by Ryan Colley
I tried to remember the night before. Knew I’d been in and out of consciousness all night. Remembered wandering the boathouse, but also remembered sprinting outside in the scorching sun, with my phone, trying to catch ‘em all. Wasn’t sure what was real or what wasn’t. I remembered scribbling down notes about the undead, so I looked around and found evidence of that – a piece of paper acquired at some point in the night. I read over what could only be described as the writing of a madman.
It’s not the bite that infects. We’re already infected. It’s the bite that kills! Once we’re dead from our wounds, we rise as zombies. Anyone is a ticking time bomb now. A death equals a new enemy. Cancer? Zombie. Gunshot to the chest? Zombie. Blissfully dying of old age? A damn zombie.
There’s no cure yet, not for the zombies. There’s no cure for death after all. Does that mean everyone is infected globally? Only certain people? I had to treat every death, apart from a shot to the head, as an active threat. There are preventative methods to stop the infection from killing us. But a bullet to the head is still the only proper cure.
There are no undead animals. Still raises the question of whether they can carry the virus for those who aren’t infected. Not that it mattered.
No special infected. They’re all just your run-of-the-mill movie zombies. No climbers, or screamers, or anything like that. A zombie is a zombie is a zombie. No special abilities. No variations. No mutations. A pleasant surprise.
The undead are dumb, with no sign of learning. They do respond to noises. Dumb doesn’t mean not-dangerous, though. Don’t know if they’ll starve to death or rot away. Just need to wait and see, I suppose.
Prognosis for humanity? Poor.
No cure, no problem.
Definitely the rantings of a drug-addled mind, but it did raise some good points. I tossed the paper down and looked around. I noticed my belongings were on the table. Gun, machete, clean military uniform, and Thundy. I must’ve placed him on the table during the night. Or Gary and Tracey did.
“I thought I heard you,” I said to Thundy, attributing my negative thoughts to him. “Miserable git, aren’t you?”
“Says you,” I imagined Thundy saying.
“Just shush,” I said as I climbed to my feet and stretched, slowly working the tightness out of my leg.
I hoped that wouldn’t be an everyday thing. Decided I was going to keep the boiler suit, as opposed to the military fatigues. They were a part of my life I didn’t want to remember. On top of that, they came with certain implications I didn’t want to be associated with. Just hoped a shower would also be an option.
I limped my way around the boathouse, Thundy in one zip-up pocket, machete and pistol where I found them. I wanted to move quietly, not just because I didn’t want to alert any undead, but because Gary and Tracey could still be sleeping. I moved around the bar, which was the central piece of the building, the rest of pub seemed to circle it, with the bar like the hole in a doughnut. I carried on hobbling, my limp easing up but still present. Opposite the bar was the couple sitting at a table.
“Good morning,” Gary said, through a mouthful of food. He was eating a bowl of what appeared to be regurgitated food. Probably muesli.
“Hi,” I said. There was a bowl set at the table, with boxes of cereal nearby and a jug of milk. They had set the table for me.
“Come and sit,” Tracey was happy to see me. “What do you want?”
“Chocolate hoops?” I pointed to one of the boxes on the table. I didn’t like being waited on.
“Of course,” she poured my cereal and milk. “Tea?”
I nodded and slumped into the chair.
“Sleep well?” Gary wiped the dried food from his facial stubble.
“Not too bad thanks,” I yawned and stretched again. I was so tired, but I had slept so much. “What’s the time?”
“No idea,” Tracey handed me some tea. “Clock stopped days ago. We’ve just been sleeping and rising when we need to. Didn’t see any point in changing the battery.”
A world without time. Truly a hard concept to get your head around. Imagine a world where time didn’t matter anymore. The only reason we needed time pre-apocalypse was to follow daily routines. The needs set forward by someone else, such as work. I mean, a world without a need to work for a living is a world that doesn’t need time. In a post-apocalypse world, you only needed to be awake to survive. You could sleep in, as long as you were safe. You would go to bed when it started to get dark, like returning to the caves of our prehistoric days.
There are worse predators than man in the post-apocalyptic world, especially since we were no longer the rulers of the night. I suppose people would go to sleep earlier and wake earlier, rising and falling with the sun. Before, we could only stay up so late because we controlled our environments, through heating, lighting, and a roof over our heads. Without those things, we would revert back to the way Mother Nature intended. It was a scary thought. I needed to know the time.
Breakfast was a lot less awkward than the meal the night previously. It was mostly eaten in silence, but not an awkward who’s-going-to-murder-who-first silence. Nonetheless, I finished up, as did Tracey and Gary, before Tracey disappeared with the bowls and returned with glasses of orange juice. I realised that, even though the couple weren’t elderly, they were old-fashioned in the sense that the woman did everything related to the kitchen. Then again, I never saw them in a normal situation, so I couldn’t judge. Besides, they were both so lovely. In the normal world, I would never have met either of them or got along with them. Yet when everyone struggled with the same problems, it bound us together. We all became family.
Gary broke my philosophical train of thought, “So we need to get down to business. I answered your questions. You need to answer some of mine now.”
