The Z Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Whittington, Shaun

  I nodded in agreement.

  Clare was getting emotional and sobbed loudly. “I wonder how many like her have ... turned? Poor Abbie.”

  “Too many ... probably.” I was unsure of the numbers, but certain that this situation wasn’t unique. I puffed out my cheeks to relieve some stress and reduce the heat in my face, and told Clare that I was ready.

  My body quivered with what I had to, and was about to, do. I had no lock on the outside of my bedroom door and even if I did, I didn’t want one of those things in my house anyway.

  She had to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I opened the door slowly, knowing what was going to greet me. I heard Clare gasp behind as the defunct Abbie stood by the side of my bed and glared at me. She made no hesitation in moving towards me, and I released a few tears before I gave her a whack at the side of her head with the crowbar.

  She fell immediately, but I was surprised to see that there was no mess and blood coming from her head. I felt that it was a hard blow, enough to put anyone down, but it obviously wasn’t. She began to move her arms and started to crawl towards my feet.

  She grabbed my shoe; I saw her snarl, and before she had a chance to take a bite out of my foot, I brought the crowbar down, smashing her cranium. She bled profusely and I stared at the poor girl. The cream carpet of my bedroom thirstily soaked up the blood from the wounded and broken skull, and I immediately ran out of the room, barged past Clare, and was sick in the upstairs toilet.

  As soon as I finished puking, I ripped off a few sheets of toilet paper and began to blow my nose. I went to the cold tap of the sink and rinsed out my chops. The taste of vomit was still present, so I reached for the toothpaste and squeezed some into my mouth.

  “Stupid question time,” Clare approached and stood outside the bathroom. “You alright?”

  “Not really.”

  I walked back into the bedroom, picked up the crowbar and went downstairs.

  “Where’re you going?” Clare called out.

  “Gonna clean this crowbar under the tap, have a cup of tea, and then I’m gonna get rid of Abbie.” What I said sounded cold, but I was in complete shock.

  After having a little breakdown, away from Clare’s presence, I ran the crowbar under the tap and had to use an old flannel to remove some of the stickier and more stubborn stuff off of the tool, then placed it next to the washing machine and switched the kettle on. I placed two tea bags, one in each cup, and wiped my teary eyes with my forearm.

  Clare came down and asked if I was alright again. She meant well, but her daft questions were beginning to get on my nerves. I lied, and told her I was fine. She then gave me a hug, in which I responded not so well. My hands were on her back and after a few seconds, I patted her back as if to say, that’s enough.

  After I had made the tea, we stood silently slurping the hot beverages, and it took me two hands to hold the cup for fear of spilling it all over the linoleum as I was shaking that much. I drank my tea like water, gulping it down and wincing while the hot liquid sloshed down my throat. I slammed the cup down and looked over to Clare.

  She hadn’t taken one sip of her drink and all the time she was looking at me, wondering if I was genuinely okay, which, of course, I wasn’t. I spoke, “I’m going to dump ... put the body at the bottom of the garden, out of the way.”

  Clare nodded softly. “Wanna hand?”

  “I should be okay. Gonna scoop her up and carry her out before ... well, before she gets stiff.”

  “I’ll find a sheet and wrap it around her face,” Clare then lowered her head and felt guilty for what she was about to say, “just in case she ... stains your clothes, you know, with the trauma to the head and everything.”

  “Okay.” I revealed a very tiny smile. “There’s spare sheets in the cupboard upstairs, next to the toilet.”

  “I’ll go now.”

  As Clare left the kitchen, I muttered to nobody in particular, “From now on the bedroom’s out of bounds.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I was expecting the body to be a bit smelly, but it was reasonably okay as far as corpses were concerned. Maybe the longer you left one and gave it time to rot, then maybe it would smell. I don’t know. I have no skills or knowledge as far as medical science is concerned.

  I pulled the huge blind up of my patio door to reveal the vacant back garden. It was a glorious day and in normal circumstances I’d be in the garden, having a beer and soaking up some rays, not dumping the body of a young girl.

