“Ready when you are kidda,” Dave said, throwing the remainder of his cigarette out of the window, the lit tip singeing the decapitated manky and rotting head of my former neighbour and topless sunbather Paula Brownrigg.
My brother walked past the rope ladder, gave it a disapproving glance then turned to me and muttered “Bloody death trap,” before disappearing from view, turning the corner to the back of his house. Well I was damned if I was going to let him leave me on my own again and climbing the rope ladder was out of the question, so I hobbled after him. The putrid smell of the undead became stronger with every laboured step. The closer I got to the back of the house the more intense the stench became. It was then I remembered my conversation with Butty from earlier where he detailed how many zombies he had killed. I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty and I was right.
My brother’s back garden was large and long with the far end reaching into Weston Point. He had built an 8ft wooden fence many years ago, adding security to his property whilst also cutting off any access from the estate. Now, Butty had told me he had spent the best part of last week preparing the house in anticipation of the apocalypse but what he had done with the garden was incredible. He had raised the height of the fence by a further 5ft. The new layer to the fence was dripping in grease paint and on the top he had placed broken glass. Realising the house was vulnerable from the rear, his main intention here was to keep out unwanted guests of the human kind. As an extra security measure, Butty had constructed a secondary fence made from chicken wire. Tied to the chicken wire, hung many pots and pans. Should anyone make it over the first fence unharmed they would not make it over the second fence unheard.
The garden fortress only served to distract me momentarily from the horror walled within it. In the middle of the garden lay a pile of dead zombies. Well I say pile. It was more like a mountain! There must have been close to fifty in the large deathly heap, the mangled and rotting bodies of the dead entwining with each other making it difficult to see where one zombie ended and another began. It was the stuff of nightmares and the smell, my God; it made a slaughterhouse smell like the Chelsea Flower Show in comparison.
I looked to my brother who was climbing the ladder to his bedroom window.
“I told you not to look in the back garden,” he said, watching as I bent down and spewed out the contents of my stomach.
You know what? Once again the fruit loop was right!
Avenging Angel
Mel had been flicking through television channels all night. It was twelve hours since broadcasts stopped but still she continued to press the channel button on her remote control, hoping for news that the zombie outbreak was over and maybe the army had been called in to clear the infected from her town.
She turned on her radio. The emergency broadcast from Halton FM that had repeated since the previous morning played through the speakers. It was telling her to go to the Pavilions if she needed shelter. Shelter she had; it was her boyfriend Rod that was missing.
Rod, a keen cyclist, left his house early the previous morning for a bike ride before going to work. He never returned. When she awoke to see the streets filled with the living dead and he nowhere to be seen, she believed him to be hiding somewhere, waiting for a chance to return home. Little did she know he lay dead in Heath Road Medical Centre, his head bashed into a bloodied pile of broken bone and brains.
Mel spent her time torn between the television and the door to her home. Every news report told her to stay indoors but Rod was gone and she struggled deeply with what she knew to be the safe thing to do and what her heart compelled her to do. She ran to the front door stopping short of opening it. Slowly her hand reached for the lock, an action she had repeated many times since yesterday.
Closing in on the lock, her reach appeared to act as a volume control for the zombies outside. The closer she came to opening the door the louder the moans and groans of the undead. With her hand now on the latch, the sounds became deafening. She quickly withdrew, unable to withstand the noise any longer, and returned to the living room, taking her place in front of the television. If she was to do as her heart compelled then she needed help, lots of it. She needed the Box of Doom.
The Box of Doom was a large wooden chest containing left over alcohol from when her friends would visit. Usually it contained the kind of booze nobody wants to drink. Culprits such as ouzo, Drambuie, cheap wine and Pernod would always be present. But there was also the good stuff too. Vodka, Gin, Malibu and Crème De Cacao plus a selection of cocktail mixers were always there to complete The Box.
