by A L Carter
"Cheeky bastard you're not invited," he said sending it flying backward through the air.
It landed in a heap on the concrete, trying to get up but the body was mush and the spine must have snapped in two. The door was still on its hinges so he managed to shut it but the frame had broken away near the lock so it would not lock. He looked around and noticed that door had been braced a barricaded from behind but had given way as well. There was a hammer and nails nearby so he quickly barricaded it shut again. It would hold off so many but not for long. The rage inside him had calmed down somewhat but was replaced with worry. The person who defended his home maybe someone close to him, were they dead or worse infected. Were they on the floor near him? How could he not know? He looked towards Dinah who already seemed to be doing her own investigation's hopping over the dead obstacles, sniffing and whining. She headed upstairs, leaving him there. He checked the backdoor first, which was barricaded; there were no zombies at the rear of the house. Yes, of course, they probably would not think to try another entrance. Looking around he found no clues in the kitchen.
"Hello is there anybody there, its....err me?" He announced and immediately felt stupid. "I won't hurt you I'm not infected, Dinah brought me."
Nothing so he checked the front room, which as he suspected contained family photos. There were lots of them; a lot of them looked old. A happy looking family, there was a black and white wedding photo. Then there was some with a baby on a man's knee, a woman smiling at knitting. There was a grumpy looking old woman, granny? Then there were pictures of a young blond girl in a dress, she was about five and did not look pleased. In other pictures, she was older, maybe fourteen? He looked at the girls face and pictured someone older late twenties with mousy coloured frizzy hair, that's why she always wore a cap. A tear rolled down his. How could he have forgotten, why had he left it so long? Why had he abandoned her to defend herself?
"MARIE!" He shouted. "MARIE, it's me...It's MAX!"
He continued shouting her name as he climbed the stairs. Dinah was up there still looking and appearing frantic. No answer, no other sound. He checked each room anyway, but could not find her. Then he noticed the back room window was open with a length of sturdy rope hanging out of it. The end was anchored to the floor by fixing a sturdy bracket to the joist. He was proud of her, as she must have had a backup plan. That meant there was a chance she would be all right. Just before he left to find her, he decided to check the loft just in case she was hiding up there. Like in a lot of books and movies, it was common to distract a getaway and be hiding nearby. Of course, she was not there and he never expected her to be, but he did not want to be thinking about it when he left. Dinah followed him downstairs, whining and obviously worried. With his new strength, he made short work of the back door, ripping it open with ease. He would have just jumped out the window but he did not think Dinah would be up for it. Once in the garden she stopped whining and sniffed the air, doing what she did best.
"Go on Dinah, find Marie, that's it," He encouraged.
She became excited like she had picked up Marie's scent. Then she trotted off merrily into the field at the back of the house. Max followed closely, half knowing where they were going.
His hunch seemed to be correct when they arrived at the Brickyard. There was a trail of 'dead' zombies with their skulls crushed, then some large tire tracks leading away. He smiled to himself; it looked like she had actually done it. She always went on about how she had always wanted to drive a dumper truck, ever since she had been a kid her dad used to take her down the Brickyard. It was never girly things, scrap yard, wood yard as long as it was not anything girly. Well, it looked like she had.
"Let's just hope that she hasn't got herself into too much trouble, eh Dinah?" he commented.
She looked up as if she did not have a clue what he was talking about but decided to grin and wag her tail at him anyway.
