Surviving the Fall: How England Died (27 page)

Chapter 3

He didn’t need to sign on, but he couldn’t tell his Nan the real reason he was going out. He needed to visit the students.

Chris took to the lift to the ground floor of the flats. The lift opened into a small concrete room next to the bottom of the stairwell. Plastic bags and beer cans lay in the corner, flies buzzed.

A broken door led to the car park. He walked out, it was a sunny day.

Amy was taking her shopping out of the car. Maybe his luck was changing. His wounds should get him some sympathy.

He ran over.

“Alright Amy, how you doing? Let me help with that.” He picked up a few bags.             

“Hi Chris, I’m alright- what the fuck happened to you?” She stared at his face.

Chris shrugged. “Not much, just some lads by the chippy.”

“Oh my god, you need to get to hospital. That looks proper nasty. You feel alright?” She reached forward and touched his swollen eye. He didn’t flinch although it hurt. He breathed in. “You need a doc to see that.”

“It’s nothing, I told you, doesn’t even hurt. You should have seen the the other guys.”

Amy smiled, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“For real. Proper had ‘em.”

“Is that why there’s no marks on your knuckles then?”

“I used a bat.”

Amy shook her head.

“You want a hand up with that shopping?” said Chris.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

He picked up two of her bags and carried them through the car park towards the tower block.

He glanced sideways at Amy. She was wearing the white top he liked - she looked proper fit.

“So Amy, did you think about coming down to that gig with me? It’s at the Royal Court, proper good night I reckon.”

Amy laughed. “I don’t think you should be going anywhere looking like that. Maybe when you feel a bit better?”

“I told you, I feel fine, I-”

Any wasn’t listening any more. Her sister, Cheryl, was running out of the apartment block, wearing curlers and a yellow dressing gown covered in ducks. Cheryl’s slippers slapped against the ground, echoing like someone flicking a pack of cards.

Cheryl was a pain in the arse.

“What’s up Chez?” said Amy.

“Bloody hell, girl, where you been?”

“I’ve just been doing the shopping, you know I have.”

Cheryl took a few deep breaths, her skin was red. It was the first time Chris had ever seen her move anywhere faster than a gentle walk.

“It’s going off,” said Cheryl.

“What is?” said Amy.

“Yeah, what is?” said Chris.

Cheryl looked at Chris for the first time. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

Chris opened his mouth to reply, but Cheryl had already forgotten about him and turned back to Amy.

“London is proper fucked, it’s all on the news. That virus is all over the place.”

“What virus?” said Chris.

“I thought the army had sorted that?” said Amy,

“Whatever, it’s a right fuckin’ mess. TV is going off and on and a lot of internet is down.”

“What virus?” said Chris again.

“The fucking virus that’s been all over the news you idiot.” Cheryl shook her head.

“Yeah, I don’t watch TV, do I,” said Chris quietly.

“Come on,” said Cheryl, grabbing Amy’s hand. “We’re going.”

“Where are we going?” said Amy.

“Ma reckons we should go to Uncle Tim’s caravan in Formby.”

“Won’t he be using it?”

“Who fucking cares! Better than getting the virus. He’s not going to kick us out, is he?”

Cheryl pulled her sister towards the tower block. “Chris, put that shopping under the car will you. We’ll need that,” she shouted over her shoulder.

“See you Chris,” said Amy, disappearing back into the building.

“What about the gig?” shouted Chris. But she was gone.

He stood still, two bags of shopping in his hands, staring at the door of the tower block.

“Bollocks,” he said.

Chapter 4

So far it had been a bad day. A beating followed by being ignored by Amy. Chris knew exactly who was going to feel the full force of his wrath.

Those fucking students.

It had to be them that cut the stuff.

They lived in some fancy apartment down by the docks, no doubt paid for by their rich mummy and daddy. One of them was doing chemistry or something so probably thought he was being Billy big bollocks by cutting the cutting the gear and making extra cash.

Posh twats.

You don’t come up here and mess me about, thought Chris.

He caught the train from Oriel station and fumed for the fifteen minute journey into the centre of town.

He fidgeted with the knife in his pocket.

He got off at Central station and made his way through the town centre towards the waterfront.

Town had a funny atmosphere. Seemed to be a lot of aggro about - even more than normal for a Saturday afternoon with the footy on.

Two fellas rolled out of a nearby pub, yelling and shouting. Another fella jumped out after them, covered in blood, and grabbed the other two.

Normally Chris would have stopped to watch, but not today. He had a mission.

He dodged a few more fights and reached the Docks. He made his way up to the student’s apartment and knocked.

He waited.

He knocked again.

“Fuck’s sake,” said Chris. He was too riled up to leave. He needed to use his anger.

He tried the door. It was locked.

He shoved at it and shoulder barged it, but the door didn’t budge. All he did was hurt his shoulder.

He kicked it and it jarred his leg.

