When There's No More room In Hell: A Zombie Novel (32 page)

She hadn't panicked and missed or hit with a glancing blow. There had been one swing and it had punched clean th
rough the centre of his head, the point of the pick sticking into the wooden floor boards underneath with very little blood or splatter.

Steve didn't know whether or not
Claire had waited for him to reanimate or if she had taken care of him as soon as he had died. He didn't need to know; it was done and nothing more needed to be said.

They wrapped him in
sheets and carried his body into the garden, to a grave they had already prepared earlier in the day, and gently placed him in it. They left it open in case Claire wanted to see him one last time and say anything over him before the hole was filled in.

Steve thought it was only right that he should be buried with a
degree of respect given the chance. He would want that for himself and he would see to it that others had the same treatment if it came to it.

He couldn't help but think of Kevin. He hadn't been buried, or taken care of when he died.

23

He felt powerful and strong.

It was a whole new experience to him. All his life he had fantasised about being the dominant male among his peers, but he could never live up to it. Instead, he spent his lonely evenings acting out his daydreams in front of a mirror; arguing with himself and being assertive and standing up to the people he had always been trodden down by as he imagined them standing before him.

Now, he was probably the only remaining survivor of his colleagues. He was sure that they would all be dead by now. If they hadn't died on the night of the riot that had swallowed most of his workmates up, then surely they must have died since. They would’ve been too busy trying to look after family and friends
and with people to look out for; it increased the chances of getting killed.

Tony had neither. It was just him and he had the world at his feet now. There was no one to tell him what was right or wrong anymore. He didn't have to pretend to be like everybody else.
He could indulge himself and be who he really was without hiding behind the uniform and using his position of power to elevate him above the poor excuse of a man he really was.

He was now the almighty and powerful and he thrived on the feeling.

For weeks he had moved about the city and outlying towns, helping himself to whatever he wanted and doing as he pleased. He had free reign and he had shrugged off the shackles of ethics and what society had deemed as moral conduct.

He broke in
to houses and businesses and took what he pleased. He always secretly hoped to find survivors. People who were weak and easily manipulated that he could then mold to adore and revere him.

More often than not, the houses would be empty and abandoned. He had developed the habit of sifting through family photographs, looking for pretty women or young girls
, then he would head upstairs and find their room and begin sifting through their drawers and laundry baskets, masturbating as he wore their underwear over his face. He would become completely lost in himself and without realising it, he would be howling as he reached his climax.

Tony had
pushed the boundaries one day, even for his own warped mind. He broke into a house and found the owner to still be inside, dead of course. At first he had considered making a sharp exit, but decided against it.

“Hello gorgeous,” h
e slurred as he eyed the walking corpse that had once been a pretty female.

Even in death, it was obvious that she had been extremely attractive in life. Now though, her skin had a yellow
hue and looked clammy. Her eyes were lifeless and misted, and her swollen tongue flopped from her lips as she snarled and lunged toward him. He punched and kicked the body to the ground and proceeded to subdue and tie her up.

“Time for a bit of fun for you and
me darling and, of course, I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

He
stripped her and wore her soiled underwear over his face as he spent the entire evening drinking and masturbating over her decaying body as she squirmed and writhed beneath him. He imagined her struggles to be that of orgasmic ecstasy from his prowess and skill in the bedroom.

What very few morals he had had before the rising of the dead, they were long since gone now. There was nothing and no one to tell him what was socially acceptable anymore. Before the world crumbled, there had been the police uniform and other people and television to steer him right. Now, all that was gone and the restraints of civilisation were broken and he had no intention of ever allow
ing himself to be shackled by them again.

He drank a lot. There wasn't a day that went by when he wouldn't be driving around with a bottle of vodka or whisky in his lap, continually swigging from it until he was blind drunk. One time, he had pulled over to sleep it
off and hours later he awoke to find himself surrounded by the faces of the dead, packed tightly together and banging against the windows and rocking the car as he slumbered.

Sometimes, when he became bored, he would
taunt the dead and lure them into areas of his choosing where he would trap them and take his frustrations out on them. His weak past still haunted him from time to time and he would need to replenish his depleting dominance by doing something brave and daring.

In reality, there was nothing brave or daring about his actions. He always made sure that he was well protected and all
possibilities were covered. He left nothing to chance and avoided any situation that even remotely held a risk of him being hurt.

One of his favourite pas
times was to dress in full bike leathers with helmet and gloves and trap two, sometimes three of the infected in a large room, normally a warehouse on the outskirts of town and then, fight them as though he were a gladiator in the arena, raising his arms in triumph to his imaginary audience as he pulled off a particular feat or a killer blow that he thought worthy of applause.

