by Al K. Line
But worse than that they were simply two regular guys. Two guys that were so used to getting up early, buttoning their crisp white shirts and doing their daily nine to five for an average wage that they couldn't even think what to wear apart from their white collar uniforms. Now armageddon was here.
In a post-apocalyptic world they were enjoying themselves immensely, and the scariest thing of all is that they are the man next door that mows his lawn regularly, and says he loves his wife and kids.
When the world burned and the wives and kids were eaten, or turned, these two, and thousands more like them, went rogue within days. Expressing their real selves in gross acts of depravity that would make the most berserk and hungry of zombies blush from head to toe. There was no excuse, no overriding drive to perform the actions they did that was out of their control, they just knew they could now get away with it so they did it — and loved the mayhem.
A few weeks ago they were pretending they liked football when talking in the office canteen, moaning about work to their wives, stockpiling nappies from Amazon, and watching way too much porn when they should have been spending quality time with their families.
All the impulses they had now unleashed were kept in check by the constraints of modern living — and the repercussions involved with any form of illegal activity.
Now that the shackles were off?
Well, they let loose and did what the hell they wanted to. There were no longer consequences for them personally for anything they did.
So now the time was coming for some serious fun of the zombie kind.
"Hey man, how about after this we take this baby," said Jack, patting the dash of the Toyota, "and have us a drive to Cardiff then? We can get us some serious action like I just said, it will be fucking amazing."
"Why not? It's too bloody quiet around here anyway. I thought that when shit like this went down you had like, um, dunno, like millions of the zombie fuckers shuffling about and rotting all over the place. These ones are kind of lame if you ask me, all skinny and shit," said Steve.
"Deal?"
"Deal," replied Steve, both of them high fiving.
Jack and Steve were quite unaware of what they were contemplating in any real sense. Mid Wales was sparsely populated, it meant that there were not only minimal survivors but the numbers of infected in terms of area occupied was also negligible. The infected had spread out somewhat, and there were simply not that many of them to begin with.
Large built up areas such as Cardiff were different matters entirely. There were a lot more survivors for one thing, news traveled faster and people were quicker to take precautions. But there were also a huge number more zombies too. Let's take Cardiff as an example. A small capital city in a small country — Wales. Just a part of the very small United Kingdom. Nothing but a blip compared to the world as a whole.
Cardiff has a permanent population of approximately 350,000 people. A further 12 million visit annually. It meant that at this point in time there were well over a million and a half bodies in Cardiff. Some alive, some dead, rotting and half eaten. Others of the zombie variety.
Over 99% of Cardiff was infected. Technology was big business and almost every person there owned a digital device of some description or other that connected to the Web. A phone, a tablet, a smart-fridge, a laptop, or a Web connected TV. Within just a few days the majority of those that would be infected were — tens of thousands more succumbing to the zombie botnet over the course of the first week. Mainly as they would not, or could not, believe that the Internet was responsible for the infection. No way was Twitter or Facebook actually turning people into zombies, right?
So at this time, even with over 99% of Cardiff infected, it still meant that there were more than 15,000 people alive, scared, and wondering what was trending on Twitter.
What this meant was that the hordes of undead were not leaving built up areas in search of food. They were staying put and they were getting more and more vicious, plus more and more intelligent, as they had to figure out ways to get to the lovely scent of brains they could detect behind numerous closed doors.
Gradually they began to roam in packs. They got faster as their metabolism sped up to increase their chances of a successful kill, and it also meant that they began to understand and reason to some degree. Even though a lot of their brain had shut down, returning them to base creatures, parts were firing back up or synapses were re-connecting in previously impossible ways — all to allow them to become better hunters and to get their foul, already gore encrusted, mouths on their next meal.
The city center burned, the historic castle now truly a ruin.
The streets were littered with corpses, mostly from the day the botnet was unleashed. There was not a shop window intact in either the main street or the numerous ancient arcades that made up the heart of the city center. But much of it had simply burned, panic led to mistakes by those left alive, and when people died and fire was the main source of light and heat it led to accidents — understandable when people were less concerned with fire regulations and safety than they were with running for their lives and leaving their candles burning, as a zombie poked its head though the window, gnashing its teeth and clawing at the sill with hands bloody and ripped down to the bone.
But Jack and Steve, in their rather simple brains, thought it would be cool to go where the action was, and it was probably the best place for them. They wouldn't last five minutes if truth be told, they were not the most intelligent of guys.
Which was obvious from the half-baked plan they had formed to to try to get their hands on some live female flesh. Plus, if they had any sense about them, they would have not left Al alive. They had, once again, sorely underestimated the curly haired big guy lying bleeding and angry in the bed of the pickup.
The white collar madmen rolled down the small decline after the rise over the brow of the hill, then Jack put his foot down and sped up the other side that led directly to the manor house. Hordes of starving and emaciated zombies following close behind, growing increasingly frenzied by the second — the frustration of live flesh just out of reach driving them to howl at the injustice.
Al had a very bumpy ride of it laid out flat on his back on the bed of the pickup. He was wondering exactly how he was going to get out of this in one piece. But his confidence held, and he knew that it wasn't his time — yet.
