by Parker, Des
He remembered the terror inside as he tried to run from that monster but was unable to walk faster than a shuffle, his legs not complying with his wishes. He could hear the moaning and realised it was coming from him.
And all along, he could feel the red fog, the hunger, drowning his mind. There was a need to feed and he knew what he had become; he just couldn’t help himself. He could feel himself disappearing as this thing took over.
Some time passed and Albert, or the thing that once been Albert, was still hungry. He had wandered aimlessly, no thoughts in the thing that may have once been his head. He had passed many others like himself and had bitten most of them, but they tasted just like him and there was no relief to the hunger. In the back of the thing that had once been Albert’s mind, something strange happened.
He would have called them thoughts, if he knew what thoughts were, but knowledge and self-awareness had deserted him and left him only with the hunger; the less he ate, the more this niggling itch started somewhere inside his head. He remembered his name. He didn’t know what a name was, but it seemed to be something that might help him.
He started looking around; properly looking around, and then he saw the man in the robes. The man in the robes looked at him and the thing that had once again started calling itself Albert started following the man. Soon, many others like him, started following the man.
The man in the robes had purpose where they had none; for some strange reason, his purpose became their purpose and the man in the robes started ordering them around and they began to follow his orders.
The man in the robes started talking of food, of brains, of intestines, of small gabby lumps that would be really good on toast, and he promised to lead them to food, if they followed him and did his bidding.
Then the man organised them into groups and they did something completely surprising.
Chapter 11
On the Run
Two people walking down a deserted empty street. Well, two people, except for all the zombies clearing a path for them, in a dramatic, if somewhat messy, fashion.
Two people walking down a deserted, empty street, slipping constantly on the eviscerated corpses of dozens of dead people. It was very slow going, and the zombies being flung out of their path, was just a little off-putting, but they soldiered up, because it’s what you do, catapulting zombies or otherwise.
Two people alone, walking down a street. A man and a woman - searching. She, for a decent car to steal. He, for a quick glance down her top, or through the gap in the buttons of her top – oh, and for a car to steal.
They pass several abandoned vehicles, many with the engines still running, but they are looking for a particular one. After all, if you’re going to steal a car and you have the choice of any you come across, you might as well find something worthwhile.
They finally settled on an Audi TTS, a black one, and barrelled off down the road, trying desperately to miss as many zombies as they could, which is surprisingly hard to do when the buggers are everywhere.
In another part of town, the zombie who was spying on them earlier comes before his master. He kneels, and one arm falls off. He shudders in fear, and his other arm falls off at the elbow.
“Do you want to pick that up?” His master’s voice whispered with barely controlled rage. It’s all very reasonable and no one gets hurt. The zombie spy is slightly confounded as he tries to pick up one of his arms, with the stub of his remaining elbow, but he is not having much success.
“Speak,” His master commands.
There would be a stab of dramatic music if this was a movie, but it isn’t, so there is very little to indicate the gravity of this moment.
His master stands quietly in full-length black robes, face obscured under a conveniently-placed shadow, arms stretched wide to embrace this new world as he listens to his minion’s report.
The report is concluded and the minion’s head falls off. His body slumps forward, landing on his master’s boot. His master steps over him, wipes his boot on the crumpled body and strides away. The zombie spy sits up, tries pushing his torso back on to his head, but it rolls away and he has to chase after it.
This would be just a little creepy if this were not a brave new world where the creepy is normal and the normal is creepy.
Chapter 12
Trapped
Caroline is driving; Simon in the passenger seat. The TTS handles well, Caroline is now used to the gears and the steering is very responsive. If this were a television show about cars, she would be the clever one, describing the history of Audi, the engineering marvels of traction control when a snap turn is required to steer clear of several zombies, or the suspension and how it compensates, flawlessly, while sailing on to the footpath at seventy to avoid a particularly dense crowd of undead brain munchers. She would also have much better fashion sense.
Simon was admiring her and her driving. “Four to the left.”
Caroline snapped the car to the right. “I can see them you know – and stop looking at my top.”
“Sorry. Simon felt embarrassed being caught in a juvenile perve and quickly changed the subject. “So why do you think the mohair scatters them”?
“I really don’t know. It must be generating some kind of morphogenic field that not only protects us, but reacts explosively with anyone who has turned already.”
“I mean, that’s pretty cool though.” Simon was impressed with everything he was hearing and still trying to slyly look where he shouldn’t.
Caroline ignored his impossible-to-miss glances, but for once, even the pervy glances of a juvenile passenger were a welcome improvement on everyone trying to eat you, and at least this one could hold a half intelligent conversation. “So, why head to the country?”
Simon had thought this through and his logic made sense. “There are less people in the country so we should be able to avoid most of the zombies. It’ll give us breathing space and some time to think.”
Caroline could see the sense in the plan. “Well, we’ll need to get some supplies. There’s a petrol station up on the left. I’ll pull in and fill up; you grab some stuff from the shop.”
“I haven’t got a lot of money.” Simon replied.
