by Craig Jones
“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.”
I took a moment to search the rest of the street and saw no other movement.
“Lone Romero,” I said into the walkie-talkie. “Two hundred yards to your north, moving in your direction.”
“Roger that,” the lead officer, Bateman, replied. “Chris?”
“I have the shot,” the sniper next to me replied confidently, subtly adjusting his stance.
“Wait!”
The single word was out of my mouth before I knew I was going to say it.
“What do you see, kid?” The question from Captain Bateman came through the radio with just the smallest sense of unease. Chris didn’t look up from this rifle but I could see him shaking his head.
“There’s only one of them… but gun fire could bring a whole lot more down on us,” I blurted.
“Bring it on!” Chris barked arrogantly. “The more the better! I could do with the shooting practice!”
“Yeah, you could! But not while my unit is down here you don’t,” Bateman retorted derisively. “Hold your fire and maintain visuals. We’ll deal with the Romero. I don’t want a bunch of Remakes on my tail if I’ve got to run for it.”
“Thanks, kid!” Chris didn’t try to hide his sarcasm. “I need some hits to get me back on top of the scoring charts. And bulls eying Remakes scores double!”
The Army had coined the phrase ‘Remakes’ for the faster, speedier, more agile zombies of the second epidemic. I’d seen both versions of Dawn of the Dead, watched them with Danny of course. He preferred the original while I liked the newer one. I’d just never expected to be living it. One of the soldiers had seen the films too and made the reference as a joke and the names had stuck. It was all bravado, tongue in cheek gallows humour to hide the fact that there was no quick fix to stop the fast ones. I’d seen first-hand just how quick they could be.
I glanced over my shoulder when I heard the thing pursuing me bellow in anger and jump in one single motion from the road to the top of the wall. If it hadn’t been raining, it would have caught me there and then. But it had been and its feet whipped out from underneath it as it landed on the damp stone. It clipped the wall on the way down, the sports coat fanning out like a cape as it fell inside the boundary, landing on one foot, using the other knee for stability on the chippings.
And to me they weren’t ‘Remakes.’ To me, they were what I’d made.
Two soldiers slipped silently out of the shop and advanced on the Romero. One of them snagged a shopping cart and walked straight towards the undead. The other skirted to the opposite side of the street and unsheathed his knife. On seeing the movement of humans, the arrival of food in front of it, the zombie became more animated. Its hands reached out towards the soldier with the trolley and for the first time Chris and I could hear that grotesque, guttural growl.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.”
Its body was waifish, arms thin and reedy and yet its teeth were bright, white and clean. They snapped together as the soldier approached, keeping the trolley between the two of them. The creature tried to step left and right, desperate to get nearer to the soldier, but it was nudged back at every turn. I moved my attention to the other soldier who had worked his way quietly behind the zombie and had raised his knife to head height.
I looked away as he brought the blade down in a firm and swift motion. I glanced back just as the zombie slumped to the floor, its eyes wide open and staring. The soldier wiped his knife clean on his combat trousers and slipped it back into place on his hip.
“Good call, kid,” Bateman called through the radio. “Now get down here, let’s cordon off this area and get the supplies back to the Stadium.”
I was pleased with my input into the situation but as I watched Chris stow his sniper rifle, I was worried I may have just made myself an enemy.
About the author
Craig Jones is from Wales, the home of great rugby, great singing and many great writers and artists. Craig lives in Cardiff with his wife Claire, baby son Shane and a rather insane ginger cat called Wookie. He works for Public Health Wales and is the Wales lead on alcohol harm reduction. As much as he loves this job, his dream is to be a full time writer. Inspired by the late, great James Herbert, Stephen King and Bret Easton Ellis (Craig says Patrick Bateman is the best character ever created and it is even better that he was played by a Welshman in the movie) he has always been a huge horror fan. From Jason to Freddie, Ash to Rick Grimes, there is nothing scary that he won't watch, no one he won't try to scare with his stories. Craig writes for young adults because he believes the more they read, the more creative they will become."I grew up with a book in one hand and a tennis racket in the other. I think writers have a responsibility to pen stories to inspire youngsters to read by knowing what kids want." Find out more at www.craigjoneshorror.co.uk.
Acknowledgements
I'd like to thank my publisher Pants on Fire Press and most importantly David Powers. I'd also like to thank his son, Jacob, for convincing his dad that this book is 'freakin awesome.' I can't forget Claire Pound who not only dies really badly in this story but was also the first person to read it for me.
And to all of you, for reading Outbreak, I can't thank you enough.
Table of Contents
Epidemic
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Aftermath
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
The End
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Sneak Peek
Breakout Chapter 1
Beakout Chapter 2
About the author
Acknowledgements
