Zombie Survival: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by James King

  And there she remained for some ten minutes: silent, still, almost frighteningly self-contained.

  But then, splitting the silence that had descended upon them, her voice almost as loud and as startling as a gunshot, she said:

  “He was a bad man, in many ways...”

  Ted glanced upward toward her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dave glance around as well, startled from his reverie. A further moment of silence passed. Then Jenny said:

  “He dealt drugs. We all dealt drugs. Did you know that Ted? No, of course you didn’t. We never told you. Until now...”

  “Jenny...” Dave began.

  “No, it’s okay. I think that Ted has a right to know who is in his house, don’t you? A right to know who he just shot,” she uttered a horrible laugh, “...yes Ted. That’s right. He dealt drugs. We all dealt drugs. Cannabis mainly, but sometimes harder stuff. Other illegal stuff too. Dealing drugs is a crime, right? So if you are involved in one crime, then it’s likely that you’ll get involved in others. Only petty stuff. Shoplifting, minor theft, a bit of burglary, though we never got into that too heavily. Prostitution too...”

  “For God sake, Jen,” said Dave suddenly, “there’s no need to get into all of - ,”

  “No, Dave,” Jenny cut in, “full disclosure. Ted has a right to know who’s been staying in his house. So yeah... prostitution. I worked the streets on more than one occasion. That’s how I met up with Dave and Shaun. Not that they were clients or anything but – well, we just met up. Friends of friends, that sort of thing. It was actually Dave and Shaun who got me off the streets and introduced me to a higher class of crime. Well – better to sell dope than to sell your own body I suppose. But they were good to me. Especially Shaun. Sorry Dave, but you were always a bit of a bastard...”

  Dave uttered a brief snort of derisive laughter. It seemed as though he was about to say something, but then paused, closed his mouth, seemingly thinking better of it.

  “That’s how we ended up squatting in that house in Birmingham...” Jenny went on, “...that damned old house... Funds had run rather low, the cops had booted out of the previous squat we’d been in, so we settled in that house. Horrible old place it was, damp, mouldy, hadn’t been lived in for ages or so it seemed. But at least it had doors and windows which kept out the draught. Kept out other things too when the shit went down...”

  Jenny paused for a moment. In that moment, as though to emphasise Jenny’s point, they could hear the moaning of the things both outside and beyond the bedroom door.

  “So that’s us then, Ted... That’s the people you let into your house... What do you think? I suppose that you hate us, what with you having been a soldier and all, (yes, I heard you talking to Dave)... I suppose that we’re just the sort of people you’d despise...?”

  Ted was silent for a moment as he let all of this sink in. Then slowly, he shook his head, “...no...” he said, “...I don’t despise you. Maybe once I would have, but not now. The world as it used to be has gone, and the people we used to be have gone with it...”

  Ted fell silent. They all fell silent. Apart from Jenny, who uttered low, snuffling sobs as she knelt there, gazing down at the remains of Shaun. Ted wondered if Dave might go over to comfort her, but he didn’t. Ted wondered if he should go over to comfort her, but decided against it. He sensed that Jenny perhaps wanted to left alone in her private moment of grief – or as private as you could get when trapped in a room with two men.

  The moment of silence passed. Then Dave said: “so now what, Ted? What do we do?”

  Ted glanced across at Dave. Then he glanced across at the door and its barricade. Then he glanced down at his gun. And then he glanced back at Dave.

  “Well...” Ted began, “it looks like the door’s holding – for now. Our friends outside have quietened down – for now. Perhaps those few shots that I got into them made them less enthusiastic about attacking the door. But I doubt that it’s a situation that will last. They’ll try to get in here eventually, and when they do – when they really decide that they’re going to give it a go – then I don’t think there’ll be much stopping them. But even in the unlikely event that they don’t attack – well – we’ve got enough food here for maybe a week. Enough water for maybe two – three – days if we’re very careful with it. But eventually it will be gone. And then...”

  “...Then our seconds will have run out...” Dave finished for him.

