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by J N Wood

  I suddenly felt incredibly tired. My finger moved so it rested on the trigger. It hadn’t needed much pressure when I fired it earlier. It would be so very easy, too easy.

  No, I can’t, I’m going to be alright. I’m going to wait this shit out.

  I slowly removed my finger from the trigger.

  I’m okay. I’m absolutely o-fucking-kay.

  I missed Joanne, and my parents. I needed to get through this so I could see them all again. Joanne would never even know what happened to me if I died in this hole. Jack could find my body and tell her I was dead.

  For fuck’s sake, I don’t even know if Jack is okay.

  Tears continued to roll down my face as I laid there, silently crying in the darkness.

  DAY SIX

  Someone was calling my name. I opened my eyes and sat up. The door opened and Jack’s face appeared.

  ‘The Wi-Fi is fucked!’ he shouted, and then placed his finger on his lips. ‘Oops, too loud.’ He turned and closed the door behind him.

  Joanne jumped out from behind the door. ‘Boo!’ she shouted.

  I almost fell out of the bed.

  ‘Joanne, you can’t jump out on people now, it’s bad enough as it is,’ I said.

  She stuck out her bottom lip and put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Sorry Jo, you haven’t been here so you don’t know how things have changed...’ I paused as it dawned on me, it was a fucking dream.

  Wake up Chris you twat.

  My eyes opened to absolute darkness. I was amazed I’d fallen asleep, even more amazing was the fact that I was still alive. The gun was still there in my hand, still in position to do its lethal job.

  It was silent apart from my heartbeat, now quickened at the thought of maybe escaping this grave.

  I didn’t dare move. My sleep might have only lasted half an hour, or even two minutes. I felt rested but that might not mean anything. What if the silence was because they were just standing still? They don’t hiss when they’re not excited.

  After waiting for a long time, I then waited some more. I had to be sure. After what still felt like too short a time, it was still silent up there, so I decided I was ready.

  Come on Chris you fucking dickhead. You can’t stay in this hole forever. We have to get out of here.

  I should probably go a bit easier on myself, I’m doing really well considering.

  Reaching my hands up I very slowly started to lift and drag the sofa. It was painfully slow because I stopped every few seconds to listen for any sound. Twice I waited what felt like an eternity after thinking I’d heard something.

  Finally the hole was unobstructed. There was only a slither of moonlight coming in through the window, so it was quite dark in the room. My hands were shaking as I placed them on the edge of the floorboards.

  Jesus fucking Christ I was scared.

  I slowly lifted myself out of the hole. My body was stiff from lying in the same position. My lower back would have been screaming at me if it could have.

  My head was out and I tried to look around the gloomy room. I quickly dropped back into the hole. There was still one in here, just standing in the fucking corner.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  My pounding heart was working overtime. I didn’t want to grab the sofa in case it hadn’t heard me. I laid there for thirty seconds clutching the gun in my hand. All I could hear was my ridiculously loud heart beat. I was surprised the zombie couldn’t hear it.

  No hissing or footsteps.

  It wasn’t coming, it hadn’t seen me. I lifted myself out again, even slower than the last time. The zombie was still stood in the corner facing the wall, like a scene from a horror film. The fucking creepy little fucker.

  I slowly rose up to stand in the hole and straightened my legs, both knees loudly cracking. I froze and looked over to the corner. There was still no change from the creepy fucker. Turning towards the exit I very carefully lifted one leg out and went to step out of the hole.

  A loud splintering noise filled the room when the floorboard I stepped on broke, my foot crashing back down into the hole.

  The zombie was now facing me, staring straight into my eyes. Its mouth slowly opened up to an unnaturally large size. Spittle flew from its mouth when the hissing suddenly started.

  Some kind of survival instinct must have kicked in, because without thinking I was out of the hole and stepping towards it. It reached out for me just as I smashed the butt of my gun onto the top of its head. There was an almighty crack as the gun penetrated the skull, the gun and my hand going through bone and into the brain. I screwed my face up in disgust as it fell to the floor motionless.