Caroline smiled as she turned into the driveway. “I wouldn’t worry about that. If there is an attendant, he’ll be too busy trying to eat you to take your money.”
Simon acknowledged with a shrug as the car rolled to a stop. “Fair enough.” He got out and looked around. They were now on the outskirts of the city, right in the commercial and industrial zone. Across the road was a large sports hall, one of those places that have lots of really cool active things to do and a cafe where most of the visitors actually hang out.
The odd zombie shuffled past but nowhere near the density they’d been encountering. Simon started walking towards the shop as Caroline got out. A zombie blocked his path and quickly found itself flung backwards, ass first, into a bowser.
Simon was actually starting to feel good about the day, right up until the semi-trailer burst through the kiosk, heading straight towards him.
“Jesus!” He jumped clear of its path by a scant inch as he shouted a warning to Caroline.
She leapt to the left, barely getting out of the way, as the truck ploughed into the TTS and took half the bowser with it, screeching across the road and rolling over the top of several cars that suddenly drove into view and stopped in a line.
A geyser of fuel, sprayed skyward as the bowser burst into flames.
Simon and Caroline sprinted across the road towards the sports hall as the petrol station erupted in a massive fireball behind them.
They stopped in their tracks, alarmed, as cars and trucks appeared from nowhere and blocked the road in both directions. The driving was imprecise and poorly executed. Some cars collided with each other as they came to a halt. Others tried stopping, but didn’t, skidded past and collided with a vehicle coming from the other direction. A truck would stop on top of a car, roll ba
ck to clear it, then power forward again, crushing the car completely before stopping with a jerk.
It was clear that those who were driving - couldn’t.
Caroline was the first to register what was going on. Every single driver was a zombie. “I thought you said zombies couldn’t drive?”
Simon stopped in mid-stride and spun around. “They can’t – at least I don’t think they can. Look, I don’t know, I’ve never met a zombie who could drive before today.”
“How many zombies have you met?”
“Well, none I suppose. I mean Uncle Pete was a bit queer, not quite all there. He liked to touch himself at bus stops, but I don’t think he was a zombie, just a randy old pervert.”
“What the hell has an old man wanking at a bus stop got to do with any of this?”
Simon had no idea. “I don’t know. Everything is so fucked up, I don’t know what to think.”
They looked warily at the zombie-inhabited vehicles surrounding them. The engines were still running and, occasionally, the zombies revved them.
“Maybe it’s some kind of car rally for the newly dead?” Simon offered hopefully.
Caroline wanted to slap him.
She stepped onto the footpath to go around one row of vehicles, but before she could take two steps, a vehicle would drive over the verge and block her path, revving menacingly. She stepped back and the revving stopped.
“I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all. They seem to be organised.”
Now Simon was getting annoyed. “How could they be getting organised? They’re fucking zombies. It’s not like they have any intelligence, or a leader, is it?”
In the back of his mind a thought began to form which he immediately dismissed; after all, it was just too silly.
“I think we should get out of here. If we keep away from the roads, most of them won’t be able to chase us. I mean they’re only zombies, it’s not like they’re any real threat to us.”
Simon should not have spoken so soon, for even as he said this, zombies, hordes of them, came into view from behind the vehicles, arriving in waves from every direction.
These were not your everyday zombies. They just happened to be armed with makeshift weapons - bits of broken pipe, jagged wood, and even the occasional scythe.
“Where the fuck does a zombie get a scythe in the middle of town?” Simon wondered aloud.
It was like Frankenstein’s mob except that the mob were the monsters and Doctor Frankenstein merely a gentle soul who liked to press wild flowers and wanted nothing more than a fuck-buddy.
The zombies were growing in number. Simon and Caroline started to back away, but the zombie ranks seemed to be organised and were herding them, herding them towards the sports hall.
Caroline began to shiver with a rising sense of fear. “They’re trying to herd us, like cattle. How the fuck can this be happening? They’re fucking zombies for Christ’s sake. They can’t even count to four and now they’re driving trucks and getting tooled up. How can they be doing this?”
Simon was just as confused. “You’re asking me? I mean I’m sure they can do a few things on their own. You know, they could probably wipe their asses – although I think blowing your nose would be really dodgy – you could literally sneeze your brains out and I don’t think your average tissue could handle that – and I suppose advanced calculus would be a complete waste of time.”
Caroline grabbed his shoulder. “Do you wanna focus?”
“Yeah – sorry. I just don’t understand this behaviour, I mean, most of them are mindless maggot boxes who can’t even scratch their nuts, let alone think for themselves. Someone else must be controlling them.”
As they continued to back away towards the sports hall, tooled-up zombies blocked every possible escape route. They did not see the figure in black robes at the back of the zombie ranks, nor did they see the crowd peel apart for this figure. The figure strode purposefully towards the sports hall, zombies falling into ranks behind it. A scythe, being wielded badly, took off another zombie’s head. The figure stopped briefly, shook its head with disgust, and continued leading its zombie horde towards the prey slowly being herded into the hall.
