by Ian Woodhead
Judging from the chaos happening above their heads, he believed that the notion of enjoying a few of life’s little luxuries would soon be passed into memory for everyone. Ernest didn’t think that this fuck up would stay in Breakspear.
He swiveled his head and watched his two remaining companions as they waded their way through the freezing cold, ankle-deep water. The lad didn’t look all that happy. They were too far away for Ernest to catch their words but he guessed that Kevin must be moaning about the conditions down here.
It was so strange that he could almost see their missing companion, Mavis. Ernest could even hear her reminding Kevin that he should be grateful for still being alive and to stop complaining about the cold water.
How was it that one woman whom he’d only known for a few short hours, made him feel so torn? Hell, even the loss he had felt for his wife’s death had begun to fade away. “Jesus, Brenda. I’m so sorry for what happened to you.” He turned away from the approaching kids, not wanting them to see the tears in his eyes. Those tears were from the guilt that had suddenly decided to pay him a visit. Just what sort of marriage had he been living if he’d had carnal thoughts over some strange woman just an hour after he’d seen the rotting shell of his own fucking wife reaching out to him?
Ernest was a complete mess. In his confused state, he didn’t know what to think anymore. One thing that did stand out was that he still believed that woman had thrown her life away for no reason. He clenched his hands tight, wondering how events could have panned out if she hadn’t gone and stupidly thrown her life away.
Maybe he was wrong about this thing spreading past the estate. In a few weeks’ time, all this might just blow over. He and Mrs. Watson could have sat down in the corner of a quiet pub and toasted to absent friends.
“Fuck off, optimism,” he whispered. “Your kind isn’t welcome around here anymore.” Christ, after all the shit he had gone through tonight, why did he still allow his mind to wander off to skip through a land full of rainbow-colored bunnies, playing on fluffy clouds? If she hadn’t got herself shot, that silly woman would have found another way to end her life.
“How far do we have to go, Ernest?” asked Kevin. “It’s going on forever. I can’t feel my fucking feet now.” He lifted his leg out of the water and rested it on a ledge, then proceeded to vigorously rub it. “It’s freezing and it stinks of shit in here.”
“It’s an old sewer, did you expect it to smell of spring flowers?” Ernest tapped the pale stone. “Look, this marks the halfway stage. There’s a ledge set into the wall. It should be large enough to hold us all. We can rest there, just to get out breath back and to warm up, if you like. Although I believe that if we keep going, we’ll be out of here in no time. The exit is only about twenty minutes from here.”
Kevin shook his head and wrapped his arms tight around his body. “Would you mind if we rested, just for a few minutes?” He looked across at Stephanie. “I know that I’ve been moaning for the pair of us, but you must be just as cold as me.” He looked down at the water. “I want to see if my feet are still attached to my legs.”
Ernest’s reply to the boy didn’t have time to leave his mouth when his senses suddenly notched up to red alert. He waded over to his companions and peered over their shoulders, pointing the flashlight into the gloom, trying to see anything moving.
“What is it?” asked Stephanie, turning around. “Ernest, you’re making me very nervous here.”
Kevin moaned softly. “You think those things are in here with us, don’t you!”
He heard the rising panic in the kid’s voice and placed his hand on his shoulder. “It’s probably nothing.” Ernest wasn’t sure what to think. He hadn’t heard anything, even so, he had never turned his back on his gut feeling before. He was pretty sure there was something back there. He then heard something splash into the water, further down the tunnel.
Kevin whimpered.
“Don’t worry, Kevin.” Stephanie grabbed his hand. “It’s probably just a rat. I bet this sewer is infested with them.”
Ernest knew for a fact that the splash hadn’t come from a rat, not unless the fuckers had grown to large dog-size in recent years.
“That was no rat,” replied Kevin. He stared into the darkness before looking back at Ernest. “You don’t think that they’re following us, do you?”
He heard another large splash, this one a lot closer. Ernest’s stomach rolled when something from his past decided to make an unwelcome appearance. He wanted to kick himself for not remembering sooner.
