Sleep, Think, Die (Book 2): The Undertaking

by Oldham, S. P.

  “Why would he bother bringing us here in the first place then?”

  “It was dark when we got here, remember? No danger of us looking then. I don’t think he intended to let any of us leave in one piece, literally, once he had us safely locked in that bedroom. He never thought we’d actually go looking,”

  “Well let’s do it then,”

  “Do what?”

  “Let’s go look,”

  The closer they got to the double doors, the less Lavender wanted to open them and look inside. Every nerve in her body was jangling as she rested her hand on one of the doors, sending flies buzzing in dismay, to pull it open a little wider.

  Rats flooded out at their entry, scrambling over their feet, making them both jump. Some ran up and over the doors, whilst others turned tail and fled deeper into the cowshed, hiding to startle them later. A cloud of flies lifted and flew outside, as if they had just been waiting for a means of escape. They could not enter further into the building until the creatures had cleared away and would allow them entry undisturbed.

  The first thing that sent alarm bells ringing in Lavender’s mind was the stack of bags and cases thrown into a rough heap in the corner, the pile so huge it left barely enough space to step over it into the room beyond. The bags there were of all descriptions: briefcases, shopping bags, handbags, suitcases and satchels, backpacks. Lavender and Carson exchanged a look,

  “I really don’t like this,” Lavender said.

  “Me neither,” said Carson, “but we’ve come this far,”

  He passed her, stepping over the pile at its lowest point, then turned and held out a hand to help her over. Reluctantly, she accepted it.

  What met them was not row upon row of putrefying dairy cow as Noble had suggested. At first glance there was nothing much at all to see. It was only when they ventured down the milking rows, looking into the individual stalls, that the truth hit them.

  Bodies, in varying stages of decomposition, were stacked as neatly as possible in the stalls. As they walked the length of the row, Lavender saw the lengths the creator of this warped stock cupboard had gone to. It seemed that they were categorised not only by length of decease but also by age and gender, at least as far as it was still possible to tell. Men and women, boys and girls had their own separate compartments to share. Those nearest to the entrance were freshest, some of their features still distinguishable, their faces relatively intact. The further they progressed, the less like human beings the corpses became, the far end little more than a soup of putrefaction.

  “Dear God,” Lavender said, holding her hand to her mouth, gagging, “Jesus Holy fucking Christ. Do you see this Carson? Do you see?”

  “How can I not?” Carson said. His voice was loaded with weariness. Lavender, alarmed, looked him over. The dark cloud that he had kept at a distance for so long was once more threatening to envelop him. She could see it in his eyes.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said, grabbing his elbow and urging him back towards the door. Carson remained unmoving, staring into the stall in front of him.

  “But do you see, Lavender?” he asked, “Do you see?”

  She nodded dumbly, unable to find the words to express her revulsion.

  “You see that they are all naked from the waist down? You see that they each have one shoe on, the left shoe? Do you see that?”

  Lavender looked again at the stalls, seeing that he was right. Her flesh rose, this a kind of horror she was not accustomed to.

  “And do you see that?” Carson added, using the shotgun as a pointing device.

  Dreading what he meant, Lavender turned to look. A pile of shoes ranged across the cow shed from side to side, like a barricade of footwear. They had just been tossed there and forgotten. She turned to Carson, her face quizzical.

  “All for the right foot,” Carson explained without prompting, “no good to Noble,”

  *

  They left the barn in silence, Lavender closing the door fully and sagging back against it. Carson was ashen, his pallor grey. Wordlessly, he handed the shotgun to Lavender and sank to his knees. He covered his head in his arms and let out a long sigh, rubbing at his eyes as if he could wipe away what they had just seen.

  “You think he killed them all?” Lavender asked tentatively.

  “No, too many of them,” Carson said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced of his reply.

  “You mean he went out and dug them up? Why?”