He collected an assortment of weapons, from steel bars and tools
like large spanners and wrenches, to a cheap copy Samurai sword that he had found in a shop window. One of his favourite weapons was his homemade mace. It had originally been a small baseball type bat, and he hammered long nails in to it, creating a ring of spikes around the head of it that he would smash into the bodies and faces of his opponents.

He would play with them at first, crippling them as they charged him and smashing their legs to a pulp with blow after blow with one of his weapons. Normally, the c
oup de grace would be given after he had paraded around the arena, waving his arms and standing with hands on hips as he rested a foot on the vanquished that lay squirming on the floor. He would draw his sword and slice through the neck, severing the head and then proceeding to walk through his make-believe Arch of Triumph.

Depending on how he was feeling, sometimes he would even catch specific kinds of infected. If he was particularly brave on a given day, he would try and trap a couple of runners, or even people with the aggressive strain of the flu, though the latter were few and far between since the dead had risen.

He drove aimlessly, heading to nowhere in particular. He had made a point of avoiding the larger of the built-up areas and kept to the backroads when he could. Now he drove his shiny new people-carrier through the countryside with the window down, playing his favourite music, his favourite items in the back, locked in a large black box that he patted and spoke to in a soothing tone now and then.

He really felt alive. Everybody dying had given him a new vitality. He had a purpose, and
that purpose was to enjoy life while everyone else had theirs snatched away from them. But there was a problem; he had killed Elaine without a second thought and he had enjoyed the feeling afterward. She had provided him with a distraction when they were cornered by the dead and she had, in the process as he listened to her die, aroused him.

He had become damn right horny over the whole thing.

Now though, the killing of people who were already dead had lost its lustre and he was becoming tired of it. There was no excitement in it anymore.

They didn’t feel pain, or at least not on the level that he desired, and they didn't scream or beg for their lives before he dealt them the finishing blow. Instead
, they just kept coming at him, even without their legs or arms, or blind as he had gouged out their eyes. They never backed down or cowered from him; something that would have fed his sense of power and complete control.

He needed more. He needed living people to give him his sense of
Godliness.

He looked in
to the mirror as he drove, adopting his strongest and most intimidating face. “I am the Emperor. This is my world now,” he said in a deep growling voice at his reflection.

“You're just the Emperor of the dead and that's nothing
,” his reflection argued back. “They don’t fear you and they don’t respect you. Worst of all, they don’t worship you. You're nothing, nothing but a fucking loser.”

“Fuck you!” he screamed
. “Fuck you, cunt, cunt, fucking cunt!” He was ragging the steering wheel, his veins distended in his neck as he roared at his own image in the mirror.

He pulled to the side of the road and sat staring at the
path ahead for a while. He was sweating and his heart pounded against his chest wall. “I'm not weak. I'm strong.” He lowered his head and rested it against the wheel. “I'm strong. I’ll show them.”

He glanced back up through the window. It was a clear sunny day and the heat shimmered slightly from the black surface of the road. The birds were singing and the insects buzzed by as they went about their business.

Tony smiled. All was right with the world. It was how it should be; just him and his possessions, with no one else to interfere with him doing as he pleased.

He put the car in to gear and drove on, the argument with himself forgotten
, and singing along again to the sounds of Led Zeppelin.

24

People took it upon themselves over the weeks to perform certain tasks and duties, and within a short period things were running as smooth as could be expected with something that resembled a normal routine. As normal as could be expected given the circumstances.

Steve, Lee and Gary had taken on the responsibility of ensuring and maintaining the security of the park
. With regular patrols and checks of the walls and gates, they identified weak points and possible blind spots that would need to be reinforced eventually. But, with such a large perimeter and such a small amount of manpower, they decided that the best course of action was to conduct a daily physical check of them and to also have a dedicated guard to stand watch around the house twenty four hours a day.

Everybody who was considered as being
able bodied enough and with good eye sight took a turn in the shift that was posted on the roof of the house. The guard on duty was given specific points and directions to check regularly with the binoculars, as they stood watch. The elevated position of the house provided good all around visibility for a considerable distance, giving the people of the group ample warning of anything approaching, and time to react.

Gary had even assembled the entire group together at one point and given them a full presentation on the do’s and don’ts when it came to ensuring the safety of everyone involved. The walls
, including all gates and access points, were declared out of bounds to all, unless they were escorted by either Steve, Gary or Lee.

