by Ian Woodhead
Ernest crawled on his belly, mumbling incoherently and flinching every time the monster above him made a sound. As he neared the metal ladder, he slowed down and looked behind him to see…nothing. The thing had disappeared. He just knew that it would be up there, on the roof, waiting for him to climb up that ladder. Just biding its time until it could swipe its clawed hands across his unsuspecting face. He had visions of the flesh of his cheek being separated from his jawbone, and he began to tremble.
He shuddered, trying not to think of how close he had been to losing his life. If the hunter had not tried to fish Ernest out, he would surely be climbing to his own doom right now. That fucker would have ripped him into little pieces.
This supermarket had been his home for the last eight months. He knew the layout intimately, every twist and turn. He took another deep breath and nervously followed the ladder up to the top with his eyes. He brought up a mental map to try to figure out how the fuck he could still escape from this mess.
“There’s only one way out left for me now. Come on, old man. You know where he is already, just go for it.”
Ernest tensed his muscles at the thought of changing his well-rehearsed plan. It was just a case of getting out from behind the freezers, a sprint along the corridor, past the walk–in chillers, and out into the main warehouse. From there, it was simply a matter of getting out into the delivery yard and over the fence. It would take him less than two minutes.
“There’s nothing to it,” he whispered. Ernest heard the one above him walking across the roof towards the ladders. The fucker was getting ready to snatch him.
“Yeah well, that’s not going to happen; I’m not that fucking stupid,” he muttered.
His grin fell off his face when he realised that the hunters were not idiots either.
“The bastards are herding me like a fucking cow.”
It was the only scenario that made sense now. The one above him was just trying to flush Ernest out and into the waiting arms of the other bastard. Fuck if they probably just faked that scream.
Ernest crawled forward until he was level with the ladder. From this vantage point, he could see a ways into the corridor. There was no one there. Nothing looked any different from the last time he had patrolled down there two days ago. His indecision irked him. Ernest had no idea how good the monster's senses were. It was entirely possible that the fuckers knew exactly where he was right now.
He crawled past the ladder, planning to wait a few minutes to see what was going to happen.
The thought of staying where he was sounded like the safest plan, but Ernest just couldn’t do it.
“They'll go after Darren if I stay here shivering like the fucking coward that I am.”
He got to his feet and gave the top of the ladder one last stare as he pulled away the plastic partition and fell into the corridor. Ernest rolled onto his back and jumped up, just waiting for one of them to grab him. He spun around and saw to his profound relief that he was alone.
That would not stay like that for long though. They probably knew that he was out and about, ready to be hunted down. There were only a few feet separating his head from the roof. If that thing was still there, it would be able to pick up Ernest’s every thought.
"Well, fuck you.” he muttered, before sprinting towards the main warehouse.
There was the sudden jarring sound of tearing metal coming from where he had just run from. He spun around and saw one of them ripping away the protective plating that covered the walls like so much tissue paper. It took it just seconds to demolish enough wall to squeeze his huge bulk through unimpeded.
Ernest cried out and put on a burst of speed, knowing that if he didn’t put enough distance between him and it, he would be the next to be demolished.
He jumped over the taut fishing line that stretched across the corridor. He said a silent prayer that the lumbering fool wouldn’t see it. He quickly thought about hiding in those fields when he was a kid, hoping that the monster closing the gap between them was too keyed up to notice his stray thought.
As Ernest skidded around the corner, he heard the loud crash of over fifty tins of tomato soup and spaghetti hoops dropped from the net that Ernest had winched up there last month. He congratulated himself but didn’t stick around to see the damage. There was no point. He suspected that those hunters would be able to shrug off a small car falling on their heads.
Ernest raced towards the exit to the delivery bay, still not seeing any sign of the other one. He actually began to believe that he might be able to get out of here without being eaten like a steak pie.
