Lord of the Zombies: Apocalypse (Lord of the Zombies Zombilogy Book 1)

by Parker, Des

  The zombie cat flew out the window with a surprised meow. It landed three storeys below and was completely fine; because being a zombie had its advantages.

  The table snapped and Nick crashed to the floor in a heap. A guttural and un-natural voice gargled up from his throat as he tried desperately to extricate himself from the table remnants, then slipped and fell again in an even bigger heap.

  “I’ll get you Simon, I’ll find a way - you’ll be lunch one day, I promise you that. I’ll even bring friends. We’ll make a fucking banquet of your ass.”

  In the corner of the room, Axe wedged himself uncomfortably back in his cage and started flapping his stubby, matted, zombie wings with awful glee, squawking in a horrible, “I am a dead budgie and this is what I fucking sound like,” way.

  Simon sprinted out of the apartment without looking back. He was truly on his own now.

  Chapter 8

  High Street Nightmare

  Some time later, in another part of town, Caroline was passing quickly by all the fashion shops but not stopping to browse and not because she was running late.

  In fact, fashion and running late were the last things on her mind as she ran down the high street. She had sensible shoes on, which was really helping, a nice below-the-knee warm dress, one of her favourite quiet tops, her jacket, and her favourite mohair beanie, snug on her head.

  This was a nice downmarket ensemble that she thought would not draw attention to her; yet attention was all she was getting. Everyone on the street was paying far too much attention and it wasn’t a good kind of attention.

  There was nothing worse than being pawed at, except being pawed at by people with no faces, teeth like sharks, and a really poor standard of hygiene.

  Caroline ran into a dress shop. She didn’t really like the brand. It was too posh by half and the shop owner was a stuck up cow, but it was off the street and possibly a little safer.

  She sprinted inside and slammed the door behind her. She needed help right now and, even though the woman who ran this shop was a stuck up cow, Caroline thought surely, as one of the sisterhood, the woman would help her. She ran past a low display shelf covered with several mohair scarfs. For a brief moment she thought about trying to find something that matched her beanie; because even in a zombie apocalypse there was no reason for not wearing matching clobber. She pushed that thought from her mind as the zombies entered behind her with a crashing of glass and wood.

  The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled at Caroline with jagged teeth that needed serious dental work and leapt the counter, spindly un-natural arms reaching out, drool pouring out of half a mouth, and bloodshot eyes shining with an evil cruelty.

  Caroline’s day was getting worse.

  Chapter 9

  High Street Battle

  The streets were strewn with the dead, but the dead refused to stay strewn and kept getting up, strewing more dead about the place. Society had stopped functioning and everyone seemed to be wandering the streets looking for someone to connect with, to bond with, to tear limb from limb.

  A man was walking briskly. A man alone. A man haunted by the dead, who kept getting in his fucking way.

  Simon had abandoned the car. When he came back downstairs from Nick’s flat, a small group of zombies were fighting over it; limbs were flying everywhere, with the occasional head. Simon had to kick one head aside as he ran by. It was a pretty good kick, too; he wished someone had been there to see it.

  He was in the shopping district now. The high street was lined with boutiques, upmarket cafes, menswear shops, and a greengrocer that would have looked completely out of place, except it had an exotic unpronounceable name, which blended perfectly with all the other wanker-styled names around it.

  For some inexplicable reason to Simon, storekeepers in upmarket streets liked to choose names with a chic French or Spanish sound, like Jean Yonnyles De-Cortirage, Le- Splenk or CNUTS and even symbols from forgotten mythologies they believed meant something exotic, like “stately pleasure dome,” but which actually translated to “beetle testicles.”

  Perhaps this was to make up for the overpriced stock that people with far too much money lavished on themselves, in an attempt to stand out in a room full of people just like themselves, who shopped at the same upmarket boutiques and therefore looked exactly the same.

  None of this really mattered as almost all the upmarket shop windows and café portals were broken and shattered with nasty red streaks running down the walls to the ground.

  Simon kept walking. He was about to pass the only unbroken store window, when the window shattered as a zombie catapulted, head first, into the street, landing in front of him. The zombie was formerly an upmarket female storeowner, impeccably dressed, whose mascara had run really badly, and whose new zombie face desperately needed a makeover.

  The woman stood, brushed herself off, looked at Simon and attempted to eat his face.

  Naturally she was flung back the way she came.

  There was a scream from within the store, a decidedly human scream, and the zombie woman suddenly came flying out through the window again.

  Simon was shocked. “Oh Jesus,” he whispered.

  He realised there was someone else just like him, someone human. They were inside that store, they were under attack, and most importantly, they were a she.

  The zombie woman stood up once more and was about to attack Simon again, but he wasn’t having any of it. He patted her on the forehead and she catapulted half way down the street.

  He then walked up the three short steps into the store, stepping over several shattered zombies and through a badly broken and shattered door. It was a dress shop, of a sort; they all looked the same to him, except this one needed a really good clean. There was broken shelving and merchandise strewn on the floor; an assortment of scarves, woven garments, fancy jackets, hats and handbags, and lots of messy red stains everywhere. Nobody was in the store, as far as he could see, but the curtain was pulled closed in one of the change rooms towards the back. He knew that would be where to look.

