by Craig Jones
‘What the,’ I breathed.
‘Not quite,’ said Dan, taking his bike helmet from me. ‘But it looks like the military are cracking on. Let’s do the same.’
We stepped carefully across the river, using the larger stones as often as possible. It wasn’t just about keeping the noise level down; if our boots got too sodden it could make riding our motorbikes with potentially inexperienced pillions all the more risky. I made the other side first, turned, and let Danny use my trailing hand to pull himself over the last little jump to the bank, which we then scaled together. The bikes were exactly as we had left them; facing towards the exit of the tennis club car park and not surrounded by zombies.
We sprinted across, mounted our bikes, and plunged the keys into the ignitions. We didn’t start the bikes but first pulled on and secured our helmets and gloves. I reached over, as I had done at the garage, and checked that the rucksack straps were loose enough for Danny to easily dislodge when he needed to.
‘Ready?’ I asked.
‘Ready.’
We brought our bikes to life. We eased away and through the gate, up Mill Street and towards the King’s Head pub. At the corner we stopped. This was where we planned to split up, with Danny going right and around the town square and me going left. I would pause when I could see the outside of the hairdressers’ from level with the police station. I wondered briefly whether it would be worth giving a little knock on their door, but it was only staffed on a part-time basis, and I could only assume that if anyone was in there that they would have tried to do something by now. We both lifted our visors.
‘Be careful, bro,’ Danny said softly, the words actually catching a little in his throat.
‘You, too. If it looks dodgy, just turn back. Keep your finger on the horn and I’ll meet you back here. You got that?’
‘One hundred per cent,’ he said, and then was gone, his bike purring rather than roaring until he turned at the end of the road, and then the noise intensified.
I edged my way forward, leaning out over the front of it as far as I could to check the road ahead and get a better angle to view the doorway of the shop. I didn’t want to get too close to the group of zombies. They hadn’t moved and still ambled in circles, bumping each other. They looked worse.
Where skin had been torn it had now either fallen off or decayed. Their lips, noticeable even from the thirty metres or so that separated us, had peeled back to show off their teeth. Some had shed at least the top half of their clothes; they looked far more emaciated than I would have expected. After just a short time they were already wasting away to nothing, ribs and collar bones clearly visible through their pale grey, almost translucent, skin. I sat and watched them, disturbed that there was not a single indication of their humanity still to be seen. They were beings with a single, selfish cause: find fresh food.
The intermittent blasting of Danny’s engine and bike horn, as well as the barrage of expletives he threw at the zombies, drew me back into focus. Almost immediately, the horde began their grim exodus, and I was filled with revulsion when they parted and it was clear they had been walking all over the boy zombie, the one with only one leg. It did not stop him from propelling himself after them, even though his hands and forearms looked like nothing more than bloody stumps, leaving gross and gory smudges in his wake.
As the last of them disappeared around the corner, heading to Danny and the food, I once again took my bike forward. I could hear Danny’s bike as he clearly took the shorter route back towards me, catching up with me just as I swung my Yamaha in a wide circle, bringing it to a halt right outside the shop door, facing the way I had come from. Danny copied my manoeuvre and stopped to my immediate right, halfway to the centre of the road.
‘I told you to go around the square,’ I snapped.
He sat back in his seat, unapologetic. ‘Made it, didn’t I? They took the bait again. They were at the same point as last time when I got out of there. We’ve got plenty of time.’
The scene through the glass of the entrance to the shop was not dissimilar to the last time; Simon, eyes wild, sweating profusely, stood behind, keys in hand. This time a tall, slight man with light brown hair, and a chubby, middle-aged woman wearing a thick woollen cardigan done up right to her neckline, had their faces pressed to the glass. I gestured for Simon to quickly check through the windows of the shop on Bridge Street itself that we were clear to go, which he did too quickly for my liking. He then opened the door and the other man, John, sprinted out and got onto the back of my bike.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he blurted until I tapped the front of my helmet with an index finger, indicating that he should shut up.
In the doorway, Simon and Sheila were jostling each other. It was clear Simon’s nerve had gone and he wanted out right now. Before I could react, Danny was off his bike and reached over Sheila, planting a hand on Simon’s chest, shoving him backwards. The woman had now begun to cry, a noise which turned into a shriek when she realised her cardigan had snagged on the door handle and that she couldn’t release herself. Her thick jowls wobbled with every noise she made. Danny tried to free her, but failed clumsily in his thick leather bike gloves. Using both his left hand and his teeth, he dragged his right glove off, leaving it dangle from his lips as he pulled the wool free of the handle. He tapped Sheila gently across the face, silencing her and pointed firmly for her to move towards his bike.
Before she had chance to react, Simon launched himself at her, wrapping his fist into her hair before the pair of them toppled over backwards into the shop with startled yelps. Danny flew in after them and I snapped my side-stand down, dismounted, and rushed in. He had already separated them and was now kneeling over Simon’s chest.
‘You fricking idiot,’ he spat. ‘We’ll be back for you next.’
