by Ian Woodhead
He walked past the baking section, stopping himself from pulling the bags of self-rising flour forward, and leaned over the glass counter. Ernest smiled when he saw the bolt-cutters lying next to a claw hammer.
“Is it still there?”
He nodded, “Yes, here it is, just where I thought it would be.”
Ernest skirted past the sweet display and ducked behind the counter. The hammer was there for one reason. It was Mr. Singh’s only method of protection. The police had told him numerous times that he was risking his own life by keeping the shop open so late and having no visible alarm, but he had just smiled back at them and tried to sell them the contents of the shop.
Nobody had robbed the shop. Sure, they had a few problems with the odd kid lifting sweets, but nothing major. Most of the locals shopped here only because the boss kept the prices down. They also knew that if the shop was ever turned over, it would cost them a fortune to shop somewhere else. Mr. Singh was no fool, and neither were the residents.
Ernest heard Mavis walking over to the counter. He guessed that the woman must have become bored of eating the shop’s stock of tinned fish. “Okay, Mavis. I’ve got it. We can go now.”
Ernest yelled out in shock when cold fingers gripped his hair and dragged him back up. He twisted around, his eyes streaming with agony as he felt his hair tear from the roots. The cold, dead eyes of his former employer gazed down at him. Ernest shrieked when the man’s mouth opened. His hands scrambled along the counter, trying to find anything to get this thing off him.
The claw hammer seemed to mock him; the ideal weapon was just inches away from his grasping fingers. Ernest pulled back, screaming in agony, feeling the thing’s hands holding on to more of his hair. The dead man moaned louder and reached across the counter with its other hand.
Through tear-blurred vision, Ernest saw something move behind Mr. Singh; he heard Mavis let out a single grunt. His former boss suddenly let go of his hair. Ernest jumped to the side and the dead thing fell face down, cracking the counter glass when he hit it. Ernest saw the handle of a screwdriver sticking out of the back of the neck.
“Oh God, Ernest, are you alright?” Mavis cried. “I’m so sorry that I took so long. It took me ages to get the screwdriver out of the bloody plastic packet.”
He gingerly touched the top of his head and winced. “It’s okay, Mavis. I’ll live to fight another day. Remind me to book an appointment with the barbers. The bastard nearly turned me into a monk.”
“We should have searched the bloody place first. I can’t believe that we didn’t check before we went shopping.” She looked into his eyes, and Ernest saw tears begin to form. “I nearly lost you.”
“Yeah well, luckily for you, our hardware section was stocked up last week.” He picked up the bolt-cutters and looked back at his former boss. At least you died in the place you loved, buddy. Ernest then reached across the cold body and picked up the hammer. That would come in handy. “Come on, we had better make tracks.”
They both looked towards the rear of the store when they heard the sound of smashing glass. Mavis ran around and joined Ernest behind the counter. He saw a shadow move in the corridor that led to Mr. Singh’s living room and got down on the floor. He tightened his hand around the hammer and gripped it tight, just in case.
Mavis tensed up and stifled a gasp. “It’s another one,” she whispered.
Ernest thought she meant another deadie until he spotted the flash of camouflage clothing between two aisles. After their last encounter, he was more than reluctant to stand up and wave. He just hoped that the soldier would find nothing of interest and bugger off.
The man walked past the baking section and abruptly stopped when he saw the slumped body of Mr. Singh.
“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the soldier.
The rubber grip handle of the hammer gave Ernest some reassurance. It frightened the hell out of him to realize that he’d have no trouble in using it on that soldier, if he got the chance, though somehow he doubted that the soldier would allow Ernest to slam the business end of the hammer into his head. Any threatening gestures would probably be answered with half a dozen shells ripping through his body. Unless he slammed it into the back of the soldier’s head.
Hopefully, with Mr. Singh’s help, it wouldn’t come to that. His body was providing excellent cover. The man prodded the body with his gun before walking away. Ernest heard him opening the drinks fridge.