  “He wouldn’t have to look far for dead bodies, would he? Wouldn’t even need to dig them up. They’re like weeds in some places. Sure as hell explains why he’s so fond of his precious hand cart,”

  “Oh God, the cart,” Lavender said, closing her eyes in disgust, “But why? What’s the point of it all?”

  Carson uncovered his head, his hair now a tousled mess, “He’s nuts Lavender, that’s why. Who knows, maybe he was always nuts. Maybe he was a killer before the zombies took over. Or maybe the apocalypse was enough for him to flip his lid once and for all. Either way, I don’t think he’s ever going to offer up any kind of explanation we’d find satisfactory, do you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Noble said. He had appeared from nowhere. Lavender was upright and alert in a flash, the shotgun ready and pointing at the man. He loomed over Carson, still kneeling. He had a carving knife in his hand, lethally sharp. He looked like he knew how to use it. It hovered over Carson’s face as he looked up into the eye of the lunatic.

  “You might understand Carson,” Noble said, looking down at him benevolently, ignoring Lavender and the shotgun, “I thought the minute I first laid eyes on you that you of all people might get it. Why don’t you hear me out?”

  The Reasoning

  “Go on then, explain,” Carson said dully.

  Noble smiled, “Well it’s like this. Newcomers are to be welcomed to the world; not reviled, not rejected, but welcomed. Nurtured even, and do you know why?” he leaned down further, inches away from Carson’s upturned face, as if about to kiss him, “Because they are a judgement upon us, that’s why. Newcomers are the ending that mankind truly deserves. What’s that saying; be careful what you wish for? Well, people got their wish, didn’t they?”

  “I didn’t wish for zombies,”

  “Newcomers,” Noble didn’t bother to look up to offer Lavender the reproach.

  “I didn’t wish for them either,” Carson said, backing her up.

  “Oh, but you did, and so did she. Everyone did, whether they knew it or not. Indifference, lethargy, mindless violence, that drug they tried blaming it all on. Every blind eye ever turned has led us to this, and I say thank you,”

  “Let me guess, you also say ‘Glory to God?’” Lavender couldn’t keep the derision from her voice. Finally, Noble looked at her,

  “I say no such thing. This is nothing to do with God, or the Devil or any other super-being that came out of the human mind. This is a newer evil, a hungrier one, and it’s one we deserve. It’s taught us a final lesson. Those who survive, if any do, will know better because of it,”

  “Really? You mean zombies are a kind of self-lesson? Cruel to be kind and all that?”

  “You could put it like that,”

  “Then why do you shoot them?”

  Noble stood upright, the carving knife at his thigh, level with Carson’s eye.

  “We saw you, shooting at them when you had Mayhew ripped apart,” Lavender clarified.

  “Ah!” Noble said, enlightenment dawning, “No, what you saw was me shooting the slow ones, the ones known as Precursors,”

  “Precursors? You mean zombies?”

  “They are all ‘zombies’ to you! Such is your ignorance!” Noble’s nostrils flared as a flash of anger crossed his features, “To you they are all the same!”

  “Oh, forgive my political incorrectness. I do hope no zombies sue me,” Lavender scoffed, though there was no trace of humour in her remark or her expression.

  “Now there, you are wrong
,” Carson intervened, ignoring Lavender’s comment whilst answering Noble’s.

  Noble looked down upon him again, their eyes locking, “We don’t think of them all as zombies,” Carson explained, “For us, there are the slow ones, the stupid ones; we do call them zombies, but then there are others. They have a light in their eyes, they have some remnant of intelligence. What you call Newcomers, we call Thinkers,”

  “Thinkers? Hmm, interesting. I knew there was more to you than most. I like ‘Thinkers;’ yeah, maybe that’s what I should call them from now on,”

  “As if they give a damn what you call them. All they’re after is your flesh and blood,” Lavender said derisively.

  Noble leered at her, his face a mask of disdain, “You are what they lust after. You and others of your ilk. They would devour you and spit out their leavings. They would not deign to bite you, you are not Newcomer – Thinker – material, nor was your friend Mayhew. You are stupid, base and raw. Good for eating, not for converting,”

  “Converting? You really believe that?” Lavender asked, awed at his fervour. Her hands were sweaty on the shotgun.

