When There's No More room In Hell: A Zombie Novel

by Luke Duffy

  Steve slipped out, remembering to take a key with him. He ducked beneath the window of the old couple next door and crept to the stairwell and peered down. It was empty. Leaning over the balcony he saw that the courtyard and car park were clear too, the street beyond seemed quiet.

  Retracing his steps, he stopped and held his ear to the door of his elderly neighbours. All was silent inside and he couldn’t detect any movement. Creeping along, just below the line of view, he paused below the window ledge, his fingertips clutching at the wooden frame as he steeled himself. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he couldn’t resist the urge to see if anything of the couple could be seen. He breathed in sharply, as if he were about to submerge his head below water, and slowly raised himself, his heart beating like a bass drum in his ears.

  Eyes; lifeless with pupils dilated to the point where the colour of the iris could no longer be seen, only the flat dull blackness of the centre that had expanded, stared back through the window, unfocussed and looking almost like faded black-and-white two-dimensional drawings due to the lack of blood pressure.

  The old man’s face was just inches from the pane of glass that separated him and Steve. His face had taken on a yellow hue with hollow cheeks and sunken eye sockets and his skin seemed to have taken on the same texture as waxy plasticine.

  Steve gasped and fell back from the window, throwing his arms behind to catch him, ending up in a crab position. The eyes at the window watched him vacantly, unblinking. Steve felt the urge to run and hide but composed himself and, once again, slowly approached the window; though this time he kept his distance. He knew beyond any doubt that he was looking into the eyes of a corpse. Other than the small movements of its eyes as it followed him, the head was motionless, as if it had been removed and placed in the window.

  Beyond the face of the old man, in the gloom of the living room, Steve saw movement as a figure walked through a door, distorting the light that shone from behind with its bulk. He squinted and moved closer, trying to see whether it was the old lady.

  A pale yellowed hand slapped against the glass with a reverberating smack, making Steve jump back again. The old man had attempted to reach him; not realising there was an invisible barrier between them. The fingers, yellowed and shrivelled as if he had spent too long in a bath, clawed at the window in an attempt to grasp him.

  The eyes fixed on Steve.

  Steve saw that there was absolutely no emotion in the face peering back at him. No anger, no aggression, nothing. But the hands spoke its intentions. Where the eyes failed to even hint at what it desired, the clutching claw-like fingers spoke volumes.

  His throat was dry and he found it hard to swallow. He gulped in air and did his best to control his pounding heart. He moved away from the window and headed back to the flat. When he got to the door, he found that the dead bolt was engaged. He pushed against the door again, thinking that it was stuck. The letterbox flapped open and he saw two bright green eyes scan him from the other side.

  “Who is it?”

  “Who do you think it is, bone head? Let me in.”

  “Sorry, Dad, but you told me to trust no one and always double check.”

  “You were half asleep when I said that, how can you remember?”

  She released the dead bolts and let him in. Steve felt pride swell within him. Even though the situation was bad, his little angel had taken it in her stride and adapted to it. He stood in the hallway and peered down at his daughter. “You ready for an adventure?”

  “Yup,” she nodded, “I am.”

  Steve looked at her in seriousness. “Sarah, remember what I said about the bad people? Well there's a chance we might run into some. If we do, you might see me do some horrible stuff, but I want you to keep yourself close at all times, do you understand?”

  Sarah sighed. “Dad, I watched the news, I know what they're saying and I know what’s going on. I’m scared but I know that you will save me if anything bad happens. Oh, and my Mum too.”

  Fuck! Steve hadn’t figured on Sarah being so aware of the situation. Over the days, Claire and Steve had spoken on the phone and he had reassured her that Sarah was safe but that he didn't think it wise to travel the streets; she should stay with him until things were under control. Though her mother was distraught and wanted her child home, she understood and agreed that Sarah should stay with him. There was no way that he was going to tell her of the latest plan until he was sure of what to do next.

