by Burke, Rowan
‘It’s nothing’ I alleged to myself, ‘I’m just worrying due to the situation, not because of Damian’. I finished shuffling back down to comfort and closed my ears, but the removal of one sense heightened another as the sound of whispering bounced up the stairs and into my pricked ears. Who is he whispering to? There are eight of us, and seven are in here, so who the fuck is Damian talking to???
With caution, I slowly and quietly hobbled to my one good foot. The pain on the other although a lesser of its earlier counterpart was still significant enough to not allow any weight on it, so I moved around the edge of the wall, using the sturdy upright structure as my standing aid to assist me to the door. I moved steadily but gingerly so as not to awake the others, and certainly not to let Damian know anyone was up and about. The thick curtain guarding the bottom of the stairs acted as an sound screen, permitting me the stealth to get down the stairs undetected, but wasn’t thick enough to cancel out his whispering so still had to descend with care. With my injury I figured hopping would be pretty loud, so gradually lowered myself to a sitting position on the top steps and steadily descended in a spider-like crawl toward the bottom, intently searching for the source of the whispering’s recipient.
It took some restraint not to make any noise during my descent, as my ankle was still pretty bad plus the stairs were difficult to manoeuvre in way that didn’t cause creaking. The muffled moans of the zombies could still be heard outside as they clearly didn’t take the opportunity to rest as we did, but their persistent hum provided some cover for me as the inevitable creek did on occasion occur. As I found the bottom step I carefully pulled the thick curtain to one side to peer into the darkness of downstairs; most of the candles had burnt out overnight but a couple were still ablaze, dancing with their affiliate shadows on the dilapidated walls. The stairs met the middle of the hallway, which stretched through the house and stemmed off into a living room, a dining room, a W.C and a kitchen at the back of the house. The latter room was where Damian was, revealing him standing on the far side facing the metal and wood sheets which barricaded the back of the house. He was leaning forward with one hand on a small, wooden breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen, facing away from me with the other hand up against his ear.
He wasn’t talking to someone in the house, he was on the phone.
My memory went back to the earlier part of that morning. Derek has definitely asked if anyone had a phone, and Damian definitely said no. We had only spent a few minutes meeting him before we all decided to sleep, but it seemed an integral asset that was very odd to lie about. Why wouldn’t he just tell us he had one? And presumably as he said no, Mark, Tina and Kate didn’t know he had one either, and they must have been with him for days if not longer. I just couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t say, and why he was whispering. Perhaps so as not to wake us all up, which is why he had found the furthest possible place to find seclusion without vacating the house, which I appreciated was an impossibility, or impossible without becoming breakfast anyway. That certainly seemed like the logical explanation regarding his positioning, but the secretive possession of a phone still didn’t sit right with me, so I continued my stealth-like approach to try and listen in to what was being conversed.
As I crept down the edge of the hallway, my one good foot hugging the skirting board, I eventually made it to the door way leading into the kitchen. But on my arrival the floorboard creaked beneath my foot which was just that bit too loud to be disguised by the external zombie moans. Damian straightened up, clearly hearing the floor’s groan, and twisted his torso in my direction. With his alerted motion I threw myself behind the left side of doorframe against the edge of the stairwell, smacking my bad ankle in the process. It hurt like a motherfucker yet I knew if I made any noise then any hope of finding out what the call was about would be swallowed up into a potential lie, so I mutely winced in pain whilst tucking myself tight against the wall.
“Wait”
I heard him say.
“Hang on just a second”
I was rumbled, and whatever suspicions I had were about to be subsided with whatever story Damian chose to tell me. His footsteps across the vinyl floor got closer to me as I debated whether or not I should just swallow my pride, rolling out from my soon discovered hiding place. Maybe I could scare him and pretend it was a goof? He’d probably buy that, but the phone call would be long gone. He came right to the door and stopped, but instead of either sticking his head round the corner to see me with a rather sheepish look occupying my face, he pushed the kitchen door to before pacing back into the lightless depths of the kitchen.
My heart was racing, which was really fucking stupid as I wasn’t under threat, nor did I even know there was anything worth hiding for. If anything, I felt a little embarrassed of myself, a little fucking ridiculous for playing spies, just like when I was a kid, except this time I slammed my smashed ankle in the process. With a feeling of self-degradation, I leant forward with intent to walk in the kitchen and wish Damian a good morning, forgetting the whole thing. Yet as I did, he turned back to my direction and I heard exactly what he was saying…
“They’re all asleep…..yeah……so you’ll bring the car?”
He’s found us a way out! He’s found us transportation! I knew I liked him!
“So we have an understanding yes? I’ll create a diversion so the zombies run one way, then when the coast is clear I’ll peg it your way and you pull up, pick me up, and we’ll speed off?”
