Sudden Death: A Zombie Novel

by James Carlson

  Just as Chuck thought this, with a loud crack, the doctor’s jaw dislocated allowing the semi-consumed foot to flop out into Amy’s face. The woman’s scream could have shattered glass. Weakened by her consuming fear, she finally buckled under the doctor’s attack. He fell upon her, the muscles of his face still working his dislocated jaw, causing it to swing unnaturally. His pelvis thrust back and forth with sexual desire. But before the demented doctor could either bite or penetrate her, Chuck swung at the side of his head with his weapon. The full force of both his thick arms gripping the stick caused a slice of scalp and shard of bone to go flying over the fence.

  The doctor’s eyes rolled up in resignation and he slumped over onto his side. A portion of his brain was now exposed through the fresh aperture in his head and seeing this, a couple of other cannibals converged and began to fight over him.

  Amy couldn’t even manage a ‘thank you’ as Chuck pulled her to her feet, her snot and tear drenched face screwed up in an expression of pure panic.

  Still struggling with the human skewer that wouldn’t leave him alone, Muz had managed to get back to his feet, but again, fell backwards as he avoided the heavy wooden post that had already painfully struck him several times. He tripped over the nearest train track, and as he hit the ground, to his horror, saw that his head was no more than a foot from the power line.

  Directly beside him, some of the crazies who had been unfortunate enough to step onto this rail now lay slumped and twitching across the tracks. With their brains cooking nicely inside their heads, at least these few people no longer presented any threat. The stink of burning skin and hair filled Muz’s injured lungs.

  Clasping at the stone chips around him, he threw two fistfuls of them at the cannibal. They had absolutely no effect on the man. Reaching for more, the fingertips of one of his hands then fell upon a lump of metal. Looking at it, he saw it was a loose rail spike, used to secure sleepers to the ground. His fingers flicked as he tried to grab it, but it was too late.

  As his mad assailant came at him again and fell forward to pin him down, Muz winced, expecting that wooden post to jam hard into his ribs and knock what was left of the fight right out of him. The Polish man came to his rescue however, using his considerable bodyweight to push the other man aside before he landed on Muz. The stocky drunk then followed up by mercilessly hammering at the Arabic man’s face, until it sickeningly resembled a bowl of raw meat.

  Muz wasted no time scrabbling back to his feet despite the pressing pain he still felt in his chest, snatching up the metal spike as he did so. He saw Carl, straddling the massive black woman who now lay motionless on her back. Despite her no longer moving, he was thrusting a large kitchen knife repeatedly into various parts of her bulbous body, a noise somewhere between a war cry and a child’s wail coming from his open mouth.

  “She’s done, mate,” Muz told him, walking over without getting too close. He was worried Carl might lash out at him in his current state of mind. “She’s done.”

  Surprisingly, not a single crazy person remained standing. The man with the syringe in his eye was hopelessly thrashing away in a bush by the fence. A couple of the people laying over the power line still twitched but, other than that, the rest of the crowd that had come at them now lay motionless in the dirt. Muz knew that it was mainly down to Chuck and the Polish man that they had survived this encounter. If either of the two powerful men hadn’t been present, he would not be standing there rubbing at his injuries, of that he had no doubt.

  “Where’s Margaret?” Amy asked meekly, her chin still quivering.

  The older woman had disappeared. Though they searched their immediate area, checking each body, no one could find her. It was Carl, standing on the chest of the corpse of the black woman, who saw her.

  “She’s over there,” he called out, pointing ahead of them up the track.

  The woman, little more than a far off dot, had run off, managing to put some considerable distance between her and the fight.

  “We’d better get after her,” Muz said, breaking into a pained trot. “Be careful; that power line is definitely still live.”

  They scurried along once more by the side of the tracks, Amy calling after Margaret while Chuck repeated told her not to shout. As the group finally caught up to the elderly lady, they saw she appeared to have completely lost all control of herself. She was a gibbering mess, stumbling forward with the fixed blank expression of a war weary veteran. Despite Amy’s attempts to comfort her and stop her from walking, so that she could check her over for injuries, the woman continued striding onward, as though she weren’t even aware of the others’ presence. She muttered to herself under her breath, the words barely audible.

  “What’s she saying?” Carl asked.

  “Something about the dead rising,” Amy responded. “Revelations. She’s not making much sense.”

  “Margaret, look at me,” Muz said forcefully but as softly as he could. “You need to take control of yourself. We’re going to get through this. All of us.”

  Carl gave a derisive and nervous snort.

  “Yeah, snap out of it,” Chuck added coldly.

  “She’s not in a good way,” Amy said in a whisper, turning to Muz. “We need to get her out of danger before she completely loses it.”

  Muz looked ahead of them. He could just make out the tops of the tower blocks above the bridge they were about to pass under. The high-rise buildings were still a way off. He picked up the pace and urged the others to do the same.

  Looking over at Carl walking beside him, Muz looked at the blood-drenched knife he still clutched in his fist.

  “Where did you get…?” he began to ask, but stopped himself mid-sentence. Remembering the girl Margaret had stabbed through the chest back on Watling Avenue, he found the answer to his question. “Classy, mate. Real classy.”