  He hadn’t lied to Sarah, but to avoid her from freaking out at the contemplation of the dead returning to life, he had left that bit out and replaced it with ‘bad people’. Now she brought her mother, Claire, into the equation.

  “Okay, Sarah, once we get to aunty Jen’s, we’ll phone your mum. Okay?”

  Sarah looked up and gave a big grin, with thumbs up again. “And Roy too.”

  Steve rolled his eyes. Fuck sake, now I’m going to be rescuing her mother and her mother’s boyfriend too. I’m gonna get fucking killed in this, he thought.

  Picking up the backpack and placing it by the front door, he adjusted his belt, removing the hammer; he figured that it was best to have a weapon in hand, ready.

  “Remember what I said, Sarah. Stay close to me at all times.”

  They moved. He deliberately shielded her from the stares of the dead old man and his wife who had now joined him at the window. He felt a chill as they passed them and he avoided looking into their dead haunting eyes again. Sarah never moved more than a few inches away from his backside, keeping herself tucked in, safe behind her father’s body.

  They made it away from the flats and headed across the main road for the housing estate that backed the nature sanctuary. The estate was a mess. Houses looked abandoned; smashed windows and doors hanging from their hinges helped to complete the look.

  Here and there he saw people hanging out of windows, warning them that the streets weren’t safe and that they should get indoors and stay there. Steve just waved and kept moving. Even though he wanted to take them up on their advice, he had to carry on with his plan. It was no longer about what was best for just him and Sarah.

  His palms were sweaty and he continuously adjusted the grip he had on his hammer as they walked. Whenever possible, they stuck to the middle of the road, allowing advanced warning of any threat from the houses to the left and right.

  Sarah did as her father had instructed and stayed close.

  Their eyes darted from side to side and with every few steps, Steve would glance back over his shoulder, making sure nothing and no one was following.

  Deep in the housing estate they came to a junction. They needed to head straight across, but as was his new habit, Steve wanted to check the street to the left and right before exposing themselves as they crossed.

  They both crouched and made their way toward the junction along a low wall, stopping every few steps to listen. Steve heard it first; crashing and banging was coming from the street to their left. The sound of something slapping and beating against wood mixed with another sound, the steady low hum of the infected. The sound sent shivers through Steve and he could feel panic grip him. He had heard it on TV, but in the flesh it was more haunting, yet almost sad.

  Now and then the sound of a desperate mournful wail would come from within the sounds of the infected. Like the voice of a woman, exhausted and on the verge of giving up, but still searching for a child that she had lost.

  Steve motioned for Sarah to stay where she was and he crept along the last couple of feet to the corner on his hands and knees. He glanced back at her, eyes bulging, and offered a smile of reassurance then peered around the corner.

  In the street he saw a crowd of about fifty people. All their attention was focused on a large detached house, roughly seventy metres along the row. They all seemed to want to get to the front, pushing, shoving and pulling at each other. There was no visible aggression within the crowd, just a clear determination from every one of them to get to the house.

&
nbsp; Their clothes hung from them as though they no longer fit, or had been worn for so long that they had become loose and shabby. Discoloured with dirt and blood and ripped and torn from a struggle.

  Flies swarmed around the mass. Already, their colour had begun to change. Many of them pale and grey looking with dried, encrusted, almost black blood on visible wounds. Some were naked, or close to it, with hideous gouges in their flesh and swollen limbs. Where the blood had coagulated, their skin turned purple and made them look even more grotesque. Others looked fresh, and other than their wounds, looked almost normal. But it could never be doubted for what they were; their gait was unmistakable, shuffling and staggering without regard for the path or objects in front of them.

  They were dead.

  The entire group seemed to focus on the house. Their heads held up, their eyes fixed on their goal, steadily shuffling against the body in front, no doubt causing the ones at the head of the group to be squashed against the walls of the house from the weight behind. Now and then an individual infected would stop, raise its hands and let out a longing moan, flexing its fingers in an attempt to reach the house or something unseen to the others, doubling its efforts to reach the building while dragging and shoving at the bodies in front.

