Outbreak: The Zombie Apocalypse (UK Edition)

by Craig Jones

  The wall to my house began to stand out prominently in the gloom as I came nearer, and when I finally reached the gates I pushed the left side open and stepped inside. The sound of my footsteps changed from a squelch to a crunch as the wet gravel shifted under my feet. I slipped to the ground, managing to remember to release my grip on the gates as I fell. My hands were feeling a great deal better but if I was going to do this, there was no reason to injure them further at this stage.

  I was going to do this. Now.

  Using the gate, I hauled myself to my feet, and with my current lack of balance, had to swing it even wider in order to get myself into a standing position. I pulled my house keys out of the pocket of my sodden jeans. After a few failed attempts, I finally unlocked the front door and stumbled into the house, slamming it shut behind me.

  27

  The whole house was in darkness. Without turning on the hall or lounge lights, I strode through to the kitchen, leaving wet, muddy footprints in the carpet as I went. I flicked the light on long enough to unlock the back door and grab the shed keys, then once again plunged the house into darkness. I opened the door and stepped out onto the decking.

  The wood had a newly varnished look because of the amount of rain that had fallen on it and the glare from the motion-sensitive light mounted above the back door, but it held no puddles as it was slightly angled so that the grooves in the wood carried the water off towards the garden. I crossed it quickly, treading carefully down the steps, slipped a little as I put my foot on the grass, but didn’t fall over. I reached the hole I had dug, checking that it hadn’t filled too much with water and that the shovel was still at the top where I had left it.

  Although there was a fair bit of water accumulated on the pond liner, I was not put off. The stuff was waterproof; of course it was going to hold water. And the shovel, also soaked, was right there. The rain kept pounding down, the noises it made when hitting the shed roof, the pond or the lining in the bottom of the hole competing with each other to be the loudest.

  I’d kept the shed keys tight in my left hand and now I put them to use, unlocking the two padlocks. The first one clicked open easily, so I detached it, opened the hasp and then hooked the arm of the lock over the top of it. The second one took a couple of attempts before it came loose, and I pulled open the door. I paused for a couple of seconds. Everything I needed to complete my task was just inside the shed. Easily accessible, even in the dark. I turned in a complete circle, looking for any sign that I was being observed. Even though I overbalanced and stumbled towards the hole a little I was able to ascertain that I was in the clear. I gently opened the shed door and stepped inside, pulling it shut behind me, sealing me in darkness.

  The sound of the rain hitting the roof was immediately amplified. I could hear Danny’s breathing and could smell the stench coming off him. As my eyes got used to the gloom I stood behind him and pulled the motorcycle helmet off his head, letting it drop to the wood floor with a dull thud. He didn’t make his usual jerky head movements. I stepped slowly around Danny, concentrating hard on placing one foot in front of the other, on not letting the contents of my stomach spew out of me and all over the floor. I took a deep breath and picked up the sharpened broomstick I had prepared as a stake.

  Danny looked at me, his head lolling to the side.

  ‘Duh… Ed.’

  He had never been so calm. No longer did his feet work their little dance back and forth. He stared straight at me but there was no malice or vicious intent in those cold, grey eyes. I convinced myself that he knew the time had come and that he was glad of it. I stood directly in front of him, the stake in my right hand. I wasn’t yet crying but I knew I would be soon. I had things to say to him first and I prayed that he would understand and that there was enough of my brother still inside that he could forgive me.

  ‘I thought, by keeping you out here, that I could save you,’ I began, my voice shaking, all of me shaking. ‘I thought they’d find a way to reverse the effects. But they never will, Danny. And I shouldn’t have put you through all of this.’

  The tears were now dripping off my nose, off my chin, my cheeks. Danny was silent, just looking at me with that vacant stare.

  ‘But I love you. And I can’t let you suffer anymore. I can’t let other people find out about you. I need to release you from this.’

