Dead Pulse

by A. M. Esmonde

  Jack stopped the armoured jeep in the middle of a country road. Tim coughed and Jack knew he wouldn’t survive to see another day. He had tried to stem the bleeding earlier but it was no good, Tim had lost too much blood, and with no medical support to turn to, any further attempts would be futile. Jack knew that soon Tim would become one of them, and his friend knew it too. They had agreed from the very beginning that they would not allow each other to turn into one of those ‘things’. Now as Tim sat slouched against an old gnarled tree, Jack realised how difficult it would be to follow through on the pact. He stood looking at his best and oldest friend, with his back to the sun. As the clouds speedily passed overhead, the shadow of the tree danced along the grass.

  “I never thought it would end this way, Katie is dead, and I have nothing left, god has abandoned us, or we just simply have abandoned him. It doesn’t matter. Do it Jacko, kill me,” Tim whimpered, grasping at the cold grass. Jack leant down in front of him, took out a needle, and held Tim’s arm.

  “I can’t do it, either with god’s help or the devil surrounding us.” he sighed in despair as he placed the needle down. “I can’t.”

  Tim’s eyes rolled painfully, “It’s ok Jacko, but if you won’t do it, please can you leave me? Go... Drive. Leave me. Leave me,” Tim begged as tears slid down his face.

  Jack stayed with his friend for as long as he felt it was safe, reluctantly, besieged by Tim’s request for him to leave, they said their goodbyes. Jack jumped into the jeep and started the diesel engine, slowly driving away.

  He pictured Tim inserting the needle into his skin, allowing the thiopental, pancuronium and potassium chloride to flood into his bloodstream causing cardiac arrest. However, they both knew that this method did not stop reanimation. Jack jumped at the sound of his friend discharging his firearm. He knew that Tim was taking no chances and had made sure that he would not be coming back.

  This is the road to nowhere and nowhere seems good right now, Jack thought. The MAK’s tank was full; he had packs of ration food, water and ammunition in the back. Jack didn’t know how long it would last him, but it didn’t matter, he would live one day at a time.

  Jack stopped running and collapsed to the floor; his feet were tired and sore, he wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, catching his breath. Looters and thieves had boorishly awakened him as they ransacked the jeep for his supplies. Despite the fact he had lost his only means of transportation, he was just glad to have escaped with his life. He had a full nylon, camouflage patterned container of water, a gun and the determination to survive. He didn’t know where he was heading, but he knew it couldn’t be worse than where he had been.

  He got to his feet and blindly trudged on in the darkness that had now descended; there was no moon or stars to light his way. Jack found it difficult to stick to the road and he longed for the sunrise.

  The smell of mud and carcasses filled the air and his footsteps seemed amplified in the quiet of the night, the darkness and the silence seemed to move around him like a thick fog, suddenly he walked into something!

  Blindly he spun round pointing his gun in all directions, his heart pumped so hard it felt as if it were in his mouth. Trying to slow his breathing in order to get his bearings, he was suddenly and violently pushed over falling to the ground on his back. His weapon disappeared into the blackness of the night as his body hit the wet grass. Suddenly the assailant was upon him. It was one of the dead. With his head turned to one side Jack fought to hold it at arm’s length, this was the closest he had been to one in a long while. As he struggled to maintain his control, Jack could hear its teeth snapping, a snarling noise coming out of the monsters mouth as it continued to try to lunge at him, the stench of its breath made him feel sick and bile rose in his throat. The monster was heavy and its flailing arms tugged at Jacks top. Suddenly, he felt a breeze and his face was soaked with blood. It stopped struggling, quickly went limp and slumped on top of him. Jack pushed the body off him and heard it fall in to the mud next to him with a sluuurp. Hands reached out to his in the darkness, gripping his own; they were warm hands, he knew that they belonged to someone who was still alive, relief flooded his body and he let out a sigh.

  “Wha-wha-what, the f-f-fu, heck you doing out here in the dark? That’s nec-nec-necrophilia you know,” stammered a voice.

