by David Moody
The four men who had been outside were unnervingly quiet and subdued. They looked more desperate and frightened (if that was possible) than they had been before they'd left. I could tell that something was wrong but I didn't want to know what. At that moment my ignorance was my only protection, and a pretty bloody weak protection it was too. It was as we unloaded the car that I noticed the bodies. Three or four of them at first, but soon their numbers had increased dramatically. They were as slow and clumsy as any that we'd seen before, but they seemed to be dragging themselves down through the car park from the road. They seemed to be moving towards us intentionally. It was almost as if they'd followed the car. But that wasn't possible, was it?
One of the men looked back over his shoulder and saw them coming nearer.
`Come on,' he hissed, his voice full of fear. `Come on, get inside.'
The men barged past me, throwing bags and boxes into the hall and forcing their way back into the community centre. The last man � I think it was Stuart Jeffries � pushed me inside with him and slammed the door shut behind us.
Jag Dhandra, one of the men who'd been out, was sat on the floor next to where I was standing, slumped against the wall. His face was pale and his brown eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He saw that I was staring at him. `They can see us,' he mumbled.
`What?' I asked, crouching down next to him.
`They can fucking see us!' he spat, his voice trembling with an uneasy combination of anger and fear. `Those bloody things out there can see us and hear us and...' He stopped talking momentarily and tried (unsuccessfully) to compose himself. He cleared his throat and tried to speak again. `We were getting the stuff. We were busy with what we were doing and we didn't notice them at first. When we looked up and tried to get out there were hundreds of them all around the building. They were just stood there, waiting for us.'
`But why? How could they...?'
`They could hear us!' he repeated, his voice suddenly louder. `The bloody things could hear us and see us!'
The rest of the people in the community centre were all silent, listening anxiously to Jag's terrified words. When he stopped talking I became aware of another noise behind me � a dull, constant thumping. I stood up and walked back towards the door. I could feel it moving as the bodies outside collided with it. Although weak and decaying they seemed to be hitting the side of the building with controlled force. I looked out through the window. There was already a crowd � somewhere between ten and twenty of them as far as I could see � gathered around the front of the building.
Christ, we'd been lucky until then. Stuck out there right on the edge of the town we'd somehow managed to stay pretty isolated and safe. Maybe it was because of our location, tucked away to the side of a once busy main road, out of sight. Perhaps it was just because we'd hardly made a sound for days that we managed to escape their attention for so long. Whatever the reason, the trip out for supplies today has blown whatever cover we might have had.
This afternoon the group has disintegrated. Already battered and bruised by days of constant frustration, fear and grief, the people here seem now to have lost the last degree of control that they'd managed to hold onto. And once a few people started showing signs of cracking, most of the others quickly followed.
The food and supplies that had been brought back earlier didn't last long. Like a pack of starving dogs we descended (me included) in search of much needed food and drink. I couldn't help myself. I felt ashamed and degraded as I scrabbled around on the dirty floor on my hands and knees with the rest of them, desperately ripping open bags and boxes in search of anything that might give me a little energy and nourishment. Had it not been for the fear which distracted and tormented me, the hunger pains that have ripped at my gut for days now would surely have killed me.
A couple of minutes ago two men and a woman began to fight. I don't know what caused it. It started in another room and I didn't know it was happening until the woman stumbled out of the room and tripped and fell on top of me. My face got smashed into the floor and I immediately tasted blood in my mouth. The sudden shock and fright prevented me from feeling any pain at first but I can feel my split lip stinging now. The woman got up, pushed herself away from me, and then ran screaming back towards one of the men who had followed her out into the hall. The force of her impact sent them both smashing into the nearest wall which shook with the collision. I was scared. As they disappeared back into the room I grabbed hold of all the bags and boxes I could lay my hands on and crawled away into the shadows. The fight still isn't over. Its spilled out into the hall again. More people are getting involved. The stockpile of supplies has quickly disappeared but people are still desperately hungry. They're joining in the ruckus, desperate to get their hands on anything remaining. I'm sitting in virtual darkness in the quietest, most secluded corner of the building I've been able to find. I'm looking through the scraps I managed to keep hold of, although most of it is rubbish. Even though the others are being distracted by the fight I don't dare make a sound for fear of people turning on me and trying to take my things. I've got a tin of cat food, a small bottle of milk drink (which has probably gone sour), a box of headache tablets and a tube of toothpaste. I've started to eat the toothpaste. I can't bring myself to eat the cat food yet.
