by Watts, Russ
* * * *
Lily heard the gunshots and the sharp noise snapped her out of her wretchedness and misery. She watched the Father run out of the room, forgetting all about his perversions. Tottering on unsure feet, she took a shirt from the floor and put it on. It was one of the Father’s and way too big for her. It went down almost to her knees. In his rush, the Father has forgotten to tie Lily up again and she followed him down the steps, keeping a short distance between them. She had no memory of when or how she had gotten here. She just walked on, knowing it was away from that despicable room she had been used and abused in. She passed through an old bedroom full of junk and jumble. She picked up an old doll, black eyes looking back at her, unblinking, from a round plain face. She threw it with all her might against the wall, breaking the china doll into pieces.
Stumbling out into the hallway, she saw Nathaniel run out of a room and stop at the top of the stairs. He fired the gun and then ran down. She didn’t feel scared. She didn’t feel elated that she had got this far without the Father touching her. She felt nothing. Lily carried on her morose journey down the stairs not knowing or caring where she was headed. Her head span as she walked down the stairs, spots of light floating in her vision.
Hearing the gunshots and commotion, Amane, Joe, and Evan were getting more and more worried about what was happening. They had no idea what was going on upstairs. Joe called out for help but got no reply. Evan hopped his chair over to the study door. It was difficult but he made it, the rope painfully digging into his wrists every time he moved. A pitter-patter of feet ran past. Evan gripped his teeth around the door handle and levered it down, managing to open the door. Though it was only open an inch, he saw Nathaniel fly past to the cellar door and disappear inside, hearing him call out.
“Hey, boy, get back here! You little fucker.”
More footsteps on the stairs, but this time, slower, more controlled. Through the balustrade, Evan saw Lily float down the stairs in no hurry at all.
“Lily!”
He called out to her quietly, unsure if it was safe or not. At the base of the stairs, she turned around and smiled. His heart broke when he looked upon her. She could barely see through purple swollen eyes. Her smile showed bloody teeth and her nose looked slightly crooked. The Father had battered her, leaving deep welts, cuts and bruises all over. Fresh blood was seeping through the shirt she wore, down her legs.
“Oh, Lily.”
Her smile dropped like a stone, and ignoring him, she continued on her sloth-like way into the vestibule. She limped along, wobbling on her feet unsteadily. Evan realised she was heading for the front door.
“Lily! No, come back!” he shouted at her, unafraid of the consequences or who might hear him. He didn’t know if she hadn’t heard him or was just choosing not to listen, but she entered the vestibule and the door swung loosely behind her. She turned the key in the lock, and with a click, the front door opened and she stepped outside into glorious sunshine. The warmth hit her instantly. Looking up through half-closed eyes, she saw the sunlight amid branches of tall green trees waving in the breeze. Her head felt lighter now and she forgot the incredible pain coursing through her frail body. She was back home, snuggled up on the sofa with her mum. It was warm and cosy here. She wrapped her arms around herself as her mum hugged her.
“Bedtime, honey.”
Her mum kissed her on the forehead and Lily felt happy. Her mind felt nothing but peace and her body felt like it was floating on the wind. She was home.
The crowd of zombies swarmed over her, killing her instantly. What little was left of her body was crushed and mangled beneath the weight of hundreds of zombies. When the first had tasted the blood it craved, it continued, unable to go anywhere else but further into the house through the welcoming, open door, followed by a hungry horde.
* * * *
“We have to get the hell out of here and now!” shouted Evan. He shoved the door shut and propped his chair against it.
“What’s happening?” screamed Amane. “Where’s Lily and George?” She pulled at her ties only succeeding in making them tighter.
“I don’t know what is going on up there, but it is not good. George just ran down into the cellar and Nathaniel was following. He’s the one shooting.”
“And Lily?”
“I’m sorry, Amane.” Evan looked at her feeling impotent. “Whatever they did to her...she looked out of it. She’s gone.”
“What?” said Amane.
“She’s gone. I’m sorry, Amane. She just walked out the door. Whatever the Father did to her...”
Amane screwed her face up and shook her head. “No. I can’t believe it. That bastard. That fucking mongrel is going to pay.”
“What else?” said Joe. Despite events unfolding around them he was calm and in control. He aimed to size the situation up and deal with it. He had been in scrapes before and always got out of them. This was no different; think logically and put your emotions away for another time.
“In about ten seconds, there’s going to be several hundred zombies in this house,” said Evan.
They were all silent. The sombre mood was broken by faint gunshots and a few crashing noises from upstairs. No one spoke for a minute.
“I don’t think that door is going to hold them back, do you?” said Joe, breaking the silence.
“Fuck!” exclaimed Evan. He felt utterly powerless. His children were slipping out of his reach. The closer he tried to get, the further away they got.
“Ten seconds, eh? Evan, stay against that door as long as you can. Put your weight against it,” said Joe, beginning to hop his chair up and down.
“Why? What are you thinking?” said Evan, leaning back so the chair jammed itself under the door-handle.
“I’m not thinking, I’m doing,” grunted Joe. His chair neared the fireplace and Evan got wind of his plan.
“No, Joe, don’t. We’ll find another way.”
“We both know there is no other way.” Joe nodded at them both, grim-faced, and then toppled his chair backwards as best he could into the fire. The top of the chair stuck on the fireplace and his back and hands hung over the flames. He gritted his teeth as the fire licked at his hands, and crucially, the ropes holding them. He was aware that Evan and Amane were shouting at him to get out, but their imploring cries were drowned out by the whooshing sound in his head. He howled as the pain grew more intense. Screaming, the flesh on his fingers caught afire and his skin began to melt. As he felt the white-hot pain searing into his brain forever, he forced himself to stay the course. He pulled his wrists apart as the burning rope finally snapped. With burning hands, he reached down and quickly untied the binding on his feet.
Tears and smoke stinging his eyes, he stood up and rushed over to the dining table, knocking over his burning chair. He poured a solitary bottle of water over his hands, dousing the fire. Shaking uncontrollably, he slumped to the floor holding his black smouldering hands out in front of him. The distant yet insistent shouting voices of Amane and Evan stopped him from slipping into unconsciousness. He opened his eyes and looked up at them.
The door was jumping in its frame, rocking Evan back and forth in the chair. Joe took a deep breath and stood up. He let the dizziness subside and focused on doing one thing at a time. Looking around, there was nothing he could see of use. He needed a knife or something to cut with, but he couldn’t go searching through the drawers now, there was no time.
He swayed over to Amane, and agonisingly slowly, started on the rope holding her wrists. His charred fingers were practically useless but he knew he had to get the ties undone. Ignoring the intense, excruciating pain, he finally released her and collapsed to the floor. Amane untied her feet and raced over to Evan, freeing him from his bonds. Evan pushed back on the door, holding it in place for now, blocking out the groaning sounds from the other side.
“Oh God, Joe,” Amane tenderly picked him up. His hands were a mess. Where once strong hands had been, were now blackened stumps, me
asly strips of flesh where fingers had been. His breathing was slow and laboured. His shirt had turned a brown crisp shade and his back was red and blistered. Amane looked over to Evan.
“What are we going to do?”
“We go that way.” Evan looked through the windows into the empty courtyard. The house flanked it on three sides, a tall fence completing the fourth. It was a redundant abandoned space full of dead leaves and pools of dirty water.
“How? To where?”
“Wrap Joe’s hands in those napkins over there. Then open the window and get outside. There’s an ivy climbing up that wall so there’s probably a trellis we can use to climb up. We get onto the roof, over the fence, and take it from there.”
“And if there’s another hundred zombies on the other side?” asked Amane.
“Then we’re no worse off than we are now.” Evan pushed harder against the door as the weight against it increased. He heard the wood cracking and sweat was dripping annoyingly down his nose and forehead, stinging his eyes.
Amane sat Joe down in a chair, and using the cloth napkins on the table, wrapped them around his burnt hands. He winced the whole time she was touching him, but never complained once. She pulled up the window and helped Joe through. He rested against the outside wall, shattered. Amane followed and stood outside beside Joe.
“You’re right, there’s a framework here we can climb. Come on, Evan.” Amane beckoned him through the window.
“When I let go, they are going to pour right in here. We have to get up those walls fast. I’ll get up and pull you up, then Joe. Okay?”
“Okay, let’s just hurry.”
Evan scanned the room. Joe’s chair was now well alight, the rug was smouldering and the painting of the last supper was melting in its frame. Soon, he mused, the whole room would be alight. The thought of this palace of sin being burnt to the ground pleased him. He hoped Father Thomas would burn with it. He let go of the door and sprinted to the window, diving through. He scrambled up the ivy-clad trelliswork onto a flat roof. As the zombies swamped the burning room, he leant down and offered his hand to Amane. She was halfway up and he grabbed her, helping her up onto the felt roof.
“Come on, Joe!”
A zombie appeared at the window, arms reaching through desperately. Joe looked up at Evan and put his feet on the trellis. Wrapping one arm through it, he hauled himself up about a foot off the ground. The exertion was too much for him and he fell back down onto the ground.
“Joe, fucking move it, mate. Or I’m coming back down to get you!” said Evan, shouting at his friend. The zombie at the window was joined by others, pressing on it until the first zombie fell through.
“I can’t do this. Go get your kids, Evan. Find George, and go.” Joe was sapped of all energy and looked up at Evan and Amane on the roof, stepping back away from the wall. He stepped back as the first zombie through got to its feet and began its sloping walk toward Joe.
“We’ll get George together. Joe! Joe!” Evan watched as Joe walked backwards into the furthest corner, ignoring his friend. The zombies poured into the courtyard like a tidal wave directed straight for him. Not once did Evan hear Joe scream out or cry. He went down fighting, throwing punches that must have hurt him as much as the recipients. Eventually, Evan couldn’t see Joe anymore. He was overcome.
Amane pulled Evan back from the edge and embraced him. “We need to keep moving,” she said softly against the backdrop of the carnivorous horde, locking eyes with him. They had both lost someone dear to them and no words could express how they felt. Evan kissed her and took her hand. He looked around at where they were and wondered how they were going to get the hell out of dodge.
* * * *
Slamming the cellar-door behind him, Nathaniel heaved at the huge wine-rack, only just managing to topple it over, blocking the doorway as the zombies reached it. They clawed and hammered at the door but there was no way through. Red and white wine poured out together over the floor from broken bottles, spooling around in circles, tracing looping lines erratically through the dirt floor.
Up the cellar steps, he ran breathlessly, flinging the door open only to come face to face with an old woman. Her face had been shorn of its flesh and she looked more like a walking skeleton, only wiry hair protruding from flaps of skin left hanging on its scalp. In the corridor behind her, he saw more moving corpses and yanked the door shut, trapping the woman’s hand. Unable to get the door firmly closed, he pulled on the handle until he heard the bones in her wrist snap. He heaved the door with all his strength, severing tendons and fingers, slowly bludgeoning through skin and bone until the door clicked shut. He kicked the pathetic dismembered limb down the stairs in frustration.
Rummaging in his pockets, he found the keys. He locked the door and trudged down into the cold cellar as the zombies piled up against both cellar doors, banging on them furiously. He was trapped in this hellhole: a cold cellar, smelling of wine, bloodthirsty zombies on both sides.
Nathaniel slumped against a damp wall as the single bulb overhead swayed gently whilst the ceiling vibrated from the hundreds of feet above. How could this be? Nathaniel realised he was not going to get out of this one. There was no way he could fight his way through so many up there and the corridor to the funeral home was only just wide enough for one person. Add a dozen zombies and it was a death trap. He picked up a bottle rolling around his feet and wiped the label: pinot noir. He unscrewed the cap and drank. Deep crimson spilled down his chin, matting the curly hairs of his beard together.
The thought of being eaten alive, torn limb from limb whilst still conscious, wouldn’t leave him. No fucking way was he going down like that. He gulped down more wine, polishing off half a bottle in barely a minute. He took the pistol from his pocket and put the barrel in his mouth. He thought that he should try to think of a loved one before he bowed out. He briefly thought of his parents, but they had died when he was young so they’d never been close. The only notable woman in his life hadn’t been around long and that was thirty years ago. The Father was his only real friend. He was a pompous prick though, always bossing him around. Fuck it, Nathaniel thought, and pulled the trigger.
The pistol clicked empty. Shocked, Nathaniel unlocked the chamber and stared at it. It was completely empty. His last bullet had gone into the corridor, taking off the face of that bitch who was currently trying to batter down the door to eat him. He knew he didn’t have any more ammo on him, it was all upstairs. Nathaniel felt sick. He was going to die in this poky, cold cellar, shitting and pissing in the corner, until his body finally gave up on him.
He flung the useless gun against the wall and picked up the wine again. He stood up shakily, drinking until the acid rose up his throat and bile began to stir in his stomach. He idly scratched his groin and flung the bottle against the wall, sending smashed pieces of glass flying.
“Fuck off! Just fucking fuck off!” He screamed at the top of his voice, terrified, his words bouncing around aimlessly. The zombies neither heard nor comprehended them. They just continued their ceaseless assault on the cellar. Nathaniel gripped his dizzy head. That fucking little shit’s mother, Karyn, it was all her fault. He roughly scratched his groin again, feeling the itch spreading down one leg. His alcohol-addled brain stalled. She had turned into one of them after he had screwed her. So she must have been infected before he screwed her. He finally put two and two together.
Nathaniel’s roaring laughter echoed off the walls as he realised he was wrong. He wasn’t going to be torn limb from limb, but he wasn’t going to wither away down here, drooling and wallowing in his own excrement and self-pity. He was infected and soon he would be dead. Before long, he would be undead, reanimated and hungry for living flesh. He supposed he could open the door now and be savaged, dying in a relatively quick way, suffering only brief pain. Or he could bounce around these four walls for eternity, just one of the millions of zombies walking the world. He laughed again, a laugh of nervousness, fear and utter despair. It ricocheted bac
k to him, reminding him that he was certainly going to die. He was going to die alone. Very alone.
* * * *
Father Thomas was old, overweight, and angry. He packed a powerful punch and kept Karyn at bay with sharp jabs at her growingly disfigured face. Nathaniel had the gun and the only other one was upstairs. He thought he would easily dispatch of this tiresome woman, but it was proving to be harder than he thought. Every time he pushed her away, she would spring back. He managed to corner her with a chair like a lion tamer. Pinned against the wall he looked at Karyn, fascinated. What was she thinking? Was there anything left of the mother inside her? Had she seen the Almighty in her brief death? If He had sent her back, what was her purpose? It didn’t make sense to Father Thomas. He was a righteous man, why would God want him dead? He surmised that Karyn had not passed through the pearly gates but had more likely lived a life of sin and had a one way invite to Hell. Maybe the Devil had sent her back, along with the rest of the damned human race, to seek vengeance on God’s miserable creatures. A shiver ran down Father Thomas’s back. If that were the case, he was going to need more help.
Each time he stepped back, she pushed against the chair to follow him. If she got on top of him, it would be hard to shift her. Breaking her neck wouldn’t stop her. He struggled and pulled a small penknife from his back pocket. Holding the chair with the weight of his body, he jammed the tiny blade into her neck and began to saw. If she knew what he was doing, she didn’t show it; there was no reaction at all. He gripped the knife and sawed into her neck, congealing blood dribbling out and trickling down his arm. When he was halfway through her neck, he had to pause and rest. Her head was leaning to one side now, but still she tried to reach him. If anything, her desire to bite him seemed to be increasing. Her jaw was moving up and down slicing through the air, teeth clacking together.
He continued his slow kill. Father Thomas sawed through her neck and her face slumped forward. Her head was still attached to her body by the spinal cord that he couldn’t reach. Karyn followed the Father as he dropped the chair and backed away, but, with her head dropping forward over her chest, could not see him. He whipped behind her, grabbing her hair with his left hand, yanking her head backwards. He pushed her forward so she fell onto the floor. She thrashed around on the floor, blood spilling over the floorboards as he stood on her back. With both hands holding her head he pulled it upward forcefully, bone’s cracking as her spine slowly ripped out of her back. With the head now severed, trailing her spine with it like a tail, he watched her twitching hands and feet cease. He turned the head around to look at her and laughed as her eyes locked on him. Her jaw kept moving up and down like clockwork. He spat and wiped his sweaty brow.
