Killing the Dead (Book 10): Feral

by Murray, Richard

  Much like when I stalked my victims before the world ended. I would learn all I could about them wherever possible. The first victim, of course, had died before I could do so and afterwards I had spent a great deal of time learning all I could about him.

  The last victim, one Mr Josh Taylor had been like the first. I’d found him, staked out his home and work and observed him as he went about his life. In all that time I’d not bothered to learn his name. That would come later. After he was dead and then I would truly get to know him.

  So as I followed after the undead in search of this leader of theirs, a sense of excitement filled me. Much like it had used to do with my other victims, so it did then. I wanted to watch, to learn and to find out all I could before I finally had the chance to sink my blade into its flesh.

  It took me some time to reach whatever the zombie's destination was and all the while, I couldn’t help the occasional twinge of something strange inside of me. It was to do with Lily, I knew that much. She’d be worried no doubt and when I considered that, I had the strangest urge to head back and reassure her that I was well.

  No matter how strong that urge though, it couldn’t compete with the roiling ball of darkness in my gut that demanded I find this new Feral and kill it. That need was almost as great as it had ever been, that urge to end a life that had been quiet of late.

  Eventually, I turned a corner and skidded to a halt. Quickly ducking back around it and out of sight before poking my head around the side of the building I hid behind and peering ahead.

  At the far end of the road was a large building, made up of corrugated metal siding with a peaked roof, it towered over the nearby houses. A wood panelled fence surrounded it and in the yard beyond, were piled stacks of timber.

  The sign attached to the side of the building proclaimed it to be ‘Andrews Timber Products’ and the parking area just outside the fence was full of cars. No doubt those belonged to the workers who had abandoned them when things went to hell.

  A foul odour permeated the area. Greater there than elsewhere in the town and overpowering despite the steady rainfall.

  When the roar sounded once more, it was echoed by hundreds of ruined voices and beneath them, the ever present moans of the Shambling undead. I could just make out movement behind the half-open gate and I pondered my next move.

  It was in there. The source of those calls, and judging by the odour and the noise, a host of undead also. The urge to see inside was overpowering and despite the risk, despite the sheer idiocy of doing anything other than running fast and far, I moved closer.

  The timber yard stretched for quite some distance and it soon became clear that I was staring at the back end of the building. The partly opened gate was the rear entrance where the workers would arrive and enter, while the main waggons delivering and collecting goods would enter from the other end.

  This certainly made it a little easier to approach unnoticed but at the same time, meant that to see anything useful, I would have to get towards the front of the damned building. Not impossible, but hiding between stacks of timber as I inched my way through the yard was less than appealing. Of course, there was another option.

  Like many such industrial buildings, it had an access ladder to the roof. It wasn’t much to look at, rusted metal bolted to the side of the building with a flimsy cage of protective rings to save you from being blown off the side. Though they wouldn’t do much to stop you from dropping straight down.

  Still, it would make it easier to get up top and see the entirety of the yard without being seen myself by the host of undead that I imagined to be gathered there. So, with that in mind, I set off.

  The fence wasn’t any kind of real problem. Any undead had moved inside the fence anyway and when I reached up to grasp the top and pull myself up just enough to see over, the way was clear. They’d not lingered and had gone around the front of the building.

  I slipped over the top and landed in the soft mud with a splash that seemed overly loud before I dashed the few metres to the ladder and began to climb. The metal was slick with rainwater and the higher I climbed, the more I appreciated the ringed cage that surrounded me as the wind tried its best to pull me from my far too tenuous grip of those rungs.

  Once on the roof, my footing precarious at best with the wind tugging at my clothes and threatening to drag me off, I crouched low and moved slowly over the corrugated roof panels. They bowed quite alarmingly beneath me and I wondered if perhaps they were intended to support a man’s weight.

  Another roar sounded as I reached the far end of the building and peered down, wide-eyed, at the chaos that filled the yard below me. There was my quarry, standing atop a pile of timber that had tumbled from the neat stack it had once been in, to form a mound in the mud.

  All around it, other stacks had been toppled to create a barrier of sorts in a rough circle. Inside that circle were the Shamblers. Torn and filthy clothing covered rotting grey flesh. Marks of violence covered them and more than one was missing chunks of flesh or limbs.

  Gathered around them, crouched on the timber barrier were the Ferals. They snarled and growled at any Shambler that tried to approach, let alone climb, those mounds. Occasionally one or more would dart down and pounce on one of their slower cousins before tearing at its flesh with clawed fingers then scooping bloody gobbets of meat into their mouth.

  Feeding ground. That was what immediately came to mind. They’d herded the Shamblers into an area where they could contain them and used them as a food source when there was nothing else nearby. The staggering amount of bones that littered the ground bore testament to them having done that for some time.

  Which meant that this leader that had come over from Silloth had taken control of the Ferals already in the town. They’d already had the feeding ground in place when it had arrived. That meant the leader wasn’t the cause of the differences I’d seen. Which likely meant the Ferals elsewhere would be the same. An unpleasant thought.

