The One Percent (Episode 1): The One Percent

by Heller, Erik P.

  “Right then. We go in the morning. Make sure you have everything you need with you.”

  “And make sure we all dress like normal people. No tweeds and cords.” Jezza looked pointedly at me. Yep he had a point.

  IX0X0X0X0X0X0XI

  The tunnel to the church had been there, well, forever I suppose. It had collapsed at the end of the nineteenth century and been rebuilt, back when estates such as Lanchcombe had played an important role in rural life.

  It ran from the cellar of the house, straight to a set of steps below the vestry of the church.

  The next morning, the four of us gathered in the kitchens. Outside, it was raining, but it didn’t stop the undead from clamouring at every door and window into the building, ten or twenty deep in most places.

  I have to admit I found them fascinating in a macabre sort of way. They literally did nothing once they were in position. They just stood there, the ones at the front getting increasingly crushed against the wood or glass they had decided to stand against. The loud creaks and groans from straining doors and window frames convinced me that we were doing the right thing.

  Jezza and I had liberated a couple of swords from the displays on the walls. Parker had a twelve bore over each shoulder and another sword in a scabbard that I guessed might have been his own from his time in the army. Jean had grabbed a large knife and a marble rolling pin from the kitchens.

  Everybody was dressed appropriately, if there was an appropriate way to dress for a Zombie apocalypse, even me, in jeans and a T-shirt with a thick jacket over the top. If I thought I could have fit into any of the displays of armour, I would have worn that, but they all seemed to have been made for midgets back then. OK, exaggeration perhaps, but I’d have to have been the size of Tom Cruise’s short-arsed little brother to have got into any of them.

  Just as I reached out to open the door down into the cellar, I heard a distant crash from elsewhere in the house, and the constant groan that the Zombies made was suddenly amplified, echoing through the otherwise silent house.

  Jean whimpered slightly.

  I didn’t bother looking around. I just said, “They’re in. We need to go now.” I grabbed the door handle and twisted. The door swung open as I pulled. The steps down into the cellar were stone, and slick with damp. The cellars had been out of use for decades. Knowing it was pointless to flip the light switch, I flicked on the one torch we had between us to light the way down.

  I held up the torch to light the way as the other three entered the cellar. All the time the groans of the incursive undead upstairs rose in volume as they scented, or heard us, or whatever the hell passes for senses in their damaged brains.

  Once I got everybody else in, I headed down the steps myself, hoping my almost new pair of boots had a decent grip as I didn’t want to go arse over tit down the stairs in front of the others. I mean I might be a bit of an arse at times, but I’d prefer not to look like one at such an early stage.

  I’d closed and bolted the door so with any luck that would keep the horde back long enough for us to get away.

  Jezza had already unlocked the door that blocked off the tunnel, the key having hung, unused for years, on the wall beside the door. Once we were all inside, single-file because it was narrow, and me and Jezza at least, bent over to avoid smacking our heads on the ceiling which was about two inches lower than my six-four frame. Midgets see?

  I passed the light forward to Jezza, who was apparently doing something called ‘taking point’, whatever that meant.

  Brian followed behind him, not having to duck, and Jean was ahead of me, traipsing along without a care in the world with a good eight-inch gap between her and the roof.

  The tunnel was clear, which is probably something I should have considered before we came down, otherwise we would have had to go back, a thought which brought a shudder to my spine. The spiders and associated webs didn’t help either.

  The trip, when it came, was spectacular. First Jezza, which was a pain, because he let go of the torch, sending it spinning along the tunnel, finally smashing against the wall, and blinking out. Jacobs, followed, I heard an ‘Oof’ or two as he landed on Jezza, then Jean. She smacked down on Jacobs with a shrill scream that echoed along the tunnel and made my ears whistle.

  Seeing and hearing all of the kerfuffle ahead of me I stopped. A wise decision I thought in the circumstances. I fumbled around in my jacket pocket for the lighter I’d picked up before I left.