A savage roar reached his ears. That signalled that the monster wasn’t quite as impressed with his trap as Ernest himself had been. He found that at this point he could not care less what that beast thought. Within seconds, Ernest would be gone and over that wall.
A flash of blue caught his eye from the left. He screamed out in horror as he saw the other one was already in the delivery yard and lumbering towards him.
He had exhausted all of the ways out. He was trapped.
Ernest heard the heavy footfalls from the giant monster closing in on him. He tried, unsuccessfully, to calm his racing heart. He waited for a few precious seconds as the huge monster neared.
The hunter’s face split into a crooked grin, exposing a row of wedge shaped teeth that looked to Ernest like small, crushing demolition hammers. It was obvious from the expression on its face that the fucker though Ernest had given up.
In what felt to him like a flash, Ernest ducked under the monster’s raised arms and raced to the door leading to the upstairs levels. The monster roared in anger and turned to follow his path. Ernest caught his breath and dived towards the door, thanking his earlier self for not locking it. He wrenched it open and raced up the stairs, fully aware that both of the bastards were now behind him.
Ernest flew through the door at the top of the stairs and ran along the corridor. He knew that this stunt would more than likely end up with him in several separate pieces. Damn him if he was able to think of any other conclusion right now. He rushed past his tins of chocolate pudding and grabbed the door handle.
“Like I have any other option,” he murmured, looking back down the corridor.
Both of the creatures were at the other end. He pushed through the fire door not stopping even to think. The five remaining deadies were still in here. They didn’t seem to have moved since the last time he was up here. As soon as the door opened, the deadies attention was piqued. All five of them simultaneously turned and began their slow shuffle towards him.
He grabbed his weapon and pulled it out of the dead girl’s head. Her body lifted and then fell back down with a thud.
He backed away from the approaching corpses and leaned up against the wall. There was nowhere else he could go.
“Come on, you slow fuckers!” he screamed. “You couldn’t catch a fucking cold.”
The door burst open and the two monsters stood before him.
The two looked at the stick in his hand, looked at each other and they both burst out giggling.
“I’m going to push that up your arse,” said the huge monster with the hammer grin, "then I’m going to eat you like a fucking lollypop.”
Ernest shook his head and smiled. The pair of them were so focussed on him that they didn't notice the dead things had finally worked out how to move a bit faster than fucking snails. The first deadie reached the huge monster, wrapped its desiccated arms around the monster’s neck, and sank its teeth into the hunter’s shoulder.
The monster did not even flinch. He reached his oak-like arm up and ripped the dead thing off his body, flinging it aside like a dirty rag.
Ernest’s grin faltered when the dead thing slammed against the wall. It slid down, leaving a wet trail of decomposing black slime behind. Both hunters took a menacing step closer.
“Now lass, are you going to give me that before you hurt yourself with it?” the smaller monster taunted.
&nbs
p; “Fuck off.” Ernest looked him directly in the eyes and stood his ground.
The remaining four deadies simultaneously dived onto the smaller hunter. In his complete surprise, he fell to the floor under their combined weight. The larger monster dove into the struggling heap of arms and legs, trying to rip the things off his companion.
“Now or never,” Ernest whispered. He screwed up his courage and ran towards them. He jumped over a stray arm that attempted to pull him down. Ernest raced blindly along the corridor and into the canteen, heading towards the fire door. He whipped his head back one last time before charging through the door. The two hunters were still trying to shake of the deadies without much success. The dead things had adopted a voracity that Ernest had never seen before.
“I hope they fuck the pair of you,” he shouted as he closed the fire door behind him.
Chapter Eleven
Mark entered the caravan holding the black-and-white kitten to his chest, scratching playfully behind its ear. He looked up from cooing at the kitten and saw Nigel hunched over the computer monitor with a slight smile playing on his lips. Mark had absolutely no desire to know what that man had found so amusing. He just assumed that he was cataloguing his extensive porn library yet again. Mark wondered to himself exactly how many times you could re-categorize big breasts and Asian cuties before the exercise began to feel completely futile.