  ‘Duh… Ed,’ he said. And then he raised his chin, squared his head on his shoulders, and very slowly and very deliberately, he nodded his head.

  ‘Duh… Ed.’

  I brought the tip of the stake level with his left eye. My hands were shaking so much that I could hardly bear its weight.

  ‘Duh… Ed.’ Then he actually pushed his eye towards the sharp wood. He nodded again.

  He was telling me to do it. He was asking me to end his suffering.

  And with a moan, both my hands wrapped around the stake in much the same way that my brother had used a sword during the epidemic, I drove the shard through his left eye and into his brain.

  Danny went limp before I even withdrew the device of his death. All of his weight was suddenly on the rope holding his arm to the rafters. His knees sagged and the toe of one of his boots slid across the floor in tiny circles. He still looked up at me. Where his left eye had been was now only a hole; no blood, no fluids seeping out of the wound, but just a hole. His right eye, grey and lifeless as it was, bored a furrow into my soul. I was still holding the stake and I lifted it again. I had to. I couldn’t bear him looking at me, accusing me. I had killed my brother and all I wanted to do was die.

  I leant down to my left and found the small axe. I looked up at the thick wooden rafter, at the rope that was tied around it, holding my brother’s arm tightly in place above his head. I could only see the top of his head, thank God, and after two, three solid swipes of the axe, the rope first frayed and then gave way, the axe fully imbedded into the rafter. His body fell to the ground with a light thump, nestling in the corner of the shed, legs straight out in front of him, arm hanging limply across his chest, and now, for want of a better phrase, his empty eye sockets staring me straight in the eye.

  I looked over Danny’s body for the final time. His black boots had thick divots of mud on the toes, the shins smeared and mucky, and his leather trousers were in the same state. The loose waistband had trapped a huge clump of wet, brown earth. His stomach was concave and slight, every single one of his ribs visible through the pale skin. There were no chest muscles to speak of anymore and his left arm was nothing more than skin wrapped tightly around bone. His right arm was no longer there. Only a few inches of the upper arm remained, the skin around it hacked and blackened where whatever blood left in the system had congealed. Smears of mud ran in patches along his skin. The jaw hung slack and loose from when I had been forced to dislocate it and then I simply could not look anymore. This wasn’t my brother. This was a shell in which I thought I could find the lost remnants of the boy who was my best friend, who was my family. My tears fell onto the body as I stood over him.

  I laid Danny in the open grave that same night.

  28

  Using the banister, I dragged myself up the stairs. I would shower and at least lay down on the bed; even if I couldn’t sleep it would ease the muscles that were currently screaming at me. My hands had blistered again and they had burst. My palms burnt and stung and the skin was raw. I should have gone straight to my room, to the hot shower that my body was desperately craving. But instead my feet led me to Danny’s door.

  I turned the handle and pushed the door inwards. Even in the darkness I could see his computer, his shelves, his books and movies. I could see him. I stepped inside. The television screen mounted on the wall reflected someone I didn’t know, someone I did not want to know. I stepped towards it and with both hands, ripped it from the wall. It landed with a crash that made me fall back from it. I then systematically dragged his bookshelves to the floor, casting DVD boxes, CDs and novels across the carpet.

  A sound sto
pped me; a deep, resonant scream that terrified me. Then I realised it was me.

  The energy sagged from my body and I felt sick. I was crying again as I backed out of Danny’s room and closed his door; only it wasn’t Danny’s room anymore and it never would be again.

  THE END

  29

  My head hurt far more than my back or my hands. The bedside lamp had burnt all night, but now the sun forced its way into my room around the edges of the curtains. I lay naked under the duvet, having shed my shorts and rugby shirt when I’d taken a hot and then a freezing cold shower before falling backwards onto the bed. At some point I must have dragged the covers over me, but I’d shivered all through the night. Even though I could sense the heat under the duvet, the time spent out in the rain and the task I’d finally undertaken had robbed me of any internal warmth.