  Carl shrugged back at him. “Needs as must.”

  “Judgement,” Margaret now said loudly. She had clearly retreated deep within herself. She then began to mutter quietly again. “The end will give rise to a new age…”

  After this, Margaret began to drop behind the group, slowing them down, as they kept having to reduce their speed in order to accommodate her. Amy, walking alongside her, held onto her hand. Looking up at the taller woman, she saw she had a distant look in her eyes, as though in her mind she was somewhere else. Amy was grateful to have her as a patient. As long as she had the other woman to focus on, she didn’t have to dwell on her own faltering sanity.

  It wasn’t just Margaret and Amy who were suffering the overwhelming stress of what they had just gone through. Everyone else’s nerves were frayed, with the possible exception of the Polish man, who had the calming benefit of alcohol in his system.

  “We can’t keep having confrontations like that,” Muz said to anyone who was close enough to hear him. “Eventually, we’re going to lose.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t already,” Carl added morosely.

  “Exactly,” Chuck sighed. “We need to take shelter in those blocks, like I’ve been saying the whole time.”

  Muz, worried about the elderly Margaret’s mental condition, concerned that Amy’s menstruation would keep bringing those psychos down on them, and thankful for Chuck’s effort in that last fight, began to start coming round to the big black man’s line of thinking. Maybe the tower blocks were their best option for the time being.

  The hellish fight had gone a long way to sobering up the stocky Polish man.

  “Wow, yes?” he said to Carl, slapping the man on the back with enough force as almost to knock him off his feet. He smiled warmly baring his little brown teeth, still breathing heavily from the exertions of his culling. “Was good fight. You fight well. My name Tomasz Dumasz, by the way.”

  “Dumb ass? Really?” Carl replied with his usual tactless manner. Thankfully, the other man did not understand the insult.

  “Dumasz.” Tomasz said again, over enunciating the word.

  Carl laug
hed.

  “Don’t aggravate him,” Muz warned before addressing the Polish man. “Your first name is Thomas?”

  “Tomasz.”

  “Tom.”

  “Tom is good enough,” Tom said with a smile.

  “Thanks for your help back there,” Muz said to him.

  “Is okay.”

  “But please,” the copper added, “don’t go pissing on anymore of those crazy people. They don’t seem to like it.”

  Tom laughed and slapped Muz across the back. Muz winced and smiled back.

  Looking at the overweight black man striding purposefully ahead of them, Muz again remembered how Chuck had been so comfortable operating that handgun when he had killed Jenna and then when he had levelled it at the dog. He certainly had been adept at handling the weapon. The man still had to have the gun hidden on him somewhere, though was choosing to no longer use it.

  “What is it you do, Chuck?” Muz asked, trying to sound casual.

  “What do you mean?” Chuck responded without looking back, sounding instantly defensive.

  “For a living?” Muz clarified.

  “Why do you want to know?” Chuck asked, still not breaking his stride.

  “I’m just asking. You know, conversation.”

  “I’m in banking,” Chuck told him after a pause.

  “Nice,” Carl said, clearly impressed by this. “Which bank?”

  “UBS,” Chuck replied. He looked as though he was becoming tense now.

  “The Swiss bank?” Carl went on while wiping the blade of his knife on some dock leaves he had ripped out of the dirt. “Wow, you must make quite a lot of mullah. Are you front or back office?”

  “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” Chuck said angrily.

  “Just curious,” Carl said, giving Muz a sideways glance.

  “Yeah, well, give the questions a rest.”

  “Would you please get rid of that thing?” Muz asked, pointing at the knife in Carl’s hands. “It’s clearly not helping Margaret’s state of mind. She keeps staring over at you with it.”

  “Sorry,” Carl said flatly. “Not a chance. Not until we’re completely out of danger.”

  The train line passed under a brick bridge, over which ran Deansbrook Road. The group looked warily upward as they passed beneath the road, half-expecting a number of infected crazies to launch themselves over the wall in order to get at them. Even Digby looked apprehensive, his ears up and alert. Had he heard something, the others had to wonder. Then their question was answered.

  Directly above, they heard the faint but unmistakable ominous groan of one of the infected. Like a well-trained military troop, as one they came to a stop, none daring to move as they hid in the relative gloom of bridge’s shadow. Only after a couple of minutes without hearing another sound from above, did Chuck wave them onward.

  Several heads kept turning to look back at the brickwork archway, refusing to accept that they had had the good fortune enough not to draw the attention of the infected person they must had been in such close proximity to. They did in fact leave the bridge safely behind without incident however.

  No more than twenty to thirty metres later though, the tracks crossed over Silk Stream. It was a stream by name, but along this section of its length, at least it was deep and wide enough to be considered a thin river. The stream was hidden from the nearby streets by the thick woods that ran along both sides of the train line.

  Despite the stream being thus obscured, a number of the affected victims had managed to sniff out the water course and find their way to it. They now gathered, falling over each other at the bank’s edge, as they leaned in to drink.

