"How will we know when you're coming back?" Ed asked.
"Oh you'll know alright!" came Ged's reply, his words accompanied with a sinister smile.
For several hours Ged sat quietly in the cellar with nothing but an old dust sheet wrapped around him for warmth. Alone with his thoughts he ran through his plan. He was to wait for the house to fall silent as this most likely meant that the people upstairs had taken to their beds. Then he would find the light switch and, using the petrol he had sniffed out earlier, he would burn the house down, along with every fucker inside. He had thought out every possible scenario of how this would be played out and they all had the same outcome. Everyone would die and he would have his revenge.
Then he heard a key turn in the lock of the cellar door and a bright light flooded his vision. Having spent several hours sat in relative darkness he now found himself blind such was the intense brightness. Luckily, he had hidden behind one of the generators and was not noticed by Jonathon as he drunkenly stumbled down the steep stairway.
"Cheese beer, cheese beer, lovely, lovely cheese beer!" Jonathon sang to himself.
His vision returned, Ged sat still, quietly listening to Jonathon's drunken song. Although unable to see him, he reasoned that by the tone of his voice he was young, and what’s more he was intoxicated. But was he alone? He had not factored anyone entering the cellar into his plans and was not prepared to make a move unless he was 100% sure.
"Bunch of lightweights, taking the knock like that and falling asleep. The night is yet young and there is cheese beer to be drunk. Where are you cheese beer? There you are and you are all mine!" Jonathon slurred, spying the large keg of Butty's homebrew and drunkenly staggering towards it.
This was it, the boy was alone. Ged shifted himself slightly, ready to make his move. He looked to the floor and saw a shadow approaching then he heard the sound of beer gushing from the keg tap filling an empty pint glass. Now was the time.
He stepped out from behind the generator and found himself behind Jonathon who was bent forward and swaying slightly, filling his glass with beer from the keg. He swiftly swung his arm around the boy’s neck, placing him into a choke hold. Jonathon was too drunk to defend himself and in no time at all he was unconscious. Ged looked over his victim.
“I’ve got plans for you young man,” he said.
He dragged Jonathon to the window and pushed him through the small opening. Spying the many petrol canisters he had smelt out earlier, manically he emptied them one by one, covering as much of the cellar as he could.
Pouring the remains of the final canister, he moved towards the window and flicked open the lid on his zippo lighter, stroking his thumb against the flint wheel. Eyes wide, he glared into the flickering flame, adrenaline pumping through his body.
"Time to burn!" he growled.
Journal Entry 10
"Ace get up, we've got to move NOW!" Dave yelled, shaking me into consciousness.
My head was spinning in a drunken slumber from the vodka and Butty's cheesy home brew. I opened my eyes to see a shadowy figure before me. It was Dave but his features were masked by a haze of smoke. At first I thought it was the alcohol making my vision groggy. Then the intense heat and smell of burning hit me.
"What the hell is going on? Where's Emily?" I panicked, quickly scouting the room, looking for my daughter.
"She's fine John, she's with Butty. We've got to go now. Come on lar, shift your fucking arse, the whole house is in flames and I'll be damned if we're burning with it!" Dave replied.
Dave helped me to my feet and, stumbling over empty beer bottles, we made our way out onto the hallway. Flames rose from the ground floor, spreading up the walls towards the ceiling. In my hazy state it looked almost beautiful. The vibrant orange glow of fire danced across the hallway, igniting the woodchip walls and releasing thunderous crackling sounds. It was an ear popping song that stood in contrast to the elegant sway of the flames.
I tried to comprehend how this could have happened. Did Dave or Butty fall asleep whilst smoking and drop a lit cigarette? Did someone attempt to drunkenly cook up some spam after getting a case of late night munchies? Neither seemed likely, as the fire looked to have started on the ground floor before quickly spreading to engulf the rest of the house.