  Clare came into the living room and announced that the body was ready to be removed. With no hesitation, although trepidation, I walked up the stairs and finally made it to my bedroom.

  The body’s head was wrapped up in a pink sheet, blood seeping through. The clothes of Abbie could still be seen as well as the large circular dark stain on the bedroom carpet. I turned to Clare. “I’ve changed my mind. You get the legs, I’ll get the arms.”

  After a slow and careful walk to the bottom of the stairs, we headed to the patio doors. Once we entered the living room and reached the doors, I ordered Clare to stay still while I gently placed the arms on the floor so I could lift the handle upwards and turn the key in order to open the door. Once I did this, I slid the door open and I picked up Abbie’s arms once again.

  We went outside into a surprisingly tranquil atmosphere. The birds were singing, the sun was out in the cloudless sky—okay, there were car alarms going off in the background, but apart from that, it seemed like a normal day. We got onto the grass and I told Clare to place Abbie at the bottom of the tree. We gently placed her body by the trunk.

  I should have buried her, but I was too scared to be hanging around the back garden for hours while trying to dig a grave. I had a feeling, from looking at Clare, that I wasn’t on my own. I had seen for myself that once one or two of these things were at a house, more came along, like pins to a magnet. It was as if they were concerned that they were missing out on something, like school kids watching a playground fight, the crowd becoming larger the longer they hung around.

  Before we left Abbie, Clare tearfully whispered a short prayer and we both nervously looked around the garden before heading back to the house. We both then heard a scream to my left, from three doors down. From the opened bedroom window, I could see Kelly Barrett calling over to me, her face soaked with fear, screaming out that her boyfriend was trying to attack her.

  Kelly was twenty-eight years old, and a bit heavy, but she had a kind heart. Kelly had been good to me when I was burgled a year ago. She had given me a TV and a lend of her games console for a few months while I was waiting for the house insurance to cough up. I had never forgotten her act of kindness and I couldn’t just leave her to fend for herself. It would have been wrong and my conscience wouldn’t allow it anyway.

  I called out, “Have you blocked your bedroom door?”

  “It’s locked,” she yelled, still hanging out her bedroom window. “It has a lock on it.”

  I looked over at Clare who was now standing in the living room, ready to shut the patio door. I could see by her face that she was reluctant to let anyone else in, which I thought was a little selfish, considering it was my house and that I allowed her to stay.

  Without asking Clare’s permission, with the help of my hands, I jumped over the four wooden fences to the left to get to Kelly. Thanks to the fact that most back gardens needed a gate to get through to enter, they were barren of life. Once I finally got to Kelly’s garden, I walked under the window and looked up to her.

  I asked her, “Can you jump?”

  “Can I fuck,” she snapped.

  “We’ll it’s either that or—”

  “Are ye gonna catch me, like?”

  “Am I shite.”

  “Then I ain’t jumping.”

  I placed my hands on my hips and felt like telling her that she may as well stay where she was. I asked her, “Is there anything in your bedroom you got to smash him?”

  �
��Smash ‘im? I ain’t smashin’ him with anything. He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Well, if he’s one of them, then he’s dead.”

  She thought long and hard about what I just said, I could tell by the way her eyebrows furrowed.

  “Right, fuck it.” She pointed to her right side. “I’ll try and get on tha’ drainpipe and slide down.”

  “Good girl.”

  If it wasn’t such a dangerous predicament, the episode would have been hilarious. Kelly struggled to climb out of her bedroom window and get to the drainpipe, but once she finally managed it, she slid slowly and screamed as she did this. I was on the verge of telling her to shut the fuck up, but by the time the words came to me, she was nearly at the bottom.

  “Okay?” I asked, as she brushed herself down.

  “Over the fuckin’ moon,” she snapped.

  “Right,” I pointed to my right where my back garden was situated, three gardens away, including hers. “We need to get over those fences to get to my house. You ready?”