There was a sort of curfew introduced without people being made to feel too restricted. No one, and it was emphasised that it was for their own safety, was to travel anywhere within the grounds alone during darkness
, and without first letting other people know where they were going. To avoid panic of the thought of infected being on the loose in the park, Gary explained that it was mainly due to the fact that people could fall and hurt themselves or become lost in the extensive grounds of the park without anyone knowing they were missing until the morning.

The night guard
wasn't exactly a hard job to do. It wasn't the army and no one was expected to sit and stare out into the blackness of the night for hours, or endlessly pace to and fro on the roof. The average stint was rarely longer than two to three hours and it was agreed that whoever stood watch during the night was excused any chores for the next day. Most people on duty took a book or magazine to read and it was the norm to make sure that there was always a flask of hot coffee and sandwiches stacked inside the guard position; which consisted of a couple of fold away chairs and a gazebo to keep the rain off.

On the second night
that the watch had been introduced, Lee had checked up on the guard position and found Jason fast asleep and snoring in his sleeping bag, the radio and binoculars nowhere to be seen.

Steve was awakened by the crashing and banging and the screams of p
ain from the rooftop. Lee ploughed into Jason with his fists and feet as the scrawny man lay zipped up to the neck in his sleeping bag and unable to protect himself as he was kicked around the roof, while Lee bawled and shouted at him for putting their lives at risk with his incompetence. It was decided after the incident that anyone found asleep on duty would be banished beyond the walls. Just the thought of such a punishment terrified most people into staying awake.

Of course, there were people that argued against such decisions and voiced their concerns and fears of the situation becoming a totalitarian regime. Gary, in his calm scho
olteacher manner, explained to everyone that it was a matter of safety for the group and pointed out that should the worst happen, if the guard was asleep, they could all be overrun and killed by the infected. With visions of the dead tearing up the path etched firmly in their minds, the people at the house saw reason, all except Stephanie.

“Why do we have to obey the rules that you decide?
Who voted that you should be calling the shots? The way I see it, you three,” she glanced from Gary to Steve and to Lee in turn as she spoke, “have pretty much taken over the place and now dictate what we can and can’t do. I mean, look what that thug,” she pointed to Lee who had his usual ‘butter wouldn't melt’ look on his face, “did to my husband.” She was doing her best to pitch an audience and rile people.

Steve, remembering the last confrontation he had with the vile woman stepped forward, his arms folded across his chest. He breathed
in deeply before he looked her dead in the eye and spoke.

“Stephanie, I really don’t care what you
do.” He emphasised the word ‘you’ and rocked slightly on the heels of his feet as he said it. “You do very little around here anyway and the little that you do, is under duress. As for the thug, well, your husband placed everyone of us here in danger by sleeping on duty and if it takes a kicking for him to realise that and to stop it from happening again, then so be it. Next time, I won’t pull Lee off him like I did.

“
Honestly, Stephanie, you're not a prisoner here.” He looked at every face in the room. “None of you are, and you can leave anytime you want. We will even help you. But if you are to stay here, then you help with the running of this place and you obey the rules, especially when it comes to the security of all.

“Nothing is being asked of any of you beyond your physical capabilities
, and everyone can even choose what it is they want to help out with. We,” he glanced behind him, indicating Gary and Lee with a nod to each, “could use more help with security, but if no one else wants to go to the walls, to see the dead at the gates, then that's fine. No one will force you. But we all do our bit.”

Stephanie sat glowering at him. She huffed, “I just don’t think someone like you should be in charge.”

“I'm not in charge, Stephanie.” He said it with slight arrogance to annoy her. “No one is. Should we make you the boss? And what do you mean ‘someone like you’? Am I not enough of an egotistical self-absorbed bully like you? Is that what leadership is? Stephanie, don’t sit there making your statements and trying to upset people, try working with us for once, or fuck off!”

They discussed the options for escape should the worst case scenario hap
pen and the main entrance be breached. They decided on the wooded path at the far end of the park to the rear. In that direction there was nothing but private farmland and footpaths through nature reserves for miles. Steve had argued that they were less likely to run into any infected in that area because of its isolation and inaccessibility.

A
secluded track led down to a gate that was used by the previous security staff for access to and from the rear guard box and private access point for park vehicles. It was approximately three kilometres from the house and it would mean having to move there either by vehicle or on foot. Four cars were left to one side of the car park with the keys in the ignition at all times. They were the escape vehicles and they were checked and their engines turned over every day to ensure that they were reliable and ready to move at short notice.

Gary
had insisted that the house be strengthened in case they find themselves trapped and surrounded and unable to escape to the cars. The windows within arm’s reach on the ground floor were boarded both inside and out, and the doors had boards and planks of wood placed close by for a quick and dirty defence. They would be crudely hammered into place to secure the entrances should the worst happen, and could be reinforced later once the house was locked down.