  Other than proteins, the raging effects of the amoeboid cells demanded copious amounts of water to facilitate the chemical cellular transformations they performed. Although this vital fluid was abundant within the muscle tissue they ate in frightening quantities, this alone was not enough. Wherever they happened across readily accessible water, they would drink just as greedily as they fed.

  The band of survivors saw from above, that some of the people below, pushed forward by those trying to get past to the river’s edge, had fallen into the water. Not possessing the coordination necessary to swim, they had sunk to the stream’s bed and could be seen amid the murky flow, motionless save for their hair waving in the current, and their eyes staring blankly upward. Some had been submerged for so long that their skin, saturated with water, was swollen and wrinkled. They looked like spectres hiding in the dark depths.

  Muz and the others were so very careful not to make a sound as they trod stealthily along some nine feet above the stream. Amy however, true to form, slipped and a couple of stone chips fell over the edge of the bridge, splashing into the water.

  Those drinking along the bank reacted immediately, looking up at those on the bridge and snarling ferociously. Even those who had sunk to the bottom of the river and had obviously been there for some time now jolted into action in response to the falling stones. Some of their hands reached high enough to clear the surface of the water, thrashing around as they strained upwards towards the passing prey.

  Thankfully, the lay of the land and the high wall that supported the little bridge meant none of the crazies below could get to the group.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Carl said, staring down in disbelief at the people submerged in the river, as they looked back, locking eyes with him. “Have those things grown gills now?”

  “They don’t need to,” Chuck answered. “Dead men don’t need to breathe.”

  Muz shook his head in response to Chuck’s reply. The man was so certain that these afflicted people had to be zombies. He, however, still clung to the hope that there had to be a more logical, a more rational cause for all of this.

  “Just keep moving before they find a way to get up here,” the copper told the others.

  Again, they managed to pass by without harm and it wasn’t a great deal farther before they saw a building standing in their way and concrete platforms rising up beside the tracks. It was Edgware tube station, the end of the line. From here on, they would have to take their chances on the streets.

  Chapter 9

  Jay

  Walking along one of Edgware tube station’s platforms, Chuck eyed the black and tan beast that looked more akin to a bear than a dog, as it strode along beside the paramedic girl.

  “Did that thing bite anyone?” he asked Amy, looking over at her intently to try to read the slightest sign of a lie on her face.

  “Just a shoe,” Amy answered. Feeling the need to protect the dog, she stepped between him and Chuck.

  “You’d better be sure about that,” Chuck warned her gravely. “’cos if it did bite one of those crazy fucks, it could go the same way and turn on us at any moment.”

  “He’s fine,” Amy said defiantly, jutting her jaw.

  The fat African man continued to glower at Digby who simply plodded along, oblivious to the nature of their conversation.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Amy added.

  Chuck grunted at her and strode to the front of the group.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs that led up to the bridge over the tracks, the group stopped and stood in silence. When they were sure there were no sounds to be heard from above, they headed upwards. They hadn’t seen a single corpse on the platform below and the same was true for both the bridge and the station foyer beyond. Just as Burnt Oak station had been, the station had been locked up at the time of the outbreak and still remained secure. Unlike Burnt Oak however, the tall exterior glass doors here were protected by sliding metal concertina gates, held in place by huge padlocks. Breaking out was not going to be as easy as they had assumed.

  It was a stroke of luck that the door to the station staff’s office was unlocked. With the rest of the station locked up, it didn’t need to be. The group gathered tightly within the constricted confines of the small office and looked up at the windows. They were locked and the security glass
with its criss-crossing metal wires meant they couldn’t smash their way out.

  “Search the drawers,” Muz told the others. “There’s got to be a key for those locks somewhere.”

  They ransacked the contents of the desks and the cabinets and though they found numerous bunches of keys, none held that needed to open the windows.

  “Why is nothing ever easy?” Muz asked despondently.

  “What’s that?” Carl asked, pointing to the wall directly by one of the windows and right next to where Muz was stood.

  Muz turned to regard where the man was referring to. A little nail had been hammered into the plaster and from it hung a stubby key. A laminated piece of paper blu-tacked to the wall beside it read in large bold print ‘windows key.’

  “Don’t say a word,” Muz growled.

  “Hey, we all missed it,” Amy consoled him, unable to stifle a little smirk.

  Muz stood on a chair and opened one of the windows set high in the wall. He leaned his whole upper torso out, so as to get as good a view of the outside as possible, and hung there for some time before dragging himself back in to face the expectantly waiting group.

  “It looked clear,” he announced. “But be as quiet as you can climbing through and keep your eyes and ears peeled when we’re out there.”

  With that, he leaned back out the window and this time, once he had managed to support himself with his hands on the windowsill on the other side, his legs followed. The metal spike he had tucked into his equipment belt almost slipped out. He cringed at the thought of it clanging loudly on the pavement but managed to catch it as he dropped to the ground in a crouched position.

  To his left, the narrow side road between the station and the adjacent shopping centre led to the bus depot. All was still silent in that direction, not a single person to be seen either on the several buses or in the covered waiting area. To his right, beyond the turning circle of the drop-off point by the station’s main entrance, there lay the slight incline of Station Road. As he had come to expect by now, the road and pavements either side were jammed with vehicles but again not a sole was to be seen.