“I’m not going to murder you, don’t worry,” I laughed awkwardly. I meant it as witty and playful, but it came out more like a veiled threat. Dammit.
“I’m sure you won’t,” Gary said calmly. “But a military man stumbling around, covered in blood still raises a few questions.”
“Military man …” I said slowly. It took a moment for the cogs to begin turning before it clicked into place. “Because of the uniform?”
He nodded as if I was dumb, “You said the military isn’t coming, and you were wearing one of their uniforms. Aren’t you military?”
“No,” I replied. And there was the implication.
Thoughts of James came to mind, my friend who was killed by Harrington. I didn’t want to go into it.
“So …” Gary said, prompting me to expand on what I said.
“I don’t want to go into this,” I said simply. “Can I just keep it basic?”
“Sure,” Gary nodded again. He was definitely an empathetic man.
“Long story short, a military group took me in, took care of me, and betrayed me. Shortly after the military officially disbanded via radio broadcast and decided to bomb London into the ground. I got out, and those clothes are the remains of what I had,” I spat.
Gary stopped me to ask a question, “And why are you here? You sound as though you’re from the southwest. You’re a long way from home.”
I couldn’t help but smile. My accent seemed to be known far and wide.
“Bristolian, born and raised,” I said in my thickest Bristolian accent. That of a farmer and pirate mixed together. “As for why I’m here, do you have enough time?”
“All the time in the world,” Gary smiled.
“Well, I’m searching for someone,” I replied anti-climatically. We both sat back in our chairs. This was going to be a long tale.
CHAPTER 18
I hadn’t decided how much I was going to tell Gary when I started out. I planned to censor my story. There was nothing wrong with portraying myself in a favourable light, right? Everything I’d done was for the greater good, but when I explained it, it may not have come across like that. So censoring was definitely the best thing for both parties.
Why raise unnecessary suspicions?
I went into detail about my journey through London and the way the military behaved towards civilians. I told them how the undead had taken London. The dispersion of the British Army through the radio broadcast. Operation Guy Fawkes. General Harrington. I didn’t mention James. Couldn’t bear it. I told them about heading to my current location, and that brought me up to date.
“That is … insightful,” Gary said. “You still haven’t actually told me why you left to begin with.”
I thought back to the conversation. I hadn’t mentioned Alice once. I spoke about everything that had happened and that I needed to get to Essex, but never said why I had to. Never who I was looking for.
“I came looking for the love of my life,” I said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I have reason to believe Alice and her family came here to get their boat and head out.”
Gary was silent for a moment, a contemplative look on his face, before saying, “Don’t suppose there were three of them?”
I did a quick mental calculation of the family members, excitement rising up inside me. “Yes? Definitely should’ve been three.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but was their boat on the upper left section of the boatyard, close to the waterfront?” Gary asked calmly.
“I think so!” I shouted, a grin spreading across my face.
“I need you to see something. It may answer your question,” Gary stood. Even though I hadn’t asked a question, I knew what he was referring to. Had Alice made it out? Gary led me over to a window and moved aside the bed sheet that hung over it to shield our presence from the undead.
“Look to where their boat should be,” Gary handed me a set of binoculars.
I did just that after steadying my hands. There seemed to be a lot more undead hanging around, maybe attracted by the commotion the day before, but they still ambled about aimlessly. Getting out of there was going to be a pain in the backside. I returned my attention to hunting for the Kingsley family boat. I remembered where their boat was kept, mainly because the boat next to theirs was so goddamn awesome. It had a dragon-styled paint job and stood out from the rest of the monotonously coloured boats. Another reason was that it was so much easier to work out where everything was when viewing from higher up. On the ground, it felt like a maze.
After some cautious and steady wandering, I found the dragon boat and settled on their allotted space.
“Their boat is gone …” I said, letting the statement hang in the air. Excitement was getting ready to explode from me, but I dampened it down as a precaution.
Gary sighed with relief. “So it was their boat, then.”
I let the bed sheet fall back across the window and handed the binoculars back to Gary.
“Did they all make it out?” I asked.
“Looked like it. It was before the whole county looked like this,” he made a sweeping motion with his hand. “There weren’t many of those … zombies about at the time.”
Gary seemed uncomfortable saying the Z-word, like he had been chewing on something bitter. But something other than his discomfort caught my attention.
“At the time?” I repeated. “How long ago was this?”
“I reckon about … two weeks at least. About three weeks after the first major outbreak in Essex. So it’s been about five weeks since then. Don’t get me wrong, there were still some cropping up here and there, but they were normally contained,” Gary explained.
So Alice and her family had waited three weeks to leave Essex, and I had missed them by two. I was two weeks behind them. How far could they have gotten in two weeks? Far enough that I was lagging behind. I cursed. Still playing catch up. I needed to find her.
“I’m going after her,” I started limping back towards the sofa to pick up my travel goods. I needed to leave immediately. But I was moving at such a slow pace. To match my twenty hobbled steps, Gary caught up with me in three.
“You can’t leave yet. You’re injured. You’ll be torn apart the moment you step outside. It wouldn’t be right for me to let you leave,” Gary said with concern.
