by Al K. Line
"He is not any more well and okay, Mike is now a dead person."
"What do you mean he's dead, he can't be. It's Mike, it's my Mike. He's Superman and he promised to stay with me forever, and he wouldn't die, not my Mike," shouted Cassie, crying and talking at the same time.
"What happened Al?" asked Ven worriedly. "Where is the person that shot him? Are there any more?"
Al suddenly realized that he hadn't checked if there were more bad men, he always stayed in the present and often forget about what he was supposed to do.
"A man was there, and Mike was the person shot at, and then fell dead. I forgot to see if any more bad men could hurt anyone, but the man with the gun is not alive — like Mike."
"And the gun?" asked Ven.
Al dropped his head, feeling chastised and knowing he should have done more before he came back to the others.
"Okay Al, it's not your fault. Kyle, you are going to have to go with Al and try to find out what the score is. I am guessing that it was just a lone guy, otherwise Al would have been next, I'm sure. But be careful, don't take any chances," said Ven.
Ven tried to console her sister but Cassie was a sobbing wreck. She had finally found someone to love, and to love her back, and now it was over.
There was no time to waste for Kyle and Al though. They had to find out if they were alone or if someone could be after them. They went across the fields, this time they kept low, and when they got to the spot where Mike and the shooter lay Kyle dashed out and grabbed the shotgun.
"Fuck," said Kyle, staring at the body of Mike and the assailant. "I can't believe he's dead, he seemed kind of indestructible, you know?"
"He was a man of much bravery, and my friend."
"Mine too," said Kyle. "Even if he was a bit scary at times."
"Which one do you want?" asked Kyle. He now had the shotgun as well as his trusty mace, and Ven's sword lay next to Mike in the dirt. Mike never had a chance to try to defend himself.
"I am best with these, is what I think," said Al, raising his hands and showing the huge hams to Kyle.
"Suit yourself big guy. You know anything about guns though, I haven't got a fu— clue?"
"I am not ever having used one, it can be dangerous," said Al seriously.
Kyle thought it best to just keep the mace, he had no idea what to do with a shotgun. From what he could remember it only fired off once then you had to put more cartridges in, sadly the dead guy didn't look like he had any. They carried on creeping around the back of the buildings, staying sharp. Adrenaline mixed with fear was drenching Kyle. It had been a tense time, it seemed like non-stop since the botnet went live, with just one death after another. Past experience and victory over the infected didn't make it any easier, or stop him being scared witless. The main thing was to just keep on going, let the fear wash over him and accept that he was shit-scared.
Fear won't kill you, not being ready for an attack will.
What was that quote from Dune? Frank Herbert knew his stuff?
'I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.'
He repeated the mantra as they checked out the rest of the rear of the property. It all seemed quiet. The barns seemed clear, apart from Ven's car and the usual farm implements and machines that neither Al or Kyle had a clue about when it came to their purpose.
Kyle felt strange. Someone he knew was dead. Murdered. Yet here he was carrying on and thinking of himself. Was that right? Was the life of others really of so little concern?
But what else could you do but carry on and think ahead to the safety of those that remained alive?
They entered a door at the rear and slowly and very quietly made their way through the building. Both of them too preoccupied with an imminent attack to concern themselves with just how amazing the interior actually was.
The manor house was empty.
There was nothing strange at all in the whole building. It was just a family home, by the looks of it for just a husband and wife and their son. Kyle was pleased, however, to find boxes of ammunition for the shotgun, it meant they at least now stood a chance of picking off intruders at a distance if it came to that — if he figured out how to use it properly.
The lack of occupants explained the two large mounds they had come across at the back of the house — they were long enough to be graves. Kyle surmised that the dead man had been the son, and that at some point the parents had turned, or one had turned and devoured the other, then the son had but one choice. Either defend himself or let a parent have him for the next course. Kyle had guessed correctly.
It was not malice that had led to the death of Mike, or the theft of Ven's car outside the library earlier that day. It was just downright fear and outright dread. The man that had both stolen the car and killed Mike — Alfred Wickers — had lived with his parents at the manor house all his life. Once a well-to-do family, like many other owners of relatively large and historic buildings, the upkeep took all the money and they were property rich but cash poor. Alfred lived there, having a portion of the property for his own, helping to run the place and keep it maintained. He also dealt with land rentals for neighbor's livestock and the odd guided tour to help keep the place afloat.
That world had changed for good the previous Thursday when he had come back from repairing a segment of fencing to find a sight that nearly sent him over the edge. His father was cracking his mother's head against the Aga in the kitchen. She was dead, he could see that, and his father was almost green, his face bulging, bruises around his throat, veins pulsating like European Nightcrawlers — a red worm he had used often for fishing.
What ensued sent Alfred to the brink of madness, ultimately ending with him just about escaping with his life, his father with half his head missing, and his mother lying dead on the floor. All it had taken was his dad having a quick check of his emails earlier that evening and clicking on a link to an article a friend had sent him on grants available for the making and selling of charcoal. You don't expect to find a zombie botnet at the end of something like that.
