Infected- The Beginning

by Perry Stevenson

  “Help, we have problem!” shouted Brian above the din.

  Miles turned to look while I fired my last two shots. The first was at a woman standing on top of the pile of corpses, and sent her tumbling backwards down the other side. Then the head and torso of a large, overweight man appeared above the heap, and received my last shot full in the face, which quickly turned a bright red to match what his eyes had looked like. I then turned my attention to Brian’s request, as he took aim at one of the many infected on the other side of the lobby. They were pushing trolleys towards us, and if they had progressed any further they would have cut off our escape route through the broken glass door.

  “Don’t shoot them!” I shouted to Miles and Brian, but too late as both shotguns fired simultaneously, taking out three of the infected but also the glass panels from the double doors.

  “Oops!” Miles exclaimed as the shattered glass fell with an almighty crash to the ground, most landing outside the building.

  Brian and Miles continued to fire at the infected situated at the other end of the lobby, as the damage was now done, while I reloaded my own shotgun. John was doing a magnificent job on the infected coming from within the store, thanks to the Ruger’s high rate of fire. I decided to join him as the infected were starting to queue up behind the pile of corpses, their ranks being swollen from our left – they must have been in the outside area, where the potted plants, garden sheds and paving slabs were displayed.

  “Guys, I’m out of ammo,” said Brian. That was something I didn’t need to hear.

  “Grab the Ruger from Linda, and don’t hang about,” I said.

  “OK, I’m on my bike,” replied Brian.

  I took aim at the growing crowd of infected trying to negotiate the heap of bodies in front of John and me. I emptied the eight-shot magazine of 3.5-inch magnum cartridges into the oncoming crowd, and a number fell to the ground immediately, while others seemed to stagger around in a daze before collapsing. A few seemed to lose interest in us and wandered off aimlessly, while others that appeared mortally wounded still kept coming, only to be finished off by John with the Ruger.

  “James, I need some help here, like now – they’re getting away!” Miles shouted.

  I started to reload the shotgun as I made my way over to him.

  “What do you mean by ‘they’re getting away’?” I asked.

  “They’re starting to go through the exit door windows,” he replied.

  The shotgun now fully loaded, I shot two infected in the back of the head as they attempted to go out of the exit. Miles exterminated a female senior citizen as she tried to push the trolleys towards us, and a young man in his early twenties, hitting him in the throat at six feet, which nearly decapitated him.

  “James, I only have five shells left,” announced Miles.

  “Dad, I only have one magazine left after this,” declared John. “There is a hundred-round box of mini-mags in the glove compartment, but someone must load the magazines.”

  I checked my cartridge belt, which was empty, and only had 20 shells left in my pockets. I reached into them, intending to give Miles a few shells, when I realised that I only had the 3.5-inch magnums with me. Miles’s shotgun only had a three-inch chamber.

  “Miles, get the empty magazines from John – hopefully the ladies can load them. Bill may have a few spare cartridges,” I said as the ominous sound of a shotgun being fired came from outside the lobby – Matt and Bill were obviously on the case.

  “OK, I’m gone,” said Miles, firing another two shots into the infected on the other side of the lobby as he turned and ran through the glass door we had broken earlier. I could hear the crack, crack! of John’s Ruger in the background as I started to dispatch the remaining infected at the other end of the lobby, and after reloading again I finished my grisly task. I was down to my last ten shells. At least I had stopped them from going outside.

  “Dad, I’m on my last magazine,” shouted John.

  I moved to his side and fired two shots into the diminishing group of infected.

  “I’ll go see if the ladies have loaded any magazines yet,” I said.

  Heading towards the exit, I fed my last four shells into the shotgun. I stepped out into the pouring rain, and my hair and face were quickly soaked, but it was so refreshing after the carnage I had witnessed inside the store. I lifted my head and looked across the now-glistening car park, and to my horror observed movement about 50 yards the other side of the entrance to the B&Q car park, just before the roundabout. I made a mental note: must get a pair of binoculars.

  I continued towards John’s truck, straining my eyes to see more clearly through the rain. The crowd I’d seen seemed to be increasing in number by the second, but I couldn’t tell whether or not they were infected. Miles was with Brian, and Bill and Mat were at the other end of the store entrance, and I noticed the number of corpses on the ground had increased dramatically.

  “Hello all, how’s the magazine loading going?” I asked, opening the truck door.

  “We’ve finished one, but you need to check we have the bullets the right way round,” said Mary.

  Oh shit, I thought, as I checked the magazine Mary had handed me, but then breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, that’s correct,” I said.

  “Finished, here’s another,” said Josephine, handing me a 25-round magazine.

  “Keep going, ladies – you’re doing a grand job,” I said, walking away from the truck and back to the store entrance.

  Checking across the car park as I went, I was horrified to see 30 people approaching its entrance. I studied them for a few seconds, and could see they were progressing towards us at a stumbling walk – these were infected. I ran into the store, arriving at John’s side.