“I’ve searched the building and there are no live ones here, over.”
“That’s a negative, satellite reconnaissance showed two warm images in that building, over.”
Ernest watched him open a big bag of Maltesers.
“I’m telling you, there’s nobody in here. Can you not ask them to check again? Over.”
The soldier proceeded to throw the chocolate sweets at the back of the dead man’s head.
“So you want me to tell the techs to hi-jack another foreign satellite just because you are an incompetent halfwit? Look again, over and fucking out.”
“Well you can go fuck yourself, Control,” the guy muttered. “Bollocks to this, I’m out of here.”
He felt Mavis reach over and grab his hand and squeeze it tight. He nodded back; it looked like they were in the clear. The soldier dropped the bag on the floor and wandered down the last aisle. Ernest tried to relax.
Suddenly, the soldier doubled back on himself, laughing. “It won’t be stealing; it’ll all be getting torched anyway.”
He was heading straight for them; they both had their backs pressed against the counter when his hand grabbed the top of the till. His shadow loomed over them; Ernest shut his eyes and pretended to be dead. The man above them must have seen loads of dead bodies tonight, so he shouldn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of two more; besides, he would be more concerned with raiding the till.
He heard the sound of the gun being cocked.
“Come on, up you get or stay down there forever, it’s your choice.”
He felt Mavis move. Ernest opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet.
“And you can drop that fucking hammer. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
The soldier waved them out from behind the counter and pushed the end of his gun into Ernest’s back. He marched the pair over to the freezers. “Put your hands face down on the glass.”
Ernest received a not-so-gentle prod in his ribs when he hesitated.
“How the hell have you two managed to stay alive throughout all this? You don’t really strike me as survivor types.”
Ernest knew from the clumsy way the man was handling the gun that he’d be able to get out of the shop before this clown knew what was happening, but what about Mavis? He couldn’t leave her here.
“Deja vu,” she muttered.
“Shut your face, Grandma.”
Mavis sighed; she lifted her hands off the glass and turned around. The man fumbled with his gun. He finally brought it up and pointed the muzzle at the woman.
“Turn back around!” he shouted, “Or so help me I’ll …”
“You’ll what?” she asked. “Shoot a defenseless old lady in the face?” She placed both hands on the barrel of the gun and pushed it down. “Let us go. You’ve already radioed in that the building is empty.” She smiled at him. “You see, you really are going to have to kill us before we go with you. Now, do you really want that on your conscience? What would your mother say?”
Ernest took his hands off the fridge and faced the soldier. He saw fear and indecision in his eyes. Was he really going to let them go?
“Why not just pretend you didn’t see us and go look in that till.” She looked over at Ernest. “If you get stuck, I’m sure Ernest will help you. He used to work here.”
Would naked greed win out over orders? Oh Christ, he fucking hoped so. Then Ernest remembered something that might help to win him over. “There should be over three grand in the safe.”
That got the bastard’s attention. “Do you have the combination?”
Ernest nodded. Mr. Singh had entrusted him with the numbers a few weeks ago when the man had to rush home due to a family emergency. He hoped he hadn’t changed the bloody numbers.
He tapped the side of his head. “They are locked up in here, mate. Are you ready to see some serious cash?”
The man nodded. Ernest hoped that he wasn’t laying it on too thick. He had to get the guy hooked, and if he was distracted then it would be a lot bloody easier to lay the fucker out. He had no intention of letting him walk out with that money; he’d helped to put those notes in there.
“Come on then,” the guy said. “Is the safe in the back room?” He didn’t wait for Ernest to answer, instead raising his rifle and aiming it at his head. “If you’re lying, I’ll blow you in two. I’ve decided that I don’t like you. You’re a bit too slimy. A bit weasely.”
Mavis suddenly stopped and stared at the back room. Ernest looked too and groaned when he saw another figure climbing through the broken window. Oh shit, the man must have back-up. There was no way they’d get out of this now.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the man behind him come to a halt, then point his rifle towards the back room. Ernest’s instinct kicked in; he dove on Mavis and pushed her down, narrowly missing cracking her head on the metal shelf stacked with eggs.