Mel retrieved The Box from her kitchen, placed it on the floor and opened the lid, unleashing its distinctive boozy smell. No bar, not even a tramps vest, smelt like the Box of Doom when opened. The alcoholic aroma filled her nostrils and the fumes alone made her head spin. If she felt tired from being up all night she was certainly awake now. The smell emanating could wake a hibernating bear. She reached inside and removed an almost empty bottle of Vodka, the favourite tipple of her friend Sarah. She removed the top and raised it high, proposing a toast to her friend.
“Here’s to you Sarah,” she said, downing the remaining vodka.
She couldn’t have known but her friend was lying dead in a crashed Boeing 747 not a fifteen minute walk away.
With the vodka now gone, she reached inside once more and retrieved a half drunk litre bottle of Gin. It was her friend Julia’s tipple of choice and next on her drinking list.
“For you Julia,” she toasted then with one hand pinching her nostrils closed, she gulped down the gin quickly in an attempt to halt the harsh taste hitting the back of her throat.
Julia would have been proud of her friend’s toast, if her zombiefied body was not currently lying dead in a sea of shower gel outside Poundland.
With the room beginning to spin, she again reached inside The Box and removed a near full bottle of Rum, the preferred drink of her friend Debbie. With one more toast to go she raised the bottle high into the air.
“Debbie! Down the hatch!” she said.
Mel took a long swig of rum, filling her with a comforting warmth which was in contrast to Debbie’s frozen body that lay floating beneath the thin ice of the River Mersey.
Taking the rum with her, she approached the living room window and pulled back the curtains. Zombies were everywhere. Swaying, shuffling and sniffing the air occasionally whilst releasing hellish groans. She closed the curtain over, not ready to see anymore. Drinking on its own was not going to be enough and if she was to find courage to leave and look for Rod then she needed a weapon and a way of protecting herself. If only, like in the comics and movies they both loved, she was a superhero. Then she could rid this cursed world of the undead and restore normality.
She took another long drink of rum. As alcohol enhanced the warm fuzziness filling her body a flame ignited. A flickering light of an idea began to burn. She knew what she needed to do.
With rum in hand she ran upstairs and opened the door to the spare bedroom. Both Mel and Rod were keen collectors. Comic books, movie and TV memorabilia… anything attached to the things they loved they would collect and it all went into the spare room. It was a geek’s paradise and Mel in particular loved spending time in there, organising and adding to her Marvel, DC, Star Wars and Star Trek collectables. It was these items that triggered her most awesome of ideas.
Sixty minutes had passed since she entered the room. If her neighbours had still been alive they would have complained about the loud banging and moving of units followed by screams of joy when she located the items needed. But now, after an hour of preparation, she was ready and emerged from the spare room, not as Mel but as Apocalypse Girl, ready to kick every rotting zombie’s ass that stood in her way.
Covering her feet were her trusted Dr. Martens boots, the same pair she had owned since she was sixteen years old. They were tough as old nails and capable of crushing the head of any zombie looking to be stomped into the ground.
On her l
egs she wore black combats which were covered with pockets filled with replica Batman throwing stars, made famous from the Dark Knight Trilogy. They had been a drunken late night eBay purchase, something that happened all too often in Apocalypse Girl and Rod's household and accounted for 40% of the spare room's content.
Around her waist, adding to the DC comics theme, she wore an original Batman TV show replica utility belt, yellow in colour and perfect for carrying essentials such as medical supplies, food and water. But more importantly it also carried a full size prop sword from the movie Braveheart and a Star Wars purple Lightsaber.
On her upper body she wore her official Star Trek Next Generation Science / Medical Officer uniform complete with Commander pips.
She had placed her left hand inside a large green Incredible Hulk fist. Made from hard plastic it was capable of delivering a brutal strike without sustaining damage.
Covering her right hand she wore a Darth Vader replica glove, purely for aesthetic reasons as she thought it was fucking cool but what her hand gripped was the weapon to end all weapons. Feared throughout the Galaxy as an instrument of death, Apocalypse Girl reasoned that zombies would probably die just from looking at it, for in her right hand she wielded a full size Klingon Bat'leth. The Bat’leth is a curved long sword with four sharp points and a gripping handle on the back. Like a martial arts weapon in style it became part of popular culture after first appearing in the TV show Star Trek Next Generation. Known as an effective weapon, laws on ownership of a Bat’leth differ from country to country and have been known to be used in martial arts competitions as well as for acts of crime.