I knew I hated him.
“And the helicopter is still there waiting?.......Yeah………ok sounds good……..sit tight and I will phone you to let you know when it’s all go, five minutes before action…..see you then, bye”
Gob smacked, I struggled to find the right reaction. I could shout bloody murder, but he would easily catch me and shut me up, perhaps for good, before I could tell the others this cunt’s plan. The stairs were too much of a struggle for now, and parading up them just seemed pointless as would most likely be met with noise and more inevitable pain. So weighing up all options, I decided to make my way back up the hallway to the foot of the stairs, then make it seem like I had just that second come down. I one foot moonwalked my way across the floor to the curtain, then hopped and loudly slammed my foot on the floor to create a very deliberate noise. To further caricaturise my entrance I started singing ‘Oh what a beautiful morning’ from Oklahoma, but I’m not really sure why.
“Hello?”
Damian darted out of the kitchen with guilty, searching eyes.
“Good morning mate!”
I exclaimed.
“What fucking time is it?”
I saw his hand shoot inside his pocket to conceal the phone before he almost comically shrugged.
“No idea pal; there’s no bloody clocks in this gaff! How’s your foot? I didn’t even hear you come down…”
That’s fucking right you didn’t.
“I had to come down slowly and carefully my friend, it still hurts like a bitch. What are you up to? Couldn’t sleep?”
“Oh I was just scouting for some breakfast, y’know”
His scrambled answer would have normally been quite believable under any normal circumstances. I mean, why wouldn’t he be looking for some food? Unless I had heard the call then I would have accepted that response before moving on, blissfully unaware.
My purposefully loud entry clearly found its way upstairs as we heard more people stirring and ultimately making their way down too. Mark immediately made an attempt to stamp his Alpha dominance as he bellowed that we need to get up and moving.
“No more sleeping”
He bawled, like a deranged ape.
“What’s the plan?”
Damian unsurprisingly piped up.
“I heard a helicopter this morning, it flew in from the other side of the barracks, which is why I woke up and was down here”
Bollocks.
“I vote we throw something loud, like one of the mop buckets
or something, out of the top window towards the right. This will distract the zombies. Then we all make a break for it left, around the parameter of the barracks, around the corner enough to be out of site. We have shears which we can use to cut the barbed wired, jump the fence, and make a break for the helicopter”
Everyone went silent for a moment as they looked inanimately in thought. A few seconds of ponder passed as their gazes were lifted to meet those of one another, receiving each glance with a ‘why not’ subsided expression and increasingly animated nod. They bought it, and once more they actually liked the idea. It was vague, but it showed hope, something none of us had had for some time.
I thought for a moment about outing him in front of everyone, revealing his plan and letting these guys decide his fate. Having seen the madness unleashed from this whole ordeal, including Jon’s outburst and the more severe reactions of people out on the high street I felt his brutal punishment they would ensue to be justifiable karma for planning to let us all get ripped apart as he sped off to safety. But then I remembered when he said on the phone:
‘Sit tight and I will phone you to let you know when it’s all go, five minutes before action’
If I outed him, he wouldn’t phone his mate, which means his mate wouldn’t come. His mate had a car, and knew where there was a helicopter, and from the sounds of it didn’t know that we were the intended diversion so imagine he’d be just as willing to help us, perhaps with a bit of friendly persuasion. If I told the guys there’s no way there’d create the diversion anyway, especially not old cock face Mark; He’d tell us to go fuck ourselves and dart straight towards the car, and with the zombies getting quicker they’d be on his heels so rapidly he’d never make it. If they got to the car, none of us would have any chance at all; no one was quick enough on their feet nor did they have anywhere near the required stamina to get away. Ultimately, all it needed was one person to divert the zombies off in the opposite direction, and everyone else to wait for the car.
I knew what I had to do.
As everyone started filtering off to each room to suitably arm themselves in preparation for the sprint, I grabbed Phil and pulled him to one side. We subtly moved into the room I assumed was originally used as a dining room, yet it remained completely bare apart from a few remnants of random materials strewn across the carpet. The wallpaper had been torn down exposing the bare, grey walls, and the room was extremely dark bar the faint flicker of two small tea candles gracing the doorway.
With a cautious whisper, all the while making sure no-one else caught wind of what was happening, I told him what I had heard. I told him the conversation I had earwigged only moments before, I told exactly what Damian was up to. Phil’s expression of curiosity with regard to the reason behind me pulling him aside took a sharp switch to that of swiftly intense fury; I noticed his fists clench by his side as his lip snarled up toward his nose. He exhaled heavily in a bull like fashion, before turning in attempt to leave the room, assumedly to politely introduce Damian to his fists. Having the same reaction yet being granted time to think about the potentially detrimental ramifications, I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, pushing him against the wall.
