“Just a few more bits,” he replied as Brian and Linda arrived at the van carrying some of the larger children’s toys.
The sound of a car horn filled the air. Ken and Scott in the Range Rover had stopped the other side of the barricade, and we waved them through the gap. They both got out, looking extremely weary. Scott looked as white as a ghost.
“Did you find your wives?” I asked, feeling rather stupid, as clearly neither was in the car.
“No – both our houses were wrecked,” Ken replied. “The front doors were wide open, furniture and ornaments were scattered everywhere, and blood covered the floors and walls. We had to shoot one infected who followed us into my house. I can’t believe how many bodies we had to avoid lying in the road, and – my God! – the rats and crows were feeding off them, and a few dogs too. Scott and I thought you were exaggerating when you told us the situation back at the farm.”
“By the way,” added Scott, “there were hundreds of people on both sides of the bridge as we crossed the A12, all heading in this direction.”
“Yes, we’ve seen them – that’s why we’re moving to the farm today, hopefully before they arrive,” replied John.
“Could we use your Range Rover to carry some gear?” I asked, noticing that the van was now nearly fully loaded.
“Yeah, of course – can we help?” replied Ken.
“Yes. Lucy at number thirty-one is on her own with two children,” I replied. Turning to John, I continued, “Time to get the guns and ammo”.
John nodded and we headed back to the house. We passed Mary and Josephine still putting bits and pieces in the back of the truck as an afterthought.
“Dad, we’re making too much noise,” said John as a car boot and door were slammed shut. In addition, the younger children were overly loud in their excitement at actually being allowed to leave the close.
John and I collected our spare guns and ammunition, and Sheba. We laid the guns on the rear floor well of the truck, including the .375 H & H – still not sure what we were going to need it for, but you never knew. I temporarily tied Sheba to the truck’s tow bar. We then went through the side gate to collect the semi-auto shotgun and tactical Ruger, our weapons of choice. We had started to check around the house for anything we might have missed when Sheba started to bark, turning into a growl, and then we heard Miles’s voice.
“Everybody be quiet!”
That seemed to work with the adults and teenagers, but the younger children kept playing, not noticing the urgency in Miles’s voice.
They were eventually silenced by their parents, by which time John and I had opened the side gate and were standing in our car port.
“Thought I saw the fence move,” Miles said quietly.
That was when we heard rustling in the row of bushes that separated our back fences from the A12. Our fence started to move at the point where I had put in a gate, and Miles’s fence emitted a loud creak as it tipped forward slightly. At the same time, animal-like sounds were coming from behind the fences, not just in our garden but also Miles’s and Bill’s, which also backed onto the A12.
With a loud splintering sound, our back gate gave way and four infected people fell into our garden, sliding down the small bank and landing behind the shed. Fortunately, the fence surrounding the car parking area stopped their progress as they disappeared from sight.
“Time to go, everyone!” Miles called out as three ten-foot panels in his own fence collapsed and slid down the three-foot-high bank, followed by more than 15 infected, which were sent tumbling over the flattened fence, landing in an untidy heap at the bottom. The infected were getting in each other’s way as they tried to follow their comrades through our three-foot-wide back gate until the gatepost gave way, removing the gate and a six-foot-wide fence panel. This caused half of them to fall on top of the others trying to gain their footing behind the shed, while others moved to their right and entered the main part of our garden. Then two panels in Bill’s garden toppled forward and again a number of infected fell through. Sheba was now barking frantically.
“John, time to lock the house up. Mary, get yourself and Sheba in the truck. Josephine, you too!” I shouted.
“No, Ruth and Tom are still in their house with the children – I’m going to get them,” replied Mary.
“Oh shit,” was my reply.
John and I went through our side gate as the first of the infected were crossing the garden towards the house.
“You got the keys, Dad?”
“No, they’re in the kitchen,” I replied.
“Good one – I’ll hold them off while you get them.”
I usually left the keys on the kitchen work surface, but needless to say after Mary’s tidying up they were not in their usual place. After checking all the kitchen tops and table, they were nowhere to be found. I entered the living room as John opened fire with the Ruger. Finally, I found the keys on the window ledge. Must have a word with the wife, I thought.
I opened the kitchen door to find guns being fired all over the close. There were already eight corpses lying on our lawn. I shut the kitchen door just as I heard the click from the Ruger. As I put the key in the lock, John said, “I’m out of ammo”.
“Put another magazine in, then,” I replied.
“Err … they’re in the truck, Dad. You need to shoot somebody, like now!” John continued as I finally turned the key, locking the door.
“I do,” I confirmed, turning to look once again in the garden.
One very large fellow was pushing at the three-foot-high fence at the edge of the patio that stopped Sheba from doing her necessaries in the garden. He was followed by two rapidly approaching women and two men of average height. The fence started to give way as I fired at the large man in front, and the top of his head disappeared into fine reddish spay. The women hit the fence together as though it was not there, and the wire mesh departed from the top of the centre post causing the mesh to bend forward, finally lying flat. I fired at the closest woman but she fell to the ground, tripping over the wire mesh. The BB shot passed harmlessly over her head, hitting one of the approaching men, his face totally obliterated by the 2¼ ounces of lead shot. He was stopped momentarily by the impact, before finally collapsing to the ground. The second woman stumbled on the wire mesh but managed to remain on her feet, now only six feet away.
