy, and my machete felt like a huge weight in my hand. I could feel myself swaying. I needed to get down. Then without thinking about it or meaning to, I pushed myself off the side of the boat.
I felt more like I was tumbling during the split second I was in the air than falling. Wasn’t a smooth landing either. I collided with a zombie, whose rotten flesh softened my
fall. We fell to the floor in a tangled pile. The force of my weight slammed the zombie into the ground. Its head slammed into the concrete floor with such force it bounced back up, with a snapping noise in its neck. I pushed myself onto my unsteady feet. I had lost my sense of direction. I began doing a serpentine-style run, more so through loss of my motor functions than strategy. My spinning head briefly caught sight of the boathouse. I quickly twisted myself in that direction and began sprinting. I say sprinting, but there was no fluidity to it. I had about as much coordination as one of the zombies. I began to worry that the man at the boathouse might think I was one of them.
“Alive!” I tried to shout, but it came out like a slur. I hoped it would at least alert him that I was alive. But I think it worsened my case. Exhaustion and blood loss were going to be the end of me.
I kept going, knees buckling under my sprint. Through sheer force of will, they didn’t. I thought I felt fingers grasp at my neck. This snapped me back to reality and fuelled my adrenaline. The boathouse stairs approached quickly. How had I run that far? I turned my head up to the top of the stairs and saw two figures there. They were shouting something, but it just sounded like a blur of noises in my current state. I didn’t slow down. I simply kept running. Legs pumped as they pushed me up the stairs.
I glanced at the man who’d saved me, but I couldn’t stop. I ran through the doorway. I sprinted across the room. I slammed into one of the round tables and collapsed onto the floor. I didn’t even attempt to get up. I couldn’t.
“Thanks,” I managed to mutter before the old-fashioned woodwork of the ceiling faded away to black and the darkness closed in on my vision.
CHAPTER 13
Once upon the time, I went for surgery. It wasn’t a major surgery, just the removal of some kidney stones. The stones were the worst physical pain I had ever experienced. Worse than the time I broke my little finger playing basketball when an opposing player stamped on my hand. Worse even than the time I fell off a climbing frame as a kid, back first onto a wall, and thought I had broken my spine. The pain was even worse than the zombie that bit into my leg that day at the docks. I digress.
I went into surgery. I remember being laid down on the bed as I was prepped for the anaesthesia. My heart was going at five hundred beats a minute as the nervousness wracked my body. It was all a blur. None of what was happening would register in my head. The clinicians spoke to me, but none of what they said made sense. It was all technical jargon.
“What is it like being under?” I managed to ask.
“It’s nothingness,” one of the clinicians replied after a couple of seconds thought.
“It’s like sleep,” another clinician reassured. Although his mouth was covered by the surgical mask, I could see that he smiled as his eyes lit up.
“I’m scared, Dave, will I dream?” I asked in an attempt at humour. The questions were giving me the focus I needed to steady my nerves. The humour was used to cover my nervousness. No one caught my reference.
“No, it will be nothing,” the first clinician replied, confused by the name I’d called him. Then added, “My name is Mohammed.”
I was about to ask another question, and then darkness hit me. The doctor hadn’t lied. It was nothingness. Yet he hadn’t entirely told the truth. Maybe it is different for everyone, but I did dream. Not the fantastical stuff of a regular night’s sleep. There were little flashes of images. Little splashes of dreams. It was like being dragged through water, a sudden blast of feeling and emotion, before tumbling into another scenario. I don’t think any momentary image lasted for more than a few seconds. It didn’t make any sense or link up. Yet I dreamed.
The reason I say that is, even though I fell to the darkest recesses of my mind through the chemical cocktail they’d pumped into me, I still dreamed. That day I got bit, made it into the boathouse, and passed out, I fell into the darkest and deepest parts of my mind. It was utter darkness. No dreams. No reassuring thoughts. Pure nothingness. It was unexplainable and unimaginable. One moment I existed, the other I didn’t. No way to comprehend it. It was like trying to comprehend the idea of infinite. Something like that is inconceivable. There’s no way to comprehend nothingness. I wouldn’t be able to even explain it had I not been able to reflect on it later.
Was that what death was like? It was terrifying. I didn’t want to die.
CHAPTER 14
I awoke. Not a sudden awakening as I was used to, but a systematic awakening. I could feel my body slowly coming back to life and start to twitch. Electrical impulses had started to spread to my limbs. Then I realised that I was actually aware of these things happening. My eyes gradually opened, crustiness in the corners fell away. Grogginess filled my vision and thoughts. The room was blurry.