  Rain swept down into the spotlit compound, which had formally been an outdoor adventure land. In a steel fenced enclosure large wooden shelters that once housed animals, cafes, a restaurant and shop huts, were a haven of activity. Beyond the enclosure was another large fence, surrounded by yet another fence, this one had signs on it warning of the dangers of touching an electric fence. Unkempt people walked in and out of the huts dotted around the shelter. It now resembled a world-war two prison camp rather than a place of fun; its purpose was to keep people out, rather than in.

  Jack sat on a bench under a shelter hugging a bowl of soup, watching the rainfall around him. It was an outpost run by a beefed up organisation of would-be soldiers. They had created their own little army, with its own ranks, with their own slogans hung around the camp, ‘dead? Kill it again’ and ‘alive is potentially dead’.

  There were few women and children, Jack noticed as he discreetly looked around. The majority of ‘soldiers’ carried a mix of guns, old Colts and Smith & Westerns, new type machine guns, Scar-Light’s, X-25’s and Corner shot Launchers. Some brandished the basic blades, machetes, knives and swords. This is an amnesty’s worst nightmare, he thought.

  Unlike its former use, the compound now had a threatening and dangerous atmosphere. It’s occupants were as busy as a colony of ants as they moved with purpose, and despite the uncomfortable feeling Jack had as he sat there watching them all mill about, as crazy as they seemed, they had saved Jack’s life and for that he was grateful.

  They had mocked Jack earlier when he entered the shelter laughing and shouting abuse, “You screw stiffs.”

  Jack just nodded and smiled, muddy with his face full of congealed blood and his hair matted with it.

  A man with a scar on his face sat next to him on the creaky bench. “Any new comers have to prove themselves, it’s a bizarre ritual,” he whispered.

  “Ritual?” questioned Jack putting down his spoon.

  “The food doesn’t come free. They put you in a penned area blind folded and armed only with a machete. Into the pen, they release a drooling corpse.”

  He pointed over to a darkened unlit wooden pen at the far side of the compound. He looked around and cautiously continued. “The idea is you chop off its head, without being bitten or killed. Then they take off the blindfold and you have to cut off all its limbs.” The man looked hard at Jack. Jack gulped. “If you get bitten, you’ll be executed along with your new dead friend. I’ve seen it happen many times now. I’m giving you a heads up ‘cos in the morning you’ll be expected to perform.”

  “This is insane.” Jack murmured.

  “Insane? Take a look around you, in this topsy-turvy world, anything goes,” stated the man taking a mouthful of food.

  Jack knew what the first light would bring. He needed the safety of the shelter and knew that he was safer with these nuts than with the things that raged around outside the compound. He laid his head on the table and drifted into a troubled sleep.

  It had become a drained, hopeless world and carnage was universal. The dead had risen. They walked the earth. A presidential underground bunker had been torn apart from the inside out. No matter where you hid, death would find you.

  There were only small pockets of people still alive. Some stayed in enclosures, others roamed from town to town. You couldn’t start afresh, the dead outnumbered you. International communication had ceased, whilst some people used battery-powered radios for local transmissions, countries could no longer communicate with each other. World leaders had acted hastily with missile strikes, which caused more death and further breakdown in communication. Had this catastrophe been brought it on by the human race? It
seemed so. It seemed like the end.

  Jack woke with hands slapping his back wishing him good luck; the scarred man who had spoken with him the night before was nowhere to be seen. Sleepily, he faced the crowd. A man moved forward from the mob and in a quiet voice explained what was expected of him. He was offered some whiskey, straight from the bottle then someone thrust a machete into his hands. He was blindfolded with a Metallica puppet master T-shirt, before being positioned in the centre of the pen. The only sound he heard was the wooden metal meshed door as it slammed shut. There were shouts and jeers as the flesh-eater was dragged by a make shift collar into the pen. Jack listened to the taunting and heard the impact of a foot into bone as his opponent was kicked; he took note of its fall to the floor. Suddenly, Jack felt sorry for it, sorry for what he was about to do, it had after all once been human.

  The crowd fell silent. Jack could hear the thing moving around, holding the weapon with both hands, he stood still and listened intently. He could not yet pinpoint its position. Then without warning, his hair was grabbed, yanked from behind and the blindfold was ripped off. Jack was ready to take the monster’s head off and swung round ready to start the battle, until he saw who it was. Tim stood before him pale and drawn.