“It isn’t them,” replied Stephanie, “not unless they can squeeze through those bars. I made bloody sure that the chain was secured.”
Ernest looked into their terrified faces, wondering if he looked as scared as they did. “Do any of you remember a hole in the road opening up and a car falling into it?”
They both shook their heads.
“Maybe it was a bit before your time. It happened about fifteen years ago, just behind the Horse and Jockey. You see, the estate was built on what remained of the original town of Breakspear. The contractors were supposed to have leveled what was left of the town and filled in the old sewer system.” He looked up at the curved brick ceiling. “As you can see, they’ve missed this one. Who know what other tunnels they missed? The estate could be riddled with tunnels like this one.”
“Well that’s just fucking fantastic.” muttered Stephanie.
“Please tell me there’s no other way into this tunnel, Ernest?”
Blood hell, why did he go and have to open his big mouth? Hell, all he had to say that it was a big rat or even a dog. Thanks to him, Kevin looked close to losing it now. “As far as I know, yes, there’s no other way in here. I’ve been up and down this tunnel hundreds of times and I’ve never seen another way in or out apart from the two entrances. Don’t worry about it. The splash probably came from a dog or something.”
Ernest’s hand tightened round his bat when he heard something else splash into the dark water. This time he knew that it had come from in front of them. He felt the other bunch up behind him.
“That’s not a rat,” whispered the girl. “How many do you think there are?”
Ernest was now sure that they weren’t alone, but their silence confused him. If the dead were down here, why weren’t they making any noise? A shadow moved directly in front of them.
“It’s those fucking soldiers!” yelled Kevin, raising his shotgun and pointing the barrel at the two figures running toward them. “They have us surrounded. I bet they’ve cut the chain as well.”
Stephanie pushed the gun down. “Will you calm it down!” she hissed. “They’re armed as well, you idiot.”
Ernest jumped forward and covered the struggling boy with his body. He had no wish for anybody else to end up dead. It took the last of his resolve to force his own gun to face the water. Despite the bastards cutting down Mrs. Watson, he felt that it was the right thing to do to look as harmless as possible.
The lead soldier’s eyes locked in on Ernest; he saw torment and fear in them. These men were soldiers no longer, and Ernest saw just another couple of survivors. He looked behind him one more time before he waded toward the older man and held out his hand.
“I won’t say it’s a pleasure to see you, but at least you’re alive and a couple more guns are more than welcome. I’m Ernest.”
The man shook Ernest’s hand; he looked at his own pistol, then dropped it in the water. “Jack, Jack Marsham. I’m sorry Ernest, but we’re both empty.” Ernest gazed at the other man, who immediately looked to the floor before turning his rifle around and gripping it like a club.
“Do you have a name?” Ernest asked him.
“This is Klinski,” replied Marsham. “I hope your friends have some ammo left, there are two of those things behind us.”
Ernest nodded. “There’s three behind us too.”
Stephanie raised her pistol; she pointed it directly at Marsham. “These fuckers killed Mavis in c
old blood, Ernest. Have you forgotten that already?” Kevin pointed his own shotgun at the two men.
“I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about, lass,” said Klinski. “But if you want to shoot us then go ahead, I mean, if we don’t get a move on, we’re dead anyway.” He shook his head and turned around to face the way they’d just come. Ernest could now hear the deadies splashing towards them. They had begun to moan.
“Steph? Come on. Don’t lose your cool.”
“Listen to him, lass,” said Marsham. “Pick your target wisely; I can’t imagine you have many rounds left in your new toy.”
Ernest could see the others approaching from behind them now. Oh Jesus, there were dozens of them. “Shit! We can’t win this one! Kevin, take out those following the soldiers!”
Kevin looked at Stephanie; she lowered her gun and they splashed over to Klinski.
“Do you know a way out of this bloody maze?” asked Marsham.
Ernest nodded. “Yeah, but what do we do about them?”