  As I scanned the crowded yard, something caught my attention as my gaze passed over. It wasn’t anything specific, just a niggling notion that there was something I should pay attention to. I focused as much as I could on one particularly crowded group and a soft sigh escaped me. I’d accomplished my task at least.

  There in the midst of a group of Ferals gorging themselves, was a young woman. She was naked, with great gouge marks across her skin. One of her breasts had been half eaten and I could clearly see several fingers missing from her left hand. The burn mark that I vaguely remembered her as having was clearly visible and enough for me to be certain. It was the girl I’d gone out looking for.

  She had clearly returned as a Feral and was busily stuffing herself full of decaying zombie flesh as I watched. When the others of her little group moved back up the timber mound, she did the same. As though part of the pack, she followed the leader, who it seemed deferred to the one that roared.

  It was fascinating to watch and the more I studied them, the more I noted the differences. The Ferals weren’t one large pack, but were in fact, many small packs that were obedient to the overall leader.

  Whatever power it exerted over them, it wasn’t about physical power. The Feral leader was little more than average height and built like the rest of them. It sat on its haunches, watching the others and barely acknowledging them, even when one scrambled over the timber to drop a bloody gobbet of flesh at its feet.

  The leader reached down and snatched up the meat, putting it to its mouth and tearing at it with its teeth. From where I lay on the roof, looking down, I couldn’t see as much as I’d like but something about it set off that itch in the back of my mind. Like I should know it.

  When a Shambler broke loose of the larger group and shuffled over towards a low part of the barrier without being stopped. The leader issued a series of guttural growls and a pack of Ferals ran the Shambler down.

  It wasn’t language, I was sure of that. There was a certain animalistic in
telligence to them, I could see that at least, but they weren’t capable of higher thought. They could set up an ambush, track their prey and bring it down like hyenas. But I highly doubted that they’d use tools or be able to manage a door knob anytime soon.

  As I watched, a commotion started on the far side of the group. Some grunts and snarling were heard before the Ferals there cleared a space.

  Two of the undead came into view, dragging a body between them. They’d obviously taken their time feeding first, judging by the amount of flesh missing from it and the gaping hole where its stomach should be.

  They dragged it across the timber, leaving bloody streaks on the damp wood, and then pulled it all the way towards the leader. It hopped off its perch and trotted down to the muddy yard as they dropped the body.

  It crouched low, sniffing at the wounds, at the body itself and I watched, fascinated, as it seemed to come to a conclusion. It growled once and tore a strip of meat from the body before returning to its previous perch. That seemed to be a signal for the others to rush down and scramble amongst themselves to tear at the flesh. By the time they were done, there was little left but bones.

  There was something undeniably different about them. Their leader had made a decision of whether or not that one would be allowed to come back or be food. By the way it had lingered where the dead man’s stomach had been, I guessed it realised that as a zombie it wouldn’t be able to feed, to become Feral like them, and so was only useful as food.

  Truly fascinating behaviour and it only heightened that need inside or me. I wanted so very badly to kill it that I could almost feel the surge of joy that would come as I plunged my knife into it. I was so distracted with the thoughts of how I would kill it that I didn’t notice another body being dragged forward until it was almost right beneath me.

  The growl was different enough to bring my attention back, to let me look down and see what was going on. To see the body lying torn and broken at the feet of the leader. See the holes where its eyes should have been. To see the face of my friend.

  “Pat…” I heard myself say as my hand moved towards my knife hilt.

  It wasn’t loud. But clearly had been loud enough as the Feral leader looked up at me and I received a second shock of recognition. One eye was missing and scars covered its face and upper body.

  I knew those scars. Knew where each one would be, what had made them and how it had responded to each. I’d made them after all. When it had been strapped to a table in the cellar beneath the house in the Lake District. When it had been a way for me to pass my time during the long winter, testing the undead I found, trying to learn more about them.

  It clearly remembered me too, judging by the roar that sounded as it saw me. A hundred or more faces looked my way and I had the sudden appreciation of what a mouse must feel like when surrounded by a dozen cats.

  Pat was dead, worse, he would become one of them if I had read the situation right. What that meant for Lily and the others, I didn’t know but that urge to kill had vanished. Replaced by an urgent need to find her and make sure she was safe.

  Not that that would be easy, I realised, as the howls sounded from the ground below. The undead knew where I was and while I was confident about their inability to climb a ladder, I was also sure that they would be able to surround the building before I could climb down.

  I started running, heedless of the risk and only managed to say, “oh sh…” as the corrugated roof panel collapsed beneath my weight and I fell through into the building below.

  Chapter 19 – Lily.

  It took a little while for me to notice the difference. That lack of noise from the room above us, the way Jinx settled down at the foot of the stairs, no longer on guard. She’d realised it before I did. The Ferals were gone.

  “What’re you doing?” Charlie asked as I pushed myself up and approached the stairs.

