by Max Danzig
“What are you doing?” she asked once she'd made and sipped on a much needed mug of coffee.
“I found this in the storage room,” he replied, stifling a yawn. “I thought I’d work on cleaning it up and see if it still works.”
“Very cool. What are you going to use it for?” Steve asked. Those were the first words he'd uttered since coming downstairs. Peter shrugged his shoulders. Deadpan, and with a complete absence of any sarcasm or humor in his voice he replied.
“Shooting things,” Peter said. “What else are you going to use it for?”
“I know that,” Steve said, annoyed. “But what things are you going to shoot with it?”
He put the rifle down and looked up at Steve.
“I don't know,” Peter replied. “I hope we never need it.”
Steve was clearly interested in the rifle. He sat down next to the other man and picked up the rifle to inspect it. Peter spent all morning working on it and was annoyed that someone else dared to interfere.
“Put it down,” he said. “I haven't finished with it yet.”
“This is a .22 Marlin. It’s good for learning how to shoot, and plinking away at rats and such. You ever use one of these?” Steve asked, animated.
“No, but...”
“I have,” he continued enthused. “I used to go target shooting with my dad, and I’m pretty good.”
“Well I don't like it,” Rachel said from across the room. She was standing next to the sink. She couldn't have been any further away from the table. “We don't need it. We should get rid of it.”
“I don't even know if it works yet.” Peter said.
“I can't see any reason why it wouldn’t,” Steve interrupted. “Mind if I try it out?”
“Yes I do,” Peter protested. “I've spent hours cleaning it and trying to get it...”
Steve wasn't listening. He jumped up from his seat, grabbed a handful of ammunition and headed for the front door. Peter looked over at Rachel. Surprised by his sudden disappearance they both stood still for a second before following him out.
By the time they reached the front door Peter could already hear the rifle being cocked and fired. Fortunately Steve had enough sense to check the chamber then dry fire it before loading.
“Is he safe with that thing?” Rachel asked as they stepped out into a cold grey morning.
“I don't know,” Peter replied under his breath, still fuming that the other man dared to take the rifle from him. He stared with piercing eyes as Steve loaded it.
“This is just what we needed. You never know what's coming down the road these days.” Steve said,
“I don’t know what frightens me more,” Rachel mumbled, “the fact there are dead bodies walking round the countryside or him with that fucking gun.”
Peter managed half a smile which disappeared when Steve lifted the rifle up and held it ready to fire. He pressed the butt hard into his shoulder, and aimed into the distance.
“What the hell are you doing?” Peter demanded. “Are you fucking stupid? All we need is for that thing to blow back in your face and you're history...”
“It's okay,” he answered without moving or lowering the rifle. “I know about these things. It won't blow back.”
“Just put it down will you?” begged Rachel.
“Watch this...”
Puzzled, Peter stood behind her and looked along the barrel of the rifle. Steve was aiming through a gap in the trees, out towards a ploughed field a few hundred feet away. He squinted towards the horizon and saw that a lone figure was tripping through the uneven mud.
“You’re kidding right? Just leave it alone.”
“I'm going to nail him,” Steve said again, shuffling his feet and getting the figure square in his sights. “What's he going to do about it? He won't even know he's been shot.”
“You've got to hit it first,” Rachel hissed.
“Oh, I'll hit the bastard,” he said and, with that, he squeezed the trigger and fired.
For a long second the deafening sound of the shot rang out and echoed through the otherwise silent countryside.
“Missed him,” Steve said annoyed.
The figure in the field stopped moving.
“He stopped,” Peter gasped. “Fucking hell, he heard the shot. It's got to be a survivor.”
Stunned, Steve lowered the rifle and took a few steps forward with the barrel pointing at the ground.
“I didn't get him did I?” he asked. “Shit, I was only trying to...”
“Shut up,” Peter snapped. “You didn't get him.”
As they stared into the distance, the figure in the field moved again. Instead of struggling on through the muddy fields, it now changed direction. The ragged figure of a man walked towards the farmhouse.
“He's coming this way, isn't he?” asked Rachel, doubting what her eyes were telling her.
“Looks like it,” Steve mumbled in surprise.
Peter said nothing. He watched for a second longer until he was sure the man was heading towards them before sprinting out to meet him. Apart from the survivors back in Derry this was the first person they'd seen in a week who seemed able to react and respond to the outside world. He couldn't afford to let him out of his sight. And to think, moments earlier Steve had aimed a rifle at him.
Rachel chased after Peter and Steve followed close behind them. The view from the farmhouse had been misleading. There was a hidden dip between Peter and the man, adding several yards of distance between them.
Unmindful of the mud beneath his feet and the pain in his legs and lungs from running, he emerged from the dip in the field. He kept running keeping the lone stranger locked in his sights every step of the way and pushing himself to keep moving. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding with nervous excitement.
“Hold on,” Steve huffed. He was a short distance behind Rachel. She stopped and waited for him to catch up, keeping a close eye on Peter as she did. She watched as he climbed over a metal gate. He was now in the same field as the man who continued to walk closer and closer to him.
“You all right?” she breathlessly asked Steve.
He slowed down, shook his head and stopped next to her. Doubled over with exhaustion, he rested his hands on his knees and sucked in as much cool, refreshing air as he could. He looked up and watched as Peter stopped running and approached the unknown man.
Peter wiped sweat from his face and spat to clear phlegm from his throat.
“Are you okay?” He said between deep, forced breaths “Jesus, the chances of us finding you out here like this is just...”
He lost his footing in the slick mud and fell down to his knees, landing at the feet of the other man. He looked up into his face and, in a fraction of a second, all the hope and elation he felt disappeared. It was just another corpse. The man's face was blank and cold and drained of all emotion. His pockmarked skin was tight across his skull and had a familiar grey-green hue. His dirty, ragged clothes were loose and ill-fitting. He was as diseased as every other one of the bastards they’d seen. Dejected, Peter climbed to his feet and turned back to shout the news to the others.
“Don’t bother,” he yelled, fighting to make his voice heard over the blustery wind. “Don’t fucking bother, it’s just another walking cadaver like all the others.”
Neither Rachel nor Steve could clearly hear what he was saying. Confused, they watched as the scrawny man continued to move closer. He lifted his rotting head, seeming almost to be looking at Peter who was still facing the other way. The man's next movement was so unexpected that no one had time to react. The sound of a single sliding footstep squelching through the thick mud alerted him.
He spun around and found himself face to face with the foul creature. Before he could do anything it launched itself at him, grabbing hold of him with its emaciated arms. More from the surprise of the attack than its force Peter went slipping and sprawling to the ground. Suddenly forced into action, Steve sprinted to his friend's defense and grabbed t
he shoulders of the corpse that had now gripped hold of Peter tight with its skeletal fingers.
Although thin, the walking corpse held on with unexpected determination. Steve pulled its scrawny frame away far enough for Peter to slide his hands under its bony chest and push it up and away. With one brutal and controlled show of force he thrust the body up into the air and rolled away to safety through the sticky-slick mud.
“Okay?” Rachel yelled, rushing to Peter’s side.
He wiped splashes of foul-smelling mud from his face and nodded, still fighting to catch his breath. Already tired from the run, the brutal speed and shock of the unexpected attack had winded him.
“I'm all right,” he gasped.
The body on the ground lay on its back, squirming and struggling to right itself again. It had just hauled itself up onto its elbows when Steve kicked it onto its back again.
“Fucking bitch,” he hissed. “You stupid fucking bitch.”
The body continued to twist and writhe. Oblivious to Steve's hate and comparative strength it again lifted itself up to a standing position. Steve again pushed it back down to the ground.
“Fucking bitch,” he yelled for a third time before kicking the corpse in the face. His boot collided with its cheek and nose with a sickening crack and it stopped moving. A couple of seconds later it started again.
“Leave it,” Peter said. He stood and was being pulled back towards the house by Rachel.
“Come on, Steve, just leave it.”
Steve wasn't listening. He lashed out violently at the figure on the ground. He kicked it in the area of the left kidney, sending it rolling over away from him.
“Steve!” Rachel pleaded. “Steve, come on!”
She could see the hate and frustration in his face. He looked up at her for a fraction of a second before returning his attention to the rotting corpse in the mud. He spat into its vacant face before letting go with another brutal torrent of kicks. Oblivious to the battering it was taking, every time it was beaten down the creature tried to climb back up again. Dumbfounded, Steve took a breathless step backwards.
“Just look at this!” he shouted, pointing at the pathetic creature squirming in the mud. “This fucking thing doesn't know when to quit.”
Rachel could hear desperate, raw emotion clear in his voice. He sounded close to tears but she couldn't tell whether they were tears of pain, anger, fear or grief.
“Come on!” Peter yelled again. “Don’t waste your time. Let's get back to...”
He stopped speaking when he noticed that there was another figure in the field with them. Rachel grabbed hold of his arm.
“Look,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I see it. What the fuck is going on?”
The second figure was walking towards the survivors with the same slow, slothful intent as the first had just minutes earlier.
“There's another one coming, Steve,” Peter said, trying hard to control the rising panic in his voice.
“And another,” Rachel gasped. A third creature was staggering towards up the field towards them.
Peter took her hand and half-helped and half-pushed her back over the gate.
“Get going,” he breathed. “Get back to the house.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. She climbed over the gate and took a few hesitant steps forward before looking back. One last glance at the approaching bodies was enough. She turned and ran back towards the farmhouse for all she was worth.
“Steve!” Peter shouted. “We're going back to the house. C’mon.”
Steve looked up and saw the two corpses approaching. In a defiant last outburst of anger and frustration he kicked the still moving corpse in the head one more time. He caught it square in the face and felt bones shatter and break under the force of his boot. Thick crimson-black, blood dribbled from a gaping hole where its nose and mouth had been. The creature lay still. Satisfied, Steve turned and ran after the others.