  For what seemed like minutes, Jack stood frozen staring into the face of his childhood friend. He didn’t do it, but I heard a shot. I never should have abandoned him.

  Adrenaline kicked in and they started to circle each other stumbling on the uneven floor which was covered with bark chippings. Jack looked at his lifelong friend standing in front of him swaying awkwardly, an empty shell of the man he once knew. Jack raised the sharpened metal blade, but again hesitated.

  “Do it!” yelled the crowd.

  Seconds seemed like hours. The crowd got louder, raucous shouting and chanting began.

  Jack threw down the blade to the disappointment and bewilderment of the crowd. Tim lunged forward, this time gripping Jack with his icy grey hands. Leaning forward his discoloured mouth gaped open, as he attempted to bite him.

  BANG! Sounded a shotgun, silencing the crowd. Jacks face was splattered with blood once again, but this time it was the blood of his friend that covered his face. For a moment he stood, dazed. If Tim’s life had flashed before his eyes once again, Jack was sure he would have been in the vision throughout. His eyes dampened and a single tear trickled down Jacks face.

  The crowd gathered around the man brandishing a shotgun.

  As it began to rain, a heavyset man opened the pen, moving through the open gate he pushed Jack to the damp bark. The crowd started cheering he raised his fist to beat Jack.

  “Jackson you’re a wimp! Why didn’t you just do it?” he howled as he pounded his fist into Jacks face as he picked up the machete with the other hand.

  “You’re no good to us!” he growled deeply.

  He went to bring down the machete in a blow that would have ended Jacks life. Jack closed his eyes, fearing the worst, he knew that the penalty of not killing Tim, but how could he, and after all they had been through together? Suddenly there was a thud on the ground next to Jack. Cautiously opening his eyes and letting his head turn to the side, he saw that the body of this attacker was now lying besides him, but his head had rolled off a few feet away.

  Jack took the out stretched arm that was reaching towards him and was pulled from the floor by the man with the scarred face that had told him of this initiation the previous evening. “Thank you,” Jack gasped.

  “Maybe one day you’ll repay the favour, Jackson. I’m Sam.” Quickly the man scanned the faces around them. “I think we’d better leave now,” he said wiping his blade clean on the edge of his shirt.

  Sam paused, looked at Jack’s face. “You were going to let the corpse kill you?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. The thing is I knew him. We were best friends, forever. I thought he was dead.”

  Sam was relieved that Jack appeared to have a conscience and was someone that he could trust. Instinctive he knew they could be friends.

  “You just learned your first important lesson, Jacko.”

  “Thanks,” shouted Jack with a comforting feeling. Jacko, that’s what Tim called me. He though as the jeering crowed, stared gearing up to turn nasty.

  “Well Jacko,” Sam slapped the weighty machete in his hand and they left the pen, “never hesitate again.”

  The enraged crowd congregated around the two men, infuriated that their entertainment had been cut short they stopped them from advancing. A woman removed a black gasmask as she stepped forward. She was a tall, muscular and attractive with a shaven head, dressed in tight black clothing, boots and a bulletproof vest. Two fingers were missing on her right hand, an aesthetic that made her more intriguing.

  She looked them up and down, “very brave,” she snorted, “I commended you, scar face,” she moved her long neck giving a sideward glance at Jack. “Compassionate,” she gripped him by scruff, “but you’ve killed one of our own.” Sam went to speak but was silenced with the woman’s raised palm. “The good news is you’re both going to live. There’s been enough death for one day,” she released Jack. Against the crowds heckles she address the crowd, “There will be no executions today! A far worse punishment lay ahead of these two,” she turned to Sam and Jack, “expulsion from safety of the shelter.”

  They were roughly ushered from the shelter under the female leader’s watchful eyes. The crowd still bayed for blood. They briskly walked past the humming electric fences, making their way out unscathed.

  “One peril overcome...” shrugged Jack as he dodged a falling can.

  “Yeah, but another faces us... at least eight hours of darkness.” Sam pulled up the collar of his long coat as they walked into the field.

