by Al K. Line
Nobody moved.
The scenes all around them did not exactly instill confidence in either of them. The picnic area was like a Bosch painting brought into the 21st Century. Chocolate wrappers and cans of fizzy drinks still on a bench, the remains of a teenage girl slumped forward into a half eaten McDonalds. What they assumed was her brother, laying flat out on the floor, belly extended so high it was amazing that it didn't pop. That disgusting look of zombie fulfillment spread Cheshire Cat-like over his face. No threat to them currently, but where were the parents?
Variations on the scene were all about them. With the ratio of those initially infected to those not in favor of those left still human the majority of the undead had fed plentifully, leaving them in a fugue-like state where they found it almost impossible to move. The desire for flesh could be satiated, the more they consumed the less a frenzy of destruction overcame them. In that respect they were like wild animals. A lion is not as prone to kill if it has plenty of food, a full belly going a long way to helping the survival chances of any passing gazelle.
The difference being, of course, that Ven and Kyle didn't know what they would encounter at any moment. With a slightly rotund dog and a defenseless baby to look after they were not exactly going to win any awards in a Rambo look-a-like competition.
Having seen firsthand the manic determination for fresh flesh on a hungry zombie they were all too aware of the danger they were in. Ven couldn't leave Tomas in the vehicle, that was simply too much of a risk, but having him strapped to her chest in his baby carrier was not exactly a nice day out for the little guy either. Especially when Mummy had a 'real' sword strapped to her back and a carpenter's belt around her waist holding a hammer, a large chisel, and an assortment of knives and even some Japanese throwing stars for good measure.
Kyle was feeling the absurdity of the situation too. A dog on a posh lead in one hand, a fucking mace in the other (a mace!) and another carpenter's belt for him too. This time weighed down with knives from his dad's collection, a spiked stick with a handle (he thought it had something to do with planting bulbs in the garden but wasn't sure), and various other sharp things he happened to come across.
Rather than death dealing zombie killers they looked more like a young married couple who fancied a nice break, but thought there might be some form of carpentry competition or medieval enactment event happening in the car park so they better dress for both. It instilled confidence in neither of them.
"Damn," said Kyle, "why can't we just be American. We would be all gangsta with a load of guns and stuff instead of pointed sticks, a fucking mace and ninja stars. Do you think we could hit anything if we chucked one of these things?" he said, handling a six-pronged shuriken very gingerly then putting it back into the carpenter's belt pocket. "We need Uzis, that's what we need."
"Shh," warned Ven, Kyle having started to get a little loud, as well as hysterical. "And don't be a dick Kyle. You watch too many HBO shows, most Americans don't go around carrying guns... I think. Not Uzis anyway."
"Look, let's just go over there first, quietly." Pointing at a quiet and empty grassy area, specifically for those with dogs, she led the way. Glancing about constantly to ensure that none of the zombies had decided they weren't quite full enough and would quite fancy dessert, thank you very much.
About three blades of grass onto the designated dog area Bos Bos lifted his leg and, aiming at a discarded plastic coffee cup, let out such a long and loud stream of urine they both got nervous that the most comatose of zombies would hear and be up and after them in no time at all — Boscoe had a really good aim. Eventually it went on so damn long that they couldn't help but see the funny side of it — the poor guy. What followed next was a bit of a waddle, a bit of a poop, another waddle and what can only be described as a nervous evacuation that, even to Tomas, was seriously offensive. It had been a rough few days for Bos Bos and the stress had got to him. He had done brilliantly to do as well as he had as far as he was concerned.
Business over with Bos Bos looked like, and was a dog relieved, and although Ven was not really in a normal state of mind she did remember her manners. "Good boy Bos Bos, good boy."
Bos Bos wagged happily.
With a bench free of any other companions, and well away from any other tables they sat down. Wasting no time Tomas had his bottom cleaned, his nappy changed and a new outfit put on in record time. The Little Man seemed a lot happier with the situation once he felt more comfortable, and he certainly smelled better too. Ven coughed conversationally.