“Fuck!” he yelled.

There was a fire extinguisher at the end of the corridor. He took it and used it as a battering ram against the door, just above the handle.

Loud bangs accompanied with chipping wood. At last, some satisfaction.

A doorway opened further down the corridor and a young woman popped her head out.

Chris snarled at her and shouted, “Fuck off if you know what’s good for you.”

She immediately disappeared back into her apartment.

Holding the extinguisher high, ready to take another swing, the door opened.

“Ok! Ok!” A man opened the door, his hands held up.

Chris pulled back his blow just in time to avoid connecting with the young man’s nether regions.

“What do you want?” said the man with a wavering voice.

“James you prick, have you been cutting my stuff?”

“What?” said James, “Who the… Chris?”

“Yeah, it’s Chris.”

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

“Shut it!”

Chris barged in through the door and pushed James backwards. James back peddled, trying to keep his footing. Chris pushed him all the way to the couch, which he fell back onto.

“Whoa, Chris, what’s going on?”

“You know what’s been going on. One of you posh twats has been cutting my stuff, and I want it sorted.”

James held up his arms. His initial fear seemed to have passed. “Chris, you know us, we would never cut the stuff. We know never to mess with you.”

“Bollocks. Had to be one of you two. I don’t sell to no-one else on the docks.”

James shook his head and smiled, “Chris, why would we ever cross you. We’re not stupid enough to get on your bad side. We know how dangerous that would be.”

Chris was unsure how to proceed. James seemed to be telling the truth. He didn’t seem scared. Surely if he had cut the stuff, he would have ben scared.

“Well, someone’s been cutting my stuff, and I want to know who. Where’s Jules?”

James motioned back down the hallway, “He’s in bed, not feeling well. Someone bloody bit him last night, can you believe that?”

“Bit him? Did he have fucking rabies or something?”

“I don’t know. But he’s been feeling pretty bad this morning.”

“You ought to get him to a hospital.”

James shrugged. “What can you do, stubborn bugger. Look, Chris, how about I make a cup of tea and we see what we can do about your drugs?”

A cup of tea did sound nice. He was gasping.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll sit myself down here eh?”

Chris eased himself into the seat by the TV and James went into the kitchen.

“Jules,” shouted James. “Jules, would you like a cuppa?”

A strange guttural sound, like a moan, came from Jules’s room.

“Fuck me,” said Chris to himself, “sounds like the bugger’s dying.”

“Jules?” said James. He left the kitchen and went to James’s room.

Then all hell broke lose.

A terrifying scream filled the apartment. Chris jumped up and pulled his knife out.

Another scream, accompanied by a loud moan.

“Jesus…” said Chris, unable to move. He wanted to get away, but he didn’t want to get any closer to those sounds.

James appeared at the doorway, blood streaming down his face. It looked like there was a large gash around his eyeball.

“Help!” his voice was high pitched, like a little girl’s, thought Chris. James stumbled into the lounge and grabbed at Chris, trying to hide behind him.

“What are you doing? Get off!” shouted Chris. He tried to grab James and the two span round as James struggled to cower behind Chris.

A hideous moan from the doorway stopped their dance.

“Fuckin’ hell,” said Chris.

Jules, or at least something that looked like Jules, stood in the doorway. It’s skin was pale and mottled, like damp paper, looking ready to drop of his skull at the lightest touch. Blood covered his  mouth and neck. His eyes were solid black.

His mouth opened and closed rapidly, clicking and gnashing like comedy wind up teeth.

James let out another scream, the loudest and most girly yet, thought Chris.

Chris grabbed James and pushed him towards the Jules thing.

The Jules thing grabbed James and used his chattering gnashes to make quick work of James’ neck. Blood squirted like a fountain across the walls, deep red and thick. Bits of flesh flew into the air, little pink globules of nerves, skin, and tendons

James’ screams turned into gurgling bird calls.

“Bollocks to this,” said Chris. He quickly ducked the two students and ran from the apartment, grabbing the fire extinguisher as he left.

Chapter 5

Standing at the door to James’ apartment block, looking out over the pedestrianised area of the Dock’s shopping precinct, things had obviously taken a turn for the worse.

Chris was glad he had the fire extinguisher.

A woman ran past him, screaming, blood pouring from a large gash in her shoulder. Three things that looked like the Jules-thing, all covered in blood with entrails hanging from various parts of their bodies, shuffled after the woman, moaning loudly.

A man in a tracksuit was trying to get into a white car, but a small child gnawed at his knee, squirting the car with blood. The man screamed, trying to shake off the kid thing, who was impervious to his blows.

Only ten feet away, an old woman lay face down. An old man pulled her spine out of her back, blood and small pieces of flesh spraying into the air as each vertebrae popped with a horrible splat sound.

“Fuck me…” said Chris. He knew what this was.

It was the zombie apocalypse.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t scared, he had only one thought - Nan.

