The Screaming (Book 1): Dead City (10 page)

“Number 42.”

              The house was in darkness, but free of signs of damage or attack. Zac looked the house up and down as he approached the front door. He grasped the door handle, gripped his little knife and slowly pushed the handle down. Locked. The rumble of fast heavy running suddenly broke the silence. Zac flung around to see, three infected figures sprinting along the road, only a few yards away, their filthy red forms hiding their gender. They bounded along the pavement, grunting like asthmatic apes with every step. Blood spraying from their mouths as they cascaded around the corner at the bottom of the street. Somehow they hadn’t seen him, god only knows how. It was time to get inside, he skipped over a garden wall and through a side gate to the back garden, only then remembering to exhale.

              The back of the house was even darker than the front, the black of the garden, unnerved Zac who scuttled along the wall of the house until he reached a set of large patio doors. Locked. He recalled Police programs on TV where FBI agents picked locks with credit cards in two seconds flat or carried out some acrobatics over bins and balconies. The reality was quite different. He took out his little knife and tried wedging it between the door frame and the lock, but all this achieved was increased frustration. He looked around on the floor for aids to his breaking and entering, hoping for a crow bar or diamond glass cutter, but all he was able to find was an old brick and a small gardening shovel.

              He took the shovel in his hands, wedging the blade between the frame and the lock and forcing it slowly into the door. Once it was about an inch in, he levered the handle, and the door popped with a crack, sliding a couple of inches open on the rails. Smug at his criminal prowess, he cautiously entered the house and slid the door closed behind him. He paused to listen, nothing but silence filled the house. He sidled through the room, a large pine table and four chairs sat proudly in the middle of the floor. There were three places set out at the table, with cutlery and condiments arranged neatly and a hot plate sat in the middle with ladles awaiting dishes of hot food.

              Zac cupped his aching stomach and licked his lips, before pressing on to the hallway and around to the bottom of the stairs. Street lights shone through the small oval windows in the front door revealing a small table under a row of hanging coats. On the table was a telephone and a photograph in a silver frame. To his left was a small study and his right was the lounge. Suddenly a low whimper bleated from the darkness of the lounge. Zac staggered back against the wall, knocking the framed picture from the telephone table as he raised his little knife in front of him.

“Who’s there?” he anxiously muttered.

“I’ve got a knife.”

              Zac turned his ear towards the lounge door and leant forward. The sound of blubbering floated from the darkness. He stepped forward towards the lounge door.

“I won’t hurt you.” He pleaded with the most empathic voice he could timidly muster.

“Emma?”

              Zac moved into the darkened lounge. A flicker of street lighting forced its way through the thin net curtains onto a small fireplace. The room was dominated by a red leather sofa, far too large for the size of the room. Its encompassing size shielded the source of the stifled sobbing. Zac slowly stretched his neck and stood on tip toes to look over the sofa. It was a boy, about 15 years old, huddled in a ball against the wall, crying into the sleeve of his blue hooded top.

“Mark?”

              The young man slowly raised his head towards the silhouette standing over him. Mark was Emma’s younger brother. Zac recognised him straight away from the Skype chats with Emma. Zac had always thought him immature for his age. Not in a disruptive way, but more child, like. If Zac ever approached the subject with Emma she would close down and become protective, only letting on that he had “difficulties.”

              Zac slowly moved up to Mark, crouched next to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Mark? It’s Zac!”

              Mark slowly turned his head and raised his tear filled eyes, which widened with surprise. He wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve, leaving a trail of silver slime on his arm. A look of excitement and relief filled his face as the reality of the intruder’s identity was confirmed.

“Are you ok Mark? Where’s Emma?”

              Mark threw his head back into his arms and burst into tears.

“Where’s your mum? Where are they?”

              Zac could feel fear and frustration consuming his senses as he started to get annoyed with Mark.

“Answer me.” Zac yelled shaking Mark by the shoulders.

              Mark’s crying got louder and louder.

“Sssshhh! They’ll hear you.” Zac said.