  “What were all the bodies about, Noble?” Carson asked in an appeasing tone, “I saw them, the ones you left for me. Why naked from the waist down? Why one left shoe? What was the significance of that?” He sounded genuinely interested, as if he was holding a normal conversation with a rational man. Lavender felt a rush of admiration.

  Noble allowed himself to be distracted. He seemed to light up, as if Carson had asked him the most wonderful question, “I knew you saw! I knew you would understand! But it is obvious, if you think about it. They are naked from the waist down to show their humility, that they are defeated; that mankind is beaten and the Newcomers have won! As for the left shoe, that has two meanings. One, that this is all that is left of humanity and the other, that this human no longer walks the world, but will go forever in circles, repeating the same mistakes for all eternity, too late for the Newcomers to save them. Good riddance too!”

  He sat back, eyes glittering, beaming like a happy child. Without a murmur of pain or acknowledgement, Noble had embedded the tip of the knife into his own palm and was picking small, bloodied lumps out of it. His expression was one of rapture. Lavender swallowed her revulsion.

  “So you didn’t rape those children, or their corpses?” Lavender just had to ask.

  Noble’s features clouded, he shuddered visibly, the thought repellent, “I would not touch any of them in that manner. They were not worthy of me,”

  “Why did you choose to share them with me?” Carson asked cautiously, aware of the knife dangerously close to his own flesh.

  “Because you are different from them,” Noble waved a hand idly towards Lavender, “I saw it in the way you hold yourself. The way you walk, the way you sometimes rub your temples with the burgeoning knowledge,”

  “Rub my temples?”

  “I saw the way you walked so brashly down the street, mindless of anyone and anything. You had a confidence I have not seen in a long time, Carson. A way of being most people never experience. And I was right, wasn’t I? I knew you would understand and you do, don’t you?”

  Noble’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second.

  “Now that you have explained it to me, it is all clear,” Carson said. Lavender cringed; she heard the insincerity in his voice and hoped Noble had not picked up on it too, “And if I had not had that bearing?”

  “Then I would have killed you while you slept, and added you to my collection,”

  “While I slept?” Carson was aghast. Noble laughed.

  “Yes! I stood outside that room and listened to you snore. I admit, I had my doubts about you for a while, but I am so glad I never acted upon them. Now, you and I can work together. We can welcome the Newcomers and continue to spread the word amongst survivors. There must be others out there like us. We can find them together!”

  “Not if I’ve got anything to do with it,” Lavender spat.

  “You haven’t,” Noble said. He was looking at her, twisting the knife in his hand until the handle rested in his palm, the blade pointed at her.

  At the last minute, Lavender realised what he was going to do. She took a sideward dive, hitting the ground hard as the knife thudded into the door behind her. She heard a cry of pain and looked over to see that Carson had delivered a two-handed punch between Noble’s legs. The man clutched at his crotch and doubled over, retching.

  Carson scrabbled to his feet and reached for Lavender, heaving her to her feet. He pulled the knife free of the door and they ran.

  The path they took led them to the other end of the long milking shed. They stopped to take stock; no sign of Noble following.

  “You were right Carson; the man is as crazy as they come! What was all that shit about you rubbing your temples and the set of your body?”

  “Hell, all I can think is he must have found me when I was feeling unwell. Not long after we were first separated, in the sewers? I had a blinding headache and everything was, I don’t know, confused for a while. It was bit like I was watching myself. Surreal, you know?”

  He looked at her searchingly. Her heart ached for him as she reached up to stroke his cheek, “Carson, we have to talk some day, about these episodes. You know that don’t you?”

  He nodded sadly, “I know. I’ve known for some time that something’s not right,”

  “We can put it right,” she said, determined, “but not now. Now, all we need to do is get out of here. We’re still together Carson; we’ve still got each other.”

