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

by Parker, Des

  “Oh nothing, I just thought you know, living out here in the country.” Simon started backing away. “You know, living out here,” Simon waved his stick around and Rex couldn’t help but follow it with his eyes. Simon glanced at Dick as Dick quietly switched off the safety on his gun.

  “Do you know how to use a sword?” Dick whispered to Caroline without moving his lips, his gaze sweeping between Rex and the house. He was sure he saw movement behind the windows.

  Caroline sensed his alarm and, almost imperceptibly, moved slightly behind him. “No, but I’m a fast learner.” She silently moved her hand towards the hilt, her muscles tensing.

  Simon was taken aback by Rex’s fascination with the stick. He waved it around randomly and Rex couldn’t help himself, he had to keep following it, and realised his new instincts were betraying him.

  “I’ve never really gotten into the whole country thing, not until recently; now I find it very freeing.” Rex’s lips were curling as if he was about to scream or growl or something along those lines.

  Simon, trying to keep everything light, smiled disarmingly as he brought the stick near the centre of his body, holding it in a guard position, but trying very hard to make it appear that this was the very thing he wasn’t doing. “I mean, you know, I thought you might have been absorbed by this whole getting back to nature thing.”

  Rex smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile at all; it was a hungry smile and it had far too many teeth, increasing rapidly in both size and number.

  “Let me tell you about getting back to nature,” Rex growled in a no-longer-human way as his face split apart. His skin cracked blood red and folded into the all too familiar wolves’ head. He dropped to his haunches and the cheery man transformed into a blood-crazed werewolf who leapt at Simon, fangs and claws bared.

  “Oh fuck!” Simon screamed as he threw his hands up to protect his face, tossing his stick to his right.

  In mid leap, Rex found himself twisting sideways as the dog part of his nature went fetch.

  Rex caught the stick and rolled away to his left. He stood up, ready to leap again, but found he couldn’t bear to drop the stick.

  If only it had been that easy.

  Six werewolves swept out of the house towards them and put paid to that idea.

  Dick leaned back, Caroline whipped the sword from its scabbard, and Dick straightened up, his gun already spewing hot lead at the incoming pack, cutting them to pieces before they advanced more than a few strides.

  It turned out to be just a little too easy, until several more werewolves smashed their way out of the house and came barrelling towards them at full pelt.

  Dick realised the odds were turning against them and yelled, “Get back to the tank!” to Caroline as they took off at full bore towards the Bushmaster. Dick kept firing as he ran backwards, round after round slamming into the incoming pack. “Come on Simon, move it.”

  Simon was standing there, frozen by fear. He started to turn, just as Rex leapt at his throat from behind.

  It was a sickening sight and Caroline screamed as Dick yelled, “No!”

  The look of horror on Dick’s face turned to surprise as Rex, instead of feasting on fresh meat, found himself flying upside-down through the air towards his own house, then crashing through his own roof, and disappearing from view with a very annoyed, “Bugger it!”

  All the other werewolves pulled up short, skidding to a halt just a few strides from Simon, as their doggy eyes watched their alpha somersault overhead. Suddenly this meal was not as easy as they thought. With collective whelps of fear, they scurried back into the house where the words, “fuck that hurt,” could clearly be heard coming from a disgruntled werewolf.

  Caroline and Dick stood at the back of the Bushmaster, their mouths agape.

  Simon adjusted his cardigan cuffs and walked past them into the troop carrier.

  “Well, at least we know what happened to the zombies,” he said, as he passed by.

  Dick and Caroline just looked at each other and closed the doors behind them.

  Mr Percival surveyed the battleground with a satisfied quack and resumed his position on the bonnet; the troop carrier turned back onto the country lane and drove away.

  Inside the house an angry werewolf in human form piddled on the wall.

  “I’ll get him for that,” Rex whispered.

  A few hours later, a small car pulled into the yard and stopped in front of the house, facing it.