Clipped around her neck and flowing over her back was a Superman cape. Finishing off her outfit was a red teenage Mutant Ninja Rafael mask covering her eyes.
She took one last drink from the bottle of rum then placed it into her utility belt. She was ready to find Rod and in the process kick some zombie ass!
She exited her house and surveyed the scene. The undead appeared to be everywhere, shuffling in every direction. Several of the nearby deaders shifted their heads, picking up her scent. Before she knew it they were at the wall that separated the road from the small garden in front of her house. It had taken over twenty four hours and plenty of alcohol to summon the courage to leave her home. She was damned if she was going to retreat back inside now.
"IT'S CLOBBERING TIME!" screamed Apocalypse Girl.
She rushed forward and placed a well-aimed Hulk fist square in the face of the nearest zombie, sending it hurtling backwards, knocking several of the others down like a deathly row of dominos.
"Awesome!" she exclaimed.
Using her Hulk fist for leverage she jumped the wall, booting a zombie hard in the middle of the face, propelling it backwards to join its undead friends on the ground. Her beloved Dr. Martens did not let her down and the tough boot exterior, combined with the force of the kick, shattered the zombie's nose leaving only a hole where the nostrils used to be.
"Apocalypse girl SMASH!" she growled, stomping her boots through the heads of every fallen zombie.
STOMP, STOMP, STOMP, STOMP, STOMP!
She checked her surroundings; every zombie close by was eliminated. Hulk fist placed on her hip and Bat’leth held high she stood victorious, both of her boots resting in zombie brains. But there was no time to celebrate her triumph. She had to stay focused. She had to find her boyfriend.
Remembering Rod’s cycle route she ran in the direction of Dukesfield, a housing estate situated close to the Runcorn Bridge, pausing momentarily to take in its destruction.
“Holy fucking shitballs!” she said, mouth open, watching as the Runcorn half of the bridge broke free and dropped into the River Mersey.
She now knew what the horrendous deafening rumble was she had heard a day earlier. Something large had fallen from the sky and destroyed the Runcorn Bridge. She had to see what caused this destruction and turned right on to Waterloo Road, past All Saints Church before turning onto Mersey Road. There she saw the crashed Boeing 747 and in front of it two men fighting a gaggle of crazed geese and ducks. One man, with a heavily bruised face was having his ankles nipped by a small duck coated with blood stained feathers. The other man, who was wearing a leopard print fake fur coat, swatted and thwarted the deranged animals away with a walking stick. She contemplated helping but the man in the fur coat looked to have things under control and Apocalypse Girl had more important matters to attend to.
She turned to run back along Waterloo Road but was faced with two zombies stumbling towards her. She looked to her Klingon Bat'leth for protection.
"Hegh zombie Veqlargh!" she barked at the zombies in her best Klingon, then with one swipe of the Bat'leth, removed both of their heads.
Apocalypse Girl was not expecting the Bat'leth to be so effective and in her joy performed a little dance, doing the running man whilst singing "Oh Yeah! Oh Yeah! Oh Yeah!" again and again.
Even in her darkest moments she was always a good drunk.
Another victory and she was starting to believe. Believe that she had a chance against the undead and in her ability to find Rod and find him alive.
Time to move and running towards Dukesfield, keeping an eye on the many zombies that roamed close by, she made the decision to find a vehicle. It was too slow and dangerous to continue on foot, even if she was turning out to be a tough ass zombie slayer.
She stopped under the arches of the Runcorn railway bridge which crossed the River Mersey and was positioned alongside the Runcorn Bridge. She was surprised to see it in one piece but that was not the reason she stopped. Directly ahead was a small girl standing in the road, wearing a night gown and hugging a teddy bear close to her chest.
Apocalypse girl approached cautiously.
"What's your name little girl?" she asked.