Simon was not to be placated and tried to swing a wide punch at Danny, which my brother easily swatted away with his leather clad elbow and then, almost with a regretful sigh, punched Simon flat on the nose. Blood spilled out immediately and the fat little man began gasping for air through his mouth. I pulled Danny off him and to his feet.
‘We need to get out of here,’ I said, right into his face.
I looked around the shop and crossed to the back of the room where there were four white sinks next to the cashier counter. On a row of hooks there were a number of aprons and a few pristine towels. I plucked one of these and threw it at Simon.
‘Clean your face up and we’ll be back in less than an hour, if we decide you’re worth it,’ I told him.
He let out a murmur of self-pity and remained crumpled on the floor.
I hadn’t realised it but John had followed me back in and, thank God, he was calming Sheila. I approached Danny and took his right hand in mine. He had grazed his knuckles and blood was seeping from the wound.
‘Is that okay?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, let’s go,’ he said, striding towards the front door. He paused in the doorframe and looked over his left shoulder into the shop.
‘My glove?’ he asked, as the little blonde girl stepped into my line of sight, just behind him, and in a single lunging bite, removed the little finger from his right hand.
Danny yelled in surprise and pain, his right arm swinging up into the air, sending a spray of blood across the girl’s face. He fell back into the shop. John and Sheila instinctively backed off in silence. I rushed to my brother’s side, a sound coming from me that could have been the word no.
It might have been because she was young, it might have been anything, but she was more stable on her feet than the rest of those things, so when Simon, dumbstruck at last, lowered the towel from his nose and she saw the blood, she walked towards him, down the clear divide that we had left in the room, and launched herself at his face. From the noise Simon’s head made when it hit the floor, the sound a watermelon might make if dropped from the top of a multi-storey car park, he was either dead or unconscious before she actually started feeding on his face.
But feed she did, and the chomping, the gnawing of her small teeth on his skin, flesh, and bone was too much to take.
‘Get out!’ I screamed at John and Sheila, my own voice reverberating inside my helmet. ‘Run for the tennis club.’
‘But...’ John said, finger pointing at the back of the girl’s head as it now burrowed into Simon’s neck and the ever-deepening pool of blood spreading out from his body.
‘Just go,’ Danny bellowed, his voice raw with pain as he pushed himself to his feet and freed the chain from inside his jacket with his left hand.
They peered out the door and then were out of sight just as Danny wound up his swing and then brought the chain in a wide arc, making contact with the top of the girl’s head. Her skull compacted inwards, but without a pause, she continued to devour Simon. Danny’s second swing, more of a backhand this time, ended it, actually took the top of her scalp off, and she collapsed over her final meal.
Danny dropped the chain and staggered across the shop, his knees finally buckling just in front of the counter. I undid my chin strap and pulled off my helmet, laid it on the floor, and then took Danny’s off for him, pushing his back in against the wood so he could sit upright. His face had lost every ounce of its colour, of its life and vibrancy. The capillaries in his eyes looked to have exploded. He held his right hand up in between us. The little finger was completely gone. Blood continued to jump out in little spurts. Between pulses I could see the bone running down the middle, sandwiched by slices of ligament and tendon.
‘Oh, no,’ Danny muttered, tears and snot running down his face. ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no.’
I was almost gasping, trying to calm us both down. ‘It’ll be okay, I’ll get you back…the Army…here soon. They’ll have medicine, they’ll…’
My voice failed me. I was crying too, because I knew I couldn’t take him back. Because I knew what was going to happen.
‘Bro, Matt, you can’t let me…’ With his left hand he pointed at the girl. ‘Promise me you’ll end it. You won’t let me kill anyone, you won’t let me…’
He took in a massive breath, making a horrific sound as he did so, his whole body shuddering, his hands pressing on the floor at his sides, the right one leaving a streak of blood on the wood. His breathing stopped and his eyes shut tight, as if he was in massive pain, his shoulders and neck muscles tight in his agony. I scrambled away, picking my helmet up by the chin strap as I stood.
And then Danny opened his eyelids and his eyes weren’t in there anymore. They were a single mass of grey. No pupil, no iris, just a prehistoric grey. I couldn’t stop staring into them; and then he opened his mouth, and then he snarled at me, teeth ending the terrifying, guttural noise with a hungry snap. Lips pulled back in a malevolent grin, he shoved his hands violently onto the floor as he tried to gain purchase and get to his feet. I stepped forward and swung my motorcycle helmet as hard as I could, heard a crack as it made contact with his jaw and then drove the back of his skull into the counter.
I stood in the silence for a couple minutes; the only noise I made was letting my helmet fall to the floor with a thump, settling immediately. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was dead. Danny was dead. I had killed my brother. I had been forced to kill my brother. Because that little bitch had bitten him and he’d bled, and he was still bleeding, and the blood was still pumping out of the place where his little finger used to be. There was so much, so much blood.
And then I remembered the soldier, the one who had been caught by surprise. The one who had used his fist to knock it out. Like I had done to Danny. Because if he was still bleeding like that, then he couldn’t be dead.
Could he?
And if the Army brought a cure with them, then I could save him, just like I had the others.
But if the Army saw my brother like this, they would kill him.