We rushed into the spam store room; smouldering cans of hot salty meat unleashed smells that reminded me of summer BBQ's. It smelt sublime in there but the intense heat was quickly making breathing difficult.
On the floor, next to a particularly hot pile of tins, lay my journal with smoke smouldering from one of its corners. I took it in my hands quickly and patted out any potential for fire.
The window was already open and I could see the rope ladder had been lowered. I looked out of the window. It was dark and the glow of fire burning up the exterior of the house blinded my vision. I couldn't see anything past the window but one thing I was sure of was the rope ladder was no more having been swallowed by the fire. All that remained were the singed ends wrapped around the hooks drilled into the window sill.
"Jump!"
I heard a voice shout in the distance. It sounded like Butty but the noise from the blaze meant I could not be sure.
"Jump you daft prick!"
It was definitely Butty.
"Come on Ace we'll do it together!" Dave said, confidently moving forward to join me at the window.
We both climbed up onto the window ledge, the flames close enough to tickle our feet. Dave placed a cigarette into his mouth then bent down to light it from the fire below. The cool bastard. He was still wearing his sunglasses too! We gave each other a knowing nod. Words were not needed. We jumped and landed just short of the thick brambles and wooden stakes we had hammered into the ground that morning.
"Are you ok Ace? Can you walk?" Dave asked.
Surprisingly I was fine. By some miracle my back had held out and I was good to go. I nodded my response and hurriedly we made our way up the steep steps to Weston Road. There I saw Emily with her Uncle in front of the Ford Thunderbird, watching as his house burnt to the ground. I ran to her and took her in my arms. Twice in two days I feared I had lost her and I did not want to let her go.
"Emily thank God you're OK," I said tearfully.
Emily looked past me and beyond Dave to the steps we had just climbed, waiting for someone else to appear.
"Where is he, where's Jonathon? Dad where's Jonathon? Why isn’t he with you? He should be with you!" Emily panicked, becoming more hysterical with every word.
"I checked every room Ace, we were the only 2 left in there I'm sure of it," Dave said.
"Well then where is he?" Emily screamed.
Above the roar of the fire we heard the revving of a vehicle engine and bright headlights beamed along the road, illuminating our position. In the road ahead was a large blue transit van and on top stood a lone figure, holding in his hand what looked to be a decapitated head.
"Who the hell is that and what is he holding? Is that a head?" I said, holding a hand to my forehead in an attempt to shield my eyes from the blinding headlights.
"Fuck me!" Dave exclaimed before giving a knowing glance to Butty.
"Well I don't know the lunatic holding it but me and Dave have seen that head before. Only it was attached to shoulders last time we saw it," Butty informed.
"It's the dick head we told you about, the one that knocked himself out falling from the van we looted. That looks like the same van too," Dave added.
"Hello fuckers!" shouted the man on top of the van. "How are we this evening? Enjoying the bonfire I hope? This here is my cousin Joni. I believe some of you have already had the pleasure of his company?" he added, referring to the decaying head in his hand.
I could see the rage building inside of my brother. His home and our safety had been destroyed. Everything he had worked towards to protect us from the apocalypse was burning down before us. But why? What had we possibly done to this man to warrant his actions?
Then the ma
n turned from us and began a conversation with the head he was holding. The crackle of the fire was too loud for me to make out what he was saying but it appeared as if the head had reminded him of something he needed to say and he turned again to face us.
"Oh and I almost forgot, you can thank Joni here for reminding me. I do believe someone appears to be missing from your little group. Any ideas people? Come along speak up, I haven't got all evening," the man shouted.
"Jonathon!" Emily screamed, making a move to run towards the van.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, preventing my daughter from running. Emily kicked and wriggled in an attempt to break free, screaming her boyfriend's name but there was not a chance I was letting her go.
"An eye for an eye. You take from me, I take from you. See you around fuckers!" The man shouted before climbing down from on top of the van then entering through the passenger door.