The chase was on and the dog led the way, passing a few bodies on the way that were totally destroyed. However, the real carnage started out on the road. At some point during the infection breakout, probably earlier on people had abandoned vehicles. This meant the roads were littered with cars making an obstacle course. It looked like Marie had turned left out of the site then started a rampage, cars were smashed out of the way and bodies were crushed. There was no trouble following her now with her trail of destruction. He wanted to turn up the pace so he could catch up with her, but the dog was in sniff mode. Which apparently could not be rushed? She could just look, but obviously, she had not made the connection. He asked himself questions, how long since she took the truck and how had she got it started? There were plenty of cars in driveways and it would not take long to break in and find the keys. Nevertheless, there was only a small chance that there was enough power in the battery to get it started. How had Marie done it had she got lucky, they must be some big heavy duty batteries on those things? It was not as if she could ask a nice zombie for a push start, was it? A power pack would work if it was graded high enough for the job. For now, he decided to be optimistic to follow and hope that it had not been long since she started her joyride. Eventually, they arrived at Ibstock co-op and to the right was the garage and on the road next to that was a pile-up of cars all across the road and even on the pavement. Stuck halfway in an attempt to climb over them was a big yellow dumper truck, its engine still running. A crowd of zombies had gathered around and were already climbing onto the broken vehicles in an attempt to get at its occupant. His vision was obscured by the small horde, about fifteen, but more were on their way. He didn't have long so he started to work fast. Although not under a full rage as before he felt the same feeling beginning to rise in him. Bodies soon flew in all directions as he swung the crowbar. Jumping up on cars he dispatched the rest. She was not in the cab as expected, just a lone zombie who was obviously also looking for her too. Dinah barked and he looked up at the huge bucket.
"Marie for fuck's sake are you in there?" he pleaded.
"What?" came a small voice puzzled?
"It’s Max, Marie we don't have much time," he informed desperately.
Dinah barked as if to get her bit in. Another bigger horde approached and they really did not have time left for this.
"MAX, DINAH," She exclaimed, louder than before and with hope in her voice.
That did it time was up, grabbing the edge of the bucket he was soon in there with her. She was shocked and he could tell she didn't recognize him, her eyes went wild. Suddenly the baseball bat she was holding swung at him. Instantaneously he caught it at the base and turned it over in her grip, which instantly gave. The bat was thrown over his shoulder. Then without waiting for her to comply, he slung her over his shoulder in a firefighter’s lift as if she weighed nothing. He bolted back out of the bucket and landed heavily on the car roofs. She yelped, no doubt this was a stressful time for her. Now she couldn't see properly hanging upside down and kidnapped by who she thought was a stranger. He looked in the opposite direction they were starting to build into a horde that as well. Leaping car to car until he could jump to a clear bit of pavement. However, there was no time to wait; he sprinted off only just slipping through as they closed up, dozens of teeth snapping on thin air. Narrowly missing them both. It was not so much himself he was worried about but was dammed if he was to find her just to see her get infected. There was a small double roundabout he turned right at this and ran for all he was worth. He couldn't look back for Dinah but was glad to see her at his side matching his speed. The zombies thinned out a bit but he would not slow yet. He had run over three-quarters of a mile before the houses disappeared and there was no sign of zombies. Dinah was tired, panting heavily. He also had to admit that he needed a breather.
"Can you put me down now please?" she moaned.
"Oh sorry, I forgot". He replied.
Chapter 12
Pub
He and Jones sat in the police van driving away from their headquarters for probably the last time. Well, he suppos
ed it went as well as could have been expected when given the circumstances. When opened the door, of course, they had all had a good old laugh when they had seen the state of them both. Well all of them apart from the small Russian lad, but then again he had never seen him so much as crack a smile. They quickly realised that they must both be heavily hung over, what with the stink of stale whiskey, empty bottles and their general dishevelled appearance. Yes, he and Jones certainly would not have won any smartest copper competitions. Well, it felt a little embarrassing at first and hardly fitting behaviour for a chief inspector, but really under the circumstances totally logical behaviour as the new world had no laws. It actually did them a favour really. Mick and his gang had a reputation for being cruel and vicious when pushed. Seeing them both like that made them think that they weren't so far away from themselves and getting rat arsed was a great idea. Therefore, in the end, they were cheered and applauded, as well as more bouts of laughter of course. Well after they had calmed down the lad's loaded a van for them with several boxes of food and drinks for them, which would keep them going for a while. Weapons were limited to riot gear and batons. Jenkins had suggested that a couple of Glock 17's would have come in handy. As expected, he had been told not to push it. That was it and there they were making a steady retreat out of Coalville, which was not such an easy task in the large vehicle. The roads had become worse since his last outing with more abandoned and crashed vehicles. Oh and not forgetting the higher volumes of wandering dead people. Of which Jones who had volunteered to drive had run over a few already resulting in bumps and squelches. Along with moans and groans from Jones of course. The deal with Mick had been to keep out of Coalville itself and their business in general. Surrounding villages were deemed okay or as far away as they wanted. They were now slowly moving through Ravenstone on the main A447, which was a major problem with obstacles, Jones turned right into Ravenstone village.
