Among The Dead (Book 1): Shadow of Death

by Colley, Ryan

  What I saw was horrific. The scene was illuminated by the emergency lighting of the London Underground. The power must have gone at some point. There was a cacophony of noise. I heard screams of the living, who would soon lose that title. I could hear gunfire of surviving military, as they fought until their last breath. I heard the feral moans of the undead, as they tore into the living. Chaos didn’t even come close to describing it. There was a train on the tracks. It hadn’t fully docked and remained half in the station, but it looked like it had been abandoned. The driver had probably been made to exit it, leaving the train where it stood.

  I crept along quietly, disguised by shadows, the train tracks bathed in darkness. There was a gap between train and tunnel exit, where I had just came from, which would allow me to climb into the station. I almost did, but stopped when a soldier was thrown to the floor, his finger still on the trigger of his gun, firing as he fell. Bullets slammed into the ceiling of the underground station. Dust and debris rained down where the bullets impacted. That didn’t slow the undead as they piled on top of him. I was just two feet away from him, hidden in the darkness, but I saw everything. The undead scrambled over each other to get at him. They sank their rotten fingers, some just splinters of exposed bones, into the soft flesh of his stomach. And neck. And legs. Anything they could grab hold of. The soldier squirmed and screamed, still squeezing the trigger of his gun, which just clicked due to the now empty magazine. That didn’t stop him. He managed to flip onto his stomach, and his intestines and other unrecognisable innards fell to the floor as he attempted to crawl away. The undead scooped his entrails up and started shovelling what offal they found hungrily into their mouths. The bodily fluids and blood ran down their face and between their fingers. Unfazed by this, they chewed slowly and deliberately. Their faces almost looked orgasmic as they ate. The soldier still tried to crawl away into the darkness. I stared at him, unable to move. His eyes met mine.

  “Kill … kill me,” he mouthed, before he disappeared from sight as the undead grabbed him around his ankles and dragged him further away. He didn’t scream once, not even when his throat was finally torn out. I only hoped that he would soon die and leave our Earth.

  I couldn’t go up onto the station floor. If I went onto it, I wouldn’t leave alive. I still needed to exit though, and through the slaughter house seemed to be my only way. While I contemplated my next move, the screams got quieter. I looked around. The undead outnumbered the living at least ten to one. The screams weren’t getting quieter because the living were winning, but because there were less of them. There were still more screams than any person should ever hear. It was only then that I noticed the emergency door on the back end of the train. I dropped to the ground and took off my rucksack. I fumbled with it in the darkness until I found what I was looking for: a flashlight. I pulled the handle and the emergency door swung open to reveal the equally dark inside of the train. There was a terrible stench in there, worse than the undead but still close to it. I climbed up the single step and into the train. I shut the door behind me; not completely, just in case I needed to leave. Caged in with the stink made my eyes water and I retched violently. I covered my nose and played with my flashlight, eventually flicking the switch and lighting the darkness. It was blindingly bright. With some more careful fumbling, I lowered the brightness. What I saw was almost worse than the destruction I had seen outside. There were corpses everywhere. Not lined up neatly, or one here or there. The floor was carpeted with the dead, bodies on bodies, as if they had just fallen where they stood. I reached for my spear-knife combination, terrified that they were about to get up. Then I saw the shells. Spread throughout the carriage, on and between the bodies, were hundreds of brass bullet shells. I leaned down to looked at one of the bodies. It was a young woman, beautiful while alive, but not anymore. Her body had almost been torn apart, not by the undead, but by gunfire. Her body was peppered with bullet holes. There was one in her forehead as well. I checked another body. An old man, same situation. I checked another, and another, and another. All the bodies were the same: riddled with bullets and then a single shot to the forehead. They had been gunned down and then finished off to make sure they wouldn’t rise from the dead. It was the work of the military. Perhaps some armchair general giving orders? Or, even worse, because they had to? The situation was getting out of hand. What was meant to be confined to London had spread further afield, which I had witnessed first-hand, and now London was beyond overrun. It was no longer a quarantine effort on the military’s part, but an extermination.

  I stared out of the train window and watched the madness unfold. The undead had almost won the skirmish, although the victory would be meaningless to them. There were no more living in the station, just dead and undead. The last resistance came from a couple of men who had picked up the soldiers’ weapons. They gunned down any undead who got close to the stairs, and they were almost successful too. I even thought they had a chance of winning and silently cheered for them, especially when actual military walked down the stairs to join them. That turned out not to be the case. They did pull out their guns and took aim, but their targets were the living as much as the undead. They opened fire from almost point blank range and tore the survivors apart. They continued downwards, firing at the undead as they moved. I ducked in case they looked my way. I risked a quick glance through the window and saw the men setting up several packages on the walls around the stairs. The soldiers left, leaving the mysterious items behind. I squinted to get a better look. It only took a moment and then it hit me what the packages were.

  They say you can’t learn anything from video games, which I often disagreed with. I had learned all sorts: trivia, laws of velocity and acceleration, how to rule Hell with only sweet, sweet heavy metal. I had played a lot of video games over the years, especially ones with guns. I always considered it a training simulator, as I had learned how to reload over a hundred different guns ranging from the Second World War to modern day conflicts. It wasn’t a perfect teaching tool, but I considered myself a small expert on the subject. I had also learned how to recognise some explosives; specifically how to plant and detonate them. It was all at the most basic level, of course. One which often came up was C4 explosives. To use a very basic and layman understanding: C4 is a type of explosive which consists of several chemicals set in a modelling-clay-like brick. It cannot be detonated with heat, gunshots, or fire. What does cause it to explode is a detonator set into it, which is remotely controlled. C4 can often be used in demolition, or death and destruction. It could even be fixed to walls when needed …

  My eyes went wide the moment I realised that it was C4 lining the walls. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t run to the steps in case the C4 was detonated. Even if I did make it in time, I would probably be gunned down by the military. Either way I lost in that scenario. I paced back and forth, unsure of what to do next. I couldn’t die here. Suddenly, my time for planning dropped to zero. I didn’t have time to think. The detonator had been pressed and there was the expected explosion. I felt the explosion before I saw it. There was a huge shockwave as the world around me rocked. My bones felt like they were made of glass and had been shattered. There was a sudden flash of blinding white light and I was thrown through the train carriage. If I had time to think, I would have realised the oddity of that happening twice in one week. But I didn’t have time to think as my world went black.

  CHAPTER 12

  I awoke. Head ringing. Smoke and dust filled my lungs. I tasted blood. I coughed. I opened my eyes. Darkness surrounded me. I began to panic. Had the explosion blinded me? Had glass been blown into my face? What was I going to do? I would never find Alice blind! Tears began to well in the corners of my eyes … I felt for them tenderly with my fingers. They were still in my head and, as far as I could tell, intact. That meant that the explosion had probably knocked out the emergency lighting, and my vision was fine. I sat up and spluttered out dust and blood. My body ached all over and sharp pain rivet
ed throughout. I patted myself down, looking for major injuries and painful open wounds. I winced when touching my ribs. Shards of glass had peppered me in the blast. I touched my skin and felt sharp edges of glass. I was relieved. It meant that the glass wasn’t deep. I began to pick it out, bit by bit. I clenched my teeth and winced as I removed each piece. I focussed on the pain; pain meant I was alive and able to fight. The skin around my ribs bled, but it wasn’t a heavy flow. I took a deep breath as I stood up and coughed. I could taste and feel the grit in my mouth. I carried on wheezing and coughing; the sharp taste of iron. I kept coughing, momentarily fearing that I had punctured a lung, but it soon subsided as did the pain in my chest. I pushed myself onto a train seat. Before the undead, I would have had difficulty getting a seat on the London Underground. Now I had my choice of the whole carriage, if I didn’t mind bodily fluids on the seats. Then again, bodily fluids on the seats wasn’t anything new.

  My eyes slowly adjusted to the almost utter darkness. However, I could see a dim light from beneath a body. I walked forward, trying to avoid stepping on the dead. I failed miserably as I tripped and stumbled every couple of steps. Eventually, I reached the dim source of light and rolled the body over. I found my torch, which must have been cast across the carriage during the blast. I picked it up and shone it around the carriage. The bodies had been tossed about during the explosion also, making the scene even more gruesome than before. I noticed my hand shook wildly, and no matter how much I tried to steady it, it wouldn’t listen, as if the blast had served the link between my body and brain. I used the flashlight to look around me. Parts of the carriage had been crumpled and twisted, the glass had been blasted away, and parts of the walkway had collapsed. Regardless of the destruction, the carriage had protected me from certain death. In a way, that poor soldier’s death had saved my life. Dust swirled in the air still, so thick it almost blocked out the light. There was debris scattered throughout the station, as well as on the bodies that died there. Among the dead, I could see a few guns which had been dropped. I crept over to the door midway down the carriage and forced them open. They had buckled slightly, which made it difficult to pry them apart. I pushed with my body and forced it open, wincing at the sound of metal on metal as they grinded open uneasily. It caused the dust in the air to swirl around my face. I quickly covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve, using it as a filter. I continued slowly out of the carriage, wary that there may still be undead amongst the bodies. With the torch in one hand and the other covering my face, I would have very little time to defend myself. I worked my way towards the guns on the ground. I stepped over the dead, believing that at any moment one would rise and bite me. I had watched far too many films.

  I reached the bodies closest to the blast, where the guns were. They were in a horrible state. Parts missing and scattered. Gore spilled out from the wounds and spread across the dusty floor. You could tell which bodies had been undead or just dead when the explosion had gone off by the spread of the blood: bright red blood for the living, and dark brown congealed sludge for the undead. I tried to ignore it and went for one of the guns. The gifts of the dead. It was next to a soldier, head caved in by some debris. No way he was rising as a zombie. I should have felt terrible about looting the dead, but my need was greater than theirs. I’m sure that whatever God there was would forgive me for that transgression; perhaps not my other crimes, but definitely that one. I put down my torch, casting long shadows of the corpses, and grabbed one of the guns. The man still clutched it in a death grasp. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and removed my hand from my mouth. I reached down and twisted the gun out of the dead man’s hold. It was the standard issue SA80; an assault rifle. It had a short barrel, and the magazine sat behind the handle and trigger. It had a unique feel. I could feel the dust coating my lips and all I could think about was how useful a third hand would be in that moment. I picked up my torch and inspected the gun. The barrel and forefront of the gun was crippled; it was slightly twisted to one side. It was useless. If I ever tried to fire a shot it would probably explode in my hands. I slid the intact magazine out, complete with a few rounds, and put it in my pocket. It would come in useful if I found a working gun. I re-covered my mouth and inspected the rest of the guns by torchlight. They were also crumpled and crushed, plus the way the dead clutched their guns was enough to move me on. I would find a working gun later. It could wait. As for my escape … The stairway wasn’t an option. It had collapsed. Neither was the tunnel by which I had entered. The only choice was to continue down the tunnel and hope I made it to the next station. Hope I made it. Is that what it had come to, hoping I would survive? Is that how I was thinking? It was only a matter of semantics, but it must have subconsciously come from somewhere. I pushed my thoughts downwards. I was sure I would snap and break down if I didn’t.

  I peered down the tunnel, illuminating it with my flashlight. I couldn’t see anything but, then again, the tunnel had a bend in it. Anything beyond that point was invisible to me. I forced open the emergency door of the train, the clang echoing through the silent tunnels. I waited for a moment to see if any undead came running to the new noises. Without the gunfire and screaming, the tunnels were eerily quiet. Hauntingly quiet. Stop it! My imagination was running away with itself. I took a deep breath through my sleeve and clicked off my torch. I would rather be in the darkness where the undead couldn’t see me. I would at least be on an equal ground with them. Besides, my sense of smell would alert me to them better than theirs would to me. I jumped down into the dark of the train tracks. I walked over to the wall and let it guide me as I had done before. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I walked through the tunnel. A strong breeze blew through it. I closed my eyes whenever I felt the wind and let the cool breeze wash over me. I needed it. I felt hot and sticky and the breeze was perfect. I inhaled deeply. The air was clean. Clean of dirt and dust. Clean of the smell of death. That probably meant the tunnel was free of undead … for the time being anyway. That was a small victory. It was a shame I couldn’t walk all the way through the tunnels and be free of the hell which was London. Unfortunately, I needed to make it to the coach station and catch an evacuation ride to Essex. I would be free; well, not in the literal sense but spiritually. I was almost there. All the effort and my journey would finally be over.

  “Well, what then?” my inner voice said almost mockingly. “What will you do from there?”

  “I haven’t really thought that far ahead,” another voice within me retorted. “I’ll probably return home to Bristol with Alice and her family.”

  “She probably won’t want to. She’s safe there with her family,” the voice replied logically.

  “But I need her,” the voice on my side replied urgently.

  “Well isn’t that selfish of you!” the first voice sneered with self-loathing.

  “I could protect her!” my voice mentally shouted in return. However, there was no reply. After all, it was only my inner monologue arguing to validate my journey. It didn’t need to reply because I already knew the answer. I was being selfish. Sure, I was trying to save her, but it was more so for me. It may have been a planned journey, but it was a journey of impulse. A journey of escape. Selfishness. A word after my own heart it appeared, and I completely agreed.

  So that begged the question of what I would do when I reached Essex and, in turn, Alice. If everything was fine in Essex, I would find out the situation in Bristol. If all was fine, and even if it wasn’t, I would contact my family. I would have to find out their position and how they were holding up. If they weren’t doing well, I would return for them. I would make the journey again and bring them to the safe haven I would, hopefully, create in Essex. On the other hand, if Essex was overrun and Bristol was fine, I would drag Alice and her family all the way back to Bristol and its safety. It would take some convincing, but I was sure they would see I was right. The journey wouldn’t be over, not even close, when I reached Alice, but it would be a start. In my head, reaching Alic
e had developed the mystical qualities of safety and survival. That is how it had to stay. Otherwise, what would be the point of it all?

  Occasionally, my mind would wander to the fringes of the darkness I had pushed down. It touched, ever so slightly, on the fears and worries I tried to keep hidden, even from myself. Consciously I had yet to deal with the idea that Alice and her family had died. I tried not to think about the idea that Bristol had fallen, or that my family may have died with it. I couldn’t mentally, physically, emotionally, or spiritually deal with it. I would crumble. I would have no more reason to exist. What would be the point of survival? It simply couldn’t bear thinking about. I would cross that bridge when I came to it; although I knew it was a bridge I would never be able to come back from once I had. Until then, I would carry on. Fighting and surviving.

  TAO OF SAM – CLOTHES: THE BASICS

  Just like your hair, you need tight-fitting clothes. Loose clothes can get grabbed by the undead. It can also get caught on things. That will get you killed. The looser parts of your clothes can be made so that it hugs your body.

  At the same time, clothes which are too tight will hinder you. Jeans will restrict your movement too much. You won’t be able to climb walls or fences if you’re restricted.