“Well, I doubt you can stop me,” I said coolly while struggling to put one leg in front of the other. I don’t know if what I said triggered him to react, or from watching me struggle, but he placed one hand on my shoulder before shoving my face down into the chair. I turned my face to Gary, pure rage masking my features. I think I may have scared Gary a little, as he took a step back.
I snarled, “What the fu–”
“Look how easily I stopped you, and I wasn’t even trying,” Gary interrupted. I tried to stand up again but Gary pushed me back down with minimal effort. “Now we can do this all day. I have nowhere else to be, and I’m pretty sure you’ll tire before I do. Even if I did, the missus is here to take over for me. If we don’t want you to go, then you won’t leave. Now I can let you go, but you and I both know you’ll be dead in seconds. You won’t find Alice and it’ll be your fault. So how about you stay and get your strength back. The missus will treat your wounds, and when you’re fighting fit, we’ll let you go. Deal?”
I nodded grudgingly. I knew he was right, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I was too busy thinking with emotion and not intellect.
“I’m bored,” I muttered after a few seconds of an intense standoff, and relaxed back into the chair.
Gary smiled with relief, “Now let’s take a look at that leg.”
He peeled away the bandages that hid my wound and grimaced.
“What is it?” I asked, panic setting in.
Were we wrong and the bite had transferred Daisy? Even if that wasn’t the case, did the bacteria the undead carried in their rotten maws spread other diseases? Was gangrene setting in? Or something worse? Was there anything worse than gangrene? I could feel the dread in my gut and the fear in my head merging over my lungs to create an anxiety attack.
“You tore your stitches. They’re gonna need redoing,” Gary was still grimacing. Those simple words with their simple explanation made my fear evaporate. That was all it was! I laid back, grinning like a madman.
“Something funny?” Gary grunted as he got to work preparing the area.
“Not particularly. Just the whole situation,” I was still smiling.
“Well, I would keep smiling if I were you. Redoing these stitches will hurt. A lot,” he said dismissively as his concentrated.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I said confidently. Gary smiled, not maliciously but knowingly. He had clearly done this kind of thing before.
I watched with fascination as he produced something that looked like a fishing hook. A small and narrow silver hook in a sealed packet. I could only hope that meant it was sterilised. Next came some tiny thread-like stuff he attached to the hook. I had an odd fascination with the hook and thread until the realisation hit that it would be piercing my flesh.
“You may want to look away,” Gary said, noticing my grimace.
“Nah,” I said through gritted teeth. “I need to learn how to do it.”
And learn I did. I watched as his large hands made quick work of my damaged leg. The hook dipped in and out of my flesh, the thread tightening and pulling my skin together. Definitely more skilled than the barbaric work I’d made of it previously. Also a lack of pain, surprisingly.
Perhaps it was finally beginning to heal? Or perhaps I had destroyed all the nerve endings? What would happen to my leg with the best care available? If it was pre-apocalypse, I would probably have a skilled surgeon to repair the damage and cosmetic surgery to hide the scars, with a follow-up of months of physiotherapy. Even with all that, it still wouldn’t be perfect. And I wasn’t going to get close to that type of care. All I had was stitching with a fish hook, in a boathouse. Perfect apocalyptic healthcare.
CHAPTER 19
When Gary finished his handiwork, he told me to rest and to avoid doing anything strenuous. I begrudgingly listened to him that time. Didn’t want to reopen my wound
. But I couldn’t help but keep thinking about how much further behind Alice I was. I didn’t want to sit around forever.
“So what is there to do around here?” I sighed, knowing I was confined to the boathouse for the time being.
“There’s a ton to do around here!” Gary clapped his hands for emphasis. “We have books, some old VHS tapes, and a radio. Although I doubt there’s much happening on said radio anymore. There are even a couple of board games, if that’s your thing.”
“A radio,” I repeated.
“Yeah, should be around here somewhere,” Gary nodded and walked away. I was deep in thought about the radio. Places like docks tended to have two-way receivers, didn’t they? I could potentially send messages and communicate with the outside world. Maybe Alice would hear the message!
My excitement was burst when Gary plonked an ancient radio down in front of me.
“Here you go,” Gary smiled. “It was my pa’s. Bit old but works fine as long as you move the aerial right. Let me show you.”
As old as the radio looked, more replacement parts than original components, Gary was right. The radio worked fine. He explained about turning the dials to tune it in and adjusting the aerial to find a good signal. The radio occasionally became untuned, and readjustments to the dials had to be made, but it worked.
Once Gary was sure I was all good to go with the radio, he helped me to my room and left me to my own devices with it. Although retreating to my room was my idea, I still felt awkward. Not just because I was returning to Mama’s room. Something else. Neither Gary or Tracey had made any indication I was unwelcome, but I just felt like a burden. I felt like I was in the way and encroaching on the lovely couple’s privacy. So I decided I would rather be anti-social than an elephant in the room.
****
Gary
Gary gave Sam, who was staring intently at the radio, one last glance before shutting the door. He walked away, back to his wife, deep in thought. Tracey looked at him with concern. After all the years together, she knew when something wasn’t right with her husband.