“No”
I instructed.
“Not yet. I have a plan”
It took a few moments to calm Phil down. His vengeful pensiveness was a forceful storm to contend with, yet I knew it had to blow over, and blow over quickly to avert any suspicion that something was up. As his mood subsided he looked at me for an explanation, for a reason not to go out there and beat the living fuck out of our own personal Judas.
I took a triumphant stance, puffed my chest out and stared him directly in the eye.
“Phil”
I proclaimed.
“I am going to run left, as a diversion so you guys can get to the car. And I’m going to run on my own”
Phil looked at me in disbelief, mouth agape in shock to what he had heard. But in an instant he began chuckling, quickly transitioning into a full blown laugh, before taking a violent shove into outright hysterics, scathingly bellowing his signs of something being very fucking funny indeed, right in my face.
“What’s so funny?”
Derek enquired as he walked past the doorway on his weapons hunt.
“I really have no idea”
I really didn’t.
He carried on his way.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
I asked, trying to quiet Phil’s laughter down and bring a sense of normality to the situation.
“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”
His words spluttered through small bursts of laughter.
“But how in the fuck are you going to outrun them?! They’re quick, maybe even quicker by now, and you can barely walk! What are you going to do, hop five yards and distract them for a mere second or two? They’ll have you and us before we even leave the front door!”
I felt a level of ingratitude, but he did have a point. I’d be caught and torn apart so quick that the diversion would be instantly rendered useless. Deflated, I lowered my head in realisation my attempt to help was completely futile, my triumph pose wilted into a sulky slope, an entirely wasted effort to both foil and utilise Damian’s plan. It was pointless to feel mad at Phil as although he had made me realise it in a particularly humiliating way, he was bang on the money, and for that it was….almost…laughable.
As his merriment diminished, Phil reverted back to his serious expression and grabbed my arms, glaring straight into my eyes. He had a sudden look of genuine seriousness about him, a confident intensity, completely the polar opposite to his borderline hysterical reaction only seconds before.
“Now listen”
He stated.
I’m rested, and physically I’m fine. I will cause the diversion”
I raised my hand and opened my mouth with intent to interject but was immediately stifled.
“Let me finish”
He insisted.
“I will cause the diversion, I will run left screaming and squawking and making as much of a spectacle of myself as necessary to get that wave of zombies to chase me. I want to leave the house first, and as I do, you stop the others. You wait until we are far enough away that everyone, including you with your foot, can make it to the car. You need to control them, you need to calm them, you need to assure them that what you’re doing will save them. Do not tell them the plan until the last minute as this is not up for discussion; I don’t want to be stopped, I don’t want anyone else deciding they were going to take on the task; this is my destiny now. Don’t even think about me; I will run as hard and as fast as I can, circling through the edge of the woods, and I will do everything I possibly can to get to you, to get to the car. If I don’t, if you can’t see me but you can see danger, drive away. Don’t look back, just go and get everyone to safety. I will do this for you guys because I love all of you, and I have faith that I can make it back to you. They’re not that fucking quick yet!”
My attempts at argument were fruitless, trying to think of another way or pleading that it still be me that causes the distraction being dismissed. Phil had made up his mind, and knowing him as well as I did, I knew when that foot was down there was no way of lifting it back up. This was now the plan, and I just had to make sure I extended enough courtesy to correctly execute my part; my marching orders were clear and concise. I nodded reluctantly, a tear dwelling the corner of my eye. I tried to reassure myself he’d make it and my concerns were unjust, but to only expect a positive outcome from this, or one where we all make it out including Phil would have been naïve to say the least.
“One thing”
Phil pointed his finger at me, retaining the intense gaze from the blacks of his eyes to mine.
“Tell Bri I love her, and that I went out in a blaze of glory…with machine guns…and a tank...maybe even a jet pack. Like, I caused absolute fucking anarchy and blew thousands of the zombies away. Tell her I went out like Rambo if he had a part in
Dawn of the Dead”
With a subtle chortle, I wholeheartedly agreed. If for whatever reason he didn’t make it, Bri would know his perhaps slightly fabricated tale of heroism.
8.
“Five minutes!”
Damian shouted through the house.
Everyone reappeared armed to the tits with bats, bits of wood, shards of metal, knives and anything else they could strap to their bodies. We all looked badass, and if there was any point in taking a picture this would have been a prime opportunity for an awesome visual memento. In the darkness of downstairs, we were all ready to give them hell. Damian scurried off exclaiming his need for a trip to the bathroom before the exile. I saw his hand reach into his pocket before the bathroom door closed, and darted my vision to meet that of Phil’s as he shared the same disgusted expression. Regardless, this was our evidential indication that the plan was a-go, and we now needed to stick to it.