              Zac shuffled away, stood up and walked back out into the hall. He looked at the picture laid on the floor at the foot of the telephone table. He slowly bent down, feeling the ache of the last few days in his exhausted muscles as he picked it up and wiped a finger over the cracked glass frame. It was a happy family photo, Mark and Emma in the foreground with their mum and dad behind, their arms wrapped around each other and smiles covering their faces. Zac smiled and placed the photo back in its spot on the table.

              An idea filled Zac’s head, as the green light of the telephone caught his eye. He picked up the phone and scrolled through the address book until he found Emma’s number.

“Mark, I’m going to ring Emma, find out where she is so we can meet up. Okay?”

              Mark peered back over the arm of the sofa, he didn’t react, just carried on weeping into his arms. Zac waited momentarily for a response that he quickly realised wasn’t coming, before dialling the number and holding the phone to his ear.

“It’s ringing.” Zac whispers.

              The excited anticipation that had so quickly filled Zac’s hopes was torn away. His arm dropped and the phone fell to the floor. The vibration of Emma’s phone in the room above resonated through the floor and down the stairs. Zac looked at Mark, who was no longer crying, he was staring back at Zac. His eyes filled with tears. Mark lifted his chin and shook his head.

“Don’t.” Mark mouthed, though little sound came out.

              Zac looked back up the stairs. A lump filled his throat and warm saliva pooled in his mouth. Slowly he lifted his foot onto the first step, Mark grabbed a cushion from the sofa and buried his face in to it. Zac tentatively reached the landing and turned his head towards the sound of the vibrating phone coming from the front bedroom.

“HI YOU’VE REACHED EMMA, LEAVE A MESSAGE. BYE.” A long beep followed chirpy the voice message.

              Zac felt a tear roll down his face at hearing the faint echo of her happy voice from the phone on the floor below. He slowly tip-toed towards the closed door, the pain in his feet strangely numbing. Grasping the handle, he pushed it down and eased the door inward, taking a step back at the same time. The room was dark, street lights, beamed an orange glow into the room. A pungent stench of excrement hit Zac like a blow to the face. He covered his mouth and spluttered into his hand as he looked around the door.

              The bed was soiled red and brown, fragmented bones and scraps of rasped meat littering the expensive cotton sheets. Hands still clung to bedding with a vice like grip, and feet lay, stripped to the bone like heads of nails. In the middle a cracked and shattered rib cage, nestled on top of a fragile old spine. The head sat at the top of the bed, detached and unrecognisable from the myriad of vicious clawing swipes it had received. The orange streetlight reflected off a gold ring on the left hand, Zac realised quickly it was Emma’s mum.

              Zac’s eyes, fixed on the devoured remains, but were swiftly shifted as the sound of heavy breathing, started to resonate from a darkened corner of the room. Zac struggled to adjust his focus on the blackened corner. The breathing got louder and louder.

“Emma?”

              The screaming shriek, shattered the otherwise peaceful house. The ear piercing wail booming from the dark corner. As the blackness began to mould its confusing bleakness into an emerging figure, the screaming abruptly stopped and the figure bounded across the room. Zac fell backwards through the door, grabbing for the handle as he fell, the door slamming closed. He landed hard against the wall and slumped to the floor wrestling for breath, the bedroom door came alive with a thunderous volley of strikes as the beast let loose on the flimsy wooden barrier.

              The plywood door, began to splinter with every relentless strike from inside. A cloud of wooden confetti started to fill the landing, as Zac shuffled his way back into the open bathroom, eyes locked on the rapidly disintegrating door. Suddenly it was kicking its way through the last splinters of wood and stepping out onto the landing.

              Zac’s eyes filled with warm tears as he glared back at the crazed figure. It poised itself in line with the bathroom door, regaining its breath before its imminent attack. Thick dark blood congealed around its grated jaw, exposing a row of damaged, shattered teeth. Its eye’s, hardly even open as dried blood jellified around the eye sockets. Clothing drenched and dripping with a crusty red fluid, hung heavily over the creatures slight form. Its hands reached out towards Zac, broken, twisted fingers, clung to clumps of its own hair, torn in a fit of rage from its bleeding scalp.

“Emma.” Zac muttered, as the devastating reality of the figure before him consumed his every function.