"Ahem," she said again.
"What?" asked Kyle. "Oh." He realized Ven wanted to feed Tomas, and both of them were still a little uncomfortable with the whole thing, zombies or no zombies.
He turned his back politely and stood guard while Tomas was fed.
Feeding a baby cannot be rushed, and trying to stay calm and let the little one relax is important if feeding is to go well, and not take an inordinate amount of time. A service station dog pooping compound in the middle of zombie armageddon is not conducive to letting the milk flow freely, and Ven was well aware of this. It was not going to happen. Stress levels were through the roof and the last thing her brain wanted to do was to release prolactin to allow the milk to flow for the hungry infant latched onto her breast. So she switched to a bottle of ready-made formula kept for emergencies only. Much as she loathed to do so, now was no time to worry about the pros and cons of such matters.
Tomas was ravenous, and within fifteen minutes he seemed to be happy enough to relax a little and hopefully he would have had sufficient food to keep him quiet while they got what they needed and high-tailed it out of there.
At Least There're Bunnies
"Look," exclaimed Kyle, forgetting he wasn't supposed to turn around, only to see Tomas feeding from a bottle. "You could have told me," he sulked.
"Oh, bugger, sorry. I was totally absorbed Kyle. I am so sorry."
"No problem, but look, rabbits. Loads of them." And there were. British motorway service stations were a refuge for large numbers of rabbits. Often they were surrounded by other motorways and busy roads on all sides, so by what can only be a process of natural selection the ones that stayed put thrived. Plenty of grass, plenty of scrap food and no predators like foxes, which they had in the wilds, meant that they were often the perfect place for a number of rabbit families to settle down and multiply in great numbers.
Kyle smiled a genuine smile. The first in what seemed like a long time. He watched the rabbits hopping about without a care in the world. Then he realized that once the zombies no longer had human flesh to consume they would hunt around for any living flesh and the rabbit population was going to then see a severe decline. Having no predators in their near history the service station rabbits were very easy to approach, which was not going to work in their favor at all. The smile vanished, reality hitting home once again.
Then one of many lessons was learned by them both, right there and then — it pays to stay focused. While Kyle was enjoying the rabbit based entertainment he was no longer standing guard. They smelled the stench just about the same time they saw the zombie. An old man who must have been in his seventies when alive, stumbling towards them, one arm nothing more than a messy stump from the elbow down, shards of bone splintered and glistening. More than likely the damage caused by himself, in the initial frenzy of meat lust and insanity.
He had obviously fed, but not quite enough. The distended stomach and the smile an all too familiar sight by now. He had obviously not fared as well as others due to the disability, now on the hunt for more food. Stepping forward, determined to redeem himself, Kyle swung the long handled mace with all his might at the zombie's head, but managed only a glancing blow to its ear. Flesh ripped away, the menace paused and staggered somewhat. Trying again, this time preparing his aim better, he swung and hit his target square on the temple. Bone crunched, spikes penetrated, and mace still embedded in its skull the zombie went down. Kyle, renewed confidence and sen
se of manliness redeemed, placed a foot on the head and pulled out the bloodied mace, christened with 21st century blood for the first time. The mace was actually a 12th century British pernach, a flanged head made it the weapon of choice for penetrating amour and even chain mail. It was actually a very good choice for dealing with the geriatric zombie he just handled.
"One nil, one nil, one nil," Kyle regaled, singing a football chant his father had shouted countless times when watching TV on a Saturday afternoon. He was pleased with himself after his undead old man killing exertions.
"If you'd been keeping fucking watch instead of watching bunnies it could have been avoided," whispered Ven, Tomas beginning to bawl at what was obviously something bad happening way too close for comfort.
"Okay, look, I'm sorry Kyle, but we have to keep it together. This is not football, this is serious. And you seem to be forgetting something, it's not one nil, or are we not counting Paul, MY HUSBAND, or your dad?"