A single shot rang out. Ernest glanced back to see the soldier drop to the floor. An uneven spot of dark blood appeared on the man’s stomach and rapidly spread across his chest. They then heard unhurried footsteps coming towards them. Mavis grabbed Ernest and pulled him around the corner out of sight just as the figure came into view. The figure paused before darting into the aisle. The man looked down at them and smiled.
“Hello again,” said Dennis. “It’s a small world.”
He ran over to Mr. Singh and lifted his head up. Ernest heard the Dennis mutter something but he couldn’t hear what it was. Dennis then walked over to the soldier and checked his pulse; he nodded to himself before coming back over to them.
“I’ve got most of the pieces in place now.” The man suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh God! I can’t put into words just how fucking alive I feel. It’s ironic really, to think that it took a total catastrophe for me to realize that I should never have given up what I love the best. I bet you don’t know what I mean by that do you, Ernest?”
He kept silent.
Dennis crouched down and nodded to Mavis. “You were pretty cute when you were younger, lass. I almost chose you instead of Ethel.” He giggled. “You’d be in the van instead of her.” He grinned. “Not that it matters, you’ll be in there pretty soon.”
Dennis stood up and looked back at the fallen soldier. “I want you two to carry him outside, and hurry up. I don’t want him dying on us just yet.”
Mavis looked at him, her eyes full of fear. She then glanced at the gun Dennis had in his hand. Ernest could see the madness in the old man’s eyes as well.
“Well, come on!” urged Dennis. “There’s still loads left to do tonight.”
Ernest got to his feet and padded over to the man on the floor. He didn’t look very alive to him. He put his arms under his shoulders, waited for Mavis to grab his legs, then attempted to lift him up. He was surprisingly light.
“It’s all down to us and them in the end.” Dennis saw Ernest look back at his ex-boss and he started to laugh again. “No, no, it’s not about who’s alive or dead.”
Ernest rested the body on the edge of the sofa; it didn’t look as if Dennis had noticed that he’d stopped.
“There’s us: me, you, Mavis, and a few others scattered around. We are potentials. If those things out there catch us, we’ll join their ranks. Then there are the others, they’re the competitors.” He grinned. “Now if they get caught, they’ll get ripped to bits and chewed up. Now why do you suppose that is, eh? I mean, it’s not like they get any nutritional value out of the flesh, I mean how can they? Their bodies have effectively shut down.”
Dennis waved his gun at Ernest; he got the message and lifted the body back up.
“I’m not sure yet just why this is, although I suspect that our dead friends are scared of the competitors. You see, I reckon that if a competitor survives a bite then they’ll change, but perhaps into something else?” he shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”
This madman was going to kill them both. They had to get away from him. Mavis managed to get the soldier’s feet out of the window. Ernest heaved and shouldered the rest of him through the hole. He landed on the grass below in an untidy heap; if he wasn’t dead earlier, Ernest suspected that he was now.
“Right then, dear, you first, out you get.”
Ernest hoped that Mavis would climb out from the window and just make a run for it; he wouldn’t blame her if she did.
“I think it may have something to do with tribes, you know. In the future, this planet will be ruled by the dead, it’s inevitable, but I don’t think that the dead will be one big harmonious group. Right, you wait there. After I climb out, I want you to be right behind me. If you take too long, like have strange ideas about running back into the shop to grab a knife or some other weapon, you’re going to find the pretty Mavis cut up into several bloodied lumps.”
He watched Dennis climb through the window. He wanted to break down and weep, he felt like he’d failed everyone. Ernest knew that this was not going to end well and he couldn’t see a way out of it.
After he heard him drop down, Ernest looked wildly around the room, looking for something, anything that he could use to protect himself and Mavis from that fucking lunatic. Potentials and competitors? Oh Christ, what a fucking looney tune.
