Diaries of the Damned (22 page)

“I need to see, Alan. If we are going to survive this, then I need to see it,” she told him when he turned to move between her and the window.

Reluctantly, Alan stepped to one side. He stood, with his eyes closed and waited for what he knew would come. Tracey gave a stifled cry, retched and then buried her head into Alan’s neck, where her silent tears burned them both.

“They’re zombies, aren’t they?” Tracey spoke once her tears no longer stung her eyes. “I was thinking about it last night. What you said, what I heard…there isn’t anything else they could be.”

Alan didn’t answer. There was no need. He simply hugged Tracey tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“We can’t stay, Alan. We need to move somewhere else,” Tracey said as they sat in the kitchen. The child they had first encountered had gone – crawled away; enticed by the sound of a different meal.

“I don’t think we should. You’re pregnant. What if you stayed here and I went out…you know...looking for some supplies. It happened quickly, so maybe there is still plenty of stuff around.” Alan thought of the local corner shop. It was two streets over, and would have everything they could ever need.

“No! I’m not letting you go out there alone, Alan. If something happens and you never come back, I would really be screwed.” Her voice was strict and hard. A tone Alan had not heard before, but somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he found it to be rather appealing.

“I don’t…” Alan began.

“We are safer in numbers. If not you, then me. What if one of those things attacks the house while you are gone?” Tracey interrupted him, and wore an expression on her face that Alan knew well enough to understand that he would not be able to talk her out of it. She was a stubborn woman; at times impossibly so. Her strong will was one of the main things that had attracted him to her.

“Fine, but we will have to be quiet, and prepared. If any of those things comes at us, we will have to fight back…to kill them,” Alan stressed the final word in a last ditch attempt to convince her to stay home.

“I agree. But we should do it quietly. If we make too much noise then maybe it will attract more of them.” Tracey provided a thoughtful answer, which had not been the intended outcome of the conversation.

“There is an axe and some fire tools in the living room. I saw them tucked away in the corner when we were bringing all the boxes in yesterday,” Alan told her, accepting defeat before an argument could brew. They didn’t argue much, but when they did, Tracey won, so Alan understood there was no point. Not just because of tears either. She always posed a good argument, and had debated a lot through school.

“Grab them, but let’s try not to kill anybody while getting the groceries, okay?” She smiled at him and her face lit up. Alan returned the smile and felt the oppressive nature of the room begin to lift. They were in a bad situation, there could be no denying, but they were together, and that was the main thing.

They grabbed the weapons, and donned as many layers of clothes as they could force on. The basis of their logic being that the more layers, the more chance they had to surviving should a zombie chomp down on them.

With themselves wrapped up and a promise of no tears, Alan cracked open the front door and peered into the street. It was relatively empty. Alan saw the woman who had eaten the crow wandering in the distance. She had somehow turned around and found herself stuck in the maze of cars. Something held her attention, for her head darted from side to side. Alan hoped it was another bird, or even a cat, rather than another human being.

“Ok, come on. Try to be as quiet as possible,” Alan whispered before he opened the door and they walked out into the street.

The silence was the first thing they both felt. The absence of sound, of life, had become something physical. There was no traffic, no birds chirping – nothing. All background noise was removed. The world was set on mute. Every footstep rang out and echoed through the streets. Both Alan and Tracey found themselves holding their breath until their lungs burned in an attempt to make as little sound as was possible. The row of cars parked along the street gave them enough cover, as the three zombies they could see wandered down the road, as if using the white stripes that dissected it as a navigation point. It was also a stark realization for them, as under normal circumstances, the street would have been empty, with the cars sitting stationary on the motorway heading in to work.

The only break was a space where two cars had collided. From the debris that lay in the street, the impact had been at a higher speed than the larger accident.

They reached it and paused behind a tall van giving them enough cover to stand upright and assess their options.

“Wait here,” Alan whispered as he poked his head around the front of the van. They had passed the first couple of zombies, and the ones they saw shuffling back and forth in the distance were far enough away to discount them as a direct threat for a moment.

“If we move quickly, we should be fine. I’ll move first. Then wave you across once t
he coast is clear. No arguments,” he added when he saw Tracey open her mouth to speak. She closed it again and offered no further resistance.

Alan moved quickly, and kept himself as low to the ground as possible. He stopped in the mid-point to regroup. The car that had been the faster moving source of the impact had flipped onto its roof and spun across the tarmac. It ran close to parallel with the road. Alan paused, took a deep breath and went to move, but couldn’t. Something held him in place. The growl that sounded made him gasp. The tug on his leg knocked him off balance and he fell to the ground. Twisting, he kicked out in an instinctive reaction. The arm that held him broke, for it was stuck between his foot and the small gap in the twisted metal frame that had one been the rear door. The face that peered out at him was only half-visible. The rest was a meaty mess, peppered with glass and small shards of metal. The seatbelt still held the creature – another child – in place, and saved Alan’s life. The broken arm reached limply, the bone jutting through the skin, yet not quick enough to penetrate the surface. Tracey had moved from cover the moment she head Alan’s gasp, and had given a scream of her own when she saw what clung to his foot. She had stifled herself as soon as possible, but it was too late. Attention had been garnered. The three zombies they had crept past all turned and headed their way. Alan was on his feet quickly, but the first one was too close for them to safely flee, for it would follow them, and lead others to their door.

They stopped, and Alan turned, his axe raised high. Tracey stood by his side and pushed his arm away when he tried to move her to safety.