Alfred had tried the TV hours later, when he had come to his senses, but there was nothing. The computer monitor had been smashed after his dad's infection so he was at least safe from the virus. The radio gave him the information he needed, enough to panic and spend the next few days hardly sleeping, burying his parents, and standing in sweat drenched clothes behind closed doors hoping to God he didn't get his brains eaten out.
He had eventually taken the car to town, he simply couldn't stand it any more and thought it best to try to find other people still alive. By the time he got close to the library the car had died on him — in his panic he had driven it roughly and abusively over the bodies of the dead and the undead, and both the radiator and the steering system gave up the ghost.
This was when he really freaked out.
He wasn't chased, he wasn't grabbed, he was just in the middle of town, without a vehicle, with the smell of rotting flesh in the air, buildings burning, flies everywhere and the dead littering the streets. A tableau horrific enough to drive anybody out of their minds.
Limbs and pieces of flesh were in disarray in all direction, innards festering, remains of brains exposed, their hosts' heads cracked open like eggs. In a blind panic he simply ran, not knowing what he was doing, until it registered that there were keys in the Subaru as he hurtled past. Thinking his life would soon expire in the most terrifying of ways he got in and tried to breathe. He was just a man afraid, nobody could blame him for that. Without a thought for finding other survivors he drove straight back to his home and failed terribly to get himself together and under control.
When he heard the noise of Mike and Al outside his body simply reacted. Pumping adrenaline, he mustered what little courage he had remaining and shot the first thing he saw, not taking the time to register if the person was alive or undead.
His vision half blurred from tears he simply fire
d, and a second later his life was over, his windpipe smashed to a pulp by Al. He died with a responsibility for the death of an innocent man on his hands.
Alfred's story is far from unique, seeing outside what should definitely be inside the human body is enough to tip a lot of people right over the edge. Witnessing family kill family and being responsible for the death of one of them is enough to send many into the sanctuary of utter madness. Fearing for your own life, trying to accept the fact zombies are real, simultaneously fighting with the ridiculousness of such a theory is enough for many. Compound them all together and it is not surprising that so much of the world was in chaos, people couldn't cope with that kind of reality and stay sane. Not unless they had some kind of coping mechanism. And poor Alfred didn't.
Before they returned for the women Al and Kyle made Mike as respectable as they could. They found clothes for him and they laid him to rest on one of the beds upstairs. The pair had respect for the man before them, both wanting to ensure that Cassie did not have to see her man bloodied and a mess. It was something that Cassie treasured them for dearly — it made their bond closer.
The remainder of that day was not a happy one. Cassie was inconsolable to the point of despair about the death of Mike, and there was the additional fear for all of them, apart from Al who never got scared, that they may not be safe at the manor house. They had all been through enough to know that although the place was out of the way, definitely could be defended with some work and time, it was not a fortress yet. Their recent experiences made them all, apart from Al, very edgy.
Before the end of that first day Kyle and Al had taken advantage of the long summer evening and boarded up the front door with thick floorboards and planks scavenged from the barns, secured with nails the size of tent pegs. They battened down the door zealously — both inside and out, then they did the same to the windows too.
Ven drove both vehicles to the back of the property and out of sight, whilst Al and Kyle secured the windows at the rear in a similar fashion to those at the front. It meant that the only way into the building was now through the kitchen door at the back of the property, and through the walled garden which had a small access door through a utility room off the kitchen. They secured both doors the same way. Everyone gathered inside apart from Al while he secured the final door, then he climbed up a ladder to get back inside, entering an upstairs bedroom and pulling the ladder in behind him.
They could think about how to make the house secure but user friendly the next day, for now all of them apart from Al just needed the security of knowing no zombies were going to gain access. He was sure he could sort out any problems; he had dealt with enough zombies at the library.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Settling In
The first night they all huddled in the large kitchen, too sad about the death of Mike, and worried about potential attacks, to take in their surroundings properly. The room was warm thanks to the large racing green Aga, which fortunately had a stockpile of wood stacked next to it that Kyle took charge of loading in when needed. Al was the only one that ate that night, he needed regular fuel just like the fire in the Aga did, the rest were simply devoid of any appetite. The temporary boarding of the house went some way to allowing them to feel safe, but too much had happened too quickly in recent days for them to be able to relax properly, apart from Al.
The next morning would be different, there were things to do and preparations to be made, not only for properly saying goodbye to Mike, but for safeguarding their futures too. It was not until Tomas started to get cranky that they all decided to try to get some rest, each of them finding a room upstairs to their tastes; for some welcome privacy to be alone with their individual thoughts.
Bos Bos, overwhelmed by all the recent activity, decided that he was staying put in the kitchen. Ven put a towel that she found in a drawer slap bang in front of the toasty warm Aga and the poor dude crashed out in seconds. That night he dreamed happy dreams. He chased bunnies, and this time he actually caught one!