My back was now firmly pressed against the wall of the house and, with the kitchen door locked behind me, I couldn’t even retreat. Swinging the shotgun round, and without aiming, I fired instinctively. The shot completely removed the woman’s right arm near the shoulder, causing her to spin clockwise and send blood squirting into the air in a wide arc from her massive wound. Then I felt something grab my leg. The first woman’s hand firmly gripped my ankle, and she was pulling herself towards me with head tilted to one side and her mouth wide open, showing bloodied yellow teeth – I was certainly not her first victim. Her mouth was only six inches from my leg when I fired into the centre of her back at point-blank range. This severed her spine and probably removed her heart. She just froze in her position, her bright-red eyes and pitch black pupils still staring at me. My blood ran cold as my brain finally absorbed the gruesome scene.
To my amazement, the second woman had remained on her feet and was making rapid progress towards me with the second of the following men at her side. There was no time to take proper aim, and I fired at the woman’s body, fortunately hitting her in the centre of the chest. The impact lifted her off her feet, and she landed on the other side of the small fence. The second man tripped on the wire mesh and stumbled forward before I had time to point the shotgun, but I moved to my right along the house as he bounced off the wall where I was standing.
He managed to remain on his feet and turned towards me. I found myself staring into his bright red eyes, and as he reached for the barrel of the gun I fired, removing three of his fin
gers and creating a three-inch cavity in his side just below the armpit. The impact pushed him along three feet of wall before he finally slid to the ground.
Turning my attention back to the garden, I saw another three walking along the top of the bank. One crashed through the garden table as he took no notice of the three-foot-high retaining wall, while the other two, seeing his mistake, moved further along to the sloping rockery. I started to load more shells into the magazine as I watched their progress.
Amongst the boom of shotguns and the crack, crack! of Rugers, Brian shouted as loudly as possible, “Time to get out of here, people!”
I agreed, taking three quick parting shots at the oncoming infected, leaving two dead and one badly wounded. I went through the side gate and jammed a piece wood through the handle to hold it shut.
I turned, to be met by a scene of utter chaos. The men had formed a semi-circle in the road. The fence at the end of our car parking area had collapsed, and infected were pouring into the close. A heap of bodies lay on the car parking area, fortunately slowing the live ones. Miles, Jeffrey and even Kevin with the double-barrelled shotgun were just holding them off. Mat, John and Brian had now turned their attention to Miles’s side gate as this had also collapsed, and infected people were actually getting in one another’s way as they tried to force themselves through the narrow gap. Ken seemed to be standing guard by Bill and Rose’s house. I noticed Rose was sitting in their car. The ladies were virtually screaming at the children to get in the vehicles.
I fired a couple of shots at the infected as they stumbled through our fence before moving over beside Ken, whose group seemed to be holding their own, but also because I noticed the infected entering Bill’s garden, and a lone double-barrelled shotgun was not going to hold them off.
“Where’s Bill?” I asked Ken.
“He went to lock his back door.”
“Is there any sign of my husband?” Rose asked as she joined us in the driveway.
“I think we should see if he’s OK,” I said.
A shotgun blast came from their back garden and then Bill’s back appeared at the garden gate. He fired again, the recoil causing him to take a step backwards, and he tripped over the small step, falling over in slow motion and landing on his back. An infected appeared in the door, and Bill fired again. The infected disappeared from view for a few seconds but then reappeared, falling against Bill’s legs. Two more infected appeared. Ken and I fired together as their heads became clearly visible. One went back through the gate and the other joined the one still lying across Bill’s legs. To our horror, Rose ran to Bill’s aid, as he was now unable to move. Another infected had appeared in the gateway. We were unable to shoot as Rose was between us and the infected person.
“Rose, come back!” Ken shouted.
But it was too late – the infected dived at Bill as he lay helplessly on the ground. Rose started to punch the infected in the back in desperation as it sunk its teeth into Bill’s neck. Rose screamed in frustration, but was suddenly cut short as two more infected came through the gate and one grabbed her flailing arm while the other took her shoulders, the first then sinking his teeth into her neck and the second biting her arm. Ken started to move forward to help, but I quickly held his arm.
“Ken, it’s all over,” I said sadly.
Rose started to scream in absolute terror as a third infected bit her other arm.
“We can save them,” Ken pleaded.
“No, Ken – they’re infected, it only takes one bite.”
“Bastards!” was Ken’s response.
Then he fired both barrels into the writhing heap of infected that lay on top of Bill and Rose. I moved a couple of steps closer and emptied the magazine of 3.5-inch magnum shells, taking great care to partially remove the heads of the offending infected in the process. Finally, the heap lay still, sadly including Bill and Rose.
