Steve had parked the MPV on his forecourt. Lucy, his wife, was standing at their front door. Miles jumped out of his taxi holding the semi-auto shotgun.
“Lucy, go back inside,” Miles called out. “Steve has been bitten. John made a tourniquet but we don’t know if it will work.”
Lucy hesitated, not knowing whether to try to help Steve or do what Miles had asked. Margaret and Richard, their children, appeared behind her.
“What has happened to Daddy?” asked Margaret, the older child.
Lucy turned to her, saying simply, “We have to go inside now, Margaret,” realising she would be jeopardising her children if she tried to help Steve at that moment.
John and I had approached Steve’s vehicle, stopping ten feet from the back. Mat joined us, holding the over-and-under shotgun. Miles was about the same distance from the front with the semi-auto shotgun. John started to raise the Ruger as we waited for Steve to get out of the vehicle. The driver’s door slowly opened and Steve slid out, putting his feet firmly on the ground, then he stood up and looked in Miles’s direction. A strange sound came from his lips and suddenly he went for Miles. With no time to think, Miles lifted the shotgun and fired, hitting Steve in the centre of the chest. The impact knocked Steve backwards against the MPV, and he slowly slid to the ground, ending up in a sitting position with his head turned towards John, Mat and me. We found ourselves staring into the familiar bright red eyes and glistening black pupils, devoid of any emotion.
Steve’s front door flew open and Lucy came running out.
“Oh no, oh no!”
As she reached Steve’s lifeless body, she stopped as she looked into his eyes and started to back away.
“That’s not my Steve,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth, with tears running down her cheeks.
She slumped to the ground, in total shock and overwhelmed with grief. Mary came running out of our house, having witnessed the drama from the front window. She put her arm around Lucy, who was still sitting in the road, crying uncontrollably. I looked across at Miles, seeing the anguish in his eyes.
“You had no choice,” I said.
Maria was now standing at her door with Matthew behind her, and she turned to him.
“Stay there,” she said.
She then went to Lucy’s aid, soon joined by Sara and Josephine, and together they managed to get the poor woman to her feet. All the ladies then disappeared into Lucy’s house.
We men were left looking at each other, feeling pretty useless. Finally, Mat broke the silence.
“Let’s unload the gear, then.”
We were all grateful for something to do. Each of us emptied our own vehicle, and then turned our attention to Steve’s. Miles gently knocked on Lucy’s door, which was opened by Josephine.
“We need to get Steve’s supplies out of the MPV,” said Miles. “Where should we put them?”
Josephine went back inside to check with Lucy.
“Lucy says to put them in the kitchen for the time being,” she said when she came back.
We had soon created a pile of supplies in the kitchen, covering half the floor. As we finished, Mary came into the kitchen.
“Does ours look like that?” she asked.
“Err, probably,” I replied. “Tell Lucy we have left her a shotgun, a Ruger rifle and some ammo. Sometime today I will show her how to use them, if she’s up to it, of course.”
I then went back outside and joined the other men.
“We were going to block the close off,” said John and we looked at each other, realising that we had forgotten our original plan.
“I’ll get my taxi,” said Miles.
Alf’s van was still in position and in five minutes the street was blocked, with me backing the Micra into the gap between van and the taxi as the final step.
“John and I are going to put our gear away,” I said to Mat. “We can show you how to use the semi-auto shotgun and Ruger if you need help.”
“Yes, that would be good.”
“See you all later, then,” I said.
“James, you’d better have these back – we need to sort our stuff too,” said Miles, handing me the shotgun. Jeffrey passed the Ruger to John.
“You’d better take this as well,” said Mat, giving me the over-and-under shotgun.
No more was said as we entered our respective homes.
“John, what we need is a cup of tea and something to eat,” I said.
Fortunately, the gas supply was still on and the cooker was functioning. We both sat in an armchair drinking the tea and eating sandwiches. This was a good time to have a rest before the women got back. Sheba sat in front of me, wagging her tail and hoping for leftovers. John and I sorted out the guns and ammo first, and then John started to examine his newly acquired Ruger in its ATI stock, while I loaded the magazines starting with the shotguns and continuing with the .22s. We now had nine 25-round, two ten-round and one 110-round magazines. Then John read the instructions for the camping stoves and gas cylinders we had acquired.
Mary and Josephine walked into the living room as I was loading the last of the magazines.
“Haven’t you put the food away yet?” Mary asked. “In fact, what have you got?”
“We were organising the weaponry and John is looking at the cooking equipment, and now I’m about to put batteries in our new torches to make sure they work, then I’m going to check out this battery-operated radio. John and I thought it best if you and Josephine put the food away, as you are the only ones that know where everything goes,” I ended, smiling at the two women. John grinned at them too.
“Really? So, what happened on your trip?” asked Mary as both of them disappeared into the kitchen.