Suitably chastised and the wind somewhat taken out of his sails, Kyle tried to get his act together. He was losing the plot and amazed he could forget the deaths that had gone before.
"Oh, bugger, sorry Ven. I really am. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, honestly. This is just a bit much I think, I don't know whether I'm coming or going. I didn't forget Paul and Dad, honestly I didn't."
"It's okay, let's get through this together shall we, Mr. Bunny lover." She smiled, making everything okay again for Kyle.
He was still feeling pretty pleased with himself, if truth be told. This was the first time since it happened he had actually stepped up and dealt with a situation on his own and come out the winner. But the very out of character outburst made it obvious to Ven he was not in his normal state of mind. Shock had set in almost immediately. Killing someone, already dead or not, was not something to take lightly, and was not something you did without it effecting you deeply. The reality of dealing out death cuts deep and will always have consequences.
They kept their wits about them and made their way over to the entrance to the number of indoor stores and food outlets that service stations usually offered. Half way there they turned back and dropped Bos Bos in the car. Ven wasn't too happy, but Kyle explained it was rather difficult to get a good aim at a zombie when walking a portly Labrador at the same time — he did have a point.
Back at the entrance their hearts were hammering at double time, fear fueling the flight response that was hard to overcome. You could expect a WHSmiths, some arcade games (better avoid those just in case) and a number of over-priced sandwiches wrapped in plastic. Maybe a McDonalds if you were really lucky, or unlucky depending on your taste in food.
Ideally Ven was hoping for a good amount of food, maybe even something sweet for a much needed sugar rush, some ready-to-go formula, and some disposable diapers. Oh, and a serious lack of zombies. Well, what can you do, no stop at a British service station is without its perils, usually it's just the price gouging and the risk you take eating the sausage and mash, not actual real life zombie eye gouging.
They stepped up to the entrance, the automatic doors welcoming them inside. The carpenter/medieval enactment duo entered the foyer, looking about furtively and hoping it was going to be an easy shopping expedition. With a dry and clean bottom and a full belly Tomas was back in sleepy land, strapped into his Ergo and close to Mom. Kyle did the right thing and went in first, medieval mace at the ready and Ven a step behind, sword in hand. As they entered, there was little doubt in their minds that this was not going to go well once they got in deeper.
At this point it is probably best to think of the opening scenes to Reservoir Dogs. Picture the doors opening and the gang walking into the foyer in slow motion, 'Little Green Bag' playing and making them look cool and like hard-asses. It's better than thinking of them looking like it was bring your baby to carpentry workshop/medieval battle enactment day in any case.
So, Kyle, Ven and baby Tomas asleep at his mom's bosom entered the foyer, looking (ahem) dangerous and ready for anything...
"Um, Ven?" Kyle whispered.
"What?"
"Why exactly are we here? I mean, just for some sarnies and shit?" he asked, really wondering just what the hell they were doing risking their lives for a dodgy bit of bread and maybe some plowman's pickle if they were lucky.
Ven stared at Kyle quizzically then suddenly realization dawned and she understood exactly what he was saying.
Are we mental?
Risking life and limb, and her little angel's future just to get some crap service station food and extra diapers so she wouldn't have to simply 'make do' for a while? They should just be living off the tins in the car and hoping that she found her sister alive and that there was food there. They should arrive there today at some point, so what the hell were they doing? They had to get fuel, what were they thinking risking everything for anything other than that? There would probably be some food at the payment store for fuel anyway. Nodding her head in agreement at the intention of Kyle, they both took a few steps back, realizing that they really were a pair of fucking idiots at times. This was not the world they knew and they really did need to get their act together.
Seriously? Stopping for a sandwich when the zombie apocalypse is all around you, daft buggers. She shook her head in amazement.
They turned. Facing them were three teenagers, tall, spotty and very much what you would refer to as hungry for brains, if somewhat subdued. They actually managed to look sullen, as if they were just a little put-out about having to be bothered to devour more flesh already — judging by their extended stomachs they had fed recently, although it was apparent they hadn't eaten quite enough to put them into the satiated coma Ven and Kyle had both already witnessed.