  Ted nodded, “quite... so... there is one last thing... one last... ah... escape... when it comes to it.”

  “Which is...?” Dave asked. The sound of dread was loud in his voice.

  Ted looked down at the gun he was holding. He ran his hand along the barrel carefully, almost lovingly, the touch of an old friend, a comrade through many battles. Then he looked up at Dave.

  “...Put it this way...” Ted began, “given the choice, I think I’d rather have a bullet in the head than be eaten alive. Wouldn’t you?”

  Dave didn’t say anything. Instead, he swallowed hard, a sick expression on his face. Then he closed his eyes and nodded.

  “So the only question is,” Ted went on, “if it comes to it – would you like me to do it, or could you do it yourself?”

  “Do it,” said Jenny, her voice suddenly firm and cold, despite her previous sobs, “...if it comes to it Ted. Just do it and put a bullet through my brain. Anything rather than fall victim to those... those things...”

  “Yeah...” said Dave, his voice ragged and horrified, “if it comes to it... just do it...”

  Ted nodded, and then looked back down at the gun. So that was decided then. A suicide pact. Or rather: a suicide and murder pact. It would mean that he, Ted, would have to kill two people in cold blood. Could he do that? But then – he realised that he already had. The pilot: the shot that blew his life to merciful oblivion. Yes, he could do it. It would be at closer range, he would have to look into their faces, but he could do it. The most merciful murder ever committed. And then the muzzle of the gun – his friend, his comrade - finally turned upon him... and then an abyss of extinction, an eternity of oblivion where nothing lived, and where nothing died... yes, he would do it all if it came to it. If, at last, their seconds had all run out.

  They sat silently for a moment. Dave by the window, but now gazing into the room as though he no longer wanted to see outside. Jenny still kneeling by the remains of Shaun, her jeans soaked with blood and her face soaked with tears. And Ted, sat on his chair, cradling his gun, almost clinging to it, and he did cling to it. It was his last hope against pain, madness, and ultimate horror...

  And then, from outside, distant but approaching, there came the sound of an engine...

  THIRTEEN

  Immediately, Dave whirled around toward the window. His hands gripped the window sill, and his eyes peered outside, eyeballs bugging from their sockets. Outside, dawn was just beginning to break in earnest, and its pale light bathed his face, revealing, somewhat mercilessly, just how tired and haggard it looked.

  “Oh man...” said Dave, “something’s approaching. Aircraft of some kind... Oh shit, not that again. Not another fucking crashed plane and a guy eaten by those things...”

  Ted struggled up from his chair, once again cursing his seized up joints and all too weakened muscles. He limped across to the window, halting by Dave’s shoulder, and peered out. Dawn was strengthening along the eastern horizon. A pale red glow was burning up the sky, dimming the stars, and pushing the night back into the west. The distant ridges of the hills were sharp against its glow, the saw-toothed pattern of the trees etched perfectly against it. The moon was a pale disk that was fast conceding that its time was done for now, and was surrendering its pale light to the infinitely greater radiance of the sun.

  And there, against that strengthening light was a tiny dot: small but growing, distant but approaching. Certainly it was an aircraft of some kind. Like Dave, Ted just hoped that this one had a full tank of fuel, that it wouldn’t crash, and that he wouldn�
�t have to deliver another mercy killing. Not this early in the morning anyway...

  “What is it?”

  Ted glanced around, and saw that Jenny had joined them by the window. Like Dave, her face was tired and haggard and stained with the most horrendous fear and sorrow. But for all that, she looked beautiful, her face bathed by the first early light of morning: a vision of hope in the midst of utter hopelessness.

  “An aircraft of some kind,” Ted replied, although he saw that her eyes were already fastened upon it, “not sure what. Maybe a light aircraft, but...”