The manor house was impressive, very impressive. It was what you would definitely call full of British character, the kind of place people paid good money to come and have a poke around in. It had been added to over the years, so rooms were of various sizes and styles — some ornate, others rather simple, some very small and built for servants in times gone by.
The entrance to the house, now boarded up, opened into a large black and white tiled vestibule — grand enough to greet guests, offer them a drink, and have a servant take their hats and coats when such staff were still the norm. It housed the grand oak staircase to the right, ornate carvings on the newel post gave way to a curved rail, worn smooth and shiny as gold over the centuries. Fanning off from the open lobby were a series of rooms to the left and the right, with additional rooms leading deeper into the house, ending at the warmest room, the most occupied over the previous few years, and undoubtedly the heart of the home — the kitchen.
Immediately to the right of the vestibule there was a very large and grand room, with a fireplace so big that you could easily stand up in it, apart from Al. With the original wooden beams used in construction visibly part of the walls it had an ancient yet comfortable feel to it, even if it was rather ostentatious for everyday use.
With numerous bedrooms in the upstairs wings of the house and formal and informal rooms downstairs, there was no shortage of space. Everyone picked rooms close together, there was comfort for all knowing that the others were close-by. Only parts of the house were fitted with central heating, run off the Aga in the kitchen. The rest of the house needed fires lit and was mostly unused. Building a fire every day was a chore that few wished to maintain, it was very labor intensive to say the least.
Even in the summer the house was damp and cold anywhere that didn't have the heating supply. The size of the place meant that maintenance was always a losing battle. With zero insulation and single glazing it had a chill that didn't let up, even though the windows were soon to be insulated thanks to the work of Kyle and Al to give them security. Many rooms had rather threadbare carpets, too large and too expensive to replace, but Ven appreciated the massive floorboards. Hundreds of years old, worn to a shine and a lot warmer than the hall where the tiles were freezing cold. Ven managed to find a bedroom that was to her taste, a guest room that had been tastefully fitted out with antique items she could really appreciate.
An art deco dressing table clashed with an ancient chest of drawers and various other eclectic pieces of furniture, but as a whole the room worked. A huge four poster bed, complete with chintz curtains and an expensive Laura Ashley bedding set, that must have been many times older than her, completed the room. It was warm and welcoming and it almost felt like the world was normal, rather than burning and full of nightmares. But it was in the kitchen that everyone eventually felt safest, even after the 'incident' at the barn. It became the heart of the house once the property had been made appropriately secure. As Al ate so much it kind of made sense that everyone would end up there anyway.
With the huge old Aga kept running all the time, from the copious stockpiles of wood in the barn, it meant the room was always significantly warmer than the rest of the house, so it was perfect for Tomas; to keep him comfortable. Other rooms could be quite damp, as it often drizzled early in the morning and in the evening. Even at the height of the summer the damp penetrated well into the property. The room was large, had old flagstone tiles on the floor which were partially covered with a range of expensive but threadbare rugs, and really was absolutely packed with food. The local grid had gone down only recently so they managed to save everything that was stored — and it was a lot. Luckily the back-up generator took care of the power.
Renting out farmland for livestock meant that as well as money the owners had received large amounts of fresh beef, lamb and more from those that used the land. The cuts of meat were all butchered and packed into three large chest freezers in the pantry room, accessed via the exp
ansive kitchen. With an additional large double door fridge freezer as well as an ancient and battered stand up fridge there would be no shortage of food over the short term. With fruit and vegetables already growing in the garden, and a surprising array of goods stored in the numerous barns, it meant that apart from bread they were good for months if they were careful. The bread? Basically gone already. Al was a lover of sandwiches almost as much as Bos Bos was.
The house was most definitely not full of tech gadgets, there was ADSL and that was it. A wireless hub gave a signal strong enough just for a few rooms in the house but it was disconnected by Ven. Then a very thorough search instigated just in case — there were no more connections.
The grid was out, but the house had a back-up generator wired into the mains already via an automatic transfer system (ATS), so it kicked in without anyone having to intervene manually. In the more remote parts of the countryside power outages were still commonplace anyway, so people had to think for themselves. The generator was a large Hyundai diesel. A beast of a thing with a large capacity tank attached, full to the brim. Red diesel could be drained from the many farm machines so they were good for power for some time to come.
Having power and light would ensure that they could live in relative comfort. Not that any of them wanted to advertise their presence because of lights, but with windows and doors boarded and secure, then covered inside with the curtains, you would never know it was occupied if you looked from the outside. The only thing that gave them away really was the smoke from the chimneys. Luckily (or not) there was always at least a gentle breeze so the smoke was not as obvious as it would be if the air was still.
The first thing they did the next morning, after nobody managed much in the way of sleep apart from Tomas and Bos Bos, was to bury Mike. Kyle and Al brought Mike downstairs, then carefully and respectfully carried his body out into the garden. Still not properly secure, everyone was wary about being outside so they had to take turns watching the only entrance, just in case. It was an old wooden door and with a bit of a smash it would shatter in an instant. Cassie would not hear of Mike being buried anywhere but in the walled garden, so that is what they did.