I went into the kitchen with them, telling them about our adventures, with John adding his twopenn’orth every now and again. After recounting the tales of woe and how Steve got bitten, I finally got the batteries in the radio and started scanning the channels for news, without much success, until I finally found something.
“This is the BBC World Service at fourteen-thirty hours GMT. The infection has now spread to most parts of the United Kingdom. We cannot stress enough that it is most important that you try to stay in your own homes or in some form of protected area. It has come to our attention that a number of pet dogs and cats are feeding on the bodies of the infected, together with vermin such as crows and rats. This will create an additional health hazard in the future. Please note that the infected seem to be attracted by artificial sounds, so try to be as quiet as possible.
“Most countries are reporting that the disease is spreading in ways similar to the UK. We have lost contact with some African and Middle Eastern states. The next news bulletin will be at fifteen-hundred hours.”
The radio then went silent apart from a bit of static.
“That wasn’t very helpful,” said John.
“It sounds as though they have no answer to the problem,” said Mary.
“Listen – what’s that noise?” said Josephine.
I walked back into the living room, opening the front window slightly so I could hear more clearly.
“Can you hear that, John? It sounds like a lawnmower engine. What do you think it is?”
John vacated the armchair and moved towards the window.
“It does, apart from the fact that it’s ticking over at a constant speed. I can’t believe someone is cutting the grass with all those half-eaten bodies lying on the ground.”
“OK, I’ll go and investigate,” I replied, picking up the loaded tactical shotgun and putting a few more cartridges into my pocket. I started to walk out of the door.
“Where are you going?” Mary asked.
“Just going to see why someone is cutting the grass,” I said, smiling.
I walked out of the front door and headed for the entrance to the close. As I ne
gotiated our barricade, the sound became much louder. It was coming from one of the houses in the cul-de-sac on the left, with a gravel driveway. I finally saw the source of the sound – the man had a generator. Lucky fellow, I thought, heading back to our house. As I approached the front door, Miles called out.
“James, what is that sound?
“Some lucky bloke has a generator.”
“Oh, perhaps we should get one!”
“Yes, I agree – but not today. May see you later, Miles.”
“See yer.”
We returned into our respective homes.
“So, what was it, then?” asked Mary as I entered the living room.
“Someone on the other side of the close has a generator.”
“What does that do?” asked Mary.
“It generates electricity,” John replied.
Mary’s eyes lit up. “That could be useful!”
“We’ll have a think about that one tomorrow,” I said, promptly sitting in the armchair and leaning the shotgun against the wall where it could easily be reached.
“So, who’s making tea, then?” I asked.
Mary and Josephine had put all the supplies away and John had finished checking the camping equipment.
“I’m working on it,” Josephine replied.
We could still hear the hum of the generator in the background.
A few minutes later, Josephine arrived with the tea, but as I started to relax and was about to take a sip, John came out with one of his revelations, upsetting me again.
“Didn’t the news say don’t make any artificial noise as it appears to attract the infected?”
“I didn’t see any infected when I went over to the other side of the close,” I said.
“Yes, that may be so, but it hadn’t been going long at that point,” observed Mary.
“I think you should go and tell the person, just in case,” said Josephine, looking at me purposefully.
“But John and I have only just sat down,” I responded, trying to involve John as well.
“The longer you leave it, the more infected it will attract,” Mary added.
“OK, let me finish my tea, then I’ll go and talk to Miles to find out if he has managed to sort out his weaponry yet, just in case we need some backup. You never know, Mary, you may just be right.”
John noticed I had finished my tea.
“OK, Dad, let’s lock and load then,” he said, picking up the tactical Ruger and four extra 25-shot magazines. I think he was pleased to be doing something.
“You going to start another war, then?” I said.
“It’s just in case.”
He was right, of course. I grabbed the belt of 25 cartridges and attached it around my waist. I also had ten loose shells in my pocket, plus eight in the magazine.
“Let’s speak to Miles first,” I said as we left the house.
Miles must have seen us coming, and his front door opened as we approached.
“Hi James, John – what’s up, then?”
“Wondered how you were getting on with the new weaponry,” I replied.
“Just finished cleaning them as per the instructions, and was about to load the magazines when Jeffrey saw you coming.”
“That guy with the generator could attract the infected, as they said on the news,” I said. “We were about to warn him but thought we would see you first just in case we needed backup.”
“You carry on, and Jeffrey and I will be along in about five or ten minutes,” Miles replied.
“OK, see you shortly.”
I moved the Micra so we could get through barricade easily. We carefully peered round the detached house to the right so we could see a part of the green and along our road.
“OK so far, Dad,” said John.
We crossed the road and entered the small cul-de-sac, and as we arrived at the end house on the left with the generator humming away in the back garden I called out.
“Hello? Anybody there?”
Nothing.
“Hello, we need to talk!” John shouted, banging on the front door.
Finally, the door was opened and a slim, tall, dishevelled man in need of a shave appeared.
“What’s the problem?”