The noise in here is frightening and confusing. It's late afternoon and in the low gloom it's difficult to see what's happening around me. It's starting to get dark outside and it's getting harder and harder to see who's who in the shadows which fill the main hall. Every so often the frantic noises and scuffles stop momentarily and, in those few, random moments, I can hear more sounds coming from outside the building.
The man called Ralph (who thought he was in charge to begin with but who's hardly spoken or even moved for the last few days) has suddenly become more vocal and animated. He's scrambled up onto his feet and he's climbed up onto a chair to try and look out of one of the small rectangular windows which run along the length of the main hall. His tired, frightened face is pressed against the glass and he's trying to look down towards the ground. Even from over here I can see that the thin outside wall he's leaning against is being battered from outside.
He's looking round now, trying to get people's attention.
`Christ,' he yells, his voice uncomfortably loud and unsteady, `they're trying to get in! The bloody things are trying to get inside!'
His words have attracted the attention of everyone in the building and, for a second, the entire group has become silent. The arguments and the fights have stopped. People have stopped what they're doing and they're standing still and listening. And now we can all hear it � there's a constant barrage of bangs, thumps and crashes coming from all directions. It sounds like the whole community centre is surrounded. If the man I spoke to earlier was right and the bodies can somehow now respond to the things they can see and hear, then it stands to reason that their individual interest in something is going to attract more and more of them to the same place. The noise they made earlier with the car and the arguments was enough to attract a few of the corpses. The shouts and cries and screams which have come from this place since then must have attracted many, many more.
After the brief moment of stunned silence, panic is again tearing through the building.
Ralph has jumped down from where he's been standing and he's lost his footing and fallen onto another man. The second man (I think his name is Simon Peters) has picked himself up and has grabbed hold of Ralph by the scruff of his neck. Ralph is kicking and screaming. I'm trying to push myself further and further into the shadows because I know that the trouble kicking off in the middle of the hall is about to boil over into something far more serious. The people here are right on the edge. It's not going to take much to push them over...
Ralph's been shoved down to the ground. He's lying there and I can see him panting and struggling to get up, his face pressed hard against the dirty floor. He's half-turned towards m
e. Even from a distance I can see sheer and absolute terror in his face. Like a man possessed he's somehow managed to push himself up and he's knocked Peters out of the way. Pumped full of adrenaline and fear, he's punching and kicking at Peters (who is half his size) and he's sent him reeling. Now Peters is on the ground and their positions have been reversed. With a desperate, terrified look in his eyes Ralph has now picked up the chair he's spent most of the last day sitting on and he's lifted it above his head. Peters is looking up at him and he's trying to crawl away backwards. I can't bear to watch. I know what's going to happen. Ralph starts to bring the chair down and I look away. I can hear him smashing the chair down on the other man. I can hear him grunting with effort and picking up the chair again and again and smashing it down on the body at his feet. I force myself to look up. I have to know what's happening. Now Peters is lying in the middle of the room in a crumpled heap, twitching and shaking with blood dripping from his head. Ralph is standing over him, still holding the chair up high, looking ready to strike again if Peters moves.
Someone � I couldn't see who it was � just ran at Ralph and tried to grab the chair from him. He's swung it at them, and he's caught them on the side of the head and sent them crashing to the ground. Now someone else � it might have been Jag Dhandra � has just run past me, sprinted down the length of the hall, tripped over Peters' now motionless body and is running down towards the main entrance.