"Idea," Jenkins asked.
"Pub," Jones replied.
In all the years he had known Jones he had never thought of him as having a drinking problem, in fact, he had an impeccable record probably as long as own. He himself was usually restricted to the odd civilized glass of wine or the odd very swift pint after work. But her indoors had always smelled it on him and complained of course. Jones pulled the vehicle into the car park of the village pub.
"Good idea Jones," he exclaimed.
The car park and road at the front of the pub had maybe five zombies at most and they were scattered not grouped.
"You said a good whack to the head will put them down for good," Jones pointed out.
"Well I wouldn't call myself an expert as I only killed one but it seemed to do trick," he answered.
"Then I suggest that it's clobbering time sir, like the old days when we didn't have so much paperwork to fill out," Jones said exiting the vehicle to enter the back of the van.
Jenkins followed then they equipped themselves with body armour, helmets, riot shields and batons.
"Okay, Jones let’s stay close to each other and protect each other’s back, remember that they're slow and dumb so step their side or back," he instructed.
"Roger sir,” said with a glint of humour in his eyes.
Jenkins felt a slight smile cross his lips then readied himself and gripped his baton. They approached number one both stepping around the shuffling dead thing, then it surged forwards. But Jones gave an almighty swing connecting solidly with the back of its head, which disintegrated with a wet bloody smack and down it went. The second one was cheekily tripped over by Jones and managed the smash its own brains out on the car park.
"Burk," Jones remarked.
Jenkins chortled surprised at himself, feeling that ideally, they should feel more remorseful. But the humour seemed to be helping them to cope with the situation. Getting into the spirit of things he moved in fast on the next one and swung the baton low striking the back of the knee. It flopped back onto the pavement but unfortunately this time its head didn't hit hard enough, it seemed dumbfounded and just floundered there for awhile.
Finding that he had plenty of time to position for a powerful strike to its forehead, feeling and hearing the satisfying crunch of bone along with the wet squelch of blood and brains. Only two left now, which they dispatched with ease.
"Kind of reminds me of the football riots in the eighties," Jones said with a broad grin on his face, clearly having a great time.
Jenkins could not say that he looked at them same riots in that light, but he had enjoyed this little skirmish and felt a grin spreading across his own face.
"Fancy a pint Jones I do believe this one's on me," he suggested.
"But of course sir," he readily agreed heading towards the pub door.
On approach, Jones tried the door and found it locked. Jenkins hoped that this might be a good sign, meaning it was not overrun with the undead. Worse still already looted. He moved over to the lounge window with the curtains conveniently pulled back and peered in. Well luckily it wasn't overrun but there were a few unwelcome occupants.
"Shall we try around the back," he asked.
"Not really my thing sir but if you think so," came a humoured reply.
When they were round the back he found that door locked to which again was maybe a good sign.
"Looks like we'll have to break in," he stated lifting up his bloodied baton.
"Hold on sir," Jones warned.
Jenkins turned to face his partner with slight confusion.
"I think it would be highly illegal as we don't have a warrant, but we do have a key," Jones' eyes were sparkling but poker-faced as he stepped forward with a key in hand.
"Where did you find that?" he said.
"Under the plant pot obviously," Jones replied casually.