              All hope was gone, as the cannibalistic shell stood before him. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, hands raised to his front in a cowering, submissive defence.

“Emma? It’s me!” he muttered, barely able to speak, before emotion broke down his barriers once again.

              She stood before him, eyes fixed, snarling with every exasperated exhale.

“Emma, Its Zac.”

              She was empty, nothing remained of the sweet girl that meant so much to him. She surged into the bathroom, mouth wide and teeth primed to embed themselves into Zac’s capitulating flesh. He desperately edged back, but there was nowhere to go as his legs pressed against the side of the bath. He gripped the pitiful little knife in his hand, but in a flash she was on him. Instantly winded and fighting for breath as he was thrown against the tiled wall before collapsing back, into the bath. A dark fog descended over his eyes and pain fired from his head down his body like lightning strikes through his limbs as his head bounced off of the bath rim. The knife flew from his hand and bounced across the floor.

              Clawing talons laced through his skin, slicing through his scalp and face as he tried desperately to hold her hunger fuelled mouth away from him. Splintered incisors snapped inches from his face. Frenziedly wrestling for his life, every ounce of strength was rapidly draining from his body. His arms started to weaken and buckle under the weight of Emma’s flailing, thrashing figure. With any hope of an alternative fading fast, he thrust one hand and then the other, around her throat and squeezed with all his strength, the stinging slice of volley after volley of finger nails carving through the soft flesh of his face paled in comparison to the stinging in his heart.

              Zac wailed with the emotional pain. His hands were around the throat of the closest person in his life. He screamed with anguish as Emma struggled for breath. Gradually her flaying swipes got weaker and soon her arms hung lifeless, either side of his tattered, tear filled face. Emma’s lifeless body slumped over the edge of the bath, the white porcelain tub now awash with swirling stains of blood.

              Reality engulfed him as he laid in the blooded bath and wept. Every shard of strength was gone, both physical and emotional. Air struggled to find its way into his lungs as he wheezed and blubbered for breath. Slowly, he raised himself from the bath, fell over the edge and slumped on the cold floor. Darkness overcame him as he slipped into an exhausted unconsciousness.

Chapter Seven

              It was still dark out, as Zac slowly opened his eyes. Distant echoes of screaming destruction quickly slammed him back into the real world. He had been robbed of that minute of confusion and blissful ignorance often present as you first wake. Thoughts of the sickening scene that had unfolded in the bathroom shot instantly to the forefront of his mind. A small tartan blanket barely covered his shivering blood stained frame, as he lay on the large sofa, gazing up at the artex ceiling. Just how he had found his way down to the lounge was momentarily baffling, but all cares soon vanished as grotesque images of Emma’s demise at his hand, flooded his conscience.

              Sluggishly, he lifted his head and looked around. Mark was sat upright on the edge of an arm chair in the corner of the room, his face stained by unrelenting tears of fear and loss. Zac slowly sat up, every muscle ached and his face felt like he had been dipped in acid.

“Mark, I’m…   …I’m so sorry.”

              Mark didn’t reply. He wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded towards a coffee table in front of the sofa. On the table was a small bowl, with reddened water, blood stained towels and balls of cotton wool. Beside the bowl was a plate with a large sandwich and a bag of crisps. A mug of black coffee sat steaming next to the plate. Zac looked back at Mark.

“Thanks.” He muttered, fighting back the tears.

              He didn’t think he would be able to stomach the food, but soon the plate was empty and he was washing down the sandwich with a large swig of coffee. Mark clearly didn’t want to talk about what had unfolded upstairs and Zac was in no mood to relive it anytime soon.

“How long was I out for?” Zac asked, needing to engage Mark somehow.

              A shrug of his shoulders and a nod to the clock on the mantelpiece was the most Mark would offer. It was almost midnight, but Zac had no idea which day it was. It seemed somewhat unimportant. Zac slowly raised himself to his feet, groaning with every movement, as his muscles tightened. He shuffled slowly to the window and peered through the net curtains. Distant alarms hummed down the street and intermittent cracks and bangs echoed from the direction of the Olympic Park.

“Gun fire?” Zac surmised.