  “Here are two magazines. More infected are coming across the car park – we’ve got to move, like now,” I said.

  John fired three more shots, dropping a further two infected.

  “Here’s two empty magazines,” said John, locking a full one into place.

  A large woman – both tall and wide – had clambered to the top of the pile of bodies, and I took aim and fired. The main shot pattern hit her between her oversized breasts, and she slowly toppled backwards, disappearing from view as she descended the other side of the heap, now nearly six feet high. John and I then made a hasty retreat into the gleaming rain-drenched car park.

  “Christ, they’re getting close!” John exclaimed as the first of the next group of infected entered the car park less than 100 yards away.

  “Back to the truck, John – we have to warn the others!” I called.

  Mary saw us coming and opened the passenger door as we approached.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  John and I were breathing heavily as we arrived at the door.

  “Have you finished loading the magazines?” asked John.

  “Yes, here they are,” said Josephine, handing two full magazines to him.

  “Ruth, it’s about time you tried out that Ruger,” I said.

  “Why is that?”

  “Look to your left,” I said.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Ruth replied.

  Miles, Bill, Mat and Brian were still looking towards the store exit, not noticing the danger approaching from the opposite direction.

  “Behind you, guys!” John shouted to them.

  An infected appeared from the exit, followed by another. Realising that we had been distracted from the other side of the lobby, I turned round to observe the store entrance. A very large Afro-Caribbean man stepped through the broken window dressed in overalls – he had obviously worked in the building industry and had developed some very large muscles to prove it. He looked around the car park until his bright red eyes locked on his intended target – me, I realised to my horror. The man raised himself up to his full height, at least six foot six, and prop
elled himself towards me. For a moment, I found myself mesmerised by those eyes and the contortion that enveloped his face as he got closer to me.

  An infected woman in a bright yellow dress stepped through the store entrance, shaking me from my transfixed state. Regaining some composure, I acted instinctively and lifted the shotgun. As the large black man was less than five yards away when I fired, the 2¼ ounces of BBs from the 3.5-inch magnum cartridge hit him between the eyes, causing the top of his head to explode and sending pieces of flesh and bone and a fine red mist into the air. It appeared to have no effect at first, however, as he took two more steps towards me, but eventually he fell to the ground with the remains of his skull oozing a red, jelly-like substance over the tips of my shoes.

  The infected lady in the yellow dress was still surveying the car park looking for her next victim when I fired, hitting her high in the side of the neck. Her head fell to one side and she instantly collapsed to the ground.

  Turning my attention back to the infected approaching from the car park, now only 30 yards from us, I started to take aim as the crack, crack, crack! of John’s Ruger broke the short silence. Three infected fell to the ground. John’s getting quite good at this, I thought.

  Ruth was now outside the truck and fired a volley of shots. Naturally, she didn’t have the same success as John, and out of ten shots, only one infected fell to the ground, although she did hit many others – but in the wrong place.

  “You have to shoot them in the head, Ruth!” John shouted at her.

  “OK, but that’s not so easy,” she replied.

  Miles, Brian, Mat and Bill were still firing the occasional shot at the exit end of the lobby, which they had pretty much covered, so Linda joined John and Ruth with her Ruger, helping to eliminate the infected approaching from the car park. While waiting for the next infected to appear through the lobby, I thought of helping the others with those in the car park, but then realised I had only five shells left. I decided to let my daughters have the glory – besides, the two girls needed the practice. I expended another two shots as a couple more infected found their way into the car park.

  All went quiet at the other end of the lobby, as the Rugers fell silent. The rain had turned into a persistent drizzle, and the small rivulets running across the car park became more noticeable as they turned a reddish-brown as the rain slowly cleansed the blood-stained tarmac.

  “We’ve finished off the lot, Dad,” said John.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” said Linda.

  Ruth remained silent, and was visibly shaken by her experience.

  “OK, John, let’s have a look inside,” I said. “You’d better go in first, as I’ve only got three shells left.”

  “OK, Dad, you can lead the retreat,” replied John, trying to be the comedian again.

  “Ruth, Linda, can you keep watch outside while John and I collect a few things?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we’ll be OK – we’ll keep Mum company,” replied Linda.

  I waved at Miles.

  “We’re going in – my girls are acting as lookouts,” I said.

  “OK – Brian, Bill, Mat and I will take this side,” replied Miles, indicating the lobby exit.

  “You’d better take Fred, Ronnie and Tina with you, so they can get whatever they need!” I shouted.

  “Will do,” Brian replied, waving to his newly acquired passengers in the MPV. Fred and Ronnie got out, leaving Tina on her own.

  “Linda, you might want to keep Tina company,” I suggested as they disappeared from sight.

  As I followed John into the store, we saw that one of the infected had a very bad sense of direction and had his back to us. As he tried to push a path through the line of trolleys towards the exit doors, John put two bullets into the back of his head, and he fell to floor instantly. We now reached our original position at the main store entrance,

  “God, look at this lot, Dad,” said John as I reached his side, “and there are a few infected the other side of the bodies still trying to get through.”