They stank to high heaven. All three of them were covered in blood, dried and gone hard, making their t-shirts look like cardboard. Bits of indescribable matter coated them. In their lank hair, in their teeth and stuck to clothes, and they had all sustained some degree of injury of one kind or another. One had a massive bald patch on his head where some poor soul had tried to defend herself by grabbing at his hair and ripping it out. Another had a large raw welt running down one side of his face, part of his lip ripped away, leaving a foul grimace — the stuff of nightmares. The third had somehow managed to get off lightly, suffering only minor scrapes and bruises.
Excrement marked their baggy bottomed trousers, urine stained their clothes a dark yellow and vomit was glued like paste to their chins. The odor of death was all about them. The death of others and the smell of foulness from human intestines that the infected found a delicacy after the initial course of brains, if they could get any.
Without even thinking about it Kyle swung the mace hard, and his aim was spot on. The weapon hit the kid on the right — dead center in the middle of the head; cracking his skull and making a sound like a coconut being split open when dropped. The other two went into action, a flare of hunger firing on all cylinders prompting them into fast, immediate action. They both went for Ven and the baby, the sweet smell of innocence obviously their main focus. Ven tried to swing, but hit just one in the arm, before they were on her and scrabbling for the baby. The back of the baby carrier that was strapped to her chest saved little Tomas' life as hands began to claw at it. Ven stabbed one in the ear with one of Paul's dad's antique knives, the life going out of him instantly as he fell away to the side. She then stabbed the other infected, trying to repeat her action, but this time simply grating against bone as she missed the ear canal and just hit the side of his head.
Kyle smashed the mace into the back of the attacker's head at an angle, hoping that it would knock the teenage berserker sideways away from the baby and Ven, and hopefully be dead too. He was right.
Then the onslaught came. Obviously warned by the noise and the smell of fresh flesh those infected that were not full-bellied came roaring at full speed towards the three of them. Kyle grabbed Ven's hand and pulled her to her feet.
"You ok
ay? What about the little dude?" He asked.
Looking down to make sure Ven said, "He's fine, me too. C'mon, let's get the fuck out of here."
They ran for all they were worth into the coffee shop to the left. There was an exit at the far end that led out to the seating area for those that needed a nicotine fix with their caffeine. Glancing back Kyle could see at least five or six infected coming after them at a fast pace. Pushing Ven to get a move on he pulled tables and chairs behind them in an attempt to slow the attackers down. One stumbled and fell, too fixated on his prey to watch his step properly. The others managed better, running nimbly and throwing aside anything in their way as they got closer. They made it to the double doors, Ven pushed and got outside and Kyle was right behind her. He backed up to the doors and jammed the mace through the exterior handles.
"Okay, Ven I want you to listen then do what I say, we haven't got time," ordered Kyle.
The infected pounded at the door banging the glass. It was only a matter of time before they broke through the toughened safety glass and were all over them.
"Undo Tomas now... NOW!" he screamed. Ven did it.
"Run to the car and drive over here as fast as possible, this should hold until then. But strap the little dude into his seat first, don't skip it, we are out of here, fuel or no fuel. Okay?"
"Okay," Ven agreed, not even trying to argue.
She ran for the car, little Tomas jiggling in her arms and wondering what the hell was going on... again.
Ven opened the back door, plonked Tomas into his seat and strapped him in. Slamming the rear door she jumped into the drivers seat and fired up the engine. She pushed the stick into first gear, said a quick hello to Bos Bos, who was looking expectantly for maybe a nice plowman's pickle cheese sandwich, and roared over to Kyle.
Kyle, feeling more and more terrified now the adrenaline had worn off somewhat was still able to stay in 'the zone'. He jammed his foot against the meeting of the two doors to relieve the force somewhat, slid the mace out of the handles and was in the car and shouting, "Drive, drive, drive," just like in the movies, before a second had passed.