  “Ye gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

  “No I’m not. It’s too dangerous out the front, and I don’t want any of those things seeing us going into my house. It could cause us further problems.”

  Kelly took a step back and shook her head at the fences we had to jump. “I’m gonna rip me a new one jumpin’ them.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  I ran and climbed wooden fence number one. Only three foot in height, so not a problem. Kelly predictably struggled and shouted ‘cunt’ when she fell on her arse. She picked herself up and ran at the next fence before I had a chance to do the same. She cleared it.

  “Well done,” I shouted.

  She was red in the face and was bent over, trying to catch her breath. She looked up and must have thought I was being a tad patronising because she gave me the finger.

  Charming! Here I was trying to help her.

  I knew what Kelly was like beforehand. She was a likeable character that called a spade a spade. She was a potty mouth but had a heart of gold. She was the kind of woman that would love and cherish you, but at the same time would call you ‘a dopey prick’ if ever you dropped anything. It was just the way she was.

  Once we both cleared the last fence, we shuffled to the patio doors where Clare was waiting for us. The pair of us staggered towards the doors, and before going in, Kelly released a yelp when she saw the body of Abbie lying by the tree, still wrapped in the pink sheet.

  I had some explaining to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Thank fuck for tha’,” Kelly cussed. “I nearly shat me sen.”

  Kelly was from a different area to me originally, and spoke with a slang and a slur that was sometimes hard to understand.

  Kelly held out her hands and saw that they were shaking. Clare asked if she wanted a drink. Kelly replied, “That’d be grand. Beer.”

  While I pulled the roller blind back down to cover the patio’s window, I sat back down and stared at Kelly’s heavy frame. She was a reasonably attractive woman, not my type, but I could see why some men would be interested. She was wearing tight blue jeans, which probably didn’t help her when she was trying to clear the fences, and she was also wearing a blue T-shirt and written in white on the T-shirt was, ‘Easy Tiger’. Her blonde, shoulder length hair was brushed back over her ears with her fingers and she released a sigh and cried out, “My poor Ian.” She then began to cry. It had hit her.

  Clare was taking an age to get the beer from the fridge, and I assumed that she was taking her time on purpose, hearing Kelly crying. Kelly then turned to me and asked, “So what’s the deal with tha’ body by the tree?”

  I told her the truth and she was shocked as she knew the family reasonably well. She then began shaking her head and kept on saying, “This ain’t real, this ain’t real,” over and over again.

  Clare finally returned with the beer and I looked up and gave her a scowling look. “You were taking ages. You made that beer yourself?”

  Clare handed Kelly the beer and ignored my sarcastic question initially, then walked away and said, “No, I wasn’t making it myself. I was crying.”

  Kelly took a noisy slurp of the beer and glared at me. “Bet ye feel a right bloody twat now, don’t ye?”

  “A bit.”

  “So ye should.”

  I was a little angry with the verbal I was getting off Kelly, considering I had just saved her arse. “I think you two seemed to be forgetting that I’ve saved your lives by staying here.”

  Kelly quickly responded, “And I appreciate it, darlin’, but it doesn’t mean ye can treat us like bloody idiots.” I was about to have my turn, but Kelly decided to continue to speak, the palm of her hand was now on my thigh. “Look, lovey. I really appreciate ye takin’ me in and stuff, but me and that girl—”

  “Clare,” I said, realising I hadn’t introduced the pair.

  “We’re in shock. You too, probably. Have ye seen the telly?”

  I nodded.

  “The world’s goin’ to the bloody shitter, and...” She did that thing where women flapped their hands, inches from their eyes to stop themselves from crying. “...we may not have much time left.”

  We continued to talk for an hour and I told Kelly how I had found Clare and that I had to dispose of Abbie as well as her brother, which shocked her. I made her a cup of tea and went upstairs to see if Clare was okay. She was sleeping in one of the back rooms and I decided to leave her be.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The evening was a humorous affair. Once I had made up with Clare there was a better atmosphere within the house. At around 8pm we sat and put on Netflix and watched a TV programme that Kelly swore by.