  The driver sat in the car, just staring at the house.

  Inside the house, Rex stole a glance out a window, but was reluctant to go outside again, his body still aching from the his fall.

  There was a distinct smell of dog in the air as a beam of sunlight penetrated the hole in the roof, illuminating the centre of the lounge room.

  In the shadows beyond, Rex’s pack watched him as silently.

  He may have still been their alpha, but catapulting through his own roof had tarnished his reputation. A werewolf pack is was not usually the place for considering the merits of ordered succession, and Rex realised if he didn’t regain his authority, their next meal could be him.

  His second, Milo, a large and scary creature even in human form, slowly emerged from his shadow and came snout to snout with Rex.

  Milo peered outside and turned back to Rex. “Well, what are you waiting for, he’s alone and we’re hungry.”

  Rex bared his fangs and growled. The growl came somewhere from deep inside and had balls.

  “The last time I rushed outside, all of you nearly died. But if you want to go out first, be my guest. If you get killed, the rest of us will say a prayer over your corpse as we devour you.”

  Milo shrunk back into the shadows. Clearly, Rex still had some remnants of authority and he was the smartest and oldest in the room, so an old dog could learn new tricks.

  He turned his attention back to the car outside. The man sat there, unmoved.

  This unsettled Rex, he could not make out the man’s features, they remained hidden in the shadows inside the car but he made a decision, he knew he would have to go out there and confront the man, otherwise he would never regain the respect of his pack.

  He stepped outside and moved slowly towards the car. He tried to walk with confidence but slipping on the entrails of some of his fallen followers made this difficult. He realised now they should have moved the bodies, but the werewolf brain was a little slow on details.

  He stopped a few feet short of the car and the driver simply continued to watch.

  Rex felt the need to scratch his left knee and tried very hard to stifle the urge. His right foot twitched and before he could stop it, came up from the ground, of its own accord, and soothed the itch as his dog nature asserted itself.

  He tried very hard to put his foot down but the harder he tried not to, the more he scratched. He sensed he was only seconds away from licking his own balls.

  Too late, he saw the man in the car slowly nod, understanding exactly what he was seeing. The car door opened and Rex gasped, realising his secret had been blown again.

  The man stepped out, his face obscured, wearing full-length robes.

  “Hi,” Rex said, feigning a smile as a tooth lengthened involuntarily.

  The man looked him up and down then slowly swept his gaze across the carnage. The man tilted his head, quizzically. “Having a bad day, are we?”

  Rex shook his head in disagreement. The man showed no fear; this was not the reaction Rex expected. He blurted out the first and probably stupidest excuse he could find. “No, we had a party last night and I haven’t cleared up yet.”

  The man took this under advisement and quietly continued. “You’re a werewolf, right?”

  Something inside Rex snapped, “Yes I’m a fucking werewolf and I’ve got twelve brothers!”

  The man looked at the fallen werewolves on the ground.

  Rex recalculated without thinking, “Well alright – six.”

  The man walked past Rex and stepped to
wards the house, ignoring the angry werewolf. For the first time Rex could see the man’s features, he was a zombie.

  “You’re a zombie.”

  “Yes, clever guess. Would you like a pat on the head?” The man turned and looked right at Rex.

  “Werewolves kill zombies,” Rex snarled, his confidence growing. He could see his brothers emerging from the house and transforming into their wolfen form, and he was between the zombie and its car. This would be over in a few seconds and, although a zombie would not make any kind of meal, at least killing it would give his brothers somewhere else to direct their anger.

  The zombie simply looked at Rex without reaction, “Then I should be terrified, shouldn’t I?”

  “There are seven of us, and I’m between you and your car, I’d say you’re outnumbered.” Rex was feeling very confident, right up to the point where he noticed his brothers yelp and run back inside.

  The zombie smiled, “Are you sure about that?”

  The zombie looked past him and Rex realised there must be something behind him.