  That was actually surprisingly easy, and horrible. Now I just have to get out of this underground prison.

  I turned and crept towards the door.

  The door burst open and a huge zombie rushed in, hissing filling the room again. I didn’t have time to do anything. It barrelled into me and I fell backwards over the sofa. The zombie was holding on to me and we rolled over together. I grabbed at one of the cushions to stop my fall, but it tore away with a loud ripping noise as the Velcro came away.

  The air was forced out of my lungs when we landed, but I managed to get the cushion in between me and the zombie, using it to roll the creature onto its back.

  My arm was stuck because it had a vice like grip on my wrist, stopping me from using the skull smashing technique again. It was surprisingly strong for a dead person.

  Its revolting mouth was viciously snapping at my face, as though it was desperate to see what I tasted like. The almost sweet smelling aroma coming from its mouth was nauseating, like rotting fruit.

  This thing needed to die, again, before more of its friends joined us.

  I edged the cushion up its body until it was over its face. Trying to ignore its other hand tearing at my clothes, I forced my hand holding the gun slowly up. It still had a really strong grip on my wrist. My gun was pressed into the cushion, hopefully aimed at its head.

  This DIY silencer always works in the movies.

  The noise when the gun went off was deafening, echoing around the small room.

  It doesn’t fucking work in real life.

  The zombie released its grip on my wrist and stopped moving. At least that bit of the plan had worked. I quickly crawled over to the hole on my hands and knees, lowered myself in and pulled the sofa over me.

  I was back in the fucking hole.

  I feared the worst. My imagination was at it again, making me hear glass smashing as they forced their way through the shop window, tumbling down the stairs and dragging me out of my early grave.

  My thoughts turned back to suicide.

  I’m sorry Joanne, and I’m really fucking sorry I left you to come on this shite holiday.

  I placed the gun back under my chin, in all probability its final resting place.

  But, it didn’t happen. I didn’t hear the smashing of glass, or the sound of hundreds of dead heavy feet stomping down the stairs.

  I’d been holding my breath for a while, releasing it with an audible gasp. Maybe the group had passed through and they were now out of earshot, which doesn’t have to be too far when it’s concerning zombies.

  But then I heard something, just the lightest crunching of footsteps on broken glass.

  A female voice called out something inaudible. I instinctively tried to sit up, banging my forehead on the edge of the hole.

  Had I imagined that noise? Was it just the wind? Nope, I just heard it again. It was definitely a woman’s voice saying something.

  ‘Is there anyone down there? I heard the gunshot,’ the female voice said.

  I hesitated, not sure why, maybe I was still too terrified. I couldn’t say or do anything. The footsteps got quieter as they moved away. The thought of being left behind again kick started my body into action. Shoving the sofa out of the way I scrambled out of the hole.

  In my desperate attempt to get out of the small room I wasn’t paying attent
ion, tripping over something at the bottom of the stairs. My face ended up just inches away from something bloody.

  Using the bannister I dragged myself back up and looked down at the pile of lifeless bodies. They had been crushed, probably trampled by their deadly friends in the stampede to get to me. Or squashed against the door.

  I struggled to step over the mess of bodies before climbing the stairs two steps at a time, desperate not to get left behind on my own again.

  Trying to whisper and shout at the same time, I called out, ‘Wait, yes I’m here, wait!’

  At the top of the stairs I almost ran straight into the barrel of a rifle, being aimed at my head. The woman was standing in the now open doorway that Jack had used to escape.

  I raised my hands into the air.

  ‘Please, don’t shoot,’ I said, slightly out of breath after my brief exertion up the stairs. ‘I was trapped down there when a huge group of zombies passed through.’

  She was dressed entirely in black. Her outfit was completed with a balaclava covering her head. Only her eyes were visible.