On more than a few occasions, Mark seriously wondered if Nigel even realized that the human species was now on its last legs. He watched in amusement as Nigel's head bobbed up and down to some imaginary tune. Had he even realized that Mark had come back? If Nigel’s hand went anywhere near his pants, the man would soon find a kitten flying towards him.
For his perverted companion, the complete destruction of human society had turned his dirty little unimportant life around. When the pair had found their way here, Nigel went from zero to hero in a matter of weeks, and the man revelled in his new role.
His newfound importance had definitely gone to the man’s head. Academically, he rated mediocre at best. The wank obsessed pervert was nowhere near as accomplished as Mark. Nigel’s only real talent lay in the annoying fact that he had acquired the unexpected ability to talk the talk. Mark had no idea where this came from. At university, his colleague couldn’t construct a single sentence without stammering and making himself look like a complete tit. He glanced over, trying to work out just what was on that monitor.
With the confidence to speak like a salesman came a gift for making people around him feel comfortable and at ease; it made Nigel a good person to stay friendly with.
Mark closed the door behind him and placed the kitten into a small cage. His relationship with Nigel had altered significantly these past few months. Mark had actually begun to fear him. It seemed beyond ridiculous that anyone could be scared of some grubby little geek who had yet to lose his virginity.
Nigel had struggled through university, achieving very little of anything. Mark had been his only friend. No one else had wanted anything to do with him. Looking back, he could not even remember why they had become friends; they certainly didn’t have that much in common. Mark didn’t have that many friends at University, but he did have more than Nigel did. All that changed though when this freak barged into Mark’s life. All his previous mates wanted nothing to do with Mark. He too, just like Nigel, had become a pariah. They both sat alone at meals and repelled girls like oil to water.
He looked over at the giggling fool. At least one aspect of Nigel’s personality had not changed, he still had a ridiculous voice when he became excited. As long as he spoke in a solemn tone the man could entrance anybody—unless he laughed. He could cope with Nigel’s giggles, as long as he wasn’t actually laughing. He sounded like two donkeys having painful sex when he burst into full-blown laughter. It actually made Mark cringe.
Mark thought of all the times that Nigel had embarrassed himself with that laugh. It worked perfectly as a vagina repellent. Vaginas for miles around heard the signal and instantly ran the other way, taking their female owners with them. No matter if the lady was big, small, short, or tall, Nigel's braying repelled them all. Mark smiled at his little joke. He looked up and saw that his companion was intently staring at him.
“Just what the bloody hell are you smiling at?” demanded Nigel in a cross tone. “You took your time, Mark. I thought you had deserted me again. Did you get my sweets?”
Mark sighed, “It did cross my mind, Nigel. You see, as soon as I stepped out of the caravan, a dozen naked women turned up in a pick-up truck and asked me to go to the beach with them.”
Nigel’s face was unreadable. Mark sighed and placed a dozen candy bars on the table beside Nigel’s computer.
“Yes, I got your sweets.” The irony of their role reversal was not lost on Mark. It used to be Nigel who fetched and carried for him. Mark had somehow been relegated to an inferior position. It seemed to have been done in stealth. In truth, it would not have bothered him so much if Nigel had not been such a smug prick. The fact that Nigel embraced this new dominance by acting like an arse is what irritated him. Nigel with the donkey-fucking laugh seemed to think that he was the boss now.
“They are the last ones, Nigel, and there are only a few Snickers left.”
The man absently nodded and turned his attention back to the screen. Mark guessed that meant His High and Mighty Highness had dismissed him. That suited him just fine. Mark had a list longer than his arm to complete, and it wasn't getting done by fetching sweets for Count Cunt Candyeater, here.
“Are you now going to tell me what you found so amusing?” Nigel asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “Oh, and I’d rather you not subject me to your tactless form of sarcasm, if you don’t mind.”