  But he knew that it wasn’t a light aircraft, at least not of the fixed wing variety. Because already he could hear the tone of its engine, the language of its propulsion, a kind of rapid chatter which meant that it could only be one thing. A helicopter. And who would have a helicopter out under conditions such as this? It could be civilian to be sure, another desperate band of survivors who had no more chance of survival than did he, Dave and Jenny. Or, on the other hand, it could be someone else entirely. Emergency services... military... perhaps on the lookout for survivors. Ted flicked his gaze down to just below the window, and saw that their HELP sign still fluttered there. Would the approaching helicopter see it? It just might. It just might be the military, or some other agency who would know what to do. They just might be saved...

  But Ted killed that line of thought as soon as it was born. That line of thought led to hope, and bitter experience had taught Ted that in a situation such as this, hope – desperate hope, false hope – could be the greatest enemy of all. It clouded judgment, scotched deliberation, made men wild and crazy and destructive. So he killed all thoughts of hope, and instead concentrated on that small dot approaching across the sky, and waited for whatever fate it brought along with it.

  Slowly, the dot grew until its shape became apparent. The large bulbous body, the windscreen that glinted the morning light, turning it into bright and dazzling shards, and of course the propellers, a frenzied blur above its mass, keeping the huge aircraft airborne with, to Ted, incomprehensible aerodynamic magic. The helicopter was silhouetted against the sky, so it was as yet impossible to see any markings on it, or indeed to even see what colour it was. But from the sound, sight, look and feel off the aircraft, Ted couldn’t help but think that it was military. False hope again? Maybe, but his years in the military said otherwise. Not all intuitions were false, and not all hope was born to be dashed, especially when it was born of years of knowledge and experience.

  Ted ripped the window open, and he and Dave waved frenziedly through it.

  At last, the helicopter was upon them. It roared overhead, the wind of its passage causing the help sign to wave frenziedly outside the window. Ted was heartened by the sound of the helicopter: unlike yesterday’s aircraft, the chopper sounded strong, well fuelled, and not about to make any enforced landings.

  Then the helicopter disappeared from view, the roar of its engines heading toward the rear of the house. Ted stopped waving, and with no helicopter now to look at, he allowed his gaze to settle upon the vast hoard that still congregated on the farmyard and fields beyond the window. They too had seen the helicopter, and they had become disturbed, agitated. Large currents passed through their mass, and hands groped upward as though they sought to seize the aircraft and pull it down from the sky. Ted could not now hear them above the roar of the helicopter, but he could see their mouths hanging open, and he knew that their moaning would have risen to a higher pitch yet. What he could hear was more movement within the house, and the landing outside: bumps, bangs, crashes, the sound of footfalls upon hollow, groaning floorboards. And he could hear many hands as well, beating upon the bedroom door with a new found strength, with a greater urgency.

  “The helicopter...” said Dave, “...has it gone? Has it not seen the sign...?”

  Ted glanced toward the other man’s desperate face, but said nothing. Instead, he listened keenly to the sound of the helicopter’s engine. For a moment, it seemed to be receding and, with a sinking heart, Ted found himself having to contemplate the possibility that it hadn’t seen them. The sign was, after all, rather small, easy to miss when you were several hundred feet up in a chopper, even if there was a couple of people leaning through the window waving. Or maybe it wasn’t on a rescue mission; maybe it had seen them but could do nothing. Or maybe it just didn’t care.

  But then the sounds of the helicopter’s engine grew louder again, the staccato chop of its propellers once more becoming pronounced, approaching. Then it roared back into view, circling around the house; banking. It made several circuits of the house, and then slowly, carefully, it lowered down until it hovered, almost directly in line with the upper story of the house. The hoards below were buffeted by its downwind, and driven into a lurching, clutching fury by the aircraft’s mechanical frenzy. Meanwhile, the beating on the bedroom door became ever louder.

  Ted could now see that the helicopter was painted with a camouflage design, and had military insignia, though he wasn’t sure what the insignia related to. After more than thirty years out of the army, he had lost touch with such things. But it was clearly military, and clearly on some manner of mission – hopefully one of rescue. And clearly, it had seen them.

  A door in the side of the helicopter slid open, and a man appeared within it. He was dressed in military attire, and wore a helmet and visor, which glinted in the early morning sun. He also held an implement, and for one chilling moment Ted thought that it was a gun, and that their saviours would turn out to be their executioners. But then he saw that the implement was nothing more threatening than a megaphone. He put it to his lips and began to speak.