I tried to lift my right hand to my face, but it met resistance. Panic began to flood me as thoughts of a stroke arose. This was dispersed as I pulled again and heard a metal on metal rattle. I turned my head to look. It hurt, like all the blood had rushed to it in that movement. I saw that my hand had been handcuffed to the rail of the hospital-styled bed I was in. My other arm was completely free and I saw that within arm’s reach, on a bedside table was a bottle of water, my mobile phone, the bullet for Harrington, Thundy, and a note with a silver key taped to it. The handcuff key!
I reached over with my spare hand. My hand flailed about as if the motion was foreign to me. I focussed with great difficulty and steadied my hand. I gingerly clasped the piece of paper with the key on it and carefully and brought it over. My hand shook as I tried to hold the note to read it. My vision focussed and so did the words.
Just come and say hi. Night or day.
There was a smiley face at the end of the note, or an emoticon, or an emoji. Whatever the kids were calling it nowadays. I crinkled my nose at it. Too friendly for my liking. I didn’t want to complain since whoever it was had saved my life. Saved … my life? I suddenly remembered how I’d gotten there and that I had been bitten!
I detached the key from the note and slid it into the small lock. Wasn’t easy with one hand. The handcuffs clicked it open, fell away from my wrist, and clattered against the bed. I threw the thin hospital sheet off of me. I wasn’t bothered by being naked, even if it meant someone had undressed me. I was more worried about my leg.
I saw that my leg was bandaged. Dressing seemed fresh. I unwound the bandages as fast as I could. It was like a macabre version of Pass the Parcel as I desperately tried to get to the centre. I managed to fumble away the last of the layers and threw it to one side. The wounds on my leg from the motorcycle crash and the bite were … fine. As fine as it could be, anyway. The skin was uneven and damaged. It was fleshy and pink, a combination of healing and scarred tissue. I could see the stitching on both wounds. The bite wound looked a lot worse, like someone had wrapped string around raw chicken. The flesh looked a mess. I rubbed my hand over the skin. It was tender, but it didn’t hurt. Looking at the twisted mass of flesh, I came to the realisation that I wasn’t going to follow in the footsteps of my grandmother and become a leg model. The sacrifices I had to make. I smiled with relief. Assuming the people in the boathouse had fixed me up, they had done a good job. Impressive. I slapped the old wounds, sending a slight sting through my leg. It was satisfying not to have crippling pain.
Then something occurred to me. I had been bitten. By a zombie. A zombie had pierced my flesh, drawn blood, and I hadn’t turned? I was shocked. Why wasn’t I a zombie? Is that not how it worked? Everyone had been so sure of how it worked on the internet. You get bit, the fever hits, and that’s it. So why had I survived? Perhaps, movie clichés aside, the infection was not in the bite. It wouldn’t be the first time the Internet had been wrong. Maybe it was the bite that killed. Maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t know, but that wasn’t a problem now. I had to focus on surviving and continuing to survive. I would just be thankful for that small miracle.
With that issue aside, I turned my attention to the bottle of water. I was so thirsty. Felt like I
had been swallowing sand for weeks. I opened the water and downed it in one go. I was still thirsty. Thirsty and hungry. How long had I been there? I would find out soon enough.
I looked down at my body in all its nudity. No socks, no boxers, nothing. I finally felt the flush of embarrassment shade my face red. Someone had seen my bare bottom and exposed genitalia. I felt mortified! I was going to have to confront whoever had seen me nude. I wasn’t happy about that in the slightest. But I needed to push my shame aside and go greet my hosts. The note had invited me at any time, after all.
I pushed myself to my feet, nearly collapsing. Legs were weak. That was a sign I had spent an extended period of time laying down. I held onto the edge of the hospital bed and looked around. Before I moved away, I realised that I needed to be aware of where I was.
The room was small and looked like a bedroom. There were photos and other personal knickknacks on shelves. I noticed an armchair in the corner, with a turned-off plug-in heater by it. The entire room gave the impression of an elderly woman, and the hospital bed suggested a sick one at that. Laid over the chair was some sort of clothing. I stumbled over to it, pushing myself off the walls and furniture for support. I collapsed into the chair and pulled up the item of clothing in front of me. It was an all-in-one, dark grey boiler suit. It didn’t look like something I would wear at any point in my life pre-apocalypse, but there were no signs of any other clothing. I would have to wear it. I gave it a cautious sniff and was relieved to find that it was clean, or smelled clean at least. I didn’t know what was worse, walking around nude or in another man’s dirty clothes.
I climbed into the boiler suit, which was about two sizes too big. It was surprisingly comfortable though, especially with the lack of underwear. It was freeing, and it felt a little taboo. I dropped my phone and bullet into one of the many pockets, and Thundy got his own pocket. I looked at my surroundings again, noticing there were no windows and only one door. That’s the door I would be leaving through. I felt naked without my weapons. Even more naked than being nude in a boiler suit. My weapons were nowhere in sight. I could only hope that since these people had saved my life, took care of me, and left me a friendly message, they were looking after my best interests and I was amongst friends.
