Rubbing my ankles and wrists, I stood stiffly.
“You can go and see him,” said a male voice – and, without acknowledging the presence nor the permission of the other, I walked from the small private-study roomlet that I had been held in.
Now to carry out some plans of my own: Plan A, in fact.
o0o
The doors to the main entrance of the Baillieu Library were glass, thick sliding doors.
They were still intact – which was a little surprising – but reinforced by bookshelves, cupboards and now-redundant vending machines.
The zombies were not going to gain entrance any time soon – though they loitered outside constantly - waiting and watching.
Given the desperate situation of those inside the library – no food, no outside contact - I had recently come to believe that the zombies’ waiting would not be in vain.
I stood in the barricaded foyer: my brother was unseen on the other side of the glass doors, a thing abandoned – but not by me.
“Let me see him,” I snarled.
Silently, one of my fellow survivors moved forward and removed a box from the barricade to reveal an observation hole. He stepped back and allowed me to view the prone form of David.
He was unmoving – just as I thought, not yet reanimated.
Good – it was not too late.
I nodded to myself and turned slowly to the others who eyed me with suspicion:
“Please leave me with him,” I whispered. “I need a moment alone with him.”
They shuffled their feet uneasily and looked at one another. Was I now worth that risk?
“I’ll not try and retrieve him,” I said reassuringly. “He is, as you say, ‘gone’ now. There would be no purpose in trying to get him back.”
Jude locked eyes with me for a long moment. She saw no deception.
“Come on,” she said to the others. “Let the guy have some dignity. David was his brother, after all.”
And with that, she abruptly turned on her heal and left the barricaded foyer, the others reluctantly trailing behind her.
Good.
I turned back to the observation hole.
“Don’t make it too long, Mate,” I said to David.
The zombies milled about – maybe thirty or so of them. David’s corpse was apparently of no interest to them. He was not fresh meat. He was not a ‘kill’.
I’d had some time to observe the zombies. I recognised a few of them from around the campus – just regular guys, nothing special. They did a bit of moaning but never spoke – just like in the movies. But they weren’t stiff-legged and rotting. Well, not yet anyway. Perhaps in another week or so that would come.
For the moment, at least, they still moved about fairly nimbly when they wanted to – but, for the most part, they just wandered around with no obvious aim – except, perhaps, waiting for us to emerge.
And their eyes, yes, they were very different from living folks’ eyes. Living folks’ eyes constantly scan back and forth to take in as much as they can – I think it’s called a ‘saccade’ (or something similar).
Zombies’ eyes don’t. They stare fixedly a lot of the time and only move in jerky-type movements every now and then.
I had discussed this also with the medical students. They said this was because ‘the autonomic functions of the brain were down’. They said zombie vision must be relatively poor.
Could be – but I didn’t see any of the medical students putting their theory to the test.
I stood staring through the observation hole, I guess, for a half hour or more, just watching the zombies, before David gave his first twitch.
Eureka! I’d seen that before – with the other guys who’d been bitten. It was only a matter of a few minutes now before David would start re-animate. I needed to work fast.
Nimbly, I climbed the barricade and slid down into the cramped space between barricade and the glass sliding doors. This was a fairly noisy manoeuvre and some of the smaller parts of the barricade clattered to the floor.
“Hey, Pete! What the fuck do you think you are doing?”
I’d been heard but there was no way I was backing out now.
I hit the big green button at the side of the doors and they slid open just as normal.
(The doors had been barricaded but never disabled – I knew this well.)
I stepped through the doors and calmly – well, not that calmly – stepped towards the spot where David lay.
The doors closed behind me, muffling the urgent yelling that was coming from the foyer of the library.
As one, the zombies stopped their aimless milling about – and fixed me with their dead eyes.
I kicked David, now twitching incessantly, in the ribs: “Get up, you lazy shit! I think I’m going to need you.”
He kept twitching but didn’t exactly bounce to his feet. This was, shall we say, disappointing.
The zombies started closing in my direction, forming an ever-tightening semi-circle about me.
I was starting to doubt the wisdom of my plan. So, I kicked David again – much harder this time.
“Come on, Dave. Your friends think I’m the first course!”
This time he responded (I never doubted him, really. Really, truly.)
Groaningly, he rose to his feet and he, too, fixed me with his new-found zombie-stare. He stared at me for what seemed like (but probably wasn’t) a very long time.
It was plain that he knew me – I felt this in my own bowels – but how would he now regard me? (Not as lunch, I hoped.)
The circle tightened further. First one, then another zombie reached out for me. Glancing touches – no grabs or bites just yet.