  “I think it’s clear,” I said as I began to climb.

  Her response was missed as I climbed those stone stairs and paused at the top, head cocked to one side as I strained to listen for any sound of movement beyond the trap door. For several minutes I stood there, listening, and heard nothing.

  There was a nuzzle against my leg and I reached down to scratch Jinx idly behind the ears. She was calm and relaxed, giving her own form of comfort to me which I was sure she sensed that I badly needed. I trusted her senses enough to believe that the way was clear, so I reached for the trapdoor.

  “Wait!”

  I looked back to see Georgia pushing up the stairs behind me. She had that weird Japanese trowel thing that looked way too much like a weapon of war in her hand. I cocked an eyebrow in query that she probably couldn’t see in the heavy shadows cast by the pen light Charlie pointed our way.

  “You can’t go up alone, may as well have backup.”

  “Can I trust you?” I asked her and received that infuriating smile in return.

  “Sure you can. I’ve done nothing to harm you or your friends have I? Heck, I’ve done plenty to keep you all alive.”

  That was true of course. I couldn’t exactly deny it when the only reason I was still amongst the living was due in large part to her herbal remedies that had kept me alive long enough for Ryan to bring me the antibiotics I needed.

  “Fine.”

  There was no handle on the underside of the trap door so I just placed one hand against the dusty wood and pushed. It rose about an inch, a shaft of light shining brightly through the gap and making my eyes water. I blinked them rapidly to clear them and peered through the gap. Nothing there.

  I glanced back down to Georgia who nodded firmly, then I pushed on the hatch and climbed up out of the beer cellar. I raised my club in my free hand and scanned the room for threats, ready and even eager, to avenge my friend’s death.

  “Empty,” I said as Jinx climbed out of the hole and trotted past me, tail wagging gently. I should have trusted her straight away.

  “Where are they?” Georgia asked as she pushed past. “Where’s your friend?”

  “What!” I looked across the bar to where I’d seen him fall. There was nothing there but a slowly drying pool of blood and the stinking corpses of the Ferals he’d killed. “Fuck!”

  “You good?” Charlie called up the stairs, a hint of worry in her voice.

  “Yeah,” I replied as I pushed the trapdoor back as far as it could go, letting its own weight hold it open and leaving me free to cross the room to the broken windows and look out.

  I had to be careful not to cut myself on any of the glass shards that littered the windowsill and seating. Judging by the dark stains on much of it, the zombies hadn’t had such concern and the last thing I wanted was to get infected from a random cut.

  “All clear,” I called back to Georgia who grunted in reply.

  “Where the hell are they?”

  “No idea,” I said as I reached the damaged front door and pulled it open, just enough for me to see out. “Nothing in the street.”

  I stepped out, shading my eyes against the light rain that was falling and peered up and down the street. There was nothing to see though, nothing to indicate the undead had been all around the place during the night.

  “They went that way then,” Georgia said as she joined me. I grunted a response, not really expecting her to elaborate but she did anyway. “Track marks in the bones. They dragged something along the path.”

  She was right, which was infuriating. There was a noticeable gap in the bones that littered the road, as though something large had been dragged along. The bloody stains almost unnoticeable against the damp pavement.

  “We should get the others,” Georgia said.

  “You think he’s still alive?” I asked with more hope in my voice than I cared for.

  “Pat? No,” she replied.

  “Then what? We wait here for Ryan and get the fuck away from this hell hole or we follow after them and find out why they took his body.”

&nbs
p; “It’s what? Eight, nine in the morning?” She asked. “If Ryan was coming back, he’d be here by now. He’s probably dead too.”

  “You don’t know him like I do. He won’t be dead, but if he’s not here then there’s a damned good reason why.”

  “Whatever. I’ll get the others. You decide what you want to do about the cowardly pricks upstairs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Georgia stopped and looked back, a wide smile forming on her face. “They abandoned us to die. I have herbs that can make it quick, though not painless.”

  “No,” I said. Jesus! She really is like him. “That’s not my decision to make.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and said, “whatever,” before heading back towards the beer cellar and the others.

  The thing was though, she was right. What should we do about Gabe and the others? They had left us to die. Not just abandoned us but actually sacrificed us in the hopes that it meant they’d survive. Morally, they had done wrong. But wouldn’t it be equally wrong for us to seek vengeance for that?

  I was just so tired of the death and killing. If Pat had been alive he’d have been able to offer me some practical advice. He’d have been as laid back as usual and more than likely willing to forgive and forget. Or maybe that was just me projecting.

  Ryan, where are you? I thought as the urge to curl up on the floor and weep until the world righted itself, washed over me. I was done with the apocalypse, done with the constant fighting to survive and done with being out among the undead. I just wanted to find somewhere safe and hide away until it was all over.

  “Hey.”

  I turned at the sound of the voice and almost let out a sob. “You’re awake,” I said as Gregg approached.

  “Just about. What the hell happened? Where’s Pat’s body?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. How’s Cass?”