by Al K. Line
This penny pinching resulted in his death.
He slipped on a mossy roof tile, tried to grab for the chimney stack and missed, caving in his skull when he hit the rear patio just outside the French doors in the living room.
Pandemonium broke loose.
His mum, who was having a morning cuppa with the next door neighbor, started screaming and wailing. The neighbor, a woman Al never liked as she always talked to him like he was a retard, called an ambulance while his mum screamed and cried and was violently sick in the garden when she tried to move his dad, and saw the mess that used to be his brains on the patio.
Al was kind of sad that his dad was dead, but not much else. He didn't so much miss him as just prefer that he was still around. The gore didn't bother him, the death registered, but in a way that didn't cut to any kind of emotional core. He was not liking that he would no longer have a friend and father, and nobody to take him places and to talk to, but it registered more like losing someone he knew and liked rather than the closest family member he had apart from his mum.
The next few days were ones of constant activity and a lot of tears. People came and went from the house all day: bringing food, offering condolences, asking if there was anything that needed doing. Someone even paid for a professional to come and fix the aerial. Through it all Al was thoroughly bemused. He just didn't understand why people were quite as upset as they were. He understood it in theory — his dad had died — but it just didn't connect on a deeply emotional level for the big guy. He knew he was dead, sure, and he was sad, but not in a despairing kind of way, or an intensely emotional way. He just kind of knew that his dad had gone and he wouldn't be coming back. So he got on with things without him.
Al had a few tantrums — the heightened emotional atmosphere didn't sit well with him. When he couldn't do some of the usual activities he and his dad did, and his mum wouldn't do them with him instead, he got upset and a little angry. Not anything physical, he just shouted a little, went off in a bit of a huff, and couldn't really figure out why everyone was acting quite as weird as they were.
It strained the relationship he had with his mother to breaking point.
The day of the funeral it reached a tipping point. His mum lost the plot. "What is wrong with you? Don't you know your father is dead? How can you just sit there eating sandwiches like nothing has happened? He was your father!" She was in hysterics, shouting and clawing at Al's chest, finally breaking down and sobbing into his shirt. Which Al was not liking as it was getting very wet, and he wanted a drink.
"I am being sorry my mum, I am not the son you would be wanting and I am a bad man. I liked my dad, and I like you too, and I am knowing that there is something wrong with me not doing the crying, but I can't help it as I am what I am not what you are." Al didn't know what to do. He knew he had made his mum sad and he didn't want to do this, but he was simply being all that he knew how to be. Nothing more, nothing less.
He taught his mother a valuable lesson that day, becoming the abecedary, a word Al had found in his Collin's English Dictionary and was prone to use whenever the opportunity arose — and many times when it didn't. It simply meant teacher.
The lesson?
He taught his mother that Al simply was what he was. His autism was very real and she knew this. Had spent nineteen years trying her best to help Al become the best he could be whilst dealing with his 'special' outlook on life. But until such a traumatic event as this it hadn't really registered quite how different he actually was to other people. It was common with some autistic people to outwardly be rather emotional and overly friendly, wanting to hug and kiss and hold hands, and Al was like that to a degree. He did love to hug people.
His mother had thus wrongly assumed that his depth of feeling was in accordance with this outward display of emotion — it wasn't. Better that he was like this than one of the many that could not stand physical contact and would not look you in the eye. He was a rather sociable person with people he liked or had slowly gotten to know. Stand-offish with strangers or those he took prejudice to.
But it was now very obvious to the woman that had raised him, given birth to him, that he really didn't understand, or have, the complexities of emotion going on around him. The loss of a father was not something that would affect Al on a very deep level. He had lost someone from his life, but it was not the same as it was for other people.
This was Al, and who was anyone to judge whether this was a good or a bad thing. It just was. Like the moon, like the ocean. Like the many creatures that lived on the planet. It was what it was and it meant it was right. Al was Al and he was the way he was. It was not out of any kind of malice or cold-heartedness that he showed little depth of emotion for the loss of his father. He pure and simple didn't get that it was something to be very sad about.