  She looked me up and down, probably thinking I looked terrible.

  ‘Give me your gun,’ she said.

  I didn’t have much choice with the rifle pointing at me so I unclasped the holster and went to grab my gun.

  ‘Wait!’ the woman barked. ‘Put your hands in the air and turn around.’

  ‘Do you mean turn all the way around or just half way?’ I asked, immediately regretting my question.

  ‘What? Just turn around Prince William, so your back is to me.’

  I turned and faced the other way.

  ‘Prince William? He’s bald,’ I complained.

  My gun was roughly removed from its holster.

  ‘It’s the accent,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I’m just taking this temporarily for both our sakes. Come on, let’s get out of here, they’re less active at night but it’s still not safe.’

  I followed her through the open door.

  ‘You do realise Prince William is ridiculously posh?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s British, you’re British. It’s all the same shit. Now keep quiet and keep up.’

  I bent forwards and vigorously rubbed my hands through my hair and all over my face. It felt like there were still things living on me. When I’d finished I opened my eyes. It looked like I’d emptied a full vacuum cleaner bag all over the floor.

  As we walked I scoured the ground and the surrounding area for any sign of Jack. I knew he was still alive, deep down somewhere I just knew it.

  I called out to the woman, ‘Hey, I came here with a friend. We got separated when the zombies came through. Have you seen him? He sounds a lot more like Prince William than I do.’

  She slowed her stride and looked me in the eyes. I could see the pity in them. ‘No I’m sorry, I haven’t seen a soul. We can talk properly in about sixty seconds. We’re just going over that fence.’ She pointed to a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. It was surrounding some kind of warehouse or factory.

  When we got to the fence she pulled out a wooden pallet and a piece of carpet from behind a large metal dumpster. She rested the pallet against the fence and laid the carpet over the barbed wire.

  ‘Go on, over you go.’ She pointed at the fence.

  I stepped up onto the top of the pallet and placed my hands on the carpet.

  ‘Is there a certain technique to this?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, you climb over it,’ she responded, flatly.

  Rather than thank her for her very helpful advice, I just threw my right leg over the fence so I was straddling it. Then I brought my left leg over and spun around to face the woman, basically balancing on my belly.

  ‘Is this the technique?’ I asked.

  She shook her balaclava covered head as I slowly slid off the fence, landing on the floor.

  Could have been a lot worse.

  The woman stepped up onto the pallet, placed her hands on the carpet and side vaulted over, landing perfectly on the other side. She pulled the carpet down and kicked the fence so the pallet was sent skidding away.

  Okay, that was probably the right technique.

  She led me to some large corrugated shutter doors and pressed a red circular button embedded into the brick wall. I fully expected the shutters to rise, instead a small door that appeared to be cut out of the corrugated metal swung open. A balding and overweight man appeared through the four foot high doorway, rising to his full height of about six feet once he was through.

  The man took two steps backwards when he saw me. ‘What the heck Ali, who’s this?’ he asked, pointing at me very aggressively.

  The woman, Ali, stepped halfway into the warehouse and said, ‘Just found him in Rocky's Gun Shop. He’s okay, come on.’ She stepped back out, grabbed my arm and pulled me in after her.

  ‘Ali no! You can’t just bring strangers in here. Who is he? You don’t know if he’s got the virus,’ the irate man called after us, closing the door once he had stepped inside.

  The lighting was low in the warehouse but I could see it was full of seemingly endless rows of cardboard boxes. They were stacked on crates almost all the way up to the ceiling.

  Ali pulled off her balaclava as she walked, running her hand through her jet black hair. I followed her as she guided us down one of the aisles.

  ‘Nobody is getting the virus any longer,’ she said. ‘The virus died with the rest of America. You know that Steve.’

  After my little fight with the two zombies in the cellar I really fucking hoped she was right.

  ‘I do not know that Ali, and neither do you!’ Steve shouted back. ‘And my name is Ramrod,’ he whined.