  He turned slowly to follow the zombie’s gaze and discovered several hundred armed zombies looking back at him, smiling.

  “Oh fuck,” Rex whispered.

  He turned to face the zombie leader, expecting a cold stare of malevolent triumph, but instead the zombie put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder and said the strangest thing.

  “You’ve met Simon, haven’t you?”

  Rex winced as painful memories resurfacing.

  “We need to talk.” Nick whispered with a smile.

  Chapter 17

  The Manor

  They were in the mountains now. A lone tank against the world and the sun was going down. They had returned to the main roads since small country lanes seemed pointless and the wildlife was decidedly unfriendly. On the main road, the Bushmaster easily made top speed and they were putting plenty of distance between them and any pursuers. Even Mr Percival was riding inside now; it was far more comfortable than trying to hold on to the bonnet as the Bushmaster reached one hundred.

  The road seemed tiny against the rising walls of ancient rock and they were the only vehicle on the move. Everything was going swimmingly but Dick was getting tired.

  “If you’re getting tired, I’ll drive,” Simon tried to be helpful. The truth is, he was uncomfortable in his little seat and wanted to sit up in the comfy chairs; and he was itching to have a go at the wheel. It wasn’t every day you got to drive a dick-substitute and the way Caroline was coddling around Dick, Simon really needed something to boost to his fast fading ego.

  Dick wasn’t having any of it. “No – its okay, I’m fine,” he said as his concentration slipped and they almost drifted off the side of the road, which is not a good idea in the mountains.

  Caroline jumped. She was half asleep and was jolted awake. “What,” was all she spluttered before resting her head on Dick’s arm.

  Simon was livid. “Shit, Dick, you need a break. So either pull over - or let me drive. I didn’t fight off hordes of zombies and werewolves just to die in a car accident.”

  “It wasn’t hordes of werewolves, it was one werewolf that attacked you and you didn’t do a damn thing,” Dick responded, reminding Simon who was better hung.

  “I threw a stick. That helped.”

  Caroline was too tired to listen. “Can you two just sort out your differences later, when I’m asleep,” she whispered as she went back to sleep.

  “We’re arguing over dick sizes and Simon just lost,” Dick added with a smug little smile.

  “At least I don’t need to drive a tank to compensate.” Simon added with a sneer.

  “I don’t know about that, you seem awfully keen to get your hands on mine.”

  “I’m not interested in getting my hands on yours.”

  “She is,” Dick smiled as he won the argument.

  Simon gave up arguing. Dick had trumped him again. “Look, can we at least find a place to stop for the night. We can continue fighting in the morning.”

  “So, where should we go? Everywhere is probably booked up with either werewolves or zombies.” Dick looked for an answer which wasn’t coming, it had stopped halfway to his brain and gone on holiday, somewhere nice, with the beach and sand, with no brain-sucking or howling freaks to follow it around.

  The trouble is, Dick needed those thoughts because he was fresh out of ideas. “What about a Bed and Breakfast?” he suggested cheerily, already knowing this was a bad idea in the current circumstances.

  Simon shot the idea down. “No I don’t want to be breakfast in the morning. I think we need to stay with the truck and find somewhere out of the way to hide.”

  “What about a cave or something like that? We could park the tank right up inside and be almost invisible.” Dick was still trying to salvage the situation, craning his neck around as if he were looking for something that wasn’t there but might just show up if he kept looking hard enough. “We just need to find some out of the way place where nobody goes and hole up there.”

  “You mean like – Oh, I don’t know, some deserted Manor house in some hidden valley where the locals fear to tread?” Simon suggested.

  There was sarcasm there, but Dick didn’t see it, his higher brain was still sitting on a beach somewhere.

  “That will do for starters.” Dick’s optimism was returning.

  “So, how do we find this creepy old house then? Look up creepy old houses dot com and see what comes up?”

  “Or we could try that one,” Dick responded.