  The banging, slapping and thumping continued. The wet slap as a bloodied palm or what was left of a mangled limb attempted to beat its way through the door. The thump as a body slammed against wood and the shuddering bang as hands smacked against windows.

  Steve pulled his head back. His vision blurred and he felt the bile rising in his throat. He had seen a couple of bodies before, but they were of friends or relatives, embalmed and laid out in the funeral home dressed in their Sunday best, or gruesome images he had seen on the internet. But he had never seen so many in one place. Never had he seen the discolouration and grisly wounds with his naked eye. Never had he smelt the pungent odour of dried blood and the initial onset of decaying flesh. And never had he seen them walking about.

  He looked at Sarah then quickly peeped around the corner again. Someone was in the house, he knew it. Maybe a family, maybe kids. His head swam. What was the right thing to do? He gripped his hammer and looked at it, hoping that the answer would come to him. Then he glanced back at Sarah and remembered, ‘we have to look after ourselves’. With a sinking feeling of shame, he moved back to Sarah.

  “There’s a load of bad people around the corner.” He waited for a sign of panic from her, but she just watched him. “They don’t seem to be interested in anything else except for a house further down, so when we move, move slowly and keep hold of my hand. Don't talk and don’t make any sudden movements.”

  Sarah nodded, tight-lipped and eyes-wide. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  As they were about to stand, an inhuman screech erupted from the right, followed by the sounds of feet running and slapping against the tarmac. Steve froze and held a hand on Sarah, forcing her down to the pavement.

  Two infected, foaming at the mouth and arms raised out in front of them, were heading in their direction. Steve wanted to run, but in a moment of self control he quickly assessed the situation. Gripping the hammer, he prepared himself for the attack. Soon he realised that he wasn’t the target and from the trajectory of the two screaming figures, he realised they were headed straight for the crowd.

  They ran straight across the junction down the middle of the road, not more than five metres in front of Steve, and kept going, their momentum never slowing. He followed them with his eyes and watched in horror as they ploughed headlong into the mass of walking corpses. The two ‘runners’ didn't seem to pay any attention to the other infected, other than the fact that they were obstacles in their way, and began pulling and throwing bodies out of their path as they tried to reach the house.

  But the dead paid attention to them. Dozens of the crowd surrounded the two and closed in until Steve could no longer see the two infected sprinters who had just passed him. The dead enveloped them and tore into them, biting and gouging at the flesh on their bodies. Even from where he was, Steve could hear the crunch of bone and the ripping of clothing and skin. Some of the crowd broke away and moved off carrying chunks of flesh or severed limbs, chewing frantically as though in fear of having their prize taken from them.

  Less than a minute later and the crowd surged back at the house. Steve remained crouched, slack-jawed and wondering what he had just witnessed. He looked back at Sarah as if to ask what had happened. It dawned on him, what he had seen was two of the aggressive strain infected. Still living but oblivious to the dangers, they had been hell-bent on reaching the people in the house and the dead had seized and ate them.

  They had to move.

  Steve steeled himself and breathed deeply. His heart was pounding in his chest and his legs had begun to shake and feel weak. Sweat dripped from his forehead and into his eyes. It was a warm late spring morning, but it wasn’t the heat that was affecting him. It was pure fear. He wanted to run away, bury his head under the duvet and imagine he was safe, but he had Sarah to look after and he needed to keep a tight grip on reality.

  They stood together and steadily walked toward the corner. Slowly, they emerged into the junction and open view of the street to the left and right. They kept their faces toward the floor and with his eyes raised; Steve watched the opposite side of the road and the street ahead, painfully and slowly, come closer.