              However his experience of gunfire started and stopped with Call of Duty on the Xbox. It could just as easily have been a gas cylinder exploding in one of the many burning buildings turning the night sky red. He dreamt of large green trucks carrying hundreds of troops filing down the road to take them to safety, but dreaming wouldn’t get them anywhere. Suddenly movement to the right, as a stampede of a dozen or so marauding cannibals darted along the road, clearly they had an unfortunate target in site. Zac dropped to the floor. Shadows of the running horde darkened the room as they shot past the window. Mark yelped and darted behind the sanctuary of the sofa.

“Mark, sssshhhhh, Screamers!”

              Mark glared back at Zac with a look of fear and confusion. Heavy footsteps bounded past the house and faded into the distance. Moments later, excruciating screams resonated down the street. The sounds of desperate, violated victims of the relentless cannibalistic army. Slowly the cries turned to whimpers and then silence. Cautiously, Zac raised his head over the windowsill and peered outside. Calm filled the street once again. Suddenly a light flickered in an upstairs window of the school building opposite the house. Someone was alive!

“There’s someone in there!” Zac exclaimed.

              Mark raised his head over the arm of the sofa, inquisitively and looked over at the school.

“We should get over there.” Zac offered.

              Mark shook his head and let out a panicked yelp.

“It will be safer in there, it’s got high fences. We have to Mark, I’ve seen houses ripped to pieces by these things.”

              Zac looked longingly over at the old Victorian brick building. Metal security bars covered the lower windows and large cast iron gates flagged by tall chain linked fences surrounded the unscathed playground. Zac felt the adrenaline of purpose returning to his body. He quickly hobbled into the hallway and picked up a black rucksack laid next to the front door. He returned to the lounge and emptied the contents of Marks school books onto the sofa.

“We need supplies, food and drink.” Zac held the rucksack out towards Mark with his most motivating and confident smile stuck to his face.

“Good lad.” he said as Mark reluctantly stood from his refuge.

              The kitchen had slim pickings. They weren’t the most affluent of families but they made do. Mark opened a cupboard and pulled out half a packet of digestive biscuits, placing it in the bag. Zac looked at Mark, whilst maintaining his increasingly “serial killer” smile. Zac found a tin of beans and a jar of fruit cocktail in another cupboard. Mark picked up a six pack of cola from behind the kitchen door and placed them in the bag, forcing a smile back at Zac. A search of a drawer revealed a small torch and a box of matches, both placed in the bag.

              Zac zipped up the bag and placed it on his back, pulling the straps tight over his shoulders, before approaching a wooden block on the work top containing a selection of steel kitchen knives. Zac took out a sizable bread knife and offered it to Mark, who looked back at him with his usual fearful expression.

“We need to be able to defend ourselves.” Zac explained.

              Mark reluctantly took the knife and held it awkwardly at his side. Zac selected a large steel, meat clever and took a practice swing at an imaginary screamer.

“Right, let’s go.”

              They slowly edged to the front door, which opened with only a slight creak, though every sound they made felt like banging a steel drum. Zac poked his head out into the street and scanned up and down the road for movement. He studied every bush and every parked car for stalking creatures. Pausing to listen, the distant alarms still dominating the air offered a level of cover for their movements. The bangs and cracks from over near Olympic Park had stopped and it was discomfortingly peaceful.

              Zac pulled the door open further and slipped out behind the garden wall. Mark stood inside the hallway, clutching the kitchen knife nervously at his side. Zac took one last look up and down the street before waving Mark over. Mark took a small pace forward and froze in the doorway. Tears of fear rolled down his cheeks. Zac looked at him and smiled with his most reassuring grin. Mark dropped to the floor and crawled like a toddler, out of the door and up next to Zac behind the wall.

“Good lad. Now the hard part!” Zac whispered.

“We need to run across the road and get over that gate. Then we’ll be safe. Okay?”

              Mark shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Zac raised himself to a crouch, at the same time pulling Mark up into the same squatted position. One last look.

“Go.”

              Zac grabbed Marks sleeve and started running. The pair hit the gate with an almighty clang as they landed against the large iron barrier. The sound of vibrating metal fired in every direction like a giant tuning fork.

“Quick get over.” Zac hissed, as he started pushing Mark up the side of the gate.