I am not being a happy Al, I am doing lots of killing to these two men.
"Let's see what these fuckers are made of then," said Jack, as he screeched to a halt right outside the front of the manor house, a cloud of dust rising as he pulled up fast. "One, two, three, go."
They both jumped out of the Toyota, ran to the back and dragged Al out by the legs, letting him smash painfully to the sun baked ground.
White flashes of searing pain shot down his arm as he hit the ground, the wound bleeding freshly, the scent sending up a cacophony of howls from the approaching hordes. Al had never seen anything like it, and neither had the dumb duo.
The pair clambered back into the vehicle as fast as possible.
"Listen to those motherfuckers," said Steve. "They are going to tear this fucking place to bits."
"Good riddance to that dumb lump anyway," said Jack. "Let's get the fuck outta here, I wanna watch from a distance, not get eaten. Any women make it close enough to risk a snatch, we grab 'em and leave. If not, no biggie, there will be plenty more down the road."
Jack spun the steering wheel hard, kicking up dirt as he pulled away fast in first gear, hitting second but grinding the gears, making a pathetic getaway in the process.
He headed back the way they had come, the road only being wide enough for one vehicle meant there was little choice but to slam into the approaching hordes that had chosen the most straightforward of routes to their meal. This is where the duo's dumbness really shone through. The number one rule of driving through a zombie apocalypse is don't drive into a gang of them. It's bad for the suspension, sure, but even wo
rse for the complexities of modern vehicles when you get bits of zombie goop up into the engine.
A squashed head of one of the leaders of the pack splattered into the radiator grill as the pickup ran him down and smashed his body to pulp. Other bits of the rabid brain eater splattered off the wheel and got stuck in the brake discs. The car began to squeal as the forward momentum fought against the bits of zombie trying to bring the vehicle to a halt. Zombie bits won out as more and more body parts clogged up the vehicle as it tried to plow on — making their way into the engine housing and though the radiator pipes.
The pickup finally gave up and simply cut out. It rolled back down the hill slowly until Jack had sense enough to pull on the handbrake.
It was a long walk to safety, and the guys at least had enough intelligence to look terrified; so they should. They had plunged through a number of the infected, but it was nothing compared to what lay in front of them. Hordes of zombies in various states of hunger, all now focusing their attention on this surprisingly close meal in waiting.
The zombies were rabid — no longer semi-comatose fiends that could easily be fended off. These were famished to a degree that intensified their agility and speed, increased intelligence to facilitate food acquisition, giving them strength powered by insane adrenaline levels that coursed through them to help get flesh and brains for continued existence.
The glass windows of the Toyota were no defense, the infected smashed through in an instant, leaving slices of skin on the shattered panes. This close, and with the vehicle being static, the scent of flesh within was impossible to miss.
Glass went everywhere, arms clawed at Jack and Steve as they tried to fend off their attackers. A single shot was fired before Jack's arm was bitten, a huge chunk of flesh ripping, a long tear of soft and lightly freckled skin slowly pulling away right up to the top of his bicep. As he tried to push away his attacker another zombie grabbed the other arm by the wrist, biting down, only to grab hold of his silver bracelet in its mouth. It spat it out disgustedly, eyes gleaming with insanity and renewed ferocity at the mockery of a meal it was anticipating. It lunged right into the vehicle head first, tearing at Jack's throat and ripping side to side, exactly like a dog when it tries to shake it's favorite cuddly toy to death.
Jack died as his throat was shaken and finally ripped from his body. Blood spurted everywhere as more and more infected lunged through the windows, finally dragging him out onto the track and smashing his head to pulp against the white painted rocks that acted as a simple guide to the track boundary.
Steve fared worse.
He didn't have the benefit of death before he saw his insides where they definitely should not be: outside. His arms were bitten in multiple places, chunks missing and weeping blood. His abdomen was a gaping hole, multiple hands clawing and delving deep inside to pull out choice pieces of succulent intestine. Those that could stuffed their prize into their mouth, others fought for their chance of a meal. Steve was still alive as it happened, oblivion finally only coming as his body reacted to the shock and turned out the lights on this man that had embraced the chaos of the new world. He was now paying the ultimate price for his crimes.
As the zombies continued to eat, more and more came pouring over the brow of the hill, the manor house in sight. The overpowering scent of fresh live meat forcing their bodies on past the now two deceased, beating hearts and active brains being their focus as always.
The two dead sociopaths were now in bits. One zombie with more intelligence than the others was dragging what remained of Steve's upper torso away from the group, using his once shiny blue silk tie as a handle for pulling the still intact head, with a juicy brain inside, away from the rest.
Anyone Invite Company?
"What the fuck is that noise?" said Ven, cocking her head to one side, brushing her well kept shiny brown hair behind her ear and listening hard.
"I don't hear—"
"Ssh."
They both listened, and they could just make out a background noise that was new to them both.
"Sounds like a waterfall," said Kyle. "Maybe it's only the rain coming down hard?" He walked over to the window, looking out and realizing it wasn't raining at all. His eyes widened in panic as he saw the Toyota approaching and what looked like a zombie battalion close behind.
"What is it?" asked Ven, coming up behind Kyle and peering over his shoulder. "Fucking hell. Where did they all come from?"
"Following the truck by the looks of it," said Kyle, craning his neck to see what was happening just outside the front door. "Shit, it's Al. Two guys in shirts and ties are dumping Al onto the ground. Quick, we have to go get him."
"What? Al? What is he doing here? What the fuck is going on?"
"No idea, c'mon."
They bolted out of the bedroom door, Bos Bos bouncing after them wondering what game they were about to play, little Tomas left upstairs for safety. The front and back of the house was boarded up, the only way in or out was through the kitchen door or over the wall of the garden. They unlocked the kitchen door, which cost them precious seconds, and with mace and knives in hand for Kyle, sword held in a double grip for Ven, they sprinted around the side of the house and went to see if they had time to rescue the big guy.
"Al, Al, what the fu— hell is going on?" shouted Ven, the swear box now ingrained when in Al's presence. In fact it still sat on the kitchen table as a memorial to the friend they thought they would never see again.
"Two men who are being very bad, they were doing the kidnapping and torture of me. I told nothing though but—"
"Okay, later Al, let's get you inside first eh? It's kind of heavy on the zombie front out here at the moment," said Ven, trying not to totally freak out at the sight of hundreds of zombies bearing down on the manor house from the track and the surrounding countryside.
How the fuck are we going to get out of this one?
They grabbed hold of the big guy under an arm each and began to drag him. Al groaned and said, "Undo the hands that are tied, and the feet. I am better to be walking, and faster I am thinking."
"Yeah, good idea," said Kyle. He knelt and cut through the plastic cuffs as fast as possible. Helping him to his feet Kyle was amazed at the size of the big guy, he had forgotten just how formidable he actually was.
"Let's go, they are almost here," said Ven, zombies sprinting across the gap from the end of the track to the parking area in front of the house.
They ran, ran as fast as they could. Bos Bos was barking at the gathering hordes, hackles raised, although he wasted no time following the others around the rear of the house and back into the relative safety of the kitchen. Al was in pain but he made it just after the others, slamming the door and helping with the numerous bolts that held the re-enforced door as secure as it could be if it was to be used on a regular basis.
"Hey Al, good to see you again," said Kyle, smiling at the man he thought was gone from their lives for good. "You look awful though dude, you looked in a mirror lately?" It was obvious to Kyle that Al's nose, and who knew what else, was broken and must be very painful. It hurt just looking at the battered big guy.
"Hello Kyle," said Al, and turning to Ven said, "Hello to you Ven, I am sorry I left without talking to you. I am thinking I was judging quickly and not thinking right like my mum said I should always be doing. I am sorry for that."
"Al, there is nothing to apologize for, it's great to see you again. What the hell happened?"
"They found the book, and they tortured me. I did not tell of you or the house, but they could see the picture in the book of houses and worked it out, even if they were men of the very stupid kind. They were bad these men, and they had on white shirts and ties even when there are zombies. Not to be trusted."
"Fu— um... mentals if you ask me," said Kyle. "Who would wear a tie unless you had to?"
"Kyle," said Ven, eyes rolling, "some people actually take pride in their appearance you muppet, but now is hardly the time for fashion discussion
s is it?"
"Probably not, no."
"So, we need a plan, and fast. How many do you think there are out there Al?" asked Ven.
"I am thinking of about two hundred or maybe some more," said Al, trying to think about how many he had seen. Lying prone on the bed of the truck was not the most advantageous of positions though.
"I reckon about a hundred or so," said Kyle, "no more than that."
"Right, well, either way, we have to find a way to get rid of them, or leave. This place is barricaded pretty well, but they know we are in here, so we have to deal with them — one way or another. I think we are going to have to leave here now anyway, but we can't escape with those brain eaters all over the place," said Ven, pondering just how the hell they were going to get out of this situation.
"What about them being put in the garden. The wall is very high I am thinking, and if they are in there they are not getting back out."
Al was right, the garden could easily accommodate thousands of people — alive or dead. The walls were thirteen feet high so once they were in then they weren't going anywhere. As long as the door into the utility room was secure they could be confident they weren't going to get into the house.
"Perfect," agreed Kyle. "If we can lure the buggers — sorry Al — into the garden then we could pick them off with the shotgun. It won't be pretty but it will buy us some time to decide what to do. Should we stay or should we go? I like it here, but I can't see the place smelling too pleasantly once we kill all these zombies. I mean, it's bloody bad enough now, it reeks already."
Kyle was right, and it was just getting worse. The smell of well over a hundred infected people was intense to say the least.
Imagine what that many people would smell like if they simply hadn't bathed for some time. These people had no control over their own bodily waste systems, and certainly didn't clean up afterward. With dried blood and gore covering much of their bodies as well the smell was overpowering and putrid. Killing them, leaving them at the house, and staying themselves was not an option. They needed to leave, the only problem was how.
