Beach Town: Apocalypse

by Maxwell-Harrison, Thomas

  ‘We can sleep tonight,’ Douglas spoke. ‘There’s a few hours of darkness left; I’ll keep watch.’ Douglas retreating to the wall next to the bathroom door, where the paper had peeled off. A content smile on his face. Delila shuffled up the bed and lay down, pulling the blanket over herself and closing her eyes.

  Rain began pattering on the window frame, the inside covered in streaks of dust. The moonlight now obscured by clouds and the only source of light in the room, the candle on the bedside table, was melting fast.

  ***

  Morning broke over the rooftops, remnants of humanity shimmered across Beach Town, scattered fires lit up parts of the neighbourhoods, corpses shambled in every corner alley and down every street. Electricity was out, water was out, phonelines were fried and emergency service numbers failed to dial. Nothing of the busy town remained, it was akin to a deserted town. The only survivors left had taken shelter in homes, some families were lucky to survive, and others fortified their front doors. The police on patrol were now rogue militants. The police station was home to a chaotic and uncoordinated team of undertrained officers. The only way out of town, blocked.

  The screaming black tar creatures had gathered a following of various corpses, each dressed uniquely, some in their birthday suits – or death day suits – some were half eaten, guts trailing along the concrete slabs of the pavements. The creatures were aptly named screamers by the remaining serving officers, roaming Beach Town with a gang of the undead in tow. The officers had one way to contact each other, their radios, and that was not efficient enough, considering the radios were constantly cutting out due to interference.

  It was Sheila who had witnessed the screamers inflict death. They possessed great agile capabilities and tended to crouch in bushes. They would use their hands as razors and cut the throats of the victims. The victims would fall and then corpses would pile on them.

  It was as if – as Sheila had murmured as her flat burnt - they were feeding the dead. Sheila was watching over the town from a high, safe window. The new day shone into her apartment where blue flames whipped and flicked viciously, it was a short matter of time before she had no choice but to jump.

  A few stragglers roamed the motel, clueless braindead freaks were waddling in the mesmerising crisp red dawn. People once considered smart were now walking into walls and gazing moronically at the crows and seagulls that swooned overhead.

  Their slowness had given Douglas an idea, especially since he had managed to reach the Jeep behind the petrol station. The keys had been in the exhaust. He had to get it running and to the motel room quietly without attracting them. He was locked inside the Jeep. The doors secured. The distant hills behind the petrol station shimmered with a heat, the island was like that, unpredictable weather. Up and down, rain and sunshine.

  Today the weather didn’t matter, surviving did. Humanity now had to endure a battle of redemption, of security and trust. Douglas smirked, empowered by the sunrise, keying the ignition, a look of determination across his face and fire from the sunlight in his eyes, unmoved, powerful.

  The vehicle revved to life and the brown four door Jeep shot a clump of black smoke out the rear smouldering the bricks of the petrol station as Douglas shifted to first. The bins were overloaded. The building riddled with cracks sprouting olive vines and spouting weeds from every crevice.

  Around the corner an open road, he toed the accelerator and the Jeep rolled forward. Creeping the Jeep around the building Douglas saw a clear route approximately thirty yards to the motel. The ticking over of the small engine was drawing the attention of birds that feasted on dropped foods and crisp packets. Some crows rested inside the abandoned cars that had been dumped at the pumps. Fuel was spilt over the floor, Douglas spotted it and as the Jeep drove over the spillage, he tightened the grip on the steering wheel. The entire place could explode, go nuclear, if something sparked it. All it would take is a shot of fumes from the exhaust and the petrol station and motel and all birds would be obliterated.

  Douglas pulled the Jeep alongside the motel room. Douglas put the handbrake on and honked the horn, a few monsters stumbled out of the other motel rooms. Naked women came from the room furthest away, Douglas admired their naked splendour with a grin. They still looked alive if it wasn’t for that crooked stall paced limp. The morning dew on the windshield gave everything a fuzzy appearance. One of the motel rooms seemed to be coveted in a white smoke. Douglas could not move at the realisation that the smoke flickering from one of the motel rooms could be a raging fire inside. He shivered and his stomach rumbled which attracted the undead from the petrol station.

  ‘Come on, where are you,’ Douglas complained, his arms shaking and the car vibrations rippling through his spine with every revolution. He honked the horn again, longer.

  Delila appeared from the motel room carrying Samuel. Douglas gritted his teeth hoping there was time for her to get in the Jeep without getting eaten or blowing up. Douglas spotted the electrocuted officer in the puddle, the officers burnt face and torn flesh made Douglas quiver. Delila approached the Jeep, but her timing didn’t ease Douglas’s grimace.

  Flames began to spit from the doorway further down. The dead were fast approaching the bonnet, clawing at the metal. The sound was like marbles rolling across a stainless-steel sheet.

  Delila struggled to open the door and get in, but she managed to place Samuel - who was awake and wide eyed and calm - on the seat. Douglas could not take his sight from the flickering flames in the doorway or the beasts in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Come on for god’s sake,’ Douglas cried out. ‘Come on!’ The creatures started clawing the doors. Delila was in and holding Samuel in her arms again.

  Douglas floored the acceleration pedal. They all sunk into the leather seats as the Jeep screeched off, as Douglas turned sharp left and onto the main road. One of the corpses arms had torn off in the tire as the body was flung sideways into the motel wall. The Jeep was speedily beginning its journey to main street. The boulders side bank was lined with blood streaks and remains of bodies. There was shirts and random items of clothing scattered over the side bank.

  Douglas looked in the rear-view mirror, his face dripping in sweat. The motel and station grew smaller. The flames erupted into the air, a small grey mushroom cloud appeared, then a bang rumbled through the road, followed by a pop, the shockwave rippled through the steering wheel and the glass in the rear-view mirror smashed and Delila screamed and Samuel began to cry. The journey to salvation had begun.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Revelation

  The remaining police officers stood quietly around the radio table, watching the radio eagerly whilst sipping the last of the water from the fountain in Styrofoam cups. Charlie was making his way around the station without being noticed after slipping in the back door. Keenly spying the police and eager for Harry to wake up. Charlie had found the bandages on Harry’s wounds awe inspiring. The pain from his neck scar pulsed for the remainder of his pacing. He finally settling on a darkened oak bench near the reception desk.

  After removing officer Pauls body – another officer managed to find the janitors mop and clean the mess using a bottle of surface disinfectant – the officers stood twiddling thumbs and asking each other open ended questions such as what could we do next and how did this start. One of them had brought down the steel chairs from interrogation rooms.

  James and Sam had woken and were merrily playing but James constantly looked at his father. Sam jumped on Harry a couple of times. The remaining doctor had to shout at him so he wouldn’t claw at Harry’s already wounded body.

  Charlie watched with a grin. Charlie had no need to move. The two officer’s stationed at the front door had re-entered. Seemingly unaware of the body that Charlie had dumped over the sidewall. Because of their obliviousness he could sit quietly, protected from the elements until rescue arrived, or however long until the officers spotted him.

  Every officer had been rattled by the horrendous event
s that had unfolded. When the morning dew settled and the clear blue sky broke over town, the officers felt the remnants of the thundering clash of the motel explosion. The petrol station was blown to oblivion along with any survivors. It was pointless to call for any emergency services. The officers had grunted in agreement that they would stick together until rescue arrived.

  Charlie appeared to find the officers amusing, bearing a jeering smirk across his stubbly face. The officers had been locking him up earlier. But after breaking one officers neck – amongst other victims – he sat joyfully watching the pigs sip the last of their supplies.

  A young Caribbean male officer, unbuttoned white shirt, shaking hands and a nervous expression, walked over to the reception desk and was taken by surprise. Charlie smirked at the officer.

  ‘I’m taking charge, get back to the radio and see if you can help,’ the young officer said to Charlie. ‘There obviously isn’t any point waiting for the Lieutenant to arrive,’ he continued. The officers slanted tag read Ken. Charlie burst out laughing, his coarse laugh breaking to a choke. Ken looked with distaste. Ken was a well-built man, and Charlie only had stature on his side, Ken could surely out manoeuvre Charlie.

  The other officers glared to Charlie and Ken but didn’t advance, unaware of the threat. Ken adjusted his belt. His trousers were torn along the shin.

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ Charlie replied, leaning against the reception desk and clasping his hands together in anticipation. Ken sternly gazed at Charlie.

  ‘We should move all officers up to the roof,’ officer Ken said. ‘The top floor of the station. We need to get the word out to the men on the front line. God bless them I hope they are alive. To the rooftop. We’ll set off the emergency flares from storage, the military isn’t the only rescue,’ Ken gasped with sweat sticking to his shirt. Ken rubbed his thin jawbone and it clicked. Charlie scorned.

  ‘No chance,’ one officer holding water said. The officers were beat, all of them appeared exhausted and bored.

  ‘We should stay in the warm,’ a middle-aged officer chipped in. ‘We can’t take our chances living on the roof.’ All six officers mumbled followed by random agreements.

  The doctor attended to Harry and James trying to keep his head low to avoid disagreement. Officer Ken went pale seeing the disagreement.

  ‘You are a genius,’ Charlie said sarcastically. ‘We can wait on the roof until rescue arrives.’ Charlie smiled deceptively. ‘I think you are onto something,’ Charlie continued whilst grimacing at the other officers.

  ‘At least you are with me,’ Ken sounded optimistic. The officers resumed their redundant quavering and talking, and Ken approached Charlie on the bench. Ken’s shirt drenched and his face sunken.

  Ken carried a pistol on his belt; the holster was unclipped. Charlie glimpsed the pistol and slowly reached into his jacket. Before Ken could speak Charlie equipped his knife from his jacket and forcefully drove the dagger through Ken’s stomach. Blood pooled from Ken’s mouth and stomach down his trousers before collecting around his feet. Charlie wrapped his arm around Ken pulling him close. The officers were oblivious, but the doctor noticed.

  ‘Stop!’ the doctor yelled as his Poirot style moustache flicked.

  The officer equipped their pistols. Sippy cups were dropped, and they had all pistol sights on Charlie. James coveted Sam and snuggled into his father’s unconscious arms. One wrong move and Charlie was dead.

  Ken was still breathing and whimpering, crying tears of blood. Charlie stood up using the dagger to lift Ken.

  ‘Drop it,’ the only female officer shouted. Her pistol was a silver colt with fire sight. She aimed straight at Charlie’s head. He held Ken the Caribbean closer, ignoring the blood that spooled from Ken’s brown lips onto his leather jacket.

  To the right of the reception desk, the staircase. Where Harry lay unconscious on a makeshift bed whilst James and Sam hid in his arms.

  She fired her colt, the bullet ricocheted off the rear stone wall.

  ‘Whoa lady, not cool,’ Charlie yelled. ‘Fire again and I’ll burn you all.’ The female officer lowered her gun as another officer placed one hand on her shoulder.

  The officers lowered their pistols. Charlie began to move towards the staircase. He reached the first step, froze and then tossed Ken forward snapping Ken’s ankle. The station became an auditorium of high-pitched shouting before going silent. Charlie ducked his head and darted up the stairs.

  Two officers ran for the stairs, but the doctor commanded them to stay and the officers stood down stowing their pistols. The officers turned to look at Ken’s bleeding corpse, another lost warrior in the new world. Ken’s eyes flickered as he exhaled his last breath.

  ‘Another officer dead,’ the doctor said. ‘I think we should prioritise now. By the way, this patient is waking up and we need to secure him.’ The doctor pointed to Harry who squirmed and groaned. James watched in awe, holding Sam tightly in his arms. Harry opened his eyes for the first time in hours and the doctor took a sharp intake of breath. The officers gossiped. James looked into the eyes of his father. Harry’s eyes were milk white.

  ‘Take your time,’ the doctor said softly to Harry. ‘You’ve sustained some damage, a few cuts and bruises. Heck you’ve been through a war. It Looks like you could do with some water too.’ Harry propped himself up on his elbows. James let Sam loose and he didn’t skitter off, but instead seemed intrigued by Harry, purring at him, rubbing his face on his arms. Harry gently stroked Sam. ‘He can see, thank god,’ the doctor added.

  Some officers had been ignorant of anything the doctor had said but now they had looks of awe and respect. The female officer had moved to the bottom of the stairs, trying to see if Charlie was still in sight.

  ‘He’s gone,’ she said. ‘We can’t let him run loose in the building.’ Nobody was paying attention to her.

  Harry looked pale and worn but had an expression of discerning judgement. Two officers returned to the front doors and left to guard the front. The door officers were briefed not to respond to the internal threats.

  Harry was goggle eyed and his left arm shook. He felt his leg wound, it was now cleansed and bandaged, the tape neatly cut by the doctor. He felt his new clothes, someone changed him. Sam rubbed against his hands, tail up and weaving his head around. Harry smiled and then hugged James tightly. James pushed him away with a profound smile.

  The doctor had walked to the table for the water cups. He took one and then pulled a strip of paracetamol from his pocket. Harry felt a pulse of relief. His head hadn’t ached so much since having a hangover, but he struggled to remember when that was. Time had dilated, Harry forgot where he was and what was happening. The confusion made him tremble. The doctor now placed the cup in his hands, and Harry took the pills the doc had popped out for him. Two gulps and the water were as ice, refreshing. Immediately the officers jumped back, each startled and commenting. Words buzzed in Harry’s head. The room became a glowing orb of light, and then faded to normalcy again.

  ‘If you can’t deal with it then try and do something useful,’ the doctor choked kneeling next to Harry. Shakily he placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry felt more confusion. ‘Can you talk? Take it easy, you’ll have time to recollect the situation later,’ the doctor added, scratching his white stubble. Harry pushed himself up, with the help of the doctor, into a sitting position against the staircase. He felt the blanket and it was smoother than ever, it was unreally beautiful, the glow of each object intensified, and even James’s skin looked vibrant and new. Harry made a thumbs up gesture with his hands. The doctor and James watched on in amusement. Sam skittered off towards the officer’s. The police stood at ease, because Harry was awake and not a creepy walking dead.

  Something flashed in Harry’s right eye and he felt like talking but couldn’t. His mouth moving jaggedly. Harry touched his cheeks with his detailed index, its wrinkles like canyons of warping black matter. The world of his hands was all-encompassing of his imagination.
He thought momentarily that he was on drugs, but he wasn’t, because he felt absent minded. Harry looked around at the figures appeared with a small orange simmering light around them which faded to purple and white. His throat popped air and the words croaked out as if his oesophagus were dry.

  ‘Where…Where…Where,’ Harry couldn’t fathom the words, something to do with where he was. Trying to talk was a heavy pressing in his stomach. He pointed steadily to his forehead then gave a thumbs up. He knew his brain worked, but his voice didn’t. God knows what other things didn’t work, like his ability to walk straight. The doctor acknowledged with a smile and thumbs up.

  ‘Good,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll be here if you need me but feel free to explore the main hall. Please refrain from going upstairs, some guy wearing a leather jacket has killed an officer and made for the upper levels.’ The doctor stood and walked over to the radio table. The female officer returned from the staircase with an angered sour grimace wiped on her face.

  Harry gulped and then realised with dread that it may be Charlie from the hospital. Charlie had been acting suspiciously after leaving the station, but had he returned, and for what reason. Memories flooded back. his lower back tingled, and his left leg ached. He rubbed the thigh, the clean joggers breathable and comforting. James hadn’t moved from his fathers’ side since he woke, and Harry was glad. But there was a feeling of emptiness in Harry’s heart, as if he were unhappy to be alive. But he reassured himself, hugging James, that this was a brilliant thing. What he couldn’t remember was the last words Sheila spoke, or his wife.

  ‘Oh, call me John by the way, or doctor, it’s up to you,’ John the doctor called across to Harry, who managed a smile. His face was particularly tender. Some of the officers laughed and John shook it off with a middle finger. Harry could feel the sense of instant connection, everyone was literally surviving now so it didn’t matter who was present, it only mattered that they weren’t psycho’s intent on hurting anyone. Harry chuckled to himself, his laugh fraught sharply with air.