The zombie drew closer, and Alan began to tremble. The creature stared at him, and then, one-step further, its gaze was lost. Diverted to Tracey, its dead eyes gave the impression of focus, the head tiled down. It stared at her swollen belly. The zombie stopped its advance and stared at the baby bump. It gave a growl, a strange semi-muted growl, and raised its arms, as if in gesticulation. Alan wasted no time; he raised the axe above his head and swung. His eyes closed at the last moment and he missed the target. The blade buried itself deep in the zombie’s shoulder. It gave a loud roar and spun back to face Alan. The movement caused the weapon to tear free. Alan waited. The zombie took another step, and that was when Alan swung the axe
once more. The blade split the skull, and formed a crack, which ran down the bridge of the nose and into the upper lip. The zombie gave a series of short, sharp jerks and fell to the ground. Alan stared at it, with a mixture of emotions and sensations swirling inside his mind and gut. His legs buckled and he vomited what was left of the meal from the night before over the second-time dead torso.

“Did you see that…it looked at the
ba…I mean…it stopped,” Tracey stuttered, unsure as to the significance of the event. There was no time for further conversation, however. The two remaining zombies and the group that had been in the distance were all on their way, having heard the screams and the struggle.

“We need to move!” Alan fought for his breath as he scrambled back to his feet, taking Tracey by the hand and pulling h
er along the street. “Down here,” Alan called as they reached an alleyway. He pulled Tracey along, although there was no need. Her survival instinct told her where they needed to go before Alan gave it a voice.

They ran down the alleyway and then darted into the first garden they came to with a gate and fence that offered them a place to hide. They closed the gate and slipped down to the ground, their back against it. Together, with their hands interlocked they sat, and waited.

It didn’t take long for the first footsteps to shuffle past the gate. Tracey gave a squeak and Alan pressed his hand over her mouth. His finger to his lips, he bade her be quiet. Tracey nodded, tears filling her eyes.

They remained where they were for fifteen minutes after the footsteps had ceased. It was just long enough for Tracey to calm herself, and for Alan to think of a way to tell her that something was watching them from the house's dark interior.

The face that gazed at them from the window was eyeing them with a nervous curiosity, a trepidation that Alan recognized as being dangerous. With no interest in a protracted standoff, Alan made his move. He got to his feet, walked toward the house, his hand open, and out to one side. “Let us in,” he asked in a whisper. He knew they heard him, for the figure twitched at the sound of his voice. “Please, my wife is pregnant.” Alan’s voice increased a little, and he motioned to Tracey. The figure in the window was unmoved, and after a few moments the old man, for Alan could see him clearer as the inched his way closer to the house, reached out and snapped the blinds closed.

“Come on,
” Alan grunted under his breath. “We need to keep moving. The shop isn’t far away. If we can get inside we will have supplies and a chance to rest,” Alan began, pushing the old man out of his mind.

“Who was in there? Why won’t they let us in?” Tracey asked her voice little more than a whisper.

“They’re scared.” Alan gave her the simple answer as he opened the gate and looked down the alley. The coast was clear. “Come on; let’s get moving before they come back.” He put his arm around Tracey and they left the garden. Alan made sure he closed the gate properly before they set off.  

The sky was grey and overcast. The cold air still found a way to seep through their multiple layers of clothing and freeze them to the core. It was the steam from a bulk exhalation that alerted them to the group hiding behind the car on the other side of the street. There was something about the way they hid that made Alan feel uneasy. He increased his pace and alertness. It was only when they got level with the car, and the road branched off to the left, that they saw the reason for the group's hiding place.

A crowd of seven zombies stood gathered around the front of the store. A set of brutally dissected remains lay scattered around the pavement, and blood smeared the windows.

“Get back,” Alan whispered hurriedly when he saw the group. He and Tracey ducked back around the corner, and down beside a parked car. Alan heard the hushed whispers of the group opposite them. He wondered what they were planning, and did not have to wait long to see it for himself.

A tin can flew into the air and clattered on the ground by Alan’s feet. The clattering noise was like a mortar blast.

“What are you doing?” Alan stood and growled across the road.

“Surviving man, no hard feelings,” a man in his early twenties answered. He slammed his hand down on the roof of the car, and one of his unseen friends launched a new attention-seeking missile across the road.

The sound of shattering glass was unmistakable, as too was the sound of approaching zombies.

“What…why did they throw that at us?” Tracey asked as the shards of shattered glass spread around them.

“They want to get to the shop t
oo. They want to use us as bait,” Alan told her directly. There was no time for niceties.

“Why would they do that? We are all in this together.” Tracey fought back the tears.

“I think things are breaking down faster than expected. They have their own group and want to survive at all costs,” Alan answered. There was a tin can and small piece of wood by his feet. He could have risen and thrown it at the group, but something stopped him. It wasn’t right to condemn them to death.

“We need
to move back, find another way,” Alan whispered, but Tracey stood firm. The zombies drew ever closer.

“No. We need to get to that shop, Alan. We have as much right as they do. We can work together. We just need to show them we aren’t a threat.”

The first zombie shuffled around the corner, and was immediately on the same side of the road as Alan and Tracey. Retreat was no longer an option. Alan adjusted his grip on the axe, which was covered with semi-congealed brain clumps.

“We’ll never be able to take them all
, Tracey. Come on, we need to move,” Alan implored, but Tracey didn’t listen. She stared at the approaching zombie.

It was a woman, or at least had been. Her body was filthy, her skin pale. Dark black rings circled her eyes and blood stained her face. Her clothes were ripped and torn. Her left shoulder hung at a strange angle to the rest of her body. There was no visible sign of a bite wound, or any injury. Tracey thought of the news reports; how people with the flu had started dying. The rest fell into place relatively quickly. Then, a mad notion crept into her mind. She didn’t have time to discuss it with Alan. She wouldn’t have in any
case. She knew it was madness…suicidal even. Most importantly, she knew Alan would try to stop her.