A zombie drooled and somewhere in the distance a duck quacked.
Chapter 13
Lord of the Zombies
The sports hall was empty, the floor wide, a basketball court occupying the central area. Simon and Caroline ran inside and tried to close the doors behind them but the weight of a score of zombies forced them open. As they ventured deeper inside, armed zombies appeared from every exit, blocking their escape.
They found themselves herded to the very centre of the hall. The space was large but the empty court filled rapidly with rank upon rank of the armed un-dead. The zombies surrounded them, pressing closer; tightening the circle, then stopped twenty feet away and waited. There was a noise near the doors and the zombies nearest the door parted like the red sea, as a figure is black robes slowly advanced.
The figure stopped directly in front of Simon and nodded. There was a blur of movement from somewhere in the rank of assembled zombies. A fishing line, with hook attached, swept over the heads of the crowd and snared Caroline’s beanie, ripping it off her head.
“My beanie,” Caroline screamed.
“Get behind me,” Simon yelled, throwing his arms wide in a gesture of protection.
“What is the fucking point of that, we’re surrounded on all sides? I won’t last five minutes.”
“But they don’t know that.”
“I think they do.” Caroline looked at the hooded figure and could sense it was smiling malevolently. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
A zombie’s arm fell off. The zombie itself, most of the crowd, and the master, his face unseen, stared down at it.
“Do you wanna pick that up?” the master whispered impatiently.
The zombie meekly picked up his arm and backed away, bowing repeatedly.
“And you can stop that right now.” The master hissed with malevolence.
Simon recognises the voice and leaned forward, trying and peer under the hood. “Nick?”
Caroline looked at him. “Who the hell is Nick?”
“He’s my best friend; he tried to eat my brains this morning.”
“Oh, he sounds like a really great friend.” Caroline hissed.
The master pulled back his hood and Nick, his face pale, eyes sunken, skin peeling and teeth hanging by sinew, smiled and answered, quite nonchalantly,
“Yeah, Hi Simon. It’s just my posse and me. I told you I’d get a gang together.” Nick swept his hand over his gathered minions who all took one step forward and growled. Simon and Caroline stepped back.
Simon looked back at his old friend, defiance in his tone. “So what do you want – mate?”
“I’ll make this simple, Simon.” Nick guffawed at his own joke. The zombie minions all joined in the laugh, all except one. Nick shot him a deadly glance and the zombie panicked and started a forced laugh, causing his bottom jaw to drop off.
“Do you wanna pick that – Oh never mind.”
Nick turned back to Simon and gathered his thoughts, which were, as it turned out, fairly straightforward.
“Look, Simon, here’s the deal. We know about the mohair thing.”
Simon interrupted him. “How do you know about the mohair thing?”
“Cause I’m fucking brilliant.” All the zombies laughed and another jaw fell off. Nick frowned with annoyance. “I am really getting sick of that.”
“Fair Enough,” Simon replied with a nod.
“So, take your cardigan off so I can feast on your face – and I’ll let the girl go.”
Simon swept his arms defiantly towards the gathered minions. “What about them. What if they decide otherwise?”
“They won’t, and they’ll be too busy chowing down on your intestines to care. I’ll even let you kill her after you turn.”
Simon turned to Caroline and took her hands
in his. “I promise you I will never eat your face off, it’s far too pretty. I’ll die first.”
He looked into Caroline’s eyes and she returned his gaze in full. There was a moment where it seems like they might finally connect but Nick interrupted and the moment was gone.
“Well, technically you’ll die anyway when you turn, so that’s kind of academic, but it sounded so sweet and almost sincere. So come on, time to get on with it.”
A zombie suddenly ran forward and shoved Caroline away from Simon. Only a few feet now separated them, but with a zombie between them, it might as well have been a continent apart.
Simon looked towards the first woman who he had ever really connected with and then towards the assembled hungry horde. He was determined he would never surrender her to that fate
“No Nick. I’ll never give up. You’ll have to fight me one by one and with my superhuman abilities, it won’t even be a contest.” Simon was confident, brash, and just a little premature.
Nick looked at him, shrugged a shoulder and looked over at Caroline, who was now without beanie and separated from Simon by a zombie. “Fair enough, we’ll eat her first.”
“No!” Simon lunged at the zombie separating him from Caroline and pushed it aside, but with his cardigan enhanced abilities, it catapulted into a section of the surrounding zombies and knocked over at least six of them.
All the other zombies turned slowly to watch this happen and then turned towards Nick who just shook his head. “God, it’s so hard to be the master of a mob of half wits.” He turned to his army. “You could just eat her, you know.”
Several zombies nodded very slowly, and very, very slowly turned back to face Caroline with malicious grins while their putrefied brains slowly processed the order to move.
Nick was hungry and starting to lose patient with his slow-witted horde. It had been like this all day. He would issue orders and several minutes later, the orders would sink in and the zombies would move, often in the wrong direction.