Karen
declared that she would take on the majority of the cooking duties, and most people were happy to let her. Karen loved being in the kitchen and she seemed to get a real kick out of people’s reactions to the small miracles she was able to perform with the limited ingredients available to her. Regularly she would take adults and kids alike out around the woods of the park to hunt for mushrooms and natural herbs and plants that could be added to the food.

She was a magician in the kitchen and with few pleasures left in the new world,
meal times were always looked forward to with glee and excitement and anticipation at what delights could be laid out for dinner.

“That wife of yours could make a
gourmet meal from a scabby dog, Gary,” Helen had remarked one evening after another of Karen’s glorious meals.

Gary laughed.
“Well, it looks like the secret is out my dear, cause it’s scabby dog stir fry for dinner tomorrow.”

Sarah had recovered within a week
of falling ill and was soon back to full strength. As promised, Sophie and Gary took all the children and a few of the adults on a tour of the park as they checked on the animals and ensured they were healthy. Sophie was concerned about one of the Rhinos and the kids had even been able to approach and pet the animal as Sophie carried out her checks.

That night all that could be heard
throughout the house were children talking and chatting excitedly about the animals in the park and which were their favourite.

The children developed a sense of duty also and even though it was fun to them, they took on the responsibility of helping with the animals and learning all they could about caring for them. The parents and adults also found
it a great distraction for the children, to take their minds away from the horrors of the new world.

Even Lee took an interest and began spending time helping out
, particularly with the monkeys, helping to feed them and clean out their paddocks. It surprised Steve; he had always thought that Lee was more likely to want to throw stones at them and taunt them. He shrugged off the thought and put it down to Lee having matured since his wild and unpredictable childhood.

T
he only person in the group who had even a remote idea of what he was doing when it came to the technical workings of the park was Jake, and he had managed to get the radio up and running. It took a lot of fiddling about and fine tuning with antenna types and lengths before he felt confident enough that it was ready to use.

The power grid had shut down and they filled and primed the generators in the basement for use. It was agreed that it would be the job of one person to regularly check around the house, turning off lights and appliances that were not necessary and to enforce the conservation of fuel. They had a supply of fuel expected to last for some time, but it was agreed that it wouldn't last forever and the more
regulated they were with it, the better for the long run.

Stephanie had immediately volunteered for the job.

“Anyone but her,” Karen had remarked.

Gary mused, “Let’s give her a go at it. The moment she starts carrying a whip though, we set Lee on her.”

Phone communications had pretty much died off. Over the weeks it had become more and more difficult to get through or even get the usual calm recorded female voice saying that the signal was gone or that there was a network error. Now, all that happened was the phone would just beep then go dead. Text messages had become a thing of the past also as the networks began to crash. It surprised many at how reliant they had become on mobile communications and as the internet developed problems as servers crashed, more pressure was placed on Jake to get the radio up and running.

“Okay
, Steve, I think we’re good to go.”

Steve looked apprehensive.
“You think it'll work then?”

“We’ll soon find out I suppose. Marcus said he will be calling at ten
tonight, his time. So that should be within the next half hour,” he said looking up at the clock. “Best we can do is leave it tuned in and ready.”

Steve looked over the radio, taking in the knobs and dials
. “I wouldn't know where to start Jake.”

“It’s not easy, even for me, and I've been working with communications equipment for years. Marcus is working on the High Frequency decametre band with the Codan. That means he’s between three to th
irty megahertz. What it does is it fires its signal up into the ionosphere where it reflects off charged particles in the atmosphere. It bounces around up there and is picked up by our transceiver which is tuned in to the same frequency.

“Marcus is gonna be on the forty one metre band which i
s seven thousand two hundred to seven thousand four hundred and fifty kilohertz. It’s the best one to be on at this time of night and less likely for us to have difficulty with.

“If we
both have our sets right, at his end and ours, then we should be able to speak to one another.”

Jake turned to look at Steve and saw a vacant and dreamy look wash over his face.

“You've completely fucking lost me there, Jake. It’s all too complicated and nerdy for me. I think you need to get out more to be honest.”

The first night of the radio being set up, they had made contact with Marcus and his team
. A dozen people had crowded into the small room at the rear of the house where Jake had the camera monitors and radio set up. They waited eagerly to see if it would work.

At first, there had been nothing but the hiss of static as Jake had turned the dials very slightly in order to fine tune the antenna as he watched the monitor read out that indicated the strength of the signal.