  *

  “Stay back, let me check if it’s clear,” Lavender said, motioning to Carson to wait. Hugging the wall of the building, she eased herself around the end. Ahead of her stood a Dutch barn, its wall-less structure allowing her to see straight through to the paddock and wider farm land beyond. It was strewn with hay that the roaming cows had evidently helped themselves to in the absence of human interference. It had been pulled free of its neat bales, remnants of it now littering the floor of the barn. It seemed to be empty. As far as Lavender could tell, there was nothing there that presented a threat. Ignoring the fact that Noble knew the farm and could be hiding anywhere, she began her slow sidewards motion along the building until she could look out onto the area of yard that had been visible from the bedroom window. The area where the Mayhew had died.

  She froze. Thinkers were milling about around the wheel that still held traces of the dead man. They ranged in size, shape and even gender, but varied still further in terms of degradation. Some were reasonably whole, evidence of the bite marks that changed them visible on their necks, arms, torsos and in one case, an inner thigh. These Thinkers were like others she had seen; disproportionately big with oversized muscles and large heads with sinister, shining eyes. Others were barely more than meaty skeletal frames; still towering, but their skin loose and rotten, exposing rapidly breaking-down muscle mass beneath. Their eyes, those that still had them. stood out starkly in their raw faces. Lavender watched as one of the abominations stooped to slide its decomposing fingers through globules of Mayhew’s coagulating blood. It raised it to its lipless mouth. Lavender looked away. Shotgun or not, she and Carson were in trouble.

  As slowly and silently as she dared, Lavender backed up, cautioning Carson to silence with an urgent flapping of hands and vigorous head shaking. She made the letter ‘T’ with her hands, resting one horizontally on top of the other. Carson understood immediately. He nodded, pointed back the way they came questioningly, waited for her nod of affirmation, then led the way.

  Noble was long gone. There had been no attack, the noise of it would have alerted them. That meant he had either left the farm, was back in the house or in one of the outbuildings.

  Lavender’s heart sank. The last thing she wanted to do was go back into the milking shed, but there was little other choice. She eased open the door quietly and squeezed in, Carson following behind her.

  They closed it behind them
as best they could, stepping once more over the pile of bags. Lavender wished she didn’t have to say the words she was about to say to Carson, but there was no other way out she could think of.

  “He could be in here,” Carson whispered, his voice barely audible, “Noble. This is his place after all. He could be in here, just bear that in mind,”

  Lavender paused, trying to focus on the room without dwelling on its awful contents. If Noble was in there, he was well hidden.

  “Carson, I hate myself for saying this, but it’s the only way out that I can think of. Zombies, Thinkers, like fresh meat like you and me, right? They like living, breathing people. We have to convince them that we’re dead if we’re going to walk out of here,”

  “Convince them we’re dead? How?”

  “We make ourselves smell like them,” she nodded to the rows of stacked bodies.

  Carson stared at her, “You’re not serious?”

  “Carson, if you have got a better idea I would love to hear it, believe me. This is really not something I want to do,”

  He looked at her blankly, repulsed, “No, you’re right. I know you’re right. It’s the only way we stand a chance. It’s just that…”

  She rested a hand on his arm and squeezed gently, “I know,” she said, “I know.”

  *

  After a brief discussion, they agreed that the bodies that best suited their purposes were neither the almost fully rotten ones, nor those that were too recently dead, but something in between.

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Carson said, shaking his head, “How are we going to do this? Scoop our hands in and rub ourselves down or what?”

  “Oh God I can’t bear even to think about it!” Lavender grimaced, “No I don’t think that’s the way to go. It would take too long and it wouldn’t cover us enough. I think what we need to do is lie some corpses out in the middle aisle here, and then roll in them, the way a dog rolls in scent patches,”

  “Jesus, Lavender,” Carson exhaled, “What happened to the sweet little girl I used to know?”

  “I was never sweet, Carson,” Lavender forced a smile, “let’s do this,”