  Every window in the house had been covered with curtains or blinds, and we all sat down to drink water and watch the programme.

  After two episodes we began to chat, and we began having a humorous talk about men, and I was feeling rather outnumbered. I was sitting in the middle of the couch with Kelly to my right and Clare to my left, nearest the patio doors.

  “I’m tellin’ ye now,” Kelly spoke. “Most men are shit in the sack. I’d rather just sit in with a chocolate bar and fud me sen rigid.”

  Clare and I both laughed and despite her giggling, I could see that Clare was having a hard time understanding Kelly. I leaned over to Clare. “She means, she’d rather eat chocolate and play with herself,” I whispered. “Me sen, means myself.”

  “Yes, I know,” Clare huffed. “She just comes from a different part of the country. She’s not speaking Swahili, you know.”

  Kelly added, “I used to date this man and whenever we slept together, he would shout rock ‘n’ roll as he came. Then there was Mad Mick.”

  Clare smiled. “Mad Mick?”

  “Another shag, lovey. Mick was okay, married, but okay. The only problem with Mick—”

  “Apart from the fact he was married,” I interjected.

  “Yes,” Kelly said with a little regret in her face, “that as well. Mick had terrible dandruff. I always used to insist tha’ he took me from behind or I went on top. I did allow him to go on top once, but fuck me, it was like being pummelled in the middle of a blizzard.”

  Both Clare and I felt ourselves laughing uncontrollably and it was a good feeling. Kelly then turned Netflix off and started going through the terrestrial TV channels. She left it on a channel called Film Four where we began watching Basic Instinct. We were at the scene where Michael Douglas was just starting to have sex with Sharon Stone.

  Clare and I became a little uncomfortable and Clare asked, “Anything else on?”

  Ignoring Clare, Kelly shook her head. “Look at tha’,” she sniffed. “That’s so fake.”

  “They’re acting,” I responded sarcastically.

  We watched the uncomfortable scene and once it was done, it went to the infamous butt shot where Michael Douglas casually strolled to the bathroom. “And that’s crap as well.” Kelly giggled and made an annoying sni
ffing noise as if she had sinus problems. “If I was Sharon Stone, I’d be shouting: For fuck’s sake, Michael, I’ve just had this floor cleaned, and you’re dripping all over it.”

  I managed a smile at Kelly’s crass, but funny comment. Clare was also smiling.

  Our laughter soon came to an abrupt end when we heard a thump at the patio door. Both women yelped and I also made a gasp that immediately embarrassed me.

  “What the frig was tha’?” Kelly asked no one in particular.

  Clare and I gaped at one another. I finally found my voice. “They’re in the back garden.”

  “Are ye sure?” Kelly put her hand over her mouth.

  “Go and check behind the roller blind,” Clare urged me.

  I verbally retaliated, “Why don’t you check?”

  “It’s your house.”

  She had a point, and even though I was becoming a bit of a veteran as a zombie slayer—some sarcasm there for you, it still made me fearful what could be behind the blind, standing in my back garden, inches away from me.

  Just the thought of one of those things made my stomach turn inside out. All I wanted to do was dwell in my house, watch TV with my new housemates, and sleep as much as possible, until there was a knock on my door by a heavily-armed soldier telling me that I had to leave with him to the nearest quarantined area.

  Maybe I had been watching too many Hollywood films and had read too many Shawn Chesser books, and the reality was that we were all going to die, either from dehydration, starvation, or being attacked by the dead. I counted up to three, then gently pulled back the blind to see nothing, but a darkened garden.

  After a few seconds, with the blinds still pulled to one side, I looked at the girls and made a facial expression suggesting that there was no one there. I turned around and gawped out into the garden to see the neighbours’ cats chasing one another, as they usually did on an evening. They weren’t house cats, but both young cats that belonged to one of my neighbours and were still in that playful mode and occasionally would accidentally run into my patio door and bounce off the glass.