  Dick slowed the Bushmaster to a stop. He ignored Simon and looked out the side window towards the dark mass of a mountain rising up a valley beside the road. There was a Manor house halfway up the valley. The house looked cold, dark, and uninviting. It was perfect.

  Simon followed his gaze. He saw the Manor House, he didn’t like the look of it but in an upside down world, this probably meant it was perfect.

  “Okay,” Simon whispered. “That looks just creepy enough. We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Dick nodded and turned the Bushmaster down the lonely road that led into the valley, straight towards the creepy-looking house. They knew that they were scarier than any monster and, in a topsy-turvy world, the scariest place in the world would probably be the last place you’d expect to find monsters; and technically they were correct, the monsters weren’t home at the time.

  Chapter 18

  To the Manor Born

  The house was dark. It squatted on the lawn like an ancient beast awaiting a signal to rise from slumber. Shadows draped the ancient stonework, shadows so deep that other shadows hid inside them and kept secret the darkest thoughts a shadow could keep.

  The stonework was grey, craggy, and worn; tall arched windows gazed out like the empty eye sockets of forgotten corpses. No lights were on, that would have spoiled the effect. The roof edged sharply into the night and disappeared above, in a cowl of black.

  The Bushmaster pulled into the drive, a circular drive curving round an old and weathered fountain. The water was stagnant-green and rippled like living breath.

  Dick maneuverer the nose around so it pointed away from the house, just in case they had to make another quick escape, and he let the engine idle for a few moments while surveying the area around them from the safety of the cabin. After he was satisfied there was no immediate threat, he quietly shut down the engine.

  For a long moment the Bushmaster lay silent, the only sound the cracks and spurts of the dying engine fading away. The rear end of the truck and the Manor House regarded each other with mutual suspicion as the hatch cracked open.

  Dick stepped out, gun in hand. “Is there anything evil here?” he queried the night.

  Nothing evil replied, in fact, there were no sounds at all, not even the normal sounds of night. Everything was as quiet as a grave, so if anything evil had been lurking, it stayed hidden and would have been covering its mouth trying not to snigger at Dick’s posturing.

  Dick
sneered at the darkness, his confidence rising, his voice loudening, “I’m wearing mohair and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “You really are a dick, aren’t you,” Simon muttered as he pushed past Dick and out of the tank.

  Caroline emerged sleepily behind them. “Where are we?” she asked in a half-sleepy way indicating she didn’t care, so long as the beds were comfortable.

  Dick snapped his gaze around, the barrel of his gun and the bulge in his crotch following his eye line. “We’re outside a deserted Manor House and I’ve got a big gun. So anything that wants trouble, I’ve got just the weapon for it.”

  Simon looked him up and down. “Only if you can keep your hand off it.”

  Simon was quite impressed by his own wit; unfortunately no one else was listening.

  This annoyed him but he was tired and let it pass, and quietly, and very seriously, surveyed their surroundings. There was a small moon in the sky casting just enough light to see by.

  The shadows tried very hard to hold on to that gloomy darkness they knew scared people but the visitors had already scared off most of the scary things so the effect was lost and the shadows reluctantly faded to a slightly bored charcoal grey; and the house just wasn’t quite as scary when seen up close, the dark windows were just a tad less imposing and, in fact, it needed a good sandblast to freshen it up and remove the lichen.

  “Do you hear anything?” Simon asked Dick, his voice low, his eyes scanning every dark place for danger, but he was tired and he really didn’t want to bother. He knew they were wearing mohair and they were armed to the teeth so, there probably wasn’t going to be a problem.

  “I hear you – does that count?” Dick replied.

  “No – what, oh fuck it,” Simon added.

  Caroline surveyed the scene with a tired trepidation. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  Mr Percival stuck his beak out of the hatch and flew to the ground. He sniffed about for a moment, and then waddled, quite forthrightly, up to the imposing front door, which he pushed open with a kick.