The blue transit performed a U-turn then opened its rear doors sending two figures tumbling out on to the road. The van then sped away, down towards Weston Point. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness but when they did I saw that the two figures were zombies and they were shuffling towards a street light. A street light that had a man tied to it. It was Jonathon.
The four of us ran to Jonathon as fast as we could but we were too far away to reach him before the zombies did. We could only watch with despair as they tore through his shirt then, digging their hands into his stomach, ripped through his skin and pulled out his intestines and shovelled them into their pale rotting mouths. The poor lad's screams filled the air.
Butty was the first to Jonathon. A well placed boot to the head sent one of the zombies tumbling away and using his bare hands, he grabbed the other by its hair and dragged it from our friend. He then repeatedly brought a knee crashing into the zombie's face; teeth, flesh, bone and gore flew in every direction.
A hysterical Emily was the next to arrive, grabbing her boyfriend's spilled intestines from the ground and pushing them back into his stomach through his open wound. Repeatedly she cried "Please don't die" and her shaking hands struggled to secure the slippery entrails in place.
Dave ran past Emily to the zombie Butty had thwarted and stomped on its head until it was no more.
I was the last to make it to Jonathon and he was no longer screaming when I got there. Almost lifeless, his head hung down with blood seeping from his mouth. Emily continued to press her hands hard against the large tear in his stomach, attempting to stop the content from falling out. With eyes closed tight she begged for her boyfriend to live. He summoned enough strength to lift his head and with eyes struggling to stay open he looked to me. He looked apologetic, like he felt he had failed us. Almost devoid of life he wheezed his last word.
"Sorry."
Then Jonathon was dead. Emily screamed in despair. All of her pain and anger manifested into a high pitched cry that sent my vision blurry and caused my head to rattle. If any survivors in the vicinity had heard then surely they would have believed that there was a new breed of zombie roaming the streets. One that made the current rotting bastards seem like kittens in comparison.
Butty removed a knife from his boot and stepped up to Jonathon. We all knew what needed to be done and my brother being well, my brother, decided to take the responsibility. Only, before he could complete the act, Emily took the knife from her uncle's hand. Not one of us argued with her. Her face held a look that said she would not be deterred and this was something she felt she needed to do.
Emily took her boyfriend's lifeless head in her hands and lifted it so that his chin was no longer resting on his chest. She looked into his eyes and told him she loved him then whispered something into his ear before saying "I promise". She then stabbed the knife through his forehead, penetrating the brain, removing any chance of him reanimating as a zombie. Like a little girl lost she flung her arms around me and sobbed into my chest. There was nothing I could say to make things better. All I could do was hold her.
"We've got to get moving Ace. I much as I hate to say it, we've got to go," Dave said.
"He’s right little brother. The fire and noise will have alerted both people and zombies alike to our presence. We've got to get off the streets and find somewhere safe to regroup and figure out what we're going to do," Butty added.
I carried Emily in my arms and followed Butty and Dave as they rushed to the Thunderbird.
"Wanking fucking cunts!" Dave shouted, booting the side of the car.
All four tyres had been slashed, leaving us with no alternative but to walk. Butty opened the boot of the car and retrieved 2 large holdall bags. He opened one of them to reveal several crowbars, knives, limited food supplies (spam), bin bags, a med kit and a few bottles of water as well as a walkie-talkie. My brother passed out the weapons and Dave glared at his crowbar with disdain then looked over to the burning house wistfully.
"It might be ok? I think I should go in and take a look, just to make sure," he said.
"Dave it's made of plastic. It's about as ok as the rest of my house. I told you that battle paddle of yours was a terrible weapon. It will be nothing more than a boiling puddle of plastic by now. You're better off with a crowbar anyway. It has got multiple uses such as prying open locked doors, smashing windows, removing nails and of course its main function, twatting zombies. Plus it's easy to carry unlike that giant spoon of yours,” Butty replied.