He didn’t hear the reply, as Kevin and Stephanie fired at the same time at the three wading over. Stephanie released the clip and turned back to Ernest. “I’ve two rounds left.” She gazed at the deadies coming towards them. “Why have we stopped?”
Ernest heard her but didn’t respond; he couldn’t. His attention was fixed upon the approaching crowd of shambling deadies, in particular, the one in front. It was his only son, Darren.
“Oh please, not you too,” Ernest moaned. He took one step forward. He couldn’t leave him like that. It was bad enough that he’d left Brenda, but Ernest would just die if he left Darren like this, too. He hadn’t told the others about his wife, which was one fact that he intended to take to his grave.
“I love you, son,” he whispered.
Ernest then took one look at the baseball bat. If he used this, the other things would tear him to pieces. He looked back at Stephanie, intending to ask for the pistol. They both stood, transfixed, only they weren’t staring at the horde; it was Darren who held their gaze.
“You know him, don’t you?”
They both nodded.
“I thought he was dead,” muttered Kevin.
Ernest heard the venom dripping off the boy’s tongue and suddenly it all clicked into place. Darren had been their other companion. No bloody wonder that cowardly little shit had been able to stay alive for so long; his son had been helping them out.
“And you two left him to die?”
Stephanie tried to put her hand on his shoulder. He took one step back and lifted the bat. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he growled.
From the corner of his eye, Ernest spotted Marsham moving closer to the girl. She yelped when the man whipped the pistol out of her hand. Before Ernest could react, he found Klinksi’s huge arms wrapped around his waist. The soldier had him pinned.
“You had better lose that emotion right now, feller. You know what needs to be done,” said Klinski.
He shook his head from side to side, watching in horror as Marsham raised the pistol and pointed it at the approaching boy.
“Please, you don't have to do this!” He cried out in torment as a single shot echoed through the tunnel. His only son flew backwards and disappeared below the water.
Klinski released him, then lunged forward and snatched the shotgun out of Kevin's hands.
Ernest stood there for a moment, stunned; then he looked at Stephanie and Kevin. “I haven’t finished with you two.”
Marsham grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “Settle it later, you heard Klinski, lose the emotion or I’ll drop you myself.”
Ernest glared at the two kids as he passed them; he wasn’t going to forget this.
Epilogue
Dennis walked his fingers down the side of his distorted body until he reached the first blister. He ran his forefinger over the dome, marveling at how smooth his skin was. He jerked his head to one side until the bones cracked back into place, then twisted the top of his body. He just had to see. Where was the fun of popping it, if he couldn’t watch?
The blister had the same diameter of a ten pence piece and, judging from the tight skin, it would probably burst all by itself. Dennis guessed the only reason why that one as well as the others hadn’t burst was because he was so old.
He straightened his forefinger and jabbed it down, grinning at the sight of the thick, yellow-streaked blood that burst through the torn skin and ran down the side of his broken body. It reminded him of strawberry jam mixed with custard.
Should he be surprised that there had been no pain when his finger punctured the tight skin? He sighed, like he’d be able to feel something as minor as a burst blister, considering the state of the rest of his broken body.
There was another blister further down, at the top of his thigh. It hadn’t been there long, and Dennis guessed that it would increase in size, just like the one he had just broken open. That was fine by him. It would take at least another hour of maneuvering before he’d be able to get to that one.
He’d loosened his neck muscles just enough for him to watch his fingers push through that taught skin. Perhaps it was time to take a look at his only route out of here. Dennis felt the neck bones shift as he pulled his head back. As before, there was no pain, only the weird sensation of hard things, beneath his blanket of flesh, moving about. It reminded him of the last time he’d had his teeth pulled. The six thick metal bars covering the storm drain were only a few feet from his head. Right now, thanks to the very undignified tumble that had shattered his thin body, those few feet might as well be a few miles.
Dennis shrugged, happy that at least the bones in his neck and shoulders were still intact. From what he’d so far observed, his body was trying to fix itself. It should take just a few more hours. Dennis would regain the strength to enable him to get out of here, he’d just have to be patient. That was fine by him, he had nothing else planned.