  I gave up smoking a couple of years ago and I know, I know, it’s bad for your health and all that but so is getting bitten by some undead maniac, so I raided my father’s stash of cigarettes and borrowed—for which read took—one of his lighters. I didn’t think he would be needing them in all truth.

  The lighter only cast a dull, flickering light but it was enough to see by. All I could see was a load of struggling arms and legs. And the dead body of the vicar.

  Or, to be pedantic, the undead body of the vicar.

  He was sitting up against the wall of the tunnel in what looked like his normal, everyday clothes of black shirt and trousers, blazer, and dog collar. I assume Jezza must have thought he was dead when he saw him.

  “Bastard grabbed me by the leg,” Jezza said now the jumble of limbs had sorted itself out into three people again.

  “Did he bite you?” I asked.

  “Nah, just got a handful of denim thank god.”

  “Good.” I held the flame closer to the vicar’s face. He did not look well at all. The flame flickered in the slow, cool breeze that bled through the tunnel, sending jagged shadows dancing across the vicar’s once-serene face. His skin was sallow and marked with burst pustules that glowed white and suppurated on his grimacing, growling face.

  Wondering why he had come down here and not bothered going to the house, I panned the lighter across his body and down to where his legs had once been. His trousers were ragged and torn from above the knee, and all that remained from there down were legbones, held together by thin strands of half-chewed muscle and ligaments. Both feet were, from what I could tell, almost entirely complete but showing signs of having been chewed upon by something. Or someone.

  Jezza had managed to retrieve the torch and got it working again. I flipped the top of the lighter back over and slipped it into my pocket. I could feel it, still hot, through my trousers.

  “Shit a brick,” Jezza said in his normal considerate tone, “Look at the state of his legs.”

  The reason why the vicar was sitting in the tunnel soon became clear to everyone else once the light from the torch was played over him.

  Jean sucked in a lungful of air and was about to scream before Jezza grabbed her and slammed his hand over her mouth. The muffled noise didn’t carry far or send everyone’s ears ringing as it surely would have.

  Once she had finished and had fallen into sobs at the Vicar’s plight, Jezza turned her and gave her a shoulder to cry on.

  “Fuck me,” Jacobs said and took a step back, bumping up against the wall of the tunnel out of reach of the vicar’s scrabbling, almost worn to the bone fingers, and the snap of his jaw. It was no sermon he was preaching, just the mindless gnashing of the undead.

  “We appear to have a problem,” I said, not wishing to panic anyone.

  “Nah, we’re past him now, we can keep going,” Jezza said over Jean’s jerking shoulder.

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “So, what is?”

  Brian spoke up. “I think what His Gr … sorry, Frank is trying to say is that there’s no way the vicar could have walked here like that. He was attacked here. That means—”

  “There’s more of them down here,” Jezza said, easing Jean away and looking into the tunnel as far as he could see with the torch.

  “At least one I’d suggest.” I said.

  “Ssshhh,” Jean said. Considering the blubbing she’d been doing, I thought that was a bit rich.

  We all fell quiet, the silence broken only by the relentless growling
, and crashing together of teeth, coming from what used to be the vicar.

  Jezza’s sudden movement startled me as he turned, and with one smooth thrust, jabbed his sword into the vicar’s temple then pulled it back out.

  The vicar growled no more. His body, now sleeping in heavenly peace, slid slowly sideways to the floor of the tunnel.

  Jezza turned back the way we were heading.

  Nobody said a word.

  As we all strained to hear what Jean had obviously picked up, a slow, low groan rose, further along the tunnel. It echoed slightly as it peaked and fell in the half darkness.

  “I think there’s only one,” I said as I strained to hear.

  Jean sounded like she was close to hyperventilating. “We should go back.”

  “We can’t, Jean.” Brian touched a hand to Jean’s shoulder. “Those things are in the house now. If we go back, we’ll be fighting a horde. If we go forward, we’ll only have to fight one of them.”

  Jean seemed to manage to catch her breath and turned to smile at Brian. At least I think it was a smile. Hopefully, it was a precursor to better times for her once we got out and away.

  She placed her hand on his and bobbed her head to show she understood what he was saying to her. I was glad he’d taken the lead. Although I hadn’t said anything to him, I was hoping his military experience would help us out.

  “I’ll go first,” Brian said, “You stay behind me and if something happens at least you’ll have a chance to work out what to do. Give me the torch please?” He held out his hand at Jezza who didn’t seem too enamoured with the idea of giving up the torch, but, eventually, he saw sense.

  Brian set off along the tunnel, one shotgun held out in front of him, the other tucked through the straps of the pack he was carrying. The torch cast a bright circle of light around the tunnel as we all moved forward.

  I would have liked more than one of us to be able to fight with whatever was along the tunnel, but there just wasn’t enough space for two people to walk side by side.

  I hadn’t thought of that when I’d suggested the tunnel.

  The last time I’d been in it was as a child, maybe six- or seven-years old, excited to be playing soldiers with my younger brother, being able to be as loud as we liked, rather than stuck in the strictly quiet house as ordered by my father.

  I often wondered, once I was old enough to see my father for what he was—a cold and tyrannical man—whether he had ever had feelings for Gerald and myself. If he did he was very adept at keeping them frightfully well hidden.

  I’d lined up behind Brian, Jean behind me, and Jezza watching our backs, although, in the scheme of things, I don’t suppose it really mattered how we lined up.

  We’d maybe walked another twenty yards when we saw what had attacked the vicar.

  As soon as the Zombie ahead of us saw the light, it spun around, and growled. Baring its bloodstained teeth, drool dripping from each corner of its mouth, it stepped towards us. Well, I say us, but its gaze, through bloodshot whites and milky white irises pierced by a single pinprick of pupil, was actually fixed firmly on Brian.

  With one fisted hand raised in the air, our little column of humanity came to a halt. I had no idea what the hand signal meant of course, but Brian stopped so I did too.

  “What do you think, Brian?”

  Brian didn’t reply immediately, watching the Zombie, obviously trying to gauge how quickly it would reach us.

  “I think you should cover your ears,” Brian said calmly.

  “I think that would be wise, what about you though?”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Very well, let me tell the others.” I turned around and told the other two, who both copied me with our hands over our ears.

  As the thing approached, I realised who it was. Mrs Biggings, the church organist. She was another OAP, a bit like cook, who seemed to have been around for ever.

  As I looked over my shoulder she looked dreadful, her face covered in blood, her hands in a similar state, and her prim white blouse and plaid skirt now stained black and pink from the dirt on the floor and from her newly acquired eating disorder.

  She most certainly wouldn’t be crucifying the carols at a St. Hilda’s Christmas Concert again. Her Hark the Herald Angels Sing was truly memorable for how she was constantly behind the beat and playing at three-quarter speed, off key. Excruciating.

  When Brian lifted his shotgun, I turned away and blocked the view for Jean who, I believed, counted Mrs Biggings as a friend.

  When the shot went off—both barrels I judged—I was glad I’d blocked my ears because the sound, in the confines of the tunnel, was deafening. When I turned back, the tunnel was full of acrid gun smoke that made us all cough and cover our mouths as the gentle breeze blew it back our way.

  Mrs Biggings’ body lay on the ground on its back. Her head, and the contents thereof, were streaked back along the tunnel, decorating the walls and floor with a grizzly, dribbling splash of colour.

  I didn’t really have a lot of time after taking my hands from my ears before I realised something else was going on. Beneath my feet I could feel a deep, rumbling vibration. I looked along the tunnel to where Mrs Biggings lay, still twitching slightly, when suddenly I could see daylight. Just a single ray poking down into the tunnel.

  “Shit,” I said, “the roof’s collapsing. Run back the way we came.” Nobody moved an inch. “Move,” I yelled at the top of my voice. Jezza and Jean finally reacted as the next dollop of bare earth and flint bricks began to collapse behind me. I was about to go when I glanced behind to see Brian, standing, watching the roof fall.