People lived, people died, and people had squishy bits inside them. Al accepted the realities of the brief existence human beings have and didn't try to fight it or wish it were different.
Who's right and who's wrong? After all, this is exactly the way of the world, and there isn't anything we can do about it is there?
Mmm... brains!
"I can smell you, you bunch of motherfucking torturers. We smell your brains, we smell your baby, and we are going to eat you a-fucking-live. Mmm, brains." Alfred had made his way to the ground floor, taking the rabble of infected with him. Some were faster than others, the slow and badly damaged took up the rear — they would make it eventually. There was only one direction worth heading in: toward the scent of lovely brains. Good enough direction as far as Alfred was concerned.
The zombie pack was surprisingly meek with Alfred. On a purely instinctive level they understood he was one of them but different. Superior. So when he gave orders, doled out by basic actions, even desires, they understood for the most part. He managed to get them down the stairs and back to the ground level by waving his arms and goading like he was herding sheep into a pen. He was still unsure just how connected they were to him, but he knew that he now felt a part of the group. He could sense their hunger. He was certain they could sense he was their leader.
The Alpha zombie.
Alfred could almost taste his orders permeating the air, filtering into the minds of the infected in close proximity, driving them through his will. They understood without thinking, controlled by a hivemind that would sustain their existence.
They were one.
They had one goal.
It was close.
Sniff, sniff. Alfred's nostrils dilated, taking in the strong scent of brains, the cilia on the neurons at the back of his nose stood tall, sending signals to his brain that it was very nearly time to eat. Neuropeptide Y flushed through his system in a sudden wave, so overpowering he almost became nothing more than an automaton. He had to fight once more to stay in control, to stay aware of himself and his surroundings.
"Alpha zombie is coming to eat you motherfuckers, and I forgot my knife and fork, tee hee."
Alfred waited, he knew that there was no way they could get out without coming through him and his brethren. He copied the way the other elevator was taken out of action and did the same to the other. It was only the stairs that could be used, and to get out they had to come down, no choice in the matter.
"Go get 'em Bos Bos," said Ven, as they all made their way towards the stairs down to the ground floor, elevators, even if they worked, would be asking for instant death. Bos Bos looked over his shoulder like she had just told him to make friends with cats and promptly turned and sidled up to Kyle, who was taking the rear and didn't even have a sandwich.
"Suit yourself then, Mr. Huffy," said Ven, shaking her head in disappointment. "Tut, tut Boscoe."
Bos Bos dipped his tail, sad puppy eyes looking up at Ven.
"Oh, I'm sorry Bos, I'm just playing with you. I want you to be very careful, okay?"
Wag. Wag.
"Good boy," said Ven reassuringly.
"That skirt dude is seriously pis
sed with us, isn't he? Have you guys seen him before?" asked Kyle.
"Nope, he wasn't here before you lot came. So the chances are he followed you in. It's nothing to do with us," said Joe.
"Wow! A zombie stalker," said Kyle. "Maybe he wants to borrow Ven's clothes," he smirked.
"I can hear you motherfuckers, and it isn't making me feel less inclined to tear your goddamn faces off while you scream. I'm going to eat your baby, bitch, and pop it's eyeballs out and suck on them while you watch," shouted an increasingly pissed off Alfred from down the stairs.
"Yeah, well why don't you just go and, um, find a matching blouse for your skirt, you, you, girl," shouted Ven.
Everyone just stared at her.
"What?"
"Seriously? 'You girl', that was the best comeback you got?" said Joe.
"It was alright, wasn't it?" asked Ven, looking at the other guys in turn.
Everyone was suddenly very preoccupied checking their weapons or adjusting their clothing.
"Fine, I am kind of stressed you know. Let's go get this skirt wearing freak and get out of here. This place is not exactly making me want to stay."