He endured the strange sensation of his bones shifting one more time; he had to examine the rest of his body. The damage was pretty bad. Just below his left knees, his splintered bones poked up through the flesh. His other leg looked as though a car had run over it. “I should be dead.”
Dennis allowed a smirk to play over his lips for a moment before his thoughts returned to the events which had occurred just after opening his eyes. Both his mind and his body had both competed to drop him into a deep pit of agonizing pain. Dennis had shrieked out, feeling as though every cell in his body had been dropped into molten metal. The smirk fell off his face as the memory of his slow journey returned with a vengeance.
Those bastards had left his Ethel where she fell, just a few metres from where he had woken up. It took more resolve than he thought he possessed to drag his dying body over to his wife. Dennis had no other option. Those bastards weren’t going to win; he intended to die for nobody.
With the last of his strength, Dennis pushed his forefinger into the side of his wife’s eye socket, watching her eyeball pop out and roll down her cheek. He ripped the dried orb from the cord and squeezed it in his hand before rubbing the stinking mess into the stab wound.
He knew that his mission to stay moving was far from over. The stench of burning gasoline had reached his nostrils, and the sound of boot steps increased with every moment. It wouldn’t be long before the soldiers and their flamethrowers reached this street. Dennis had managed to crawl, then fall into this storm drain with only seconds to spare. Some of that inflammable material had found its way down the drain but he was too far gone to feel the stuff burning into his flesh.
The morning sun had already started to banish the night’s shadows. The smell of burning flesh still lingered, but he detected no human voices close by. Dennis knew that there were a few soldiers not too far from his location though; he could feel their thoughts. One of them was getting ready to sleep; he believed that the danger was over. The soldier started to close his eyes, confident that their weapons had put down the last threat.
“Oh, this new ability will be most useful,” Dennis muttered. Now he knew why the dead feared the competitors. They really were the pinnacle hunters. He flexed his hands. Already the strength had flowed back into them. Dennis pressed his thumb hard against one of the bricks. His digit felt no resistance as he pushed it in all the way up to the knuckle. It felt like chalk to him.
If this was some indication as to what the rest of his body would be like once the repairs were complete, then he’d be invincible. Those soldiers would be in for a bit of a shock very soon.
Those dumb bastards had no idea that some of the dead things had already gotten past their stupid quarantine, stumbling into the residential areas past Breakspear. In fact, the outbreak had already begun to infect those living beyond the estate. He grinned to himself and closed his eyes, settling back to allow his new body to mend, knowing that when he did get out of here, Dennis would be emerging into a whole new world of delight.
The End?
Walking with Zombies
Edited by Linda Tooch
A Foreword by
Dave Jeffery
Let's get one thing straight: I love zombies. The myth, the literature, the movies, the comic books, you name it; I have at some point digested it like some lumbering undead horde chows down on a hapless survivor caught in a cul-de-sac.
Given this admission, some might say that it was perhaps inevitable that I should stumble across the novel The Unwashed Dead by Ian Woodhead, given its rising popularity amongst hardcore zombie fans. In truth, I knew the work of its author before this particular book came to my attention. My first introduction came with the release of Spore, a genuinely creepy gross-fest of a short story released as a free sample on Smashwords. This tale has gone on to have over ten thousand downloads on Amazon Kindle alone. Other works followed; each demonstrating Woodhead's genuine gift for leaving the reader's psyche unsettled for days afterwards. I read The Unwashed Dead three times in two months, the tale enriching my experience with each outing. The gritty commentary of life and un-death on a Northern Council Estate has remained a favourite ever since. But what raises The Unwashed Dead above that of its peers? It’s a simple matter of heart. The book had it in abundance; an unbridled passion that I saw in many of the fans of the genre - me, especially. We shouldn't like any of Woodhead's characters; they are coarse and self serving, riddled with dysfunction and vanity. Yet like them we do, care for them, hope that all ends well for them though we know, deep down, they will meet an end as brutal as their upbringing.