  I grabbed him by the backpack and spun him around.

  His face was blank, and he looked to be in a lot of pain. He might well have deafened himself by letting off the gun down there.

  There wasn’t time for some elaborate sign language explanation of what was going on, so I just grabbed one of his straps and started to run, pulling him along.

  There was no way of knowing just how much of the roof was going to come down, or, more worryingly what was likely to fall in with it.

  I could see the fleeing footsteps of Jean and Jezza ahead and it seemed like only seconds before we were back at the door from the cellar. We’d managed to stay ahead of the roof fall but there was a chance it might fall right up to the house. As it was it finally came to a stop, twenty-five feet from the end where we had gathered, panting. I was bent over with my hands on my knees, my lack of exercise clear for all to see.

  The only one who wasn’t out of breath was Brian, but he seemed to be completely out of it, his eyes swimming, and apparently unable even to balance very well. He kept shaking his head which probably didn’t help.

  Thirty seconds after the roof stopped collapsing, the first Zombies dropped in to see us, landing on top of the pile of earth, and tumbling to the bottom of the now open-topped ex-tunnel.

  As soon as the Zombies saw us standing there, a mere five feet from where we had entered the tunnel, they turned and growled, taking shaky steps toward us.

  We were trapped. I could hear the mindless hammering behind us, meaning the cellar was breached and all that was holding the undead back was a thin, damp wooden door. I didn’t think it would last for long.

  Three mindless freaks had fallen in. All three were already heading our way.

  Jean was squealing and shrieking behind me as Jezza tried to push his way past, but the narrowness of the tunnel was conspiring, along with Jean’s flailing arms, to make life hard to do that.

  It was down to me.

  I did a quick waltz to swap positions with a still dazed Brian and faced the first of the three.

  I raised my sword. As the Zombie lunged toward me I jabbed at it with the sword. Not in the face but in the chest. Even though I knew I had to destroy the brain, the thing standing opposite to me still looked human.

  It wasn’t covered in blood.

  It wasn’t missing any body parts.

 
It didn’t even look like it had been bitten which chimed with what I knew about what had caused this whole mess.

  Much as I wanted to, the idea of stabbing a person in the head, or lopping its head clean off was a step beyond what I could force myself to do.

  My brain was telling me to do it before it bit a chunk out of me, but my heart wouldn’t let me do it.

  It staggered back a bit when I poked it in the chest. It looked like a perfectly normal, slightly rabid, snarling, pustule-covered human being.

  It took me aback slightly when it stopped growling and let out a deep, throaty roar. It had a bad case of halitosis I noticed. Funny what you notice when you’re about to be ripped to pieces.

  I gulped and prepared to push it back, if nothing else to give me a bit of time to think about what we did next.

  Behind, in the cellar, Zombies, and lord knows how many of them.

  Ahead, three of the buggers, all, by now, on their feet and heading our way.

  Plan A certainly seemed to have gone out the window.

  IX0X0X0X0X0X0XI

  “For god’s sake Frank, kill the thing.” I heard Jezza’s voice in my ear. He sounded more than a bit miffed. “If you can’t do it, let me through and I will.”

  So far, my plan had been what could fairly be described as a bit of a disaster. We were stuck between two groups of Zombies, either of which would probably finish us off if they got the chance, and we’d only managed to get five feet from the house. Not exactly the Great Escape.

  I just knew that if I gave way and let Jezza deal with the threat ahead of us, I would never hear the last of it, and I think my position, one I had assumed, granted, as leader of our erstwhile group, may have come under threat.

  It was time to put my inner sensitivities to bed and do something to get us out of the mess we were in.

  So, I lifted my sword, aimed it squarely for the thing’s eye socket, and jabbed it forward. The sword popped the Zombie’s eye like a squashed grape but scraped up against something behind it, which I assumed was the back of its eye socket. More force required. Rather than taking the sword out I drove forward with my legs a couple of steps.