“I'm coming,” he yelled.
He sprinted back through the mud and hauled himself over the gate, almost losing his balance when a fourth bedraggled body came from out of nowhere. He ran harder than he'd ever forced himself to run before, knowing full well that his life might depend on reaching the safety of the farmhouse.
By the time they made it back to the house the first battered corpse in the field was back on its unsteady feet again and walking. It turned awkwardly and followed eleven other bodies as they converged on the isolated building.
Chapter 35
“What the fuck is going on?” Peter cursed as he pushed open the farmhouse door and ushered Rachel inside. Steve followed seconds later and slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. Rachel slid down the wall at the bottom of the stairs and held her head in her hands.
“I don’t know I don’t know,” she said shaking her head, exhausted and out of breath.
Steve barged past Peter to peer through one of the small windows in the front door.
“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. “There are loads of them out there, loads of them. I can see at least ten from here.”
He seemed fascinated by everything happening outside. While Rachel and Peter were content to lock themselves away from the rest of the nightmare world, Steve was pumped up and ready for a fight.
Peter sat down on the stairs next to Rachel and rested his hand on her shoulder.
“They've changed,” she said, her head still held low. “I don't know what's happened or why but they've changed.”
“I think I know. Something happened last night,” he whispered, “when you and Steve were asleep.”
Rachel looked up at Peter. “What happened?”
“I went out to shut off the generator and there were four of them hanging around outside the shed.”
“You didn't say anything.”
“I thought nothing of it until now. Anyway, as soon as I switched off the generator they disappeared.”
“I don’t think they're coming any closer,” Steve said, his face pressed against the glass, not listening to their conversation. “Looks like they're moving away again.”
“Which way are they going?” Peter asked.
“It looks like their headed towards the back of the house.”
“Back to where the generator is?” Rachel asked.
“Could be, why?”
She shrugged her shoulders and held her head again. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Last night, did those people… those bodies leave when the generator was off?”
“It looked like it, yes.” Peter said.
“Well that's it then, isn't it?”
“What’s it? What do you mean?” Peter said, feeling confused. He wasn’t sure what Rachel was getting at. He respected her opinion but wished he could understand for himself what was happening to the former human beings now wandering around the desolate countryside. She may only have been a nurse, but she knows more about human physiology than he does. That makes her the last surviving authority on what remained of the human condition.
“They're regaining their senses.”
“But why now?”
“I don't know. Remember how they all of a sudden got up and started moving around?”
“Yes...”
“So this must be the same thing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve interrupted, turning from events outside to join their conversation.
“I don't know with any certainty,” she admitted. “Perhaps they weren't as badly affected as we first thought.”
“Are you shitting me?,” Steve laughed, unable to believe what he was hearing. “They couldn't have been affected any worse could they? They were fucking dead for Christ's sake!”
“I know that,” she sighed. “So maybe it's just a small part of them that's survived. The only reactions we've seen have been basic and instinctive. I learned there's a part in the middle of the brain responsible for basic instinct. That might be the part of them that's still
alive.”
“But they didn't attack us last night, did they?” Peter reminded her. “We walked right past those bastards and...”
“Perhaps they started to change last night. This is a gradual thing. It seems they've only been like this for a few hours.”
“This sounds like bullshit,” Steve snapped.
“I know it does,” Rachel admitted, “if you can come up with a better explanation, I’m all ears. One morning everyone drops dead. Two days later, most of them get up and are walking around again. A few days after that and they're responding to the outside stimulus, their eyes and ears are working again. You're right, Steve, it stinks. It does sounds like bullshit...”
“But it's happening,” Peter said. “It doesn't matter how ridiculous or far-fetched it sounds, it's happening out there.”
“I know, but...” Steve began.
“But nothing,” he interrupted. “These are the facts and we've gotta deal with them. Simple as that.”
The conversation ended, and the house became dead silent. The lack of noise unnerved Steve.
“So why did that thing attack you?” he asked, looking at Peter for an answer he knew the other man could not give.
“I don't know,” he replied.
“I'm sure it's sound they’re responding to,” Rachel said. “They hear something and turn towards it. Once they see what it is, they try to get closer.”
“That makes sense...” Peter began.
“Nothing makes sense,” Steve muttered ignoring Peter.
“The noise from the generator last night, the gunshot this morning.” Peter continued.
“So we've just got to stay quiet and stay out of sight,” she offered.
“And how the hell are we going to do that?” Steve demanded. “Where are you going to get a fucking silent car? I don’t see a Tesla sitting out in the yard. What are we going to do, ride bicycles to get our supplies while wearing fucking camouflage jackets?”
“Shut up,” Peter said, “You've got to try to deal with this, Steve.”
“Don’t patronize, and don't tell me to shut up you asshole,” Steve spat.