  “DO YOU REQUIRE RESCUE?” the huge electronic voice boomed through the roar of the propellers and the sea of moaning dead beneath. Did they require rescue? What a bloody stupid question, but Ted, nonetheless put two thumbs up and nodded vigorously, as did Dave, while Jenny jumped up and down next to them screaming “yes – yes – yes – yes!” at the top of her lungs.

  “WE WILL LOWER A MAN DOWN ON A WINCH TO COLLECT YOU,” the voice boomed, “BUT WE ONLY HAVE ROOM FOR TWO.”

  With that, the man retreated, the door half closed, and the helicopter gradually began to rise upward.

  “Only room for two...?” asked Dave, a strained and wondering expression on his face as though he was barely capable of grasping the concept, “...is that what he said? Only room for two...?”

  “That’s what he said,” Ted returned, a cold feeling slowly stealing over him.

  “Only room for two...” Dave said again, that wondering horrified expression deep within his voice, “...and there’s three of us.”

  Ted nodded, “...yes. There’s three of us...”

  “So...” Dave began, but didn’t get beyond the first word of his sentence. Clearly, he didn’t want to finish the sentence, or ponder the implications that it contained.

  “Oh shit...” said Jenny, taking a step back from the window, her face pale, her hands trembling, her eyes like glassy beads in her head. “Oh no... oh shit...”

  The sound of beating from the bedroom door had become louder. Ted glanced across at the door, and saw it tremble in its frame. The wardrobe was moving slightly too. It seemed that a concerted attack was finally being mounted. It was almost as though they knew that their quarry now had a means of escape. Damn it, it was almost as if they knew...

  “So what the hell do we do?” Jenny asked, the tone of her voice sheer despair, “...which of us goes and which of us stays...?”

  “Oh shit, I don’t know,” said Dave, running trembling hands through his hair, “maybe we draw lots or something, two long straws and one short one. Eh Ted – is that what we’ve got to do... draw straws and whoever gets the short one stays...?”

  The cold feeling grew within Ted. An icy feeling: a bitter feeling. But it wasn’t one of despair or hopelessness. It was one of resolve, of decision. It was a feeling that was not without fear – sheer terror would be more the word – but i
t was firm. The time had come; the hour was winding down, the second hand ticking toward its final stop. The time for action had arrived. The time for death...

  “No,” Ted replied to Dave, “we don’t draw bloody straws.”

  He hurried across to the cupboard where he kept the gun and snatched up the box of cartridges. He slotted two into the gun, snapped it closed, and hurried over to where the others stood by the window. He peered briefly out, and saw the hoard beyond swirling madly, huge currents moving through their mindless mass, hands rising to clutch at the air. He glanced toward the door, and saw that it still trembled in its frame, the wardrobe in front of it trembling too. And he could hear something else – a high, metallic creaking noise. It was the sound of the bedroom door handle being turned, slowly, exploratively, as though whoever was turning it wasn’t quite sure what it was for, and was testing it, experimenting with it, working it out. Soon, they would solve it...

  Ted looked back at Dave and Jenny. “You two go,” he said.

  “Ted - ,” Dave began, anguish in his voice.

  “No – no argument,” Ted replied, “no debate. You go. You and Jenny. You’re young. I’m old. I’ve had my life, such as it was. I’m ready.”

  “Jesus, Ted,” said Jenny, tears suddenly bright in her eyes, “no way – maybe they can take more than two – maybe they can squeeze one more - ,”

  “No,” Ted replied, “they know what they’re talking about. If they take any more than two it could crash the entire craft and kill everyone. No – it has to be two, and it has to be you and Dave. Not me. Like I say, I’m ready. And you know – I felt it even before you arrived here. You and those creatures out there. Even before I knew that the world had turned so bad. I had a feeling in my heart and in my bones that something – some final thing – was on its way. And now here it is - ,”