I fell back to Ken’s position at the start of the driveway, reloading the shotgun. Two more infected found their way through Bill’s gate as I stood at Ken’s side. Ken waited until they came closer, so his No. 6 shot would have the desired effect, before he dropped both of them in quick succession. I had now fully reloaded the magazine with six of the 3.5-inch shells and put one in the chamber ready for the next onslaught.
Three more infected came through the gate, which Ken and I dispatched before I started to wonder how the rest of our clan was progressing.
“Are we ready to go, guys?” I shouted, turning towards the others and finding Scott directly behind us.
Mary was putting carrier bags in Tom’s car while Ruth was strapping in her two children.
Linda was just sliding the MPV’s door shut, and Maria was sitting in her car with Lucy and her two children. Ziggy and Martin were waiting for their dad in the taxi. Josephine was standing by the truck with the front passenger door open, waiting for John. Kate was sitting in the BMW with the driver’s door open, ready for Kevin.
“Yes, we’re all ready to go,” Mary confirmed.
“OK, guys – time to leave,” I said, trying to shout above the din of the gunfire.
“Scott, can you drive?” I asked.
“Yes,” came the curt reply.
“Good – take Bill’s car,” I said, thinking that we needed all the supplies we could possibly get.
“Wait – I’ve forgotten the toilet rolls again,” said Linda, running towards her house with keys in hand.
“Jesus Christ! My daughter will be the death of me,” I said to Ken under my breath. “OK – get your car started,” I continued, feeding more shells into the shotgun and at the same time realising that my ammo was rapidly running out.
“That’s it – I’m out. Come on, Jeffrey,” said Miles, heading for his taxi.
I noticed Kevin searching his pockets for more shells.
“Kevin, get your car started,” I said, as I took care of a very old woman that seemed to have found a new lease of life – were it not for the red eyes and the blood running down her chin.
Linda finally arrived back on the scene, but Mat had also run out of ammo and had retreated back to his car. There was now only John, Brian and me holding back the ever-increasing tide of infected people.
“Mary, start the Micra!” I said, realising that once we had stopped firing the infected would be all over us. “OK, guys – last burst, then run for your cars,” I said, topping up the magazine once again.
Luckily the Micra was parked in the road next to Bill’s driveway. A fusillade of shots rang out as John with the rifle and Brian with a shotgun opened fire. Three male infected had already made their way through Bill’s side gate, two dressed in casual wear, the other in a grey suit that had seen better days and a blue tie. A woman and teenage boy followed. All five headed in my direction, the two casually dressed men leading. I opened fire on the one on the left, creating a large hole in the centre of his chest, and once I had recovered from the recoil I took out the right infected with a shot to the head. The man in the suit was only five yards away when I fired, removing the top of his head, but he had been overtaken by the teenage boy, who seemed much more athletic, as was the woman that accompanied him. I had no time to pick my spot and just fired, hoping to stop him. The shot hit him on the left side of his chest, knocking him backwards and spinning him round. At the same time, the woman was almost within touching distance when I fired, hitting her in the throat, which completely removed her head from her body.
To my surprise, the boy had got back to his feet and, although bleeding profusely from a four-inch circular wound in his chest, his broken ribs exposed to the elements, after looking around to see where I was, he came at me again. To my horror, another six infected had entered the drive, all intent on taking a piece out of me.
I fired another shot at the boy, creating a cavity in the centre of his chest, and he collapsed on the driveway. The last shot I fired was at a v
ery large overweight man, who just happened to be the closest out of the six oncoming infected.
“I’m out, guys – time to go!” I shouted, turning and running for the Micra.
Brian and John followed my lead and headed for their own vehicles, pursued by the remaining infected. Ken ploughed into the infected that were pursuing John as he turned his Range Rover around in a wide arc, sending one crashing into the back fence as another disappeared under the vehicle, causing it to bounce violently. Scott was the first out of the close, followed by Kevin, Maria and Miles in the taxi, while Linda waited for Brian to get the van started before moving forward. Tom was next, followed by Brian in the van with John’s truck at the rear.
Looking behind us, we could see that five or more infected had reached John’s truck as it started to move forward at the back of our convoy. Ken had pulled in behind us as Mary gunned the Micra’s engine, making the wheels spin, and we surged forward as the remaining five infected that had materialised from Bill’s garden reached the road. We left them behind and Ken ploughed through three of them, the other two avoiding the Range Rover and managing to reach the other side of the close.
Mary turned right into the main part of Connor Way and I glanced to my right to see John run over one infected and, as he built up speed, catapult another into the air. The rest stumbled and fell to the ground as the truck moved forward. John then hit the two who had miraculously managed to avoid Ken’s Range Rover, sending one over the roof of the truck while the other went spinning into the small hedge by Mat’s front door.
Mary was rapidly approaching the back of the van in her haste to get away.
“Slow down!” I said, and she applied the brakes violently as we got within a foot of the van.
After checking behind to make sure Ken and John were still with us, I started to reload the shotgun as we made rapid progress along Connor Way. We turned left onto the main Boreham road and, looking across the green, we could see 20 or more infected milling around in Connor Way, as another ten or so started to cross the green heading in our direction. The infected disappeared from view as we turned into Plantation Road.
Infected- The Beginning Page 36