  Beyond the heap of corpses, at least six infected were milling around aimlessly, apparently confused by their lack of progress. To our right, two more infected stood beside the checkouts. John took careful aim and started to pick them off one at a time, the two by the tills falling to ground courtesy of Miles’s semi-automatic shotgun.

  No more moving infected were in sight now. John and I looked at each other, neither willing to negotiate the pile of bloody corpses in front of us.

  “I think we’ll have to climb over this barrier, Dad.”

  Two horizontal poles formed a barrier about six feet long and three feet high separating the customer service desk from the main shopping area. John went over the top but I, not being quite so athletic, squeezed between the two poles. Miles, Brian, Mat and Bill had been watching our athletic display from the nearest till.

  “James, we’ll go right, and you take the left,” suggested Miles.

  “Sounds like a good plan to me,” I replied.

  We each selected one of the discarded trolleys and headed in our predetermined direction. I put the shotgun in my trolley and started to push with both hands, glad of some support as my back was beginning to ache. John pushed his trolley with one hand, with the Ruger at the ready in the other. We made our way cautiously between a number of corpses that lay on the floor and headed towards the garden area of the store, stopping from time to time to look at potentially useful items, until we reached a selection of barbecues.

  “One of those would be handy,” said John as he started to investigate the various models.

  “Yeah, it would, but don’t get anything too sophisticated.”

  We ended up getting a basic model and collected five bags of charcoal plus some firelighters. We also found a discarded flatbed trolley to put these on.

  We entered the outside garden area, the first part of which consisted of racks of wilting bedding plants and shrubs. Turning to our right, we entered the building and fencing sections, where we found a large number of bodies lying on the ground in various states of decay, one of which had a five-foot broom handle sticking out of the left eye. On our way back, John added two wheelbarrows to our flatbed trolley.

  “Could be useful for moving things around,” he said, obviously thinking of how valuable Mat’s wheelbarrow had become.

  We went back into the main store and immediately turned left. This took us past the garden tools, including electric strimmers and edging tools that had now become totally useless. Entering the centre aisle, which ran the full length of the store, we turned right, passing kitchen furniture on our left and flooring on the right. We eventually came across the electricals aisle, which ran to the front of the store, and John quickly found the batteries, selecting enough bulk packs of the different types we needed to half-fill our shopping trolley. After selecting a few different types of torch, we made our way back to the centre aisle, passing the timber section, where Fred and Ronnie were helping themselves to some four-by-two. In the hand-tools section, John helped himself to a new hammer and two saws of different types. We came across the rest of the gang scavenging for their own requirements. Finally, we found what John was after – a generator, not the most powerful but capable of producing a 240-volt supply. We managed to squeeze it onto the flatbed trolley.

  “So, is there anything else we need, Dad?” asked John.

  “Nothing I can think of,” I replied. “No, wait – there is one thing. I need a loo.”

  “Good idea,” replied John.

  “Have you two nearly finished?” Miles shouted from the opposite aisle. I could just see his head peering over the dividing counter.

  “Not quite – we’re going to the loo,” I replied. “We’ll leave the trolleys here, won’t be long. Perhaps you can collect the rest of the gang.”

  “Will do.”

  John and I he
aded back to the centre aisle and headed for the far end of the store, where we knew the toilets would be. As an afterthought, I went back to our trolleys and extracted my shotgun. John had reached the toilet door about 15 yards from me as I entered the end aisle.

  “It’s shut,” he said, giving the door a hefty kick in his frustration, before turning and walking towards me.

  I was stopped in my tracks by the muffled boom! of a shotgun as a six-inch hole exploded outwards from the centre of the door, and a cloud of cement dust burst into the air on the opposite side of the aisle as the shot ruptured a number of bags on shelves. John looked behind to where he had been standing only a few moments earlier.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

  “Hold your fire – we’re not infected, you idiot!” I shouted.

  “Aren’t you? Thank God for that,” said a muffled male voice. “We’ve been rescued, darling!” the voice continued to somebody inside the toilets.

  “I wouldn’t go as far as that, but it’s safe to come out,” I said.

  John and I could hear objects being moved away from the door, and finally it was opened. A balding head with a black beard appeared cautiously around the door’s edge. John and I had instinctively brought our guns up, ready to fire.

  “Don’t, don’t shoot!” urged the man.

  We lowered our weapons. The man seemed to relax a little, and pulled the door wide open, taking two steps into the aisle and indicating to someone inside to come out. A small, slender woman with black hair appeared, wearing jeans and a red-and-black t-shirt, followed by a boy of about nine.

  “Did you say we aren’t rescued?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid to tell you it appears to be everyone for themselves at the moment,” I said. “What happened here? There seem to be so many corpses in the store. By the way, this is John and I’m James.”