Jenkins considered pursuing the questioning further but did not want to appear stupider than he already did and moved out of the way to allow the door to be unlocked. Which meant that they were soon inside, then locking it from the inside to keep out unwanted guests. Then they made their way further inside and prepared themselves to deal more death.
Jones had not had this much fun in years and he thought it had taken the apocalypse to do so. It was also the company he was keeping. Jenkins was a typical old school British copper with a stiff upper lip type. Much like himself but he classed him as officer class were as he himself was more one of the lad's. It was working well and he knew Jenkins was enjoying it as well and it seemed to be taking his mind off the loss of his wife. He led the way through to the bar area where they had been movement seen through the window. When he walked through into the bar he was greeted by two familiar figures. John the barman who was up the other end of the bar and currently heading their way and Donna the big breasted barmaid that he had drooled over many an evening. Who at this moment was propelling those same breasts over the top of the bar in his direction. Out the corner of his eye he saw Jenkins go for John the now undead barman, so he had time to focus on Donna. As usual, she wore a low cut top to better reveal those breasts, which were currently trying to fight their way out. She did not seem to be able to find the way out from behind the bar and her breast repeated bouncing against their flimsy restraints, and he remained transfixed where he stood.
Jenkins went straight over to the male, as Jones seemed otherwise preoccupied. Then man ambled towards him, grey lifeless eyes considering a potential meal and also missing most of its nose. He did a little experiment at the undead's expense and tipped a stool over onto the floor then waited. Of course, it just kept on coming resulting in it tripping straight over and ungratefully landing face first into the carpet. He was unable to suppress the splutter of laughter that escaped him at the hapless flesh seekers expense. However, managed to finish it with ease with a bash to the skull. He then walked other to see how Jones was doing with his situation. He still stood in the same position and seemed to have made no progress. Looking like he was in a trance mouth hanging open in wonder. Jenkins then scrutinized the rea
son for this behaviour and quickly understood what was happening here. The female zombie appeared to be throwing her breasts at the sergeant and had caused him to lose control of his senses for now at least. The woman he assumed had been the barmaid and a buxom one at that. She seemed to be losing the battle to keep her precious assets from remaining in the partial confines of her low cut top. Jenkins had to admit the scene was tantalising to the point of distraction and he could feel himself being drawn into a trance-like state. So they both stood there transfixed watching the pendulous motion of the swinging and jiggling orbs. Then it all became too much for the flimsy clothing to restrain them any longer, the mighty breasts made their getaway and burst free. They were magnificent things to behold if a little pale. The swinging and jiggling had now reached another level as if building up to an amazing finish. Jenkins didn't know how much time passed, maybe minutes, maybe only seconds but he suddenly realised that something was wrong. Those impressive breasts were moving closer and were higher up. Which under normal circumstances would not be a problem, but when just inches above them snapping teeth that were ready to tear of your face off, then indeed this did pose a problem? In their daze, they had not noticed that she had managed to crawl up onto the bar and now appeared to be preparing herself to launch herself at the clueless Sergeant. Now even though he was sure Jones wouldn't mind those sumptuous breasts landing on him, but Jenkins was sure he wouldn't welcome those accompanying teeth. So he snapped himself out of it and hoped that he wasn't too late. Everything suddenly went into slow motion. Jones dazed and slathering at the mouth, breasts travelling in mid-air and teeth ready to chow down. He only had a split second to decide what to do, deciding to push Jones out of the way. Now he was the target, thinking he proceeded to ram most of his baton into the barmaid's open mouth and braced himself for impact. Well at least Jones had been saved, but he was unable to see whether he had come out of his daze yet. This was because he had been unable to stop the forward momentum of the top-heavy barmaid. This continued forcing him to fall backwards baton still in her mouth. Everything still seemed to be going in slow motion and his main worry was that he did not knock himself out on the floor. Then he felt the back of his head connect with the floor then the lights went out.
