Killing the Dead (8 page)

Startled from my reverie I stumbled back. The dead man lurched at me. He was missing an eye along with a large part of his face. Congealed blood stained his shirt and discoloured his suit. He moaned as he tried to grab me, swollen tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth. I sidestepped his clumsy movements and swung the hammer against his head.

My first swing didn’t manage to hit full on and just glanced off of his skull. The blow didn’t faze him and he was on me. His grip was like iron and I struggled to dislodge him as I used all of my strength just to keep him at bay. His ruined face was all I could see as he tried to sink his teeth into my exposed flesh.

He was pulling himself closer as we struggled. With no room to swing I couldn’t get enough force to break his skull. As I became increasingly desperate I reversed the hammer and hooked the clawed side of the head into his ruined socket. I pulled on the hammers handle and was rewarded with a loud crack as bone was fractured.

I kicked out and stopped pulling away. The combination of the zombie pulling me as his leg was kicked out beneath him caused him to lose balance and fall back. I landed on top of him and pushed my elbow against his throat, pinning his head down. I swung my hammer at his weakened skull again and again until he stopped moving.

Another zombie had been defeated. It had not been elegant and I was once more spattered with blood and bits of brain, but I had beaten it. I smiled and wanted to laugh. My dark mood had dissipated, replaced by a sense of satisfaction and general pleasant feeling.

With a renewed sense of optimism I set off once again for the block of flats. The journey didn’t take long, with the outskirts of the town being fairly quiet. Few undead wandered the streets and the ones I did see were easily avoided. The rain was starting to let up by the time I reached the flats and the few zombies I had encountered were becoming more active.

I entered the block of flats slowly. The lock at the main entrance was broken so the door swung inwards easily. The ground floor flats were silent, doors closed and the few I tried were locked. I tried knocking on some of the doors and received no response. An elevator stood at the end of the hall and beside it a door that led to a stairwell. I decided it would be safer to take the stairs.

The first floor was just as quiet. A plain hallway that ended with a window set into a wall. A trail of blood led from the open door of the nearest flat and led towards the elevator. This floor had four
doors; two on either side of the hallway three of them were closed and locked. I listened closely with my ear pressed up against the doors, first one and then another as I tried to determine if the flats were occupied. I couldn’t hear anything.

A glance through the open door had revealed a scene of carnage. Blood splashed the walls and floor, furniture was overturned and the only light came from the flickering TV screen. I couldn’t hear anything moving within but didn’t want to risk entering. I really wasn’t feeling up to another fight to the death.

None of the closed doors were unlocked so I chose one that was on the opposite side to the main entrance on the floor below. The block of flats was maintained by the local council as low income housing. As a result the doors and the locks were cheap. A few blows with the hammer over the lock easily splintered the wood and the door fell open. The obvious problem it created was that I would need yet another barricade if I wanted to have any sort of safety.

The flat I had chosen was dingy. Dust covered the surfaces and the window didn’t look as though it had ever been cleaned. Worn carpet covered the floor and a single three
seater couch sat in the centre of the room, the fabric fraying and greasy to the touch. A few family pictures of children sat in frames on the mantel. A TV sat in the corner on its stand, remote carelessly left on the floor by the couch.

I considered for a moment choosing another flat, but finally decided that with the world gone to hell I had better get used to less than pleasant living conditions. I checked the rest of the flat for anyone living or dead. A small kitchen, bathroom and bedroom completed the living space and were all empty.

The fridge contained little of worth so I unplugged it and dragged it over to the door. It blocked the door from opening and would be difficult to move from outside the flat. I picked up a shot glass from a kitchen shelf and placed it inside a cup before balancing it on the edge of the fridge. If anyone tried to open the door it would rock the fridge and knock off the cup and glass making plenty of noise. I would have plenty of warning of someone entering.