16
Three minutes later, I pulled my helmet back over my head and checked through the windows of the shop to make sure everywhere was clear. I’d already rifled Simon’s pockets and found the keys. I grabbed hold of his feet and dragged him and his killer out into the street, leaving a wide swath of blood from the puddle in the middle of the room right out to the rear of my motorbike. Both bikes were still running, so I turned Danny’s off and slipped his key into my pocket. I ran back to the door to make sure it was properly locked and secure. I mounted my bike and slowly accelerated away, towards the tennis club car park. I was calm. I had to be.
I watched in the rearview mirror of my bike as the zombies rounded the corner, drawn this time not by the presence of people but by the smell of food. I tore my eyes away and concentrated on the road.
When I reached the car park, I could see no sign of John or Sheila. I parked the bike as close to the river as I could, not bothering to turn it around, and as I began to walk for home I saw them emerge from behind the trees. I pointed them in the direction we were going and they fell in behind me without a word. I marched across the river, water splashing high up over my boots, paused briefly to collect one of the sharpened brush handles, and continued up to the wall of the house.
Nick had the ladder in place but I did not look at him, could not speak to him as I climbed upward, ignoring the previous protocol of letting those we had rescued go first. Jenny and girls were up in the window. I was vaguely aware of voices, of questions, the sound of my brother’s name, but I heard none of them clearly as I threw the wooden stake off the wall and into the garden and jumped off the wall myself. I landed heavily and rolled across the grass. I righted myself, collected the weapon, and ran as best as I could in my leathers. I struggled to unfasten the straps of my helmet as I went and finally dislodged it as I reached the drive, casting it aside towards the garage.
And I rammed the sharpened end of the wood into the face of the first zombie I could reach. Not aiming for the eye, just wanting to see if it could be hurt any other way. No, it still rocked there, so I lined up the eye socket and shoved the splintered wood in as hard as I could, fighting to keep it upright so I could destroy its face, rip it to pieces, and then there was a distant crack, and the head of the zombie next to it simply exploded. Then a second, closer crack and another zombie was obliterated.
And then a voice.
‘Sir, step away from the gate.’
I continued to prod at its face, the muscles in my arms and back already heavily fatigued, not understanding what was going on, only understanding what I had to do right now to keep myself sane.
‘Sir, for your own safety.’
Crack. Mash. Another zombie fell.
‘This is the British Army. We have the situation under control.’
AFTERMATH
17
I sat on the sofa facing the television. It wasn’t on and its black screen was reflecting light from the lounge window, the curtains having been opened for the first time since all of this had begun. I was aware of voices outside, of the sound of vehicles moving slowly and the constant roar of a high-pressure water hose. Everyone had finally left me alone. There had been the tears, the expressions of grief, the hugging, but I was cold to it all. It was all I could do to push the vision of the little blonde girl’s teeth severing Danny’s finger from my mind. Because each time it snuck back in, more detail was added. Like her triumphant smile as she spied the blood on his knuckles, a grin that became a widening of her jaw that became…
Nick tapped on the doorframe and entered the lounge. He had been outside talking with the Army, explaining why I had been so intent on destroying the zombies at the gate, I guessed. He sat to my right, clearly uncomfortable.
‘I’ve told them everything you’ve done,’ he said, and I flinched, making him pause for a second too long, eyebrows raised quizzically. ‘And the guy in charge wants to speak with you. He says he understands if after all that’s happened that you want to leave it. But we’ve all told him what you and Danny did for us. For my family, for those girls, John, and Sheila. If it wasn’t for you, mate…’
I d
idn’t want this. I didn’t want his gratitude, or the Army’s, or anyone’s. I just wanted Danny back. I got up off the sofa and moved to the window. The Range Rover had been parked back in the garage and a green jeep was in the centre of the driveway. Parked out on the road was some sort of troop transport, as well as an Army ambulance.
A few armed soldiers were milling about, but my attention was drawn to the two people in bright yellow bio-hazard suits. They were meticulously working through the bodies strewn across the road outside the now-open gates. They, using what looked like long tweezers, placed different body parts into different bags, and once they had cleared a section, a third person stepped forward with the power hose to blast the blood away.
‘Will you talk to him?’ Nick had joined me at the window and put an arm around my shoulders. My throat felt dry and tight and itchy. I had hardly spoken since my return to the house; just enough to tell everyone that Danny was gone. I had told them the biggest lie of my life: that Danny had, in the last seconds of his humanity, run into the mass of returning zombies to make sure I could escape on my motorbike. I simply could not tell them the truth.
All this while the Army dispatched the remaining few creatures outside of our gate and then had left a squad with us and progressed into town.
For a while, the sound of helicopters had filled the air as they carried out reconnaissance of the surrounding areas. Every now and then I could overhear Nick, Jenny, and the others discussing the latest updates they had picked up on from the soldiers outside. Dozens of residents in the village had been killed, most of them returning to stalk the living. Although some had followed the scent of human flesh beyond the town, it was determined that most had stayed around, trying to feast on those of us who had chosen not to flee. Later, the cleanup crew had arrived, the people in the safety suits with the bags and the human litter pickers.