  It was a dazzling and beautiful dawn. A small white kitten lay in the grass watching a butterfly. It arched its back, then, sprung forwards, the butterfly moved and settled on another flower. Again, the kitten watched and when the time was right pounced again. The butterfly escaped and the kitten chased, and so the game continued. Soon the insect flew into the sky and disappeared from view. The kitten sat with its tail flicking gently against the blades of grass. Purring it began to clean itself, first one of the front paws, then its soft shoulder...it gave out an ear-splitting, blood-curdling shriek. Its neck was tugged and bitten into, the bones crunching with the impact and the meowing ceased. A human-like creature wearing a suit began to eat the kitten like a barbecued spare rib. The white fur turned red and after a few minutes, what was left was discarded.

  “Sick,” Jack said disgusted, “we should shoot it.”

  “That would be a waste of bullets, it’s too far away,” assured Sam. They stood up from where they sat on the edge of a small rock face.

  They had spent a sleepless night in a water tower, it was safer up high and off the ground, where in turns they could keep watch and get some rest.

  Before them now was farmland as far as the eye could see. They stopped, sat down and supped the last of their water in silence.

  “Where do we go? You know, this could all be over,” Jack said to break the silence.

  Sam smiled and shook his head, “Over?”

  Jack became agitated, “No I mean it!” he barked. “Our last mission, we tested three rockets, we fired at a crowd of the dead. The rockets contained this innovative experimental pulse. At first we thought it didn’t work but then the dead began to react, some began to choke, some just stopped, keeling over where they stood. One of the rockets was amped up and their skin begun to fall away, burn and disintegrate, leaving chunks of flesh, bones and matter. Some of their eyes popped, it stank.”

  “Test number seventy-seven...” blurted Sam.

  Jack eyes lit up. “You’ve heard of it, how?”

  “Carry on with the story then I’ll tell you.”

  Mystified Jack continued, “We arrived at the base, those things had infested it, and there was no one to tell. I am not a scientist by the way,” whispered Jack clenchi
ng his fist.

  Sam stood, “The main thing is it works, if what you say is true. We need to go to the base. Then I’ve got a friend to find.”

  “Sam, its overrun, and even if we did get in; we wouldn’t know what data we were looking for, there are archives there with hundreds of computers and documents, someone also has to build the rockets.” Jack explained scratching his head.

  Sam glared at Jack, through his frustration he knew he was right. They started to walk off as Sam quickly told Jack about Jayne. Thoughts rattled in Sam’s brain as they continued to walk, pieces came together like a jigsaw. Jayne, beautiful Jayne, she was a scientist and the key to all this.

  “I have to get to back to Jayne,” Sam stated determinedly.

  Jack pleaded with Sam, “Listen what if it’s all a coincidence? She may not be answer to everything.”

  Sam ignored him, “We’ll cut across the city; it’s the quickest way back.”

  “What? It’s hopeless. Are you...” he quickly stopped his rant, “crazy?” he whispered. Mumbling under his breath he decided that there was no point in arguing, Sam had saved his life and without him he wouldn‘t last long.

  As birds flew overhead, they changed direction and headed north-west towards the city. The industrial areas and suburbs were quite, long since vacated by all human life form. They walked on, deeper into Ravenswood. “Not long now Jack and I’ll be back in my hometown of Farmore. Back to the school; back to Jayne.”

  Sam touched his scar, it reminded him of the day he narrowly missed the woman in the road, the days before he had met Jayne. He had purpose once again. Sam smiled; the bizarre situation got his blood pumping. It is not every day you get to save humanity, he mused.

  Oblivious to the horrors that still lurked in the cellar, just feet away Jayne sat in the aftermath of her killings for over eight hours. In a cold sweat, she sat covered in blood, hugging her knees to her chest, shivering in shock. The bodies of the children lay all around her in a bloodbath. She had killed, murdered them all. With bloodshot eyes, she tentatively stood before staggered back to room twelve. Jayne sat down, sinking to the floor in a heap; he legs unable to hold her up for too long. Closing her eyes in an attempt to shut the horror of the last day from her mind, visions of children’s faces haunted her and she knew she could not stay at the school much longer.