  In the middle of their path was what looked like a slab of meat from a butcher’s stall, red and glistening in the sun; the flies had already began to swarm over it. As they got closer, Steve noticed the yellowed skin still clinging to the meat and what looked like part of a tattoo. He couldn’t tell which part of a body it was; only that it had belonged to a living person once. It made his stomach churn and he gripped Sarah’s hand even tighter. He glanced from the corner of his eye, without moving his head, toward the crowd and was relieved to see that none were moving in their direction.

  They stepped over the remains and continued to the other side. Once safely across, Steve pulled Sarah close and they crouched, hidden by the wall of a garden.

  He whispered in her ear, “Okay Sarah, we’re across.”

  He looked back around the corner and watched the crowd for a moment. He noticed a glimpse of movement in the upstairs window of the large house, and the infected seemed to notice it too. They became more excited, agitated, and surged toward the front wall of the house.

  Steve once again felt like there was something he should do. But what? What could he actually do to help? There were too many of them and he wasn’t ready to start risking Sarah’s, as well as his own life, for the sake of strangers. He swallowed hard and moved on.

  They continued through the housing estate. They saw bodies here and there with heads missing; others without limbs, pools of blood were everywhere and the buzz of flies and other insects feasting, was thick in the air. Burnt houses and cars littered the streets and they were forced, on a number of occasions, to detour around groups of infected. They saw uninfected people loading their cars and trucks, making a break for it. Others were dazed and confused and stood in their gardens, or walked along the street, watching others.

  Cutting down an alleyway to avoid a street packed with more walking bodies, they were scared out of their skin by a dog that lunged at them from behind a fence where it was tied up in a garden. Steve considered setting it loose, but with the state of its mind unknown, they couldn’t risk it attacking them. For all they knew, it would be completely insane with fear so they left it behind, moving quickly before the noise of its barking attracted the attention of the infected.

  At the far end of the alley they came to an open area. A row of shops sat about fifty metres back from the far side of the road. The large windows were smashed and it looked like they had been looted. Steve didn't even consider taking a closer look on account of the scattered infected that he saw in the street.

  To back track now would mean them heading into a possibly larger cr
owd of them. The only choice they had was to run across the open ground and, hopefully safety on the other side of the row of shops. He gripped Sarah in his left hand and wielded the hammer, ready to swing down on anything that stepped into their path.

  Together, they ran. They didn't need to sprint; the area wasn’t overly crowded but they needed to expose themselves as little as possible. As they broke cover, the shambling figures saw them and turned in their direction, moaning and wailing as they advanced. Steve tried to block out the sounds as he ran, knowing they would follow, and he focused on the far side, pulling Sarah who was whimpering now.

  His heart was beating at his chest wall as if it wanted to jump free and run to safety by itself. In his ears, he could hear his blood pumping through their veins and his breathing was fast and heavy. The tingle in his spine forced him to keep going, as if a hand was just inches from grabbing his jacket and pulling him back.

  They reached the row of shops and turned right, paralleling them, heading for the corner to the next street. A crash to the left and it was almost too late when Steve saw the figure emerge from the last doorway and lunge toward them.

  Its pale, wrinkled, bloodless hands outstretched, its mouth agape, showing a black, swollen tongue and bloodstained teeth that snapped shut in anticipation. The dead, flat, fish-like eyes set on Sarah as it quickly closed the distance between them.

  Steve turned his upper body to face the threat, pivoting on his leading leg and swinging Sarah quickly out of the way. At the same time he brought his right hand, raising the hammer, in a wide arc, aiming for the man’s head. Still focused on Sarah, the creature didn't notice until the shock of the glancing blow from Steve sent him crumpling to the ground. Steve quickly stepped forward and brought the hammer down a second time and drove the head of the tool into the man’s skull, the vibration shooting up his arm, jolting his elbow with the sudden halt in momentum.

  He felt the bone give with a sickening crunch, and the body became limp. Its head hit the floor and Steve’s arm went with it, still holding the hammer. It was firmly embedded and he had to angle the handle and push the hammer free, releasing a fetid odour and globs of clotted blood and brain matter.