The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle (7 page)

As other spotters joined in the chase, Daniel called out to
Rob. “Save the ammo, let’s run for it!” Chances of the Infected being able to
negotiate the density of rails across the intersection without eventually
touching the live ones was slight; electricity was more prevalent than bullets
right now. Together they ran as fast as they could, out onto the junction, the
complex overlapping of steel lines making their pace difficult and stressful.
Eyes straining, their rucksacks making balance uncertain, they concentrated on
making sure they avoided the live ones; they had run about a hundred yards when
Rob cried out in pain.

“Argh, I’ve got a stitch,” he cried, standing still,
clutching his side. Daniel ran to him and, putting his arm around his friend,
helped support him, and together they made a good speed down the track. Within
moments several of their pursuers met their grisly end on the live rails; it
looked surreal, the violence of their demise reminiscent of cartoon deaths.
Several of the remainder were slow movers, and were not a threat unless Daniel
and Rob chose that moment to sit down and have an impromptu picnic. One,
however, appeared to have learnt from his fellows, and could be seen jumping
over the live rail, still in pursuit. Not as fast as some, but due to their
current handicap, it was gaining on them. He was the last one on their trail
and finally, Daniel lost his temper; the bloody thing wasn’t going to give up.
Letting go of Rob, he turned around, drew his pistol at the same time. Waiting
for the cadaver to catch up, he placed a shot in its forehead from no more than
three feet away. It’s face registered surprise as bits of skull spat from the
back of his head. In slow motion, it fell to its knees before collapsing
sideways onto a live rail, the one it had so carefully avoided earlier, and
began to sizzle until its clothing caught fire. The smell of burning, rancid
flesh and fat reached Daniel’s nostrils, and he decided enough was enough; they
needed to get moving.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, looking sympathetically at his
friend. Rob was standing upright again, rubbing his side vigorously.

“Yeah,” he said, panting, “I will be. Let’s keep going.”

Scanning the roof of a nearby block of flats, Daniel saw one
of the walking dead, standing there, staring right at him. Positioned like a
general, wearing a red t-shirt under a black hoodie, overseeing the field of
battle, it was as if he was evaluating what had just transpired, perhaps
learning from what it had seen. There was no doubt in Daniel’s mind that the
thing, bloody drool and all, was certainly paying close attention to their
actions. It was unnerving, and heightened Daniel’s fear. It was, perhaps, the
most disturbing thing seen so far today. If he tried to kill it, he doubted it
could even be hit from where they stood. Should I use a bullet to find out, he
wondered. Maybe it was just a fanciful notion; his nerves were already on edge.
Anyway, police ammunition was designed for low impact, not to penetrate their
targets through and through; after all, these weren’t military rounds. It was
quite possible it would lose too much of its power at that distance to ensure a
kill. At the same time, the sense of malevolence coming from that rooftop was
almost physical, his desire to kill the monster, strong. Finally, he decided it
could do him no harm from over there, so what was the point? It wasn’t worth
wasting a bullet.

Throughout the chase it had been intriguing to see these
creatures in action. Beyond basic motor skills, how much, if any, could they
remember of their normal lives? Did they even retain the ability to think at
all coherently? He had definitely seen some evidence of basic learning skills,
somewhat like a chimpanzee might mimic a human’s actions. But was there more,
really?

Only time would tell.

Janet had finally texted Daniel with the good news that the
perfume had driven away the creature that had been hanging around their door.
They were now alone; nothing appeared to be aware of Janet or Paul’s presence.
So far, so good. Daniel wasn’t surprised that Poison had been effective; it was
a scent that always gave him a banging headache. His big concern was that she
was talking about having to venture out of the room, away from absolute safety,
for her to perform bodily functions, and find some water. He had texted back,
suggesting corners could be used for this need, if not for the water. The text
back to him would have blistered a lesser phone. All he could do was hope she
was careful, and that Paul would turn out to be a suitable protector.

As for his own plight, things had settled down. As the
adrenalin ebbed from his veins, and as the escape from London Bridge paled with
time, boredom had settled in. There was nothing fun about following a rail
track. On top of that, Daniel’s feet were killing him. He’d worn trainers into
the office, but they were designed for comfort, and in no-one’s imagination
were they envisaged as suitable for hiking. If he didn’t do something soon,
he’d have to stop and rest his feet. Rob was lucky; being more accustomed to
dress down mode for his work, he was already wearing heavier duty trainers.

“Shit,” Daniel swore, flopping down on a box at the side of
the route, easing the pain in his feet. Rob looked on, anxious to get moving
again. “I’ve got to do something about this, or I’m done.”

“Sure, I know that pain,” Rob replied, sympathetically.
Walking at least three miles since their last encounter with the undead, they
had just passed through St Johns, where the line had dipped into a culvert. To
their horror, it had been like walking through the Valley of Death, bodies
lying everywhere, across the tracks, up the slopes. Most had bullet wounds and
a few had deep cuts on their torsos indicating a large cutting blade, maybe a
machete.