  Acid, brought on by the alcohol, burnt a hole in my stomach. Sitting up was difficult and my lower back screamed at me just to lie down and stretch out. Instead I pushed myself to my feet, the effort making my head spin, and walked with a limp to the bathroom. I cleaned my teeth and rinsed my mouth out. Had I been sick during the night? I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  I grabbed the towel off the rail and wiped my mouth, letting it fall to the floor when I was finished. Despite how cold I felt, my body, with such little exertion, had broken out in a thin sheen of sweat and I probably needed another shower. That could wait. Another half an hour in the garden and all of this would, physically at least, be behind me.

  I stepped gingerly back into the bedroom, slid the wardrobe open and selected a pair of grey jogging trousers, possibly worn by either Susan or Claire when Danny and I had brought them back here, and a light blue Nike sweatshirt. I threw both onto the bed and rooted around in my bedside drawer for clean socks and underwear.

  Getting dressed was a slow and uncomfortable process. Every bit of friction against my hands stung; each lean forward to pull on clothing made already strained muscles tighten and jump under my skin, especially when I put on my socks and trainers. With a final effort, I drew the sweatshirt over my head, my left shoulder particularly sore. I pulled the curtains open, letting the sunshine fully invade my room.

  It was not my best move, as the light cut straight through my eyes into my brain, making it bang even harder around in my skull. I blinked a few times and made a mental note that the gate needed to be closed before I finished filling in Danny’s grave. I turned away from the window, switched off the bedside lamp and left.

  * * *

  I stood at the back door for almost twenty minutes without opening it, my forehead against the cool glass. I finally unlocked the door and stepped out onto the shaded decking. Squinting already, my eyes were drawn to the far right-hand corner where the recent guest to the garden, the little black and white cat, crouched on top of the wall, staring over towards the shed. I followed its gaze across the grass, over the pond, to the hole I’d dug and buried my brother in, where there was clearly something moving.

  What?

  I moved as quickly as I could towards the top of the steps and tried to take them two at a time. My aching body rebelled against me and my lower back completely locked, stealing my balance from me and I plunged the final six or seven steps. I landed on my right shoulder and rolled across the sodden grass. I finished with my left cheek on the ground, looking down the garden to the top of the hole. Something black appeared over the cusp, rose out of the ground and came bounding towards me. Instinctively I closed my eyes and tried to cover my head with my arms and push myself away as it got closer, panting, feet thumping as it sprinted towards me. It got all but on top of me when I opened my eyes and shrieked.

  The black Labrador launched itself onto me and nuzzled into my cheek, leaving a thick blob of drool which ran down into my mouth. I pushed the animal off, spitting onto the grass to get rid of the disgusting taste of dog slobber. The Labrador sat in front of me, trying to give me its front right paw. I could feel my heart banging inside my chest but I took first the right and then the left paw, checking between the nails and mud for any evidence of Danny’s flesh. The dog seemed clear, but even so it was happy to let me push its saggy cheeks back to check its teeth. Nothing. I let out a huge sigh of relief and ruffled its ears, noticing for the first time that the dog wasn’t an ‘it’ but in fact a ‘he’.

  ‘You’re a bad boy,’ I told him, stroking his sleek black coat.

  I quickly realised that this was, of course, Des’s dog. He’d never come inside our grounds before, but then I’d been pretty good at keeping the gates shut until now. I was about to get up and lead the dog safely back to my neighbour’s house when my eyes were drawn to the black and white cat as it leapt from the wall and ran around the pond, launching itself into the hole.

  The dog remained sitting and docile as I got up and shuffled as quickly as I could to the edge of the grave. I couldn’t believe what I saw; the dog had obviously dug in the mud but had only found the rope attached to Danny’s left wrist, pulled on it like a chew toy, wrenching my brother’s fingers and palm through the surface. And now the cat was licking the rapidly decaying flesh, even using its paw to scoop some towards its mouth.

  ‘No!’ I screamed, and the cat looked up at me, startled.

  I flapped my arms at it and it responded by jumping up out of the hole and scooting between my legs to the house. The dog spotted it and, with a high-pitched bark, gave chase. Although the dog was more powerfully built, the cat was incredibly agile and skirted from side to side, keeping the Labrador at a safe distance. Like a fool, I tried to join in the chase and was soon on the path along the side of the house, a stiff-legged jog plowing me onto the front driveway.

  The dog seemed to have cornered the cat in front of the garage. I slowed to a walk, breath coming in short, ragged spurts, lungs burning, with the intent of stepping around the dog and trying to grab the cat myself. The little feline had other ideas as it first pounced to its right, making both myself and the Labrador move in that direction, and then, having wrong-footed us both, sprang to its left and towards the gates.

  I flicked out my right leg, hoping to bring it down but only managing to destabilise myself and bring the ground rushing up towards me for the second time in minutes. I lay facing the gate as the cat sprinted out into the road and a silver car appeared from the right. I heard the thud as it made contact with the cat and the screech of tyres as the driver slammed on the brakes.

  As I stumbled to my feet and the Labrador made its own exit, charging out of the gates towards his home. The smell of burning rubber filled the air as I carried myself through the gates. I had a brief flashback to the blue car that had stopped at our gates during the infestation and how two of the occupants had ended up as mush on the tarmac. The car, a silver Ford, had safely come to a halt just before the end of my boundary wall. The driver had already put on the hazard warning lights and was getting out of his car, but talking to the people inside, a single index finger raised in a clear indication that everyone else was to stay put.

  The cat lay on the other side of the road. It looked crumpled and broken. The man, tall and wearing jeans, a white shirt and a brown, casual sports jacket started to walk towards it, arms out and palms up as he saw me.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t see it, it just…’

  I hadn’t taken my eyes off the prone feline. I hardly heard the words coming from the man’s mouth. He’d done my job for me. I couldn’t be sure there was any risk but I’d been intent upon making sure, and now this man, this car…

  The cat’s rear flank began to twitch, the hairs all along its spine stood up on end like there was an electrical current racing through its body. The cat’s front right paw extended out like it was stretching after a nap, and then, slowly and deliberately, it tilted its head back, opened its mouth and let out a loud and terrifying hiss, ejecting blood and spittle over the road in front of it. The man jumped a little, his floppy hair bouncing on top of his head, but continued to walk towards the a
nimal.

  ‘Don’t go near it! Get back—’

  ‘Hey, it’s okay. I must have only clipped it, stunned it, I guess.’ He bent at the waist and reached out a hand to the cat.

  The cat turned and hissed directly at him. It lashed out one of its paws, caught the outstretched hand with several sharp claws and then it bolted off out of sight.

  The man hardly reacted. He just gave his hand a look and then collapsed. A blonde woman opened the passenger door of the car and began running towards what I could only assume to be her husband. The faces of two children pressed against the back window of the car.

  She got halfway to him when he sprang to his feet. I took an involuntary step back. He, as she froze in position, put his head back and roared, knees bent, arms reaching out for her, looking like a deranged surfer. He leapt at her, tackling her around the waist, taking her to the ground, ripping at her with fingers and teeth, her scream bubbling out of her torn throat. Her red coat had been pulled open, her dress rapidly becoming the same colour as he fed on her.

  The yells of the children made him lift his head and he pounced up again and ran at the car, smashing his fist through the back window, the voices of the kids loud and shrill now they were no longer insulated by the glass. I came to my senses; I had to help them.

  ‘Hey!’ I screamed, waving my arms. ‘Over here.’

  And he pulled his arm out of the car, blood dripping from the elbow, his clothes torn and ragged. He licked a line of the red liquid off himself, smiled, and charged straight at me. I backed off behind the gates, gripped the one that was still open and swung it as hard as I could, my back, shoulders and hands stinging in pain.