I know what he's doing.
Jesus Christ, he's opening the door.
Oh, God, Dhandra's lost it and he's made a run for it. People are trying to get to him but it's too late to stop him. The door has been opened. I can already hear the wind and feel the cold air blowing into the building from outside. People are screaming. I can see them rushing to grab their belongings and get away from the door and move back towards this end of the community centre and...
And now I can see them.
Bodies.
There's an endless stream of grey, featureless bodies slowly dragging themselves into the room. The people out in the hall can move with much more speed and control but they're instinctively recoiling from the painfully slow cadavers which are lurching towards them.
I have to get out of here. Jesus, I need to find a way out.
There's no way I can get back through the hall � there are far too many bodies in here now � and I don't know of any other exit apart from the windows. Now there are other people around me, all moving in the same direction and trying to get away from the sea of dead flesh that continues to push its way inside. I'm trying to stand up but it's difficult to move. The main hall is almost completely full of corpses now. Ralph is still in the middle of the room, swinging the chair around like a madman, knocking the bodies off their already unsteady feet. Their flesh is decaying and each blow from the chair rips their rotting shells apart. The shadowy-grey of the room is now flowing with dark red and crimson-browns. Ralph has just lost his footing and slipped in the bloody mire. He's gone down. I can see him struggling on the floor. He can't get up again. He's been trampled under the feet of countless corpses.
I'm being carried forward by the stream of panicking survivors. There's nothing I can do but move with them. I can't stop and I can't go backwards. Somehow I've managed to keep hold of the cat food and tablets and I'm grabbing them as tightly as I can as the crowd surges and pushes through the semi-darkness. One of the women to my right has climbed up onto a chair and is forcing herself out through a small skylight in one of the store rooms. Others are following her. I don't have any choice, I have to do the same if I want to get out of here. I'm pushing my way into the room to get to the window. I tripped then. There's a body beneath my feet. I can't see who it is but they're screaming and crying out for help. I wish that I could do something for them but I can't. I have to keep moving.
I've managed to get up onto the chair and I'm trying to push myself through the skylight and get out. The gap is too narrow. I don't think I'm going to be able to get through. Can't go back. There are people pushing me from below, all trying to get out too. I have to try and get through... God it hurts. My head and shoulders are through. I can feel the window frame digging into my skin.
Somehow I'm out, and now I'm standing on a small square area of roof. There are already too many of us up here. A couple of people have either jumped or have fallen down to the ground below. It's not very high and I'm sure I'll survive the drop if I have to. I'm near the edge of the building now and I can see that there's a crowd of dark, shuffling bodies below me. I want to try and get over to the other side but I can't. The constant stream of people fighting to get out of the community centre is pushing me back towards the edge and I know I'm going to fall. I can't do anything to stop myself...
Kate landed in the middle of the crowd of cadavers, their shell-like, empty bodies cushioning her and breaking her fall. Winded and stunned for the briefest of moments, she scrambled to her feet and began to run, disappearing into the municipal park behind the community centre. The autumn evening was cold, dark and wet and a patchy fog covered the scene. Terrified and disorientated she forced herself to keep moving away from the community centre, heading deeper and deeper into the darkness and smashing the numerous bodies she collided with to the ground.
She couldn't keep running indefinitely. Kate was overweight, undernourished, tired and unfit. For a while she slowed down to walking pace before finally giving in to her exhaustion and stopping.
A children's playground appeared through the mist. Kate sat on one of the swings and held her head in her hands as she listened to the helpless screams and yells which rang out from the building she had left behind.
Alone.
Terrified.
Too tired to move.
Kate James spent her final day in Northwich. Still sitting in the playground in the park, cowering under a slide, as daylight broke she became painfully aware that she was hopelessly exposed and vulnerable outside. She also quickly learnt that her every movement attracted the attention of the obnoxious bodies. Every step she took and every sound she made inevitably drew ragged crowds of them closer and closer to her.
At nine o'clock in the evening, sitting in complete darkness in the attic of a nondescript semi-detached house halfway down a similarly indistinct street, she decided to give up. The pain and the effort had proved too much for her. She took the headache tablets she still carried and every packet of pills and bottle of medicine she could find in the cold and silent house, and swallowed enough to make sure she wouldn't wake up again. DAY SEVENTEEN
AMY STEADMAN Part v
Amy Steadman's corpse has continued its remarkable transformation. It is now more than two weeks since death and its physical deterioration has continued unabated. As the shell of the body has continued to fester and decay, however, a modicum of understanding and control has slowly returned. Defying all previous understanding of the changes undergone by the human body after death and during decomposition, as the physical condition of the body has worsened, so its mental strength has returned. Although still only a shadow of what it once was, the corpse now demonstrates remarkable self-awareness. Involuntary movements and reactions have very gradually become voluntary.
Time has taken its toll on each one of the millions of cadavers still walking the streets. Their flesh is disintegrating and countless internal and external chemical reactions are affecting the composition and strength of the remaining skin, muscle and other bodily components. Steadman's corpse is no different. Its flesh has darkened and dried out in places as bodily fluids have steadily drained away. As a result of these changes the body has also become breeding grounds for huge numbers of insects. Amy Steadman's corpse is a melting pot of insect activity. It is riddled with maggots.
The bodies have only one need, and that is a basic and instinctive desire to continue to exist. Self-preservation is each corpse's only concern. Because of their worsening physical state, however, the bodies have only a limited ability to defend and protect themselves. A
s a result their reactions now are frequently exaggerated and overly aggressive. The bodies will fight to protect themselves at all costs even, perversely, at their own expense. It is not uncommon to see a body attack and tear another corpse apart in self-defence, and sustain substantial damage to itself in the process. This is the norm with those bodies that are particularly badly decayed. Where the process has been slowed � as with Amy Steadman's cadaver which initially spent several days indoors protected from the elements � their actions are slightly more reserved and controlled.
It is now early on Thursday morning and a light, misty rain has been falling since dawn. Amy Steadman's body is shuffling along the side of a large, warehoused-sized furniture store. There are a large number of other corpses nearby, although the reason for their swollen numbers is not immediately apparent. It may be that there has previously been an incident here which initially attracted the attention of many bodies, and that this is the residue of the crowd which is gradually disappearing. The fact that many of these bodies seem to be moving in the same overall direction, however, indicates that this may be the beginning of the incident, not the end.
Steadman's corpse continues to drag itself wearily around the building and the surrounding streets until a single noise in the near distance attracts its attention. It is the sound of a survivor preparing to leave its shelter to make an unavoidable trip out into the open for food and other supplies. The corpse, along with all the others in the immediate vicinity, immediately turns and begins to move towards the source of the sound.
The lone survivor is based in an office building in the centre of a large and sprawling car lot. Over the last few days the survivor, a young male, has attempted to fortify and strengthen his hideout with limited success. As the behaviour of the bodies which plague the countryside has changed, so has the survivor been forced to change his priorities. Failing dismally to appreciate the severity and potential long-term problems caused by the infection, the survivor is now struggling to stay alive. Initially believing naively that he could continue to exist at something close to a `pre-infection' standard of living, he focussed his attention on comfort rather than practical necessities. As a result he has been vastly under-prepared for the length and harshness of his isolation. Unable to easily venture outside for supplies (as a result of the increased number of bodies nearby and also because of the fortifications made to his location) he has been trapped without access to water, sanitation, medicine or food of any real nutritional value. The survivor is in very poor health. He is dehydrated and malnourished. After an aborted attempt to fetch supplies three days ago, his mental state is also questionable. At this point in time the difference between each individual corpse and the survivor is remarkably slight. Because of their numbers and lack of emotion, however, the bodies are now at a clear advantage.