“What the hell has gone on here?” Rob wondered aloud. They
stepped among the dead, staying alert in case there were survivors. Most had
been infected, a few not, but all were casualties of this brutal engagement.
Those apparently not infected wore bandanas, perhaps members of a gang that had
gone on the offensive. He knew there was significant gang activity in this
area, even in the good times. Feeling exposed now, they ran between hiding
spots, fearing being mistaken for the walking dead. In his anxiety, Daniel had
forgotten the pain in his feet.

“We’ve got to get off the tracks for now, I suspect we’re
sitting ducks, way too exposed,” Daniel whispered, as they arrived at a bridge
passing over the tracks. Its old Victorian, dirty-yellow bricks were a welcome
cover to their movement. At the other end of the tunnel, judging by the height
of the trees, the land appeared to slope away and downwards. “Let’s spread out,
Rob. Go to the other side of the track; I’ve got a funny feeling about what’s
at the end of this tunnel, looks like a great place for an ambush.” Without a
word, Rob jumped the tracks and landed against the opposite wall, his rifle
aimed forwards, ready.

Slowly they inched their way into the shade under the
bridge, each covering the other diagonally across the tracks, maximising their
field of fire. Suddenly a shout was heard, in a strong south London accent,
warning them that there were guns trained on them.

“We’re not infected!” Rob shouted.

“A Yank!
Wot
you
doin
’ ‘ere?” was the reply, bemused but still aggressive.

“Getting out of London!” was his shouted reply. After a
moment’s silence there was some rustling in the undergrowth, the sound of
voices, and someone swearing. Next moment the report of gunfire sounded, and a
bullet whizzed by Rob’s head. He returned fire. The source of the shot had been
out of Daniel’s vision, so he was unable to see what his friend was shooting
at. There was a muffled scream, and a man fell out of the nearby scrub and lay
still.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” A young boy ran out from behind
another bush, and darted across to the fallen man. “Dad,” he whimpered,
kneeling down by the body, holding its head as he sobbed. A little girl slowly
stepped out from the bushes, fear and anguish in her eyes, her face smudged
with dirt and streaked by tears.

Daniel and Rob quickly ran over to them, and took the gun
from the dead man’s hands. The boy glared up at them, hatred in his eyes, then
launched himself at Rob in a blind rage. Feeling a terrible guilt at killing
the boy’s father, Rob did nothing to stop the onslaught. It was left to Daniel
to haul the child off, throwing him to the ground. Responding to the violence,
the little girl ran to the boy and hugged him tightly, preventing any further
outburst that might end in more hurt. They were clearly brother and sister.

Daniel checked on the man, who himself looked no more than
early twenties. Such a waste. He had been hit squarely in the chest, and was
killed instantly. Maybe it was a blessing for him. Maybe the dead were the
lucky ones.

“What the fuck are we going to do with a couple of kids?”
Daniel asked, not really expecting an informed answer from Rob. It was pretty
much the last thing either of the men wanted or could handle.

“We sure as hell can’t leave them here. I wouldn’t give them
more than half an hour to live. I wonder if they are local?”

Daniel turned to the children. “Do you live around here?” he
asked, but received no response. “Listen, you have to let me help you. You
can’t stay here on your own, you won’t last ten minutes. What are your names?”

The boy remained silent but the girl spoke. “I’m Penny, and
this is my brother, Sam.”

“Thank you, Penny. I’m Daniel, and this is Rob.” The little
girl looked at Daniel, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Rob.

“It wasn’t Rob’s fault, you know. Your father opened fire on
him, and he defended himself.” Neither child responded, nor did Daniel expect
them to. How do you communicate with kids, he wondered, especially ones whose
father has just died at your hands. Realising he wasn’t getting through to
them, he tried a different tack.

“Where’s your mum?” he asked more gently, squatting before
the little girl. “Do you live around here?” She was looking at him, but still
unable to speak.

“Come on, little one.” Daniel urged. “We need to know. We
can return you safely home if you do.”

“We have no-one!” Sam shouted indignantly. “Mum’s dead, we
only ’ad our Dad. And you killed him!” Neither Daniel nor Rob could argue with
that. Rob looked stricken, trying to figure out why the bloke had opened fire
in the first place. Maybe his finger had accidentally squeezed the trigger.
Whatever the cause, it was too late to get into recriminations.

“Do you have any relatives or friends around here? Is there
somewhere we can take you?” Daniel continued.

“Our house blew up,” Penny responded for her bigger brother,
who was just standing there, his fury overwhelming him, making him speechless.

“When was that?” Daniel asked.

“This morning. Daddy woke us early, and made us get dressed.
We went outside ‘
cos
the house was burning.”

Daniel’s face softened, they had been through a lot, and
apparently had nowhere to turn for respite. Shit, looks like they were lumbered
with them, he thought, at least for now. Still squatting, he looked at the boy
this time. “If there is nowhere we can take you, then we have to keep moving,
at least, or we’ll attract those things. You don’t want that, do you?” The boy
grudgingly shook his head. “I know you can’t stay here and survive. If you come
with us, we’ll protect you.” Daniel said, hoping this negotiation would resolve
itself soon. Frustