Among The Dead (Book 1): Shadow of Death

by Colley, Ryan

  You can probably find a way to protect yourself through clothing. Something which is thick so that it can’t be bitten through. The human jaw is not that strong. You will have to make compromises. Protective clothes will be somewhat restrictive. Make a few adjustments to make it less restricting.

  Basically, you’re going to sacrifice a degree of comfort, mobility or protection with whatever type of clothes you wear.

  CHAPTER 13

  I approached the next station slowly; the glow of the emergency lighting illuminated the last few metres for me. I didn’t encounter any undead along the way. I stepped into the station while crouched. There weren’t any undead there either. However, there were plenty of the dead around. The scene resembled the previous station, with the difference being that the soldiers had clearly lost the battle that time. There was gore strewn across the floor and up the walls. Pieces of people were everywhere. The destruction had made its way onto the train tracks as well. I couldn’t get over the expense of life; especially how viciously it was taken. The corpse closest to me was stripped of all flesh, and anything else the undead considered worth consuming. The man’s, or possibly woman’s, ribcage was completely exposed, albeit slick with chunky and bloody scraps. That corpse wasn’t the only one like it either. Every corpse had been utterly destroyed. There wasn’t enough left to rise as undead. The undead had obviously moved onwards to better pickings and left the station, leaving it as the mass grave that it was. Towards the stairway were the bodies of soldiers. They were picked clean just as much as the rest of the bodies. The only thing setting them apart were the scraps of military fatigues, dog tags, and guns. I jogged over, eyes wildly taking in everything at once, and grabbed up one of the undamaged guns; the same model as the crippled ones I had found previously. I checked the basics, pulled the clip out and reinserted it. The gun appeared to be in working order. There was no scope to it. I would have to rely on the iron sight on top if I wanted to aim. I put the strap over my head and secured it to my body. I felt more confident with an assault rifle at my side, even if I didn’t know how to use it. I checked the rest of the soldiers, finding various magazines for the gun; more than I could carry. I was a little disappointed to find a complete lack of attachments for the gun. I didn’t expect to find an under barrel grenade launcher, but a bayonet would have been nice! I was probably better equipped than the soldiers had been. If all the soldiers had been that under-equipped, it was no wonder London was falling. I began walking up the stairs when I noticed a satchel discarded to one side. Curiosity had me, so I opened it to inspect the contents and found several packages of C4; the detonator included. I almost left it where it was. I even considered disposing of it after all the trouble it had caused me. Then I had a moment of clarity. As much as I was angry at the soldiers for killing innocent people, and annoyed at them for destroying the stairway and leaving me for dead, I realised what they were doing was right. They needed to stop the undead leaving London if the rest of the UK was to be protected. Admittedly the infection had already spread beyond its boundaries, but why not try stopping it further? Anything would help. I picked up the bag of C4, taking the detonator in my other hand. I was going to carry on what the soldiers died doing, with just a slight difference. I strode with purpose towards the tunnel entrance with gritted teeth.

  I placed the last charge on the wall. The small tunnel had about six individual C4 explosives along it. I wasn’t taking any chances. I was sure it was overkill but, at the same time, I was a little bit excited. Not many people could say they had detonated C4, and at such a quantity. I retreated to the staircase and braced myself against the wall. I held the detonator, took a deep breath, and clicked it, hoping I had done it all correctly. There was an earth-shattering blast and I was thrown off my feet as the ground rocked. I could hear crashing and crumbling as the tunnel collapsed under its own weight with only the persuasion from the explosives. I risked a look to admire my handiwork. The air thick with dust was enough of a confirmation that it had worked. That would be enough to stop the undead leaving the city via the underground; at that section anyway. I let the amusement linger momentarily on my face before turning towards the staircase. I discarded the detonator and took out my makeshift spear-knife and handgun. Depending on what I saw above ground would decide whether I used the SA80 or not. I took a deep breath and walked up the stairs. My footfalls got heavier and heavier with each step. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll.

  The closer I got to the surface, the louder the sound of gunfire became. It was a continuous sound, a constant staccato of shots overlaid with that of other shots. There wasn’t a single break in the noise. There would occasionally be a burst of louder shots in the background as a heavier weapon was fired. The higher I climbed, the more the sound felt as though it was reaching a crescendo, yet it didn’t end. At surface level, the chaos was unbelievable. Normally the roads would have been busy anyway, but it was even worse than “normal” London. Cars were turned upside down. Smoke poured out of some and there was fire in others. Some were compacted into each other from collisions in the panic. There were one or two vehicles even through shop windows. I was certain I saw tread marks from a tank too. There was one thing almost the same with every vehicle though: they had been abandoned, doors left open. Almost every alarm available sounded: car alarms, shop alarms, house alarms, and fire alarms. Somewhere in the distance was an air raid siren. There weren’t any screams or shouts of survivors. I guess there were so few left at that point. However, there was the constant moan and guttural snarls of the undead. Those undead were a lot more active than those encountered previously. That could be due to the more abundant supply of food. There was automatic gunfire nearby, concentrated and careful. Possibly a military defensive position. I could head there for safety! I looked at the nearby undead, none of which looked at me, so I kept low and ran for the nearest car. I crouched behind the backend of it. I waited a few seconds and ran for the next car. Smoke was so thick in the air in places that it obscured my view of anything beyond it. One of the back doors was open, and I dived in. I laid face up on the backseat and breathed heavily. Exhaustion wore me down, and even the shortest distance had become an effort; my reserves of stamina were almost non-existent. I sat up and looked out the back window. A couple of undead headed in my direction. I didn’t know if it was because of the noise I had made or because that was the direction they were going anyway. Needless to say, I would be in trouble if they saw me. It wasn’t just them I would alert but any nearby undead, and London had a lot of them. I ducked back down, almost completely on my back. I spread my legs into a V-shape and steadied my handgun, aiming between them and out the door, ready for the undead to pass. My hands shook, and it felt like an eternity waiting the few minutes I did. Eventually, the two zombies shambled past, their movements jerky and uncoordinated. Admittedly, I smelled the pair before I saw them. As bad as the stench of death was, it worked as a good indicator of their arrival. They both moved past the door, oblivious to my presence. I sighed and relaxed slightly. I rolled onto my front and looked out of the window opposite the door I had entered. My next stop was through a shattered shop window where I would plan my next move. I opened the other door slowly to avoid any noise. I proceeded to crawl out of the car head first. I’d focussed so much on being quiet that I didn’t notice the single undead female lying on the ground outside. It was half-trapped under the car that I was in, which had clearly run it over. I had barely stuck my head out when its one free hand flew to my face. It grabbed my hair, which was just an inch or so long. Since it couldn’t lift itself to me, it tried to pull me down to it. I opened my mouth to shout out in pain but stopped myself. I couldn’t risk any noise. The undead woman snarled into my face, teeth bared and gnashing hungrily. I quickly brought my hand, which held my spear-knife, up and stabbed the zombie in the face. It was an awkward angle, but I managed to get the blade in all the way into the creature’s flesh, through its skull, and up to the handle. The zombie slumped down,
dead again, and its arm relaxed. Unfortunately, its hand didn’t. It remained tangled in my hair, fingers tightly grasped. I tried to pull away but it wouldn’t give. I awkwardly tried to pry its fingers apart but they had frozen in place. I had to cut my hair … I didn’t want to do what I needed to do, but I had to do it if I was going to get away. If I waited any longer then more zombies may arrive, and that meant they could spot me. I pulled my spear-knife from the zombie’s head, thick globs of fleshy goo dripping from the blade. I pulled it up disdainfully and pressed it against my hair. I pulled my hair taut and began to cut. I could feel the undead juices running through my scalp, sliding through my hair and eventually dripping off my forehead. The inside smelled worse than the outside and I began to heave. I emptied my almost empty stomach; mostly stomach acid came up. It tasted disgusting and splattered against the undead face. The sight of zombie and my vomit was grotesque and, if I’d had more to sick up, I would have.

  I eventually managed to cut my hair free of the death grasp and made a dash for the broken shop window as fast as I could. I pretty much dived through the window and landed on shards of broken glass. Luckily, none of it cut into me. I grabbed up the first piece of material I could find: a pack of cloths on a shelf. I tore them open and began to mop the gunk off of my head. I threw the cloth to one side, not even acknowledging what was on it, and used another. I got up and began to take in my surroundings. It was a locally owned convenience store, which sold all sorts of stuff. I wandered the shop. Most of the stock had been looted or destroyed. I saw a couple of bottles of water at the back of one of the shelves which I took and drank greedily. After inhaling dust and vomiting up my stomach’s contents, I felt like I hadn’t had a drink for weeks. I threw both empty bottles to one side. I spun on the spot, looking for anything else of help, and found a stand full of tourist maps of London. I opened one up on the counter. It was a very basic map, with most of the attractions and underground entrances marked. I didn’t plan on visiting the Natural History Museum that day. I found where I was, with great difficulty, and where I needed to be. It wasn’t far, and I could take an almost direct route there, if the roads were free of the undead, anyway. I memorised the route and a few alternative ones also, just in case. Things hadn’t been going my way, so I needed to be prepared. I got ready to leave, gun and spear-knife prepped to go, when I heard voices. I ducked against the wall to listen.

  “I heard shots up this way!” I heard a woman say. She sounded out of breath like she had been jogging.

  “You can hear shots everywhere!” a deep male voice replied. He seemed extremely calm for the situation.

  “I know what I heard,” she snapped. She had stopped right outside the window. I heard a gunshot and the voices fell silent for a moment. The woman then continued in a hushed, rushed tone, “We will have to move on before more zeds arrive. We will be safe once we get to where the shots came from.”

  “I’m pretty sure shots probably means it isn’t safe,” I heard the man retort as they began to walk away. I followed the two people, except from the safety of the shop. They chatted about inane rubbish. Suddenly they were cut short.

  “Stop where you are!” a strong female voice yelled.

  “I told you we would be fine!” the first woman laughed. I watched from the broken shop window. The newcomer was a tall white woman in military fatigues. She had a gun pointed at the two civilians.

  “Drop the weapons!” the military woman shouted again. They did as they were told, although the male seemed more reluctant to do so.

  “We’re not bit, don’t wo–” the woman began but was cut short as several rounds from the military woman’s gun tore through the civilian.

  “What the hel–” the man began before he was gunned down too. I covered my mouth to stop myself shouting out. The military woman then walked over to the two bodies she had just gunned down, mere feet from me, and shot them both in the head with single shots.

  “It was just a couple of civvies,” the woman said harshly, speaking into a radio. “I dealt with them.”

  There was some talking from the radio, and the woman moved onwards.

  This completely ruled out going to the military for help. Or any other human if that is what the world had come too. I felt completely sickened by what I had witnessed. It reinforced what I had seen in the subway. The military were killing everyone they saw. Living or dead. If it moved, they would shoot it. I briefly stuck my head out the window. There were no undead or soldiers in sight. Local undead would probably try to follow the source of the noise. I had to move before they closed in. I ran across the road and down the street. I kept close to the walls of the high street. I was less likely to be spotted that way.

  I made it about one block from my destination and the gunfire had gotten louder. It was like I was heading to the epicentre of the undead war. It was about to get a lot more dangerous, and I doubted my spear-knife would be enough anymore. I had my handgun, but that still didn’t feel quite right. I pulled out my assault rifle and switched it from multi-shot fire to single shot. I readied it, and it felt a lot better in my hands. It was heavy but comforting. There was a lone zombie wandering about along the roadside. It hadn’t seen me. I lined up my shot, stared down the sight of the gun, and let off a shot. It felt powerful and it was deafening. I felt a little overcome with the power in my hands. The shot came close to the zombie but didn’t hit it. The recoil, which I had expected, still almost threw the gun out of my hands. The butt of the gun slammed back into my shoulder. The force would no doubt leave a bruise. The undead female began to look around, instantly on edge and ready to attack. I fired another shot; that one hit it in the shoulder. Although we both had a shoulder injury, hers was a lot worse. Bloody gore exploded from the wound where the bullet had struck. It left a nasty hole. It saw me and began running, its face twisted into a snarl. I let off another shot. It hit her dead in the head, “dead” being the key word. The shot threw the zombie off its feet and to the ground, disintegrating part of its head as the bullet passed through. I was sure the shots would attract others; it didn’t matter if they were living or undead because both were equally threatening. However, I felt a lot more prepared to handle them. I knew it was foolish overconfidence. After all, it took three shots to take out one target! I shouldered the weapon and packed away my spear-knife. I felt less and less like a scared youth and more and more like a warrior as the hours passed.

  CHAPTER 14

  In my head, I was going to stride up to the coach station, armed to the teeth and ready for war. I would gain access to a coach, through means I hadn’t yet figured out, and my journey would then be over. I would be on my way to Essex and I would see Alice. Everything would be fine. Everything would be over. That was how I had built it up in my head. I felt like a hero at the end of my quest, ready to receive a reward for my trials. Unfortunately, life has a way of screwing you and your plans over.

  Part of my plan did go ahead as I imagined. I did stride up to the coach station, armed to the teeth and ready for war. Only after I dodged my way through endless amounts of the undead, and corpses they left, was that possible. There were hundreds of them swarming the streets, as if they were drawn to the station. It was only my able-bodied coordination that kept me alive in the horde of undead. There were also a few survivors still running around with no direction. Some were leaving the coach station, some were running back in, all unsure of what to do. None of them lived long in the sea of undead. I, on the other hand, was so determined to get on the coach that I ignored all of it. I didn’t have time to concern myself with the fates of others. I ran through the coach station entrance, adrenaline pounding through me. I shot at any undead which got too close to me, or any which were obstructing my path. Many of my shots went wild, but a lot hit and re-killed the undead. I dodged and weaved between the undead before they could react. I ran through the open gates and into the bay where the coaches normally waited for the passengers. It was a wide-open space which could normally accommodate
five or six coaches side by side, as well as the people to fill them. They were normally in an orderly fashion, where the painted lines and metal signs were obeyed by all … but not in that moment. A coach burned, unleashing plumes of black smoke that filled the condensed space. Two were tipped over onto their side, with undead dragging people out, like food out of a can. One coach tried to leave; the windows on it were smashed and people leaned out, shooting guns. There also seemed to be people shooting at others on the coach also. It didn’t get far and crashed into a wall. People tried to leave the crippled vehicle but didn’t make it far. There were so many undead in the station that any survivors of the coach were barely getting to their feet when they were set upon by undead. There was a third coach on its side, which people looked as though they were making a last stand on. Soldiers and non-military survivors alike stood side by side on top of the vehicle. Anyone who could hold a gun was fighting to the end. Anyone without a weapon still carried on fighting with their fists. In the end, regardless of orders or motivations, they were going to die together. That much was obvious, they were going to die. Yet they fought. That final act gave me a little hope for the future of man. A zombie ran towards me, which I quickly took out. I wasn’t worried about the noise I made anymore. What was one more drop in an ocean? The coach station was lost. I had to retreat and rethink my next move. Except … I couldn’t retreat because of the hundreds of undead that were running into the station behind me, dragging down any survivors they came across. I couldn’t advance either, because of the wall of undead in front of me. I was trapped! Then I saw it, almost by chance: a door on the far side with the illuminated sign “Quarantine” above it. So I ran for it. I ducked, dodged and dived between all the undead. I could have been a rugby player in another life. I slammed into the closed door. Undead were closing in on me at high speed. I quickly pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. The undead were closing the distance. I realised the door read “Pull” next to the small handle, so that’s what I did. I fell into the room. I quickly twisted my body on the spot and saw undead almost through the door. I grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it as fast as I could. I leaned against the door, wheezing from the exertion. There was a reverberating thud, and then another, and another as multiple undead bodies slammed into the door to try and get to me, unperturbed by the sudden obstacle. I twisted the small metal lock, which wouldn’t hold anyone any more than the actual door would. The thudding and pounding grew louder and louder. I pulled a heavy, metal work table up against the door; the first thing I saw. Confident that it would keep the undead out, I put my back against a wall and slid to the floor. I breathed heavily and ran my hand through my hair, looking around the room properly for the first time. It was very … white. It was a clinical room of some kind. White walls. White floor. Bright, white light. There were cabinets all along the walls, and an almost dentist-like chair in the middle. The arms of this chair had restraints, however. Posters covered the walls. Colourful posters which were almost calming. I had a shiver run down my spine and my hair stood on end. Not because there were undead behind me, separated by a few inches of door, but because I was in a hospital setting. Some things you are conditioned to hate no matter the situation. I hated hospitals so much; people died in hospital. I doubted the room had always been the clinic-styled room it was then. Perhaps it was some staff or storeroom which had been refitted for the outbreak? Nonetheless, it looked very out of place.