For a split second, Mark almost spat it all out. To see the superior look on the arrogant tosser’s face collapse when he heard that Mark was just musing about his jackass-like laugh, and the fact that the only vagina Nigel had ever seen up close had belonged to his mother in childbirth, would just make Mark’s day. It would be so gratifying to give Nigel an unpleasant reminder of how their life used to be before the outbreak. But alas, Mark was never one to rock the boat or cause conflict, so he kept his musings to himself.
“Two of the kittens had escaped,” he lied. “They were fighting over a dog chew, and I just thought it was rather amusing.”
"You and your stupid cats. What the fuck good are they? All the little rats do is eat, shit, and mewl all damn day. You'd be better off if you just snapped their necks and threw them to the dead. In fact, throw them out there alive. Let the fuckers tear them apart. That would be quite the show."
Mark walked swiftly back to where Nigel sat with his back turned, fully intending to knock a hole in the back of the bastard's empty head. He stopped short when he saw what was on Nigel's computer screen.
"You're reading his mail, now?" Mark asked incredulously.
"No. Don't be daft. I’m not that stupid. You just missed him. He was here and showed this to me."
"Oliver? Was down here?" Mark still didn't completely believe it.
Nigel turned to Mark, his eyes glistening with what appeared to be some sort of maniacal glee. He pointed at the screen excitedly.
"Read this, Mark. Go on, read it!" Nigel looked like the chubby kid in that ridiculous candy factory film with the chocolate river. He was doing everything but rubbing his hands together greedily and salivating.
On the screen in front of Nigel, Mark read a letter directed to Oliver. The letter told a story about a group in Manchester where there were several scientists that had progressed a theory.
They believed that all of the infected were psychically connected. They believed that the hunters, the climbers, and the dead could communicate with one another telepathically on different levels, as well as the hunters reading the thoughts of the living. The letter warned against keeping dead things alive in captivity because they would act like a beacon to other 'species' of infected. The scientists had
kept a stable of the dead outside of their compound for study. One night, a single hunter had massacred several of the men that stood guard at the stable. Upon briefly subduing the hunter, some of their men learned that it had located the compound via a signal from the dead things.
"Fuck me!" Mark looked over to Bub2’s cage. “You mean the boy could be calling to others for help? Could he be silently summoning hunters?”
"Nah mate, it's all bullshit. Will you calm down? No way these sacks of rot are transmitting anything. It’s just a load of superstitious bollocks." Nigel shook his head and laughed. Mark suddenly felt ill at the sound of Nigel's braying.
"How can you be so sure?" Mark was really getting frightened now, the report didn’t seem superstitious to him. In fact, the whole idea of that the dead were all psychically linked did make sense and answered a lot of questions.
"Just look at that meat bag in the cage. Do you really think that that thing is capable of sending out a signal? It can barely shuffle to the door." Nigel walked over to the cage and began taunting the boy.
"Isn't that right, you stupid fuck? You don't remember your own fucking name, do you?" Nigel brayed again.
Without warning, Bub2 growled and suddenly charged the cage wall, thrusting both his arms through the bars.
"Bloody hell!" shrieked Nigel, jumping back with an expression of surprise and pure terror etched on his face.
Mark fought the urge to laugh after the initial shock of watching both of them move so fast subsided. "They can barely shuffle to the door, eh?" Mark asked the now very annoyed Nigel.
"Fuck off, you unfunny twat. As for you, boy…" He pointed a finger at Bub2, angrily. "We'll just see what happens to bad dead things when your next feeding comes. You fucking wanker."
Mark gazed at the boy in the cage. Bub2 eyed Nigel as he took his seat. It may be his imagination, but he thought he could feel the hatred coming off the boy in waves. If Mark was one of the dead, would Bub2 now be telling him just what he wanted to do to Nigel? That report continuing to whirl through his mind, making connections, and joining together dozens of abandoned theories.