Oh fuck, there was bugger all here; but then he remembered the soldier. The lad must have a knife on him somewhere, Dennis was bound to make them carry him to wherever he was going. Ernest nodded and grabbed the window frame. It was better than nothing, he supposed.
As he hit to the ground, the fact that the soldier had dropped his fucking rifle in the shop hit him like an express train. Ernest couldn’t believe he had been so Goddamn stupid. He slowly turned around, expecting to see the face of the grinning old man leering at him.
He saw Mavis, a teenage boy, and a young woman. The boy held a long knife; Dennis was at his feet with a pool of blood spreading out from under him.
Chapter Seventeen
Ernest held the bolt-cutters in one hand while tucking the handle of the hammer down the back of his trousers. He’d tried pushing the handle through one of his belt hoops, but the hoop was too bloody small.
Going back into that place was probably one of the hardest things he had ever done; he was left with no choice though. Ernest needed those bolt-cutters.
Despite his earlier idea about grabbing the soldier’s gun, he left it on the floor. They were fine but only until the ammo ran dry or it jammed. He’d stick with the hammer; you didn’t have to put bullets into that. Ernest so missed his trusty pool cue. Sporting goods was yet another item on Mr. Singh’s banned lists.
The soldier had begun to stir. Ernest had gained enough experience tonight to understand what that meant. He leapt through the smashed window, put the bolt-cutters on the ground, and pulled Dennis’s shotgun out from beneath the old man’s body.
“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it,” he said. “Welcome to Breakspear.”
He took hold of the barrel and brought the stock down hard on the man’s head. His movements ceased.
“Live by the gun, die by the gun. I’m sorry but you didn’t deserve the hammer.”
He looked over at Dennis and wondered how long it would be before he started to move again. Ernest didn’t even know if he was dead yet. He lifted up the barrel of the shotgun. Well, if he wasn’t, he would be in a second.
As he lifted up the shotgun, a single cry echoed through the night air, followed by four gunshots. He dropped the weapon and spun around.
“Oh, Jesus.”
He’d forgotten that the strangers said they were going to do
that. The other three stood beside a blue van opposite the square, and there were four bodies lying at their feet.
The soldier had commented about how he and Mavis didn’t look like the types to survive. Ernest wondered what he would have thought if he saw their new friends, especially the boy. He didn’t look strong enough to fight his way out of a wet paper bag.
He picked up the bolt-cutters and jogged towards the van
“So, you got them,” Mavis said.
Ernest nodded, trying not to look down at those four chained-up corpses between him and the other three. In the end, he gave in to his morbid curiosity and stared in disgust at what Dennis had done to them. He had no idea who three of them were, and it took him a while to recognize Dennis’s dear departed wife. The poor thing looked like she’d been dead for a couple of weeks before she’d succumbed to whatever the fuck had happened to their estate.
Having his wife rise from the grave, even if she’d actually made it there, wasn’t good enough for the old man. He’d manacled her legs together and done the same to her hands. He saw rectangular strips of flesh cut out of all of them. Jesus, he’d been experimenting on them too. He noticed a dark-haired woman with a large number of facial piercings lying next to the remains of a man who looked like he had definitely been dug up. The woman’s lips had been sewn together; he shook his head at the madness of it all.
“This is Stephanie,” said Mavis.
The girl smiled and nodded. He nodded back, unable to trace her. Ernest thought he knew everybody in the estate, so either he was wrong or the girl was a stranger. If she was, the poor lass had picked the wrong bloody day to come visiting.
“And this is Kevin.”
The boy stepped over the bodies and shook Ernest’s hand. It was obvious that he wasn’t used to the gesture.
“Thanks for looking after him,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Ernest replied, not knowing what the hell he was talking about. He hadn’t realized just how bad the lad smelled; he stank of gone-off meat. The stench was coming off that dirty, tattered jacket he wore over his sweatshirt. The girl had one on too. What the hell had they been doing?