Ven raised her sword and headed for the stairs, Joe caught up with her and the others were right behind.
"Let me and Al go first Ven, you have Tomas to think about. Okay?" said Joe. Being both kind and also not wanting to get hit by a very unfunny young woman wielding a sword in some rather haphazard ways.
"Thanks Joe, let's do this thang."
Joe just rolled his eyes and wondered again just how such a group of nutters had managed to stay ahead in the zombie game for so long.
"Wait, wait," said Kyle. "Ven, put the little dude on your back, you can fight better if he's behind you. With the safety pads he will still be protected. Actually, we can put one over his head too.
"Guys, for fuck's sake can you hurry up. We need to deal with them, before they deal with us," said a totally exasperated Joe.
"Okay Kyle. One minute Joe, won't be a second."
With a quick shuffle of the baby sling Tomas was switched to riding along from the rear, reinforced pads stuffed around and over him. He didn't like it one little bit.
Tomas began to howl and cry like his legs were being slowly gnawed off by torturous zombies — they weren't.
They descended to do battle.
One tentative step at a time.
You Talkin' to Me?
"Ooh, it's the stealth humans," tittered Alfred, standing at the head of a worryingly large and obedient gang of malnourished zombies.
"Fuck you man. Why don't you take your friends here," gestured Joe, "and your girly skirt, and get the fuck out the way before we destroy the lot of you."
"You talkin' to me? Cause it looks like it, and if that's the case then you are sadly mistaken. You bunch off fuckers deserve nothing but contempt, you think you're better than them? Than me? Than us? Know what I am going to do first? I am going to crack that little baby's head open and spill its brains and—"
Al and Joe acted as one, firing simultaneously, taking out two of the infected crowded around their Alpha zombie. He was well protected, his tribe were gathered in close. A mass of rabid eyes stared back at Ven and the others in defiance.
Ven found it kind of hard to tell what the hell happened after that. All hell broke loose on the ground floor of the Sec UK building, and it wasn't going to be over until one group or another was well and truly dead in a way that meant they were not getting up again.
An almighty roar broke out from Alfred and the rest followed. It rang out through the building and was heard by infected throughout — they headed towards the noise at a 'dead' run.
Alfred's roar was signal that it was party time. Without needing to be told twice the infected stormed towards the group devoid of any kind of warning. One second they were still and salivating, the next they were in full motion, unleashed and ravenous.
Ven became instantly aware of a major issue with the new protective clothing. It made you over-confident. Past encounters with the infected had meant a lot of running away or a lot of extreme caution. You didn't want to get bitten because of the risk of infection from a human bite, and you didn't want the buggers anywhere near you in case they ate you. With clothing that could stop bullets, let alone bites and scratches, then it was easy to think you were indestructible.
This was not the case at all.
The clothing moved, you were still exposed, and your range of motion was a lot more limited with the thicker materials, never mind how good they looked. It meant that in terms of speed the zombies had one up on them all.
Of course, for Ven, having to deal with a very annoyed baby strapped to her back made itself the major issue. It had ever since the infection began. Knowing both their lives depended on her staying sharp, she tried to put Tomas to the back of her mind while she focused on the battle at hand. It was already in full swing.
Joe and Al were firing wildly now, trying to put down as many rabid infected as they could as quickly as possible. Nopad and Kyle fanned out to the side of them and began firing. Results were mixed. Joe was a great shot, but the others missed more than they hit. Few head shots meant the infected were either halted or just kept on coming. Pain receptors were blunted so unless they dealt a death blow the beasties took the bullet and continued into the fray.
Shots echoed around the once pristine interior, ringing in the ears, making conversations, even shouted ones, impossible. As the gap between the two factions closed zombie after zombie went down, but more made it to the front line and absolutely nothing was going to stop them from getting what they wanted.