"My name is Heather," said the little girl, lifting her head to reveal her eyes filled with tears.
"Why are you out here alone? Do you have anyone looking after you?" Apocalypse Girl asked.
"My mum is inside, there is a man trying to eat her," Heather replied, looking to her home.
Apocalypse girl turned to the house she referred to. An end terrace town house with broken windows and an open front door. Torn between the need to find her boyfriend and help the little girl she looked along the road in the direction her mission was taking her. She didn’t have time for distractions but she could not leave this girl. She needed help and what kind of superhero would she be if she ignored this little girl’s need?
"Come with me Heather, I will save your mum," Apocalypse Girl said, taking the little girl’s hand.
They approached the open doorway and entered the house. In the hallway bloodied foot prints left a deathly trail up the stairway and moans of the undead could be heard.
Holding the Bat'leth in front of her she took to the stairway and motioned for Heather to stay in the hallway.
As more of the second floor came in to view, so did the zombie that was slapping its fists against the bathroom door. It was a tall thin man, naked apart from novelty Ghostbusters underpants which in green lettering read 'I ain't afraid of no ghost' across his pale dead bottom.
"Do you think the man is a zombie?" Heather whispered.
"Is the atomic weight of cobalt 58.9?" Apocalypse Girl replied, which was met with a confused expression.
The zombie stopped slamming up against the bathroom door and turned to face Apocalypse Girl, advancing towards her with saliva dripping from his thin lips and slithering down his blue gaunt chest. She swung the Bat'leth, slicing the zombie’s neck, causing it to split and snap backwards. Hanging only by a fleshy thread, the zombie’s head ripped free from the neck as the body fell to the floor. She walked over to the head which looked back at her, gnashing its teeth. Removing her Braveheart replica sword from her Batman Utility belt, she brought it down quickly, stabbing it through the centre of the forehead.
“They may take away our lives, but they’ll never take away our FREEDOM!”
she yelled, "It's safe for you to come out now," Apocalypse Girl said to Heather’s mother who was hiding behind the bathroom door.
The bathroom door slowly opened and Heather's mother stepped out, looking frantically for her daughter.
"Heather!" She cried as her daughter ran up the stairway, skipped over the slayed zombie’s body and jumped into her mother’s arms.
"Die!" She yelled, booting the zombie repeatedly. "That's my neighbour. The creepy shit was always knocking at the house, asking to borrow daft things like a cup of milk or salt and he would stand there staring at me. Even when dead he couldn”t leave me alone," she continued, putting in another boot for good measure, "How can I repay you?"
"I need a vehicle if you know of anything. It's too dangerous out there on foot," Apocalypse girl said.
"My friend’s Mini Cooper is outside. You can take that," she replied.
"Won't your friend mind me taking it?" Apocalypse Girl asked.
"No she's dead," Heather's mum informed solemnly, "But that's the problem. She's not dead dead and she's sat inside it," came the reply.
"Look after your mum little one," Apocalypse Girl said to Heather, ruffling her hair before sliding down the stairway bannister, her red cape raising as wind rushed beneath it.
"Who was that girl, Heather?"
"A superhero, mummy."
Out on the street Apocalypse Girl approached the red Mini Cooper parked to the side of the house. In the driver’s seat was a corpse, the friend that Heather's mum told her about. She appeared motionless through the frost covered glass of the vehicle.
Using her cape, Apocalypse Girl wiped the frost from the driver’s window, bringing her face close to the glass as she looked in to get a clear look at the body in the passenger seat then the corpse jerked its head suddenly, quickly turning to face Apocalypse girl whilst thrashing to and throw in its chair.
Looking through the window, she could see the keys to the vehicle resting in the ignition. Resisting temptation to smash through the glass with her Hulk fist, she quickly pulled on the handle and swung the door open, stepping away from the Mini Cooper and protecting herself with the Bat'leth. The zombie tried frantically to exit the car but the fastened seatbelt prevented its movement. Instead, it groaned and snapped its jaw, reaching out to its would-be victim.
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 18