Dejected and mourning the loss of Jonathon, his battle paddle and the use of the Thunderbird, Dave lit a cigarette and placed his earphones over his head then reached down to his Sony Walkman cassette player, searching for the play button. Only the play button could not be found. His hand fumbled in panic as he unclipped the Walkman from his belt and brought it up to his face to inspect what was now a misshaped rectangle of melted plastic. I have never seen Dave look so upset. I mean he almost dropped the cigarette from his mouth and that is something he has never done. He was so distraught he couldn’t speak and I swear I saw a tear fall from behind his sunglasses.
"Put these on, just rip a hole for your head," Butty instructed, passing everyone a bin bag.
"What are these for?" I asked.
Butty opened the second holdall to reveal the horrific content. If was full of zombie limbs, many of which had been linked together with rope.
"The bin bags are to keep your clothes from getting covered in zombie splodge. The limbs are to keep us alive. There should be enough for all of us, the holdall is pretty big and I filled it the best I could. Grab a limb link and drape it over your shoulders. The smell should be enough to mask our scent," Butty explained.
Great, limb links. The nutter had given a name to his creation.
Butty took my diary and placed it in the holdall. He then ripped a hole in one of the bin bags and placed it over Emily's head. She was still in my arms and in no fit state to do anything for herself. My brother then placed a limb link around her neck, caring not that the disgusting and stinking zombie parts were touching my clothes. There was even a rotting hand in my face and I was dangerously close to having my nose picked by a decaying finger.
Noticing the squirming as I tried to move my nose away from the demon digit, Butty frowned, shook his head and snapped the finger clean from the zombie hand. I was half expecting him to ram the thing up my nose and if we had not had suffered such a loss, I suspect that would have been the outcome.
"As long as you're carrying Emily little brother I don’t think you'll be needing a limb link so I’ll keep yours in the hold all for now. Right then, follow me. We need to get off the streets. Once we've done that, we'll figure out what we're going to do next," Butty said.
We quickly moved along Weston Road in the opposite direction to that of the psycho in the blue van. Butty had gone into survival mode and was leading from the front, rushing ahead to check for zombies then giving us a thumbs up when the coast was clear. It would appear to anyone looking in that Butty was taking the loss of his home and Jonathon with some e
ase but I knew different. Avoidance was his coping mechanism. He would rather concentrate on the here and now and what needed to be done rather than think about all he had lost. Knowing my brother as well as I did, supressing his feelings would only last for so long and pretty soon, his pain and anger would rise to the surface and not without consequence.
I had never seen Dave look so depressed. His quick succession of losses was like taking body shots from a champion boxer. The first blow being the house, the second Jonathon, the third the Thunderbird, the fourth his battle paddle and the fifth and knockout blow was his melted Sony Walkman. I didn't know this Dave. His confidence, swagger and cool-as-can-be persona had gone. What remained was a man lost, a shell of his former self. I just hoped he could find a way back to us. Dave's energy and "Fuck the apocalypse" attitude was going to be needed now more than ever.
Emily quietly sobbed into my chest as I carried her along Weston Road, past the Cenotaph War Memorial and on to Greenway Road. She had not uttered a word since stabbing the knife through Jonathon's head. She too was lost, swallowed by grief and anger. It's difficult to explain the hurt I felt seeing her like this and knowing there was nothing I could do or say to make things better was heart wrenching. She had suffered a great loss, we all had, and our little group was in desperate need of some luck.
Butty rushed ahead, signalling for us to stay put whilst he turned left onto Balfour Street. I could hear the sounds of his knife penetrating undead skulls and the slurping noises that accompanied its retraction. After several minutes he returned, out of breath but with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Hurry, I think I’ve found a place for us to go. Barry’s is open!” he said.
God could have appeared right there and then and told me this whole apocalypse was just a joke, clicked his fingers then made everything go away and I would not have been as surprised as I was to hear my brother say that Barry’s was open.
The Death in a Northern Town Trilogy (Books 1-3): Welcome To Dead Town Page 28