I kept my eyes firmly on David’s: “Um, now would be a good time to have a quiet chat with your mates,” I said – with more than a little urgency. “Dave? Mate?”
David got the message - eventually.
He struck out at the limbs that sought to ensnare me and rounded upon the encroaching zombies. They fell back a little in surprise: zombies never struck other zombies, it seemed.
Then it came: a primeval roar that raised the small hairs on the back of my neck. It erupted violently from within David and seared those who would seize and devour me. I could describe it as the roar of a lion in his prime – but that would not do it justice. It was much more impressive than that.
It said, quite simply: “Leave him alone – he’s my brother.”
And they did. Some of the zombies actually sprinted away, apparently trembling with fear. (Did zombies ever feel fear?) But most just feigned disinterest and wandered off.
I embraced my zombie brother. He seemed unable to return my embrace but, as I said, there was a deep recognition of me within him that could not be denied.
I took his hand in mine. We, in turn, ‘wandered off’.
CHAPTER 3
FIRST KILL
We didn’t wander far.
I had decided to go to Union House, the centre of all student social activity on campus. That’s where we’d go to get food (‘The Caff’). That’s where we’d go to see student theatre (‘The Guild Theatre) or the movies. That’s where all the student clubs had their meetings.
It was the hub of student life.
Surely, I thought, there would be survivors holed up there who might give me and David a warmer welcome than we could expect back at the Baillieu – a fairly stupid idea, as ideas went.
From the Baillieu to the Union was a walk of, maybe, five minutes.
I don’t think David knew where I was taking him – but he was content to walk along, holding my hand like a small child.
That was okay by me. As long as we were together, the zombies we passed along the way paid me no mind at all.
When we got within, say, one hundred metres of Union House, David suddenly became agitated. At first, he just grunted and made indistinct vocalisations. The, he started twitching once again. He squeezed my hand hard and started bobbing his head up and down in a rhythmic fa
shion.
Finally, he broke free of my grip and broke into a headlong sprint towards the building, roaring as he went. Was this another warning?
I trailed along behind him. I could not afford to lose contact with him – he was my passport, my promise of safe conduct, within the kingdom of the zombies. (Did they have a kingdom yet? Or a king?)
Near the South exit of Union House was a large eucalypt tree, encircled by a wooden bench seat. Between the seating and the tree trunk could be seen a small knot of zombies, kneeling and attending to something lying on the ground.
David was making a bee-line for them. When he reached the group, he roared once again and threw himself among them. At first, I thought he was trying to fight them – but, no, he was merely pushing them aside, pushing them aside to share in what they had.
What they had was a small, frail corpse. By the crimson of the blood pooling around it, I’d say the kill (if that’s what it was) was very recent, only a matter of minutes since.
The zombies were noisily feasting on their prize.
By its proximity to the southern exit of the building, I guessed that’s where the student had come from – no doubt making a desperate dash for freedom.
Yes, I could see it was a girl. She hadn’t got far. Her last horrific moments seem to have been spent trying to cower under the round wooden seat set around the large eucalypt tree.
Very poor cover indeed.
She must have been desperate. Wherever she had been within the building had kept her safe for at least 7 days. So, why run now? Why not keep waiting for help to arrive? I’ll never know. Perhaps the water ran out. Perhaps, the food.
I watched David and the zombies devouring the unfortunate woman. Totally engrossed in their feast, they utterly ignored me. Hearing the ‘festivities’, other zombies soon came and joined in. A week ago, they had been young men and this young woman had probably been among their classmates.
Fascinated and feeling relatively safe, I couldn’t help but edge closer to observe the unbelievable event that was occurring before my eyes.
Then, it happened: One of the zombies paused and rose from its vile feasting just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the young woman’s face.
“David!” I screamed. “We know her! That’s Meryl.”
David lifted his head very briefly and flicked his dead eyes in my direction.
“So?” they seemed to say.
He returned immediately to the business at hand. I kicked savagely at his rear – to no good purpose. He rose to his feet and turned full-face to me.
Once again, he roared his Earth-shaking roar. This time, it was directed at me rather than at my attackers.
“Back off, Brother. This is zombie-business.” said the roar. “You’ve no right to interfere.”
That was the clear message, in any event.
I did back off. I didn’t need to be told twice. I retired to a small wooden bench nearby and dry-retched into the garden bed next to it. (There was no food in my stomach – I had been starving, too.)
I watched on helplessly as the body of Meryl was consumed.