              Suddenly the sound of a pack of shrieking screamers pierced the relative peace of the night air. They weren’t far off, only a few streets away and they had caught the scent of something or someone.

“Quick Mark, move it.”

              Mark was straddling the top as Zac started his ascent and was soon scurry noisily to the top. Mark hung from the top of the gate and dropped himself into the sanctuary of the playground below, quickly followed by Zac. The pair lingered in the shadows of the old school building for a moment, listening for deadly pursuers. The sound of heavy running drifted from over roof tops, but nothing appeared to be getting closer.

“Let’s go.” said Zac, as he nudged Mark in the arm.

              Slowly they tip-toed around the edge of the building. To their right the playground opened up into a vast space filled with climbing frames and sand pits, all bordered by a large chain link fence. They followed the line of the building, remaining in its reassuring shadows. As they circled around to the rear, the playground came to an end at a low picket fence, which led onto a small car park with a large gate to the road behind. They checked every window and fire door as they made their way into the car park. A small dirty white box van straddled two parking spaces. Not the vehicle of a school teacher, clearly. It sat idle in front of a single wooden door into the building, held open by an old tin of paint. Someone had clearly entered here.

“Some poor desperate fool, searching for refuge.” Zac thought.

              Cautiously Zac slipped through the door into the darkness of the school building, Mark clung to the tail of Zac’s t-shirt, following him into the bleak interior. Slowly their eyes adjusted and they found a long brick corridor stretching off ahead of them. Classrooms and offices branched off on both sides. Large colourful displays donned the walls, with boasts of sporting achievements and geography field trips. At the end of the corridor a faint light flickered in a stairwell between a trophy cabinet and a drinks machine.

              Zac cautiously started edging down the corridor until he felt the grip on his t-shirt tighten and he realised Mark wasn’t moving. Zac muffled a sigh before turning around with the false grin lodged to his face. He looked at Mark, took hold of his hand and slowly started edging forward again. This time no resistance and they soon found themselves at the bottom of the staircase looking up into the flickering obscurity.

              Zac removed the back pack and pulled out the torch.

“What the hell?” he thought.

“If we’re going up there, I want to see where we’re going.” He whispered to Mark, who ogled at him anxiously, as he strapped the bag back onto his back.

              He held the torch in his left hand. Its beam was weak and the batteries were clearly on their way out, but it will have to do. The meat cleaver raised in his right hand, poised for any attacker. Slowly he edged up the large oak staircase. The stairs turned up to the left and then back on themselves onto a large landing which contained low bookcases stacked with dated old text books and boxes of broken crayon. Small chairs sat neatly under tiny tables and a fish tank bubbled in the corner.

              A crack and a thud rifled down a short corridor from a dimly lit room, at the far end. Zac pressed his back to the cold brick corridor wall and shuffled slowly along towards the classroom. He glimpsed back to see Mark cowering at the top of the stairs, before quickly turning his attention forward again. The spine shuddering screech of chairs sliding across a polished floor and furniture being flung against walls echoed through the building as he got closer and closer. Zac reached the door, took a deep breath, and counted.

“One, two three.”

              He spun around the door and flew into the room and froze, stunned. A large relieved exhale forced its way from Zac’s lungs as his eyes adjusted to the dim classroom lighting. A short, skinny, hooded figure in the corner of the room, clutched a computer monitor.

“Fucking hell you muppet, you scared the shit outta me.” Came the call from under the hood.

              The figure placed the monitor on a desk. And reached his gloved hands up to remove his hood. Zac, still nervous, took a step back and raised the cleaver in a show of strength.

“Easy mate.” The East end twang seemed almost fabricated.

              Stood there was a pale, freckly ginger teenager, of no more than 16 years old. Chubby red cheeks supported a huge flat nose. A large tattoo of a cannabis leaf adorned his neck sticking out of his black hooded tracksuit and teeth appeared to be fighting for position at the front of his smiling, cracked mouth. An uneasy silence followed, neither knowing what to say or do. Until…

“I’m Daz.”

              Zac looked him up and down, before realising he hadn’t even taken in the rest of the room and quickly threw his head around to check the corners.