  I tried to hold the laugh back, but it forced itself out of my nose in a snotty snort. I attempted to disguise it with a cough.

  Steve wasn’t convinced by my deceit though. Ali glanced back at me and smiled.

  ‘What’s so funny? New guy that nobody knows or cares about,’ Steve asked.

  ‘Hey Steve, be polite in front of our guest,’ she chastised him.

  We reached the end of the aisle and she opened a heavy looking door, on the other side was a thin staircase leading up. We climbed the stairs and she opened the door at the top, this one was mostly frosted glass. I followed her into a long windowless room, full of tables and chairs with a little kitchen in the corner. It had probably been the canteen for the former warehouse staff.

  My attention was drawn to the sound of chattering children. In a corner three small kids were sat in front of a tent, they all looked up from the toys they were playing with and stared at me.

  ‘Alison, do you know why we are still alive?’ asked an elderly white haired man. He spoke very slowly and calmly. He was sat at one of the tables close to the children. A young looking guy with a patchy beard and torn jeans stood behind him.

  Steve rushed in behind us, being careful to keep his distance from me. ‘Yes exactly Dad, that’s what I just said.’

  ‘Yes Gilberto I know,’ Ali replied. ‘We have been careful, that’s why we’re still alive.’ She pointed at me. ‘This guy is clean. At least he’s clean of the virus. Just look at his eyes if you don’t believe me. And the virus is gone anyway,’ she said, almost nonchalantly.

  Sighing and leaning back on his chair, Gilberto said, ‘That is your theory Alison, we have no proof of that yet.’

  Ali walked over to the kitchen area and picked up a bottle of water.

  When had I last had a shower? I think it was the morning before we went up to the Rocky Mountains.

  Shit, I must stink.

  I pretended to scratch my head so I could move my face closer to my armpit and sniffed. Yep, I smelt like shit.

  ‘Is Sandra back yet? This guy is looking for…’ Ali paused and looked at me. ‘What is your name by the way?’

  ‘Well it’s definitely not William, my name is Chris.’

  Gilberto gave me a very accusing look.

  ‘Yeah, so Chris here is looki
ng for his friend. I thought that Sandra might have seen him,’ Ali continued.

  Gilberto was still looking at me intensely. In fact all three of the guys in the room were staring at me. I raised my eyebrows and gave them a quick nod.

  ‘Yep, it’s true,’ I said.

  Without taking his eyes off me Gilberto said, ‘She is not back yet, they’re still out looking for them. Peter is with her.’ He looked me up and down. ‘So Chris, or William, where did you last see your…’ he paused for a second. ‘Your friend?’

  Steve let out a high pitched giggle.

  I tried to give Steve my most indignant look, before returning my attention to Gilberto.

  I told them about me and Jack going in to the gun shop, and then losing each other when the group of zombies passed through. I gave them as much detail as possible to try and make them believe me, deciding not to tell them about a few things, one of which was holding a gun to my chin for hours on end.

  After I’d finished my tale of woe, Ali marched over to me. ‘Let’s go and check out your truck, he might have gone back to it. What do you think?’

  Without waiting for an answer she strode out of the room, using the same door we had used to enter the canteen.

  ‘You’re not going outside the fence again are you Ali?’ Steve called out.

  ‘Bye Steve,’ she said, walking down the stairs.

  ‘Stop calling me that!’ he yelled back.

  I gave the room a little wave and headed for the door. Ali was already at the bottom of the stairs so I had to jog to catch her up. I waited until I thought we were well out of earshot of Steve before I asked her a question.

  ‘Where’s he got Ramrod from? Is that even a name?’

  ‘I don’t know, he probably thinks it makes him sound tough.’ She stopped and held out my gun to me. ‘Here, you’ll need this back. I didn’t want you to have it when you met everyone for the first time.’

  ‘Very trusting, you’ve only known me five minutes.’ I took my gun and placed it back into its holster.