Meryl was a shy, country girl, a first year like me and David. She’s come down to stay in St Hilda’s College. (She hated college food – except for chocky pudding. That was always served on a Thursday evening and everyone came on that night.)
I’d struck up an acquaintance with her in one of my French tutorials. She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the group but she was slim, sweet and gentle. I’d asked her for a date once. She politely declined – I don’t think I was her type.
No hard feelings – we stayed friendly.
I couldn’t square my very recent memories of her with the grisly reality unfolding in front of me.
Eventually – I’m not sure how much later – all the zombies, including David, had had their fill and left the meagre remains of Meryl where they lay. There were many other human remains strewn about but most had been there since the first day – or so I guessed from their advanced state of decay. But Meryl’s remains were different. They needed not to be ignored. For all the violence visited upon them, I needed to do something. I needed to show some sign of respect.
I walked inside Union House and immediately saw that it was a charnel house – with death and destruction everywhere.
For the moment, I put this to one side. I entered the Student Union Shop – which seemed relatively unscathed. The shop contained the usual university memorabilia, tee-shirts, trophies, commemorative plates etc. But I was not interested in those. At the back of the shop, sitting unloved on the shelves, was a pile of bedding sets: sheets and pillow cases.
That’s what I needed.
I collected two sheets emblazoned with the university crest and motto (‘Postera Crescam Laude’) and took them outside to where Meryl lay. Collecting her remains into the sheets was not pleasant but it was done swiftly – as the sated zombies lounged about the scene of her death, looking on in what seemed like puzzlement.
There was no time to bury her, of course, but I gently placed her wrapped remains inside a large wooden planter box which was otherwise vacant at the time. I mumbled a Hail Mary and an Our Father – no time for a whole decade of the rosary - and then covered the planter box with a few branches that I hastily pulled from some nearby garden bushes.
That’s as near as I could get to a funeral for Meryl. (Afterwards, I remembered that she’d told me her father was a lay preacher in the Methodist church. Perhaps, I’d had this in the back of my mind at the time? Dunno.)
After concluding the prayer, I sighed deeply and turned away from the planter box. There, standing before me, was my dear zombie brother, grinning happily, his stomach full of fresh meat.
About his face, was smeared the drying remains of our recently deceased classmate. A little gore hung from his (then) fashionably long hair.
He seemed very pleased with his efforts.
Without thinking, I slapped his face hard. He kept grinning. Then, he placed the back of his hand lightly on my own belly and emitted a satisfied groan. For just a moment, I felt a flash of warmth within my own, empty, stomach.
I felt what he was feeling.
Then he lifted his hands to his bloodied locks and ran his fingers through his hair.
He held the palms of his hands before him and looked admiringly at them. Another grunt of satisfaction. He then raised those palms to my own face and smeared it with what had, so recently, been Meryl’s lifeblood.
At first, I pulled back from the gesture but David insisted and I allowed him to do it.
I stared deep into David’s dead eyes to try and guess what purpose his withered mind had in doing this. I found none.
We paused a moment and then he turned and entered the charnel house that had been ‘The Union’. I followed. I had no choice. Apparently, this was to be our shelter for the night.
o0o
We entered the foyer area and David strode on to the stairwell outside the Caff. In the bowels of the building, where the lockers and toilets are, the zombies had made their home. (Their base?) There were dozens of them there, pacing about, resting, eating.
If Union House had ever been a refuge for the living on that first day, it hadn’t been able to hold out long. Unlike the library – which had just one main entrance, there were just too many entrances to the Union building. It may as well have been open access. It was certainly undefendable. Most of the human remains that were lying about had obviously been there for days. Maybe the building had just been overwhelmed on the first day, in the initial onslaught.
But Meryl? She had only just been killed. Where had she been hiding? In one of the activities rooms upstairs? You could hold out there for a while but, well away from the Caff, there’d be no food at all – maybe some water, if you were lucky.
Perhaps there were still some survivors clinging on up there. Would I be doing them any favours if I went searching – with my brother in tow? Hmmm. I’d have to think on that one.
&nbs
p; As we walked down the stairs into what had become a fetid pit, a cat greeted us.
When I say ‘greeted’, that is a relative term. Actually, it hissed loudly at me and then growled deeply, with real menace.
I was definitely not welcome down there as far as it was concerned. Apparently, it could tell the difference between me and the other residents.
It liked them. It didn’t like me. How curious.
As I tried to ease my way down the stairs, passing the small, hissing fury, its eyes suddenly widened to the size of saucers and its ears flattened back onto its head.
Brother Mine, Zombie. Page 2