  He walked gingerly towards the curtain. “Is anybody there?” he asked in the most nonchalant voice he could muster, though it sounded a little nasally and weak.

  “No,” a female voice replied with a certain kind of formality that signified: this conversation was over, you are a wanker, fuck off before I tip my drink over your head you wanker – oh, and by the way, you are a wanker.

  “Oh,” Simon thought for a moment. “Are you human?”

  “Are you?” the voice answered with a formal tone, tinged with puzzlement, of the, maybe you’re not such a wanker after all tone, but I will reserve my judgement to see if you can put two words together without scratching your nuts.

  “Yes.”

  The voice was quiet for a moment. “Well that’s alright then.”

  “Good – I suppose. So, are you naked in there?”

  “What – no!” The voice was agitated. The, so you are a wanker after all tone, quickly returning.

  “Can you be?” Simon blurted out and immediately regretted it.

  “What!” This time the voice was sure it had struck wanker mother load and this conversation could only go down from here. Where are the fucking bouncers when you need them, the voice was probably asking itself?

  Simon started to panic. He tried resolving the situation by explaining himself, which was probably a bad move.

  “Well, it’s just I’ve been fighting off zombies all morning and I would really like to bond with another human being.”

  A woman’s face emerged from a crack in the curtains. Simon saw she was quietly pretty in a human, non-zombie way but she was just a little annoyed and showed it.

  “Well why don’t you go and bond with yourself out back – and leave me alone.” The curtains snapped closed and then, just as quickly, re-opened.

  “And another thing – oh fuck, look out.”

  Simon turned around. The zombie storeowner was directly behind
him.

  She lunged at him. This time she half-catapulted out the window, just her top half. The lower torso, hips and legs stopped at the jagged lower window edge as the top half sheared off and sailed out through the gap. The lower half of the zombie woman walked unsteadily in a circle for a moment, then slowly toppled through the gap and out of view. Simon screwed up his face and turned his gaze back to the woman in the change room. She was wincing.

  “Oh – that’s a bit nasty.” the woman said.

  “It’s been happening to me all morning,” Simon replied half-heartedly. “You get used to it after a while.”

  The woman emerged from the change room. She was wearing average clothes, not expensive ones, a long jacket, and had a colourful mohair beanie stuffed tightly on her head. She looked him up and down and noticed his cardigan.

  “You’re wearing a mohair cardigan, aren’t you?”

  Simon thought this an odd question but decided to run with it, after all, this was another human being and she was a girl, so sex was a distinct possibility when this was all over.

  “That’s an odd question to ask.” He reached out his hand to shake, reasonably confident that she would not catapult across the room. “I’m Simon by the way.”

  She looked him up and down warily then reached out to take his hand. Nothing happened; neither of them flew across the room. “Caroline.”

  Simon smiled goofily, “Hi, Caroline.”

  “Hi, Simon.” Caroline half-smiled. “Your cardigan is mohair wool, isn’t it?”

  “Yes – why”

  “It’s what is driving them off. I noticed it after the change – you know when everyone started trying to suck everyone else’s brains out. I ran in here and the zombies who followed me reacted violently as they came in contact with the mohair scarves on the display table.”

  “Mohair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mohair Wool – the sort that comes from goats?”

  “Well, technically it’s not wool, but hair harvested from the back of goats, but yes – and since my beanie and your cardigan are both mohair, we seem to have been protected from the change, and we’re very dangerous to anyone who has changed.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense.” Simon was almost beside himself, trying to grasp the concept.

  “Hey – we’re living in a world full of zombies. Who gives a stuff about what makes sense.” Caroline was nothing if not practical and down to earth.

  Simon realised how right she was. In a world where everything was completely fucked, what was one more fuck-up?

  “So, what do we do now?” Simon surveyed the messy scene around him. “We can’t really stay here.”

  Caroline cast her gaze over the remnants of the shop. “We could go and get coffee. Oh no, everyone at the coffee shop is probably dead or will just try to eat us.”

  Simon had a horrible thought. What if we’re the only ones left? Then he had another thought but thought it prudent to keep that thought to himself.

  Caroline saw the dreamy distant look flicker briefly across his face. “I know what you’re thinking – so don’t even think it.”

  “Fuck,” Simon whispered under his breath.

  “What!”

  “I mean, no, look, I mean, wasn’t thinking about sex, I was -”

  Caroline cut him off. “Yes you were – you’re a man.”

  Simon was feeling quite fragile now. “Yes – alright I was, but only briefly, I mean it was in and out and over in a second.”

  Caroline turned away with a sneer. “It usually is.”

  Simon was exasperated. This was neither the time, nor the place for sexual politics and he instinctively knew he would lose. “Look, can we please get our heads out of the bedroom and focus on the problem at hand.”

  Caroline folded her arms protectively. “Fine by me.”

  “Right – fine.” Simon folded his arms, felt silly about this, and unfolded them, all without any real sense of coordination.

  “Fine.” Caroline turned to him, shook her head with disgust, and turned her back on him again.

  Simon was crestfallen; he had no idea what to do. The only human being he had met since breakfast, who had not tried to turn him into breakfast, was now ignoring him; ignoring him and sulking, ignoring him, sulking, and turning her back on him. He didn’t want to look at the back of her; he wanted to look at the front of her. He needed to recover this situation quickly. “So what do we do?”

  Caroline shook her head and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, call the authorities or something.”

  “Oh, right,” Simon finally found something useful to do. He walked over to the remnants of the service desk and started clearing the rubbish off to find the phone. He tried very hard to ignore the red stains. It was a little harder to ignore the severed hand curled around the phone’s handpiece as he gagged.

  At that sound, Caroline spun on him. “What now?”

  “Nothing.” He replied as he quickly tossed the hand out the front window without watching it go. There was a zombie secretly spying on them from the broken window. The hand hit it squarely in the eye. The zombie disappeared from view, trying to pull the hand out of its eye socket.

  Simon used a very expensive fragment of garment to wipe off the stains and picked up the phone. There was still a dial tone. “There’s still a dial tone.”

  He dialled the emergency number and could hear the ring tones. “It’s ringing.”

  Someone picked up. “Someone has picked up.”

  A guttural growl answered him on the phone. “Shit!” Simon dropped the phone.

  “What now.” Caroline snapped.

  Simon swallowed and gingerly replaced the handset on the cradle. “The line’s gone dead.”

  “But you said someone answered.”

  “They’ve gone dead too.”

  Caroline shook her head and looked about in exasperation. “Great – so now what?”

  Simon glanced around the shop. “Do you want to try on some clothes?”

  Caroline stomped over to him and grabbed his shoulders. “No. I don’t want to try on some clothes. The clothes I’ve got are fine, the clothes I’ve got saved my life – and yours. If we had not been wearing mohair, we would be zombies too and I would have eaten your face off by now.”

  “Well, you might not have.”

  Caroline spun away, “You wanna bet.”

  Simon half moved towards her. He wanted to put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her, but he hesitated, feeling very impotent, thinking very carefully about his next words. He brightened up. “We could go for a walk.”

  “And do what?”

  “I don’t know – kill every zombie we meet?”

  Caroline turned. She was almost smiling in a way that was not funny at all. “Do you know how to kill a zombie?”

  Simon backed up, this was not going well. “Well, they sort of drop off on their own if you hit them hard enough. No – what we need is a goat.”

  “What!”

  “A goat. If the zombies are allergic to mohair and we get ourselves a goat, it could kill them for us.”

  Caroline waved her head about in a kind of nod of agreement then gave Simon a stare that sent a shivers down his spine, a second before her rage boiled over.

  “We are in the middle of the city. Do you see any goats around here? It’s not like they employ them in the council, you know, to deal with your average zombie apocalypse.”

  Caroline mimicked picking up a phone as she advanced menacingly on Simon, “Hello – yes is that the council? Yes, I’ve got a slight zombie problem in my garden; can you send a fucking goat round? Yes, Tuesday will be fine; I’ll just feed him my husband in the meantime. Thank you.” She slammed her imaginary phone down.

  Simon backed himself into a change room. He pulled the curtain closed, hiding Caroline from view.

  Caroline was angry. “Don’t you dare shut me out.”

  Simon peeked out through a gap in the curtain. “We could a
lways go to the country.”

  Caroline ripped the curtain aside. “I haven’t got a car.”

  “We could steal one – I’ve done it once already, so I’m a bit of an expert. I don’t think the traffic will be bad. I mean its not peak hour and zombies don’t drive, so we should be alright.”

  “Okay,” Caroline relaxed. “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “Thank you for your support.” Simon straightened himself up and they walked towards the door.

  Neither of them noticed that the one-eyed zombie had returned and was watching through the broken window. It smiled evilly and its lower jaw dropped off. With a half-faced sneer, which was pretty difficult to achieve with only half a face, the zombie picked up its lower jaw and sneaked away unseen; it had an important message to deliver to the master.

  Chapter 10

  Albert

  Albert died on an average day, as average days go. He had gotten up, gone to the shop on his way to work, and turned into a zombie. The most unnerving thing was that Albert could remember it all. He remembered picking up the paper, reading the headline about another government scandal, another lying politician in bed with another businessman and half a football team.

  He remembered buying the energy drink that tasted like pee and wondering why in God’s name people bought such crap and then remembered the adverts telling him it was an easy way to stay alert, instead of getting enough sleep.

  He remembered the weird sensation as his entire body quivered. He remembered Mr Zambiek, the shopkeeper, looking at him in a queer way, and he remembered the overwhelming desire to eat Mr Zambiek.

  He even remembered paying for his drink, even as his conscious thoughts were lost in an overwhelming lust for fresh meat, and he remembered the red fog descending over his gaze as he sunk his teeth into the man handing him his change. He remembered Mr Zambiek yelling at him, and then doing something really weird and twisted with his face. Albert then remembered seeing his own face reflected in a glass cabinet door and screaming aloud as something vile and hideous stared back at him.