He ducked back into the doorway of the apartments, took out his phone and dialled. The call dropped straight away. He tried a few more times and finally connected.

“Nan, stay in the flat, whatever you do don’t go out.”

“What are you talking about Chris? I need to go and get some veg for our roast tonight.”

“Nan! Listen to me, just this once, trust me, do not leave the fucking flat.”

“Language, Chris, where you born in-”

“NAN, sorry, listen to me, don’t leave the flat. Sorry for swearing.”

Silence for a minute, then she said, “What’s going on?” her voice sounded different. He realised he’d never heard Nan scared before.

“Things are… happening outside. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon. Just lock the door and don't let anyone in but me, got it?”

“Is it this virus?”

“Yes Nan, it’s the zombie apocalypse.”

Silence on the line for a moment, then, “Bloody hell. Like that film the other night?”

“Exactly.”

“Bloody hell,” she said again. “Hurry up and get home, lad. And be careful.”

“Will do, Nan. Love ya.”

He hung off the call. Now to get back.

The trains would be off, the busses would be engulfed. He would have to run all the way.

Or steal a car.

The man in the tracksuit had lost his fight with the kid, and was lying on the floor in a pool of blood and organs. The kid zombie was munching away happily on what looked like a lung.

“Right,” said Chris. He took a deep breath and charged towards the kid.

The kid zombie looked up at the last moment and snarled.

Chris brought down the fire extinguisher hard on its head. The small skull caved in, fragments of white bone sinking deep into the pink brain matter.

The zombie kid fell forward, dead for the second time.

Chris then caved in the head of the man in the tracksuit. He was taking no chances. The dull clang of the fire extinguisher against concrete signalled Chris had pounded right through the man’s head.

That should do it.

Luckily, the car keys where in the door. Chris hadn’t fancied searching the man’s pockets - he was a bloody mess, his skin ripped back to reveal an almost empty rib cage, bits of organs half hanging out amongst torn tissue and bones.

“What a stink,” said Chris.

He got in the car and stowed his fire extinguisher beside him. He pulled out of the car park quickly, running over one of the zombies that was chasing the woman. It bounced off the bonnet with a thump.

Joining the main road, Chris had to swerve hard as a car came straight at him from the opposite direction. He avoided it, just, and glancing in the rear view mirror, he saw the car smash into a lamppost.

Rogue cars were not the only hazard. Panicked people and hungry zombies ran across the road at random. Chris did his best to avoid the people and hit the zombies.

He raced past an office building to his right, flames bursting out of its windows. A person jumped from the eighth floor, and hit the ground with a nasty splat. Three zombies immediately fell onto the free feed.

Fires, screams, crashing cars, blood.

It was getting hard to tell who was who. Chris took a simple approach - if it runs, it’s human, if it walks, it’s zombie.

He left the centre of the city, and got onto the dock road heading back towards Bootle.

He didn’t get far.

A red car in the corner of his vision was all he saw. There was a loud crash and the front of his stolen vehicle span to the right. Chris held on tight to the steering wheel as the car spun in two wide circles, before mounting the pavement and hitting a warehouse on the side of the road.

Chris took a deep breath, the pain of bruised ribs, thanks to the seatbelt, adding to his physical ailments.

The red car that hit him was twenty feet away, crashed into the same warehouse. An angry looking zombie was battering at the window, banging its head and fists against the glass.

Smoke poured out of Chris’ car’s bonnet. The engine had stopped.

Chris turned the ignition. Nothing.

“Bollocks,” he said. He was still a good few miles from home.

A van raced past, flames pouring out of the bonnet and windows, a charred figure hanging out from the passenger side. It hit a police car on the other side of the road and the two vehicles flipped through the air, flying in opposing directions. The police car exploded.

Chris would have to leg it back home. No way he was getting in another car.

He opened the door, grabbed his extinguisher, and took a quick look up and down the road. Zombies shuffled towards him from a side road about thirty yards away.

He turned off the main road. He was going to take a route home through the housing estates and high streets. There might be more zombies that way, but he fancied his chances against them more than the crazy traffic on the main road.

If he was going to die in the zombie apocalypse, it was going to be because of a zombie and not some skidding fucking Prius.

He turned down a residential street of red bricked terraced houses. It was full of zombies and running people. Families mainly, couples with kids. Groups of kids.

One fella with a baseball bat was making quick work of any zombies that came close.

A woman was swinging an ironing board at the head of one unfortunate zombie.

Some kids were using small cricket bats to attack what Chris thought at first was a zombie, but one that seemed to be shouting out for help.

Chris ran down the street, dodging the undead, the living, and the fighting.

Something grabbed his shoulder, but he shook it off and ran faster.

He quickly stepped over a figure that fell onto the ground in front of him.

He jumped to the left to avoid a crazy kid wielding a bloodied cricket bat.

He was breathless by the time he got to the end of the road. How could he keep this up all the way home?