“My name’s James and this is my son John. We live at number thirty-five. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but they did say that artificial noises seem to attract the infected, so it might be a good idea to turn your generator off for a bit.”
“I’m David. No, I haven’t heard the news recently. Do you know when they expect to get the power back on?”
“They don’t, as most of the power workers are either dead or infected,” said John bluntly.
“Yes, it appears to be a bit of a disaster – even Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament have been overrun by the infected,” I added.
“Christ, I didn’t realise it was that bad. Give me five minutes to finish what I’m doing, and I’ll turn it off.”
A young boy appeared behind David, wearing short trousers and a t-shirt.
“Hello mister. My name’s Johnny, what’s yours?” he said.
“My name is James,” I replied. “How old are you, now?”
“I’m five years old today,” the boy replied proudly.
“Make sure you look after your Mum and Dad, then,” I said.
“Can I borrow that gun, then?”
“You’ll need to be a bit older before you can do that,” I said, smiling.
The boy looked disappointed.
“May see you later,” said David as he started to shut the front door.
“James, John!” shouted Miles suddenly at the top his voice from the end of the cul-de-sac. “Run! The infected are coming, hundreds of them!”
I turned back to warn David but he had already closed the door.
From our position in the cul-de-sac we could not see along our road or to the green, but as we left the cul-de-sac all became clear. Miles was standing in the middle of the road and Jeffrey was at the corner of the detached house, pointing his Ruger in the general direction of the infected. As we looked beyond Miles, who was only 15 yards away, infected were moving between the parked cars and were being joined by even more coming across the green, blocking off not only the road but also the adjoining front gardens. Jeffrey fired as Miles, John and I moved closer to our barricade.
“Jeffrey, come back behind the barricade, now!” Miles shouted.
We could not fire until Jeffrey had joined us inside our barricade. It now seemed unfortunate that I had moved the Micra out of the way. Jeffrey came through as the first of the infected appeared from behind the detached house. We opened fire, shooting the same infected simultaneously, John and I hitting him in the head, removing one side of it, while Miles produced a fist-sized cavity in his chest and Jeffrey managed to hit him in the shoulder. He dropped like a stone.
“OK, I’ll take the ones on the right,” Miles said. “James, you take the left, John and Jeffrey take the middle.”
The main group of infected then came into view – hundreds of them. Half headed for the noise of the generator, which was still running, and the rest came for us. At least a hundred were heading our way – men, women, and some children from fourteen down to four years of age, at a guess – as we opened fire in earnest. We had dropped at least a third of them when Jeffrey called out.
“I’m out of bullets!”
“Take this,” said John, giving him a 25-round magazine.
Even though we were picking infected off like flies, others were getting ever closer. We were creating complete carnage, the bodies starting to pile up on each other. I had now reloaded the shotgun three times, Miles about the same, and John was on his last-but-one magazine, when the hundred or so infected came back down the small cul-de-sac, obviously
having been successful there, and now they were heading for us.
Fortunately, there were only ten or twelve of the first attackers left. I was starting to think we might get out of this, until Miles announced, “I’m out of ammo”.
“So am I,” said Jeffrey.
“OK, get back to your house – John and I can finish off these few,” I said.
I had not expected John’s next comment as he loaded a magazine into the rifle.
“I only have ten rounds left.”
I fired the last four shells I had in the magazine, which took care of five of the infected, and as I reloaded John opened fire on the six that were left from the first wave. That was when I realised I also had only ten rounds left, and eight of them were in the magazine. John managed to eliminate four of the six before he said, “I’m out, Dad”.
“Get yourself set up at the window, John,” I said as I fired at the closest infected. The other hundred or so that had entered the cul-de-sac were now crossing the road only 20 yards away. I quickly finished off the remaining one from the first batch and emptied the rest of the magazine into the oncoming group. I then ran for our side gate, loading my last two shells into the magazine as I went.
Stopping to open the gate, I noticed the rest of the group were not far behind. Firing my last two shells into the incoming infected, I went through the gate and bolted it top and bottom. I went into the kitchen, and Mary and Josephine were ready to lock and bar the door as I fell through.
The infected had started to bang on the side gate and the front windows.
“Shut the curtains!” I shouted, still recovering from my experience.
Opening a new box of shells, I started to reload the shotgun. Mary grabbed the over-and-under shotgun as one infected headbutted the window. The outer pane broke, and he butted the window again and the inner pane started to crack too. I was still loading the semi-auto shotgun when the right front window gave way. I recognised the distinctive crack, crack! of a Ruger, and realised John had opened fire from the bedroom window with the target gun. The problem was that he could only shoot the infected that were further away from the house. There was then the boom! of a shotgun and the sound of another Ruger firing as Miles and his son opened fire from the top windows of their house. The infected that had broken our window started to climb through as Mary fired at him with the shotgun she had picked up. She missed, even though he was only six feet away – the shot went over his head and blew out someone’s bedroom window about 80 yards away.
Infected- The Beginning Page 13