I spent the next hour looking through the cupboards and drawers. I found a small amount of food that I considered edible and nutritious. Some thankfully clean towels and a small first aid kit that didn’t hold much but did have some antiseptic, gauze and tape.

A long hot shower washed away many of my aches. I stood under the hot water and scrubbed away the blood and muck that I had acquired since Lily first knocked on my door. When I was done with the shower I couldn’t bear to touch my soiled clothing and so left them on the bathroom floor. I dried myself with the towel before wrapping it around my waist and heading into the living room to sit on the couch.

I dosed my wound liberally in antiseptic wincing at the stinging, before taping the gauze over the cut. I leaned back on the couch and turned on the TV. I flipped through the channels until I found a news station and ate my fill as I caught up on the news.

The news presenters were panicked. It wasn’t easy to pick up but if you watched closely you could see that the way they held themselves rigid, keeping a tight control over themselves and their movements. The twitch of an eye or mouth in response to a fresh piece of information passed to them. They had a general air of fear that I was all too familiar with from my own victims. They were giving out bad news and were holding back worse.

Throughout the rest of the day and long into the night I watched. Image after image would flash by on the screen. Stills captured from CCTV or uploaded from someone’s phone. Images of the dead attacking, ripping and rending flesh. The terrified faces of the people being killed preserved for us to see.

Video clips would play of entire cities on the move. A terrified populace fleeing in their cars, packed full of all those precious items they held so dear. The same items soon abandoned as the roads became one endless traffic jam and beyond them the dead, following tirelessly desperate to feed.

The scenes were repeated endlessly. The largest cities were the first to fall. Too many people packed together with nowhere to run. Entire city blocks became charnel houses, the streets were red rivers of blood and throughout it all one thing remained the same. If the dead killed you, you would rise. Born anew as a zombie ready to follow your undead brethren and feast on the living.

Across the world the scenes were repeated. Ships at sea were left to float offshore, no safe harbour to sail into. Beleaguered armies were fighting and falling. The living, were fighting a losing war. Every man, woman or child who died would become another zombie to kill.

Sometime around three in the morning the news reported that China had set off a nuclear device over one of their southern cities. More bombs fell through the night as the leaders of that nation tried desperately to halt the tide. It was a futile effort. If only half their population turned, they would still have more than five hundred million zombies. Our world was paying a harsh price for having a population of more than seven billion.

I tried to get a few hours sleep in the flats tiny bedroom after I first pushed a chest of drawers across the bedroom door, it was better to be safe than sorry. Even so my sleep was still fitful. By seven am I had given up on sleep and was sat back on the couch eating some dry cereal and watching the TV.

The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Eat and drink and watch TV. Occasionally during a period of the news presenters repeating the same things, I would stand at the window and look out at the world beyond.

It was quiet out on the streets. A few cars went past and one coach packed full of people and their belongings headed towards the motorway. I didn’t think they would get far. The zombies were growing in number. Groups both large and small moved through the town, their bodies ranging from the barely touched to the falling apart at the seams.

At one point I did see a helicopter fly over the town. It looked military and was headed north. No planes seemed to be flying anymore. Not long after the helicopter flew over a convoy of army trucks drove through the town. I had no idea where they were going but I heard no more sounds of gunfire afterwards.

I spent a second night in the flat. I told myself it was so that I could rest though in truth I was feeling lost and unable to decide on a course of action. Since Lily knocked on my door I had been reacting. My decision to go to a library to gather much needed knowledge had ended badly, though I was still convinced I would need to go back at some point.

Over the years I had grown used to working alone. It had never bothered me that I had few friends and no close family. I was fine moving through life dependent on no one but myself. At the start of this whole apocalypse though, my first instinct had been that I would need to be part of a group to survive. That initial group I had been trying to form had abandoned me. Sleep eluded me once more.

The morning was cold and a light rain was falling. I took a hot shower and finished the last of the food I had found in the flats kitchen before dressing for the first time in days. I grabbed my backpack and hammer before moving the fridge away from the door. Hiding away unable to make a decision was no way to live. It was time to make a choice and right or wrong I would live or die by it.