Ven fired as quickly as she could, but the alien weapon was hard to use and she had to fire one-handed so she could keep hold of the sword with the other. Tomas screamed and screamed over her shoulder, wailing at the deafening noise so foreign to his delicate eardrums and the change in position that put him away from the close comfort he had always felt to his mother.
Bos Bos barked loudly and incessantly, adding to the mayhem, making it harder to think.
Frustration built with the inability to comfort her son and the realization that what she was doing was completely idiotic. Fighting a zombie horde with a small child accompanying you was the height of stupidity. She couldn't believe she was in this position once more.
They were supposed to be staying safe, not risking everything again just to hope it helped them stay alive longer in the future.
The infected were upon them. She caught sight of Joe and Al storm headlong into a group of the more mobile creatures led by the man in the skirt. He was wild, bellowing and maniacally clawing at the air in an effort to grab hold of live flesh. The pack were the same, unstoppable and frenzied. Arms and legs in rapid motion, kicking, clawing and groping for food that was tantalizingly close.
Nopad went down under a barrage of hurtling bodies, Kyle threw away his gun once the magazine was spent and swung his mace repeatedly at the bodies swarming over Nopad. He knocked two aside with loud cracks to the skull, Nopad's good arm emerged from the melee, stabbing with a slim knife, piercing the eye of one infected, jabbing out randomly at the face of another. They clawed on blindly. Nopad heaved and jerked his body to try to get out from under the overpowering flailing of limbs, trying to block out the stench that made it hard not to retch.
He took a bite to the hand, the zombie hanging on, clamping down hard. Nopad screamed and with new found energy heaved the biter off him, taking a lump of flesh along with it, before a shot to the face put it out of its misery for good. He fired repeatedly into the heaving mass, more luck than judgment took out three more assailants and injured more.
Kyle was grabbed from behind while Ven sensed as much as heard the attack coming from the rear.
The infected that had not been with the main pack had finally made their way down and were attacking from behind. She could smell them as they poured out into the ground floor, driven mad by the smell of fresh blood and the tantalizing promis
e of a meal that for many had been weeks in the wanting.
As the men fought on for their lives Ven went cold, ice-cold.
She felt a tug on the baby carrier and Tomas screamed out louder, the foul stench of weeks old feces, sweat and septic flesh overwhelming and terrifying him.
Where was his mom? Why was he so uncomfortable? And what was happening? He couldn't see.
A slim woman who was in her thirties and had always prided herself on her appearance clawed maniacally at the backpack, inches away from the baby brains within. She bit down hard on the head, only to encounter a barrier designed for bullets rather than teeth. The foul odor sent Tomas into meltdown, his screams rang out louder than the wailing hordes, drawing even more attention towards them both than before.
Bos Bos stopped his barking and bit as hard as he could at the woman's legs. Snarling, tugging with all his considerable weight. He would do anything to save Ven and the little person he normally liked the smell of.
Ven felt herself tugged backwards and spun fast, trying to get away and failing. She sat abruptly, cracking her coccyx painfully, but it had the desired result. The grip loosened and she rolled onto her side, firing wildly at the attacker. A shot hit the ear of the woman, it tore off leaving a gaping hole and scorch marks across her face. Ven threw the gun away, it was too late to load again.
As the attacker gathered herself for another lunge Ven scrambled backward wildly, her feet slipping on the slick with gore floor, finally gaining purchase and righting herself. Bos Bos tore at the woman's legs, biting repeatedly, trying to help Ven into a position to attack. She swung hard with a two handed grip on the sword, slicing into the neck of the woman, hacking almost through her vertebrae, the jolt reverberating up her arm. Ven kicked at the head, opening up the wound further, pulling out the sword as blood spurted for a split second, then slowed as the thick life-force coagulated fast — trying to stop the loss, but it was too late. The woman died her last death. Ven gasped as she spun and faced three more attackers already lunging for Tomas, bearing down on her with a ferocity the living could simply not muster.