Cautiously I peeked around the door. All was quiet in the hallway so I headed for the stairs, keeping to the wall opposite the door that had been open when I arrived. The stairwell was empty and I left the block of flats without incident. It seemed prudent to keep away from the main roads so I set off walking around the side of the flats and across the nearby car park.

Before long I had reached my destination. The canal that ran past the town centre and out across the country. It should be ideal. I could follow the canal out of town and avoid the roads and motorways that would be likely impassable with abandoned vehicles and zombies.

The walk was almost pleasant. For a time I could hear birds singing their songs in the trees. I hadn’t seen any birds or any animal in fact, whilst in the town centre. I wondered if that were due to the infection that created the zombies or the zombies themselves. Yet another question to add to the growing list that would need answering at some point in the future.

An hour later I came upon a brightly painted canal boat that floated serenely just beyond the path, a rope attached to either end of the boat connected to a mooring pin that had been hammered into the ground. I approached cautiously.

As I neared the back of the boat a door opened and a man stepped out holding a black double barrelled shotgun. He looked to be middle aged, short greying hair and a neat beard covered a wide face. He had dark coloured jeans and a yellow windbreaker. The shotgun was definitely pointed towards me.

“What do you want?” he said, voice deep and confident. I cast away any doubt that he would use the gun if he needed to. I raised my hands to show I meant no harm.

“Just passing by my friend.” I said with what I hoped to be a nice soothing tone.

“Aye, you do just that.” He gestured with the rifle, the smallest of jerks to the side to indicate I should move on. I could see movement behind him within in the boat.

“Before I go, are you able to tell me what the conditions are like back there” I said pointing along the canal in the direction I happened to be going and where unless he had turned his boat around, he had come from.

“Not good” he said after a moments thought. “These bloody dead men are walking around everywhere biting folk.”

“Where have you come from?”

“Sheffield. It was bad back there. We barely got out” he said with a nod of his head towards the dark interior of the boat. “We’ve had people try to steal our boat twice already, and been attacked by one of those things once.”

“That’s terrible to hear. These are not good times.” I said with as much false sincerity as I could muster. Perhaps these people would look fondly on someone willing to join them and help protect their boat.

“Aye it certainly is.” He agreed, lowering the rifle so that it wasn’t pointed so obviously towards me. I took that as a good sign. “I still can’t believe what’s happening, one of those bloody things even bit my Evie before I shot the bugger.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Is she ok?” Would a bite that didn’t cause death infect someone? I suspected it might and this man obviously didn’t.

“She was a bit upset so she’s having a lie down. I had to use half a bottle of antiseptic. Dirty things. No idea what germs they have.” He said.

“Well sir it has been a pleasure to meet you and I wish you well but I think I shall continue along my way.” I said with as much fake cheer as I could.

The shotgun bearing man said a brief farewell and watched as I walked away from the boat, rifle still held at the ready. I soon turned a bend and the boat was lost to sight. I sat down on the path and waited.

Two hours later the sounds of panicked shouting followed by the thunderous roar of a shotgun as it fired echoed along the canal bank. I waited a few more minutes and then crept slowly around the bend so that I could see the boat.

All seemed quiet and ordinary, the boat sat still in the calm waters. Then the door at the back of the boat opened outwards and the man I had met staggered out. His shotgun was no longer with him and he looked distressed. Tears fell down his face and he clutched his arm, blood leaking from between his fingers. I had been right. This “Evie” must have turned and attacked him before he managed to shoot her.

Curiosity satisfied I returned to my journey. One of my questions had an answer. I had been right to avoid getting any zombie fluids in my wounds. It did raise yet more questions though. Did the length of time it took to turn change depend on how much of the infection you received or where the infection entered your system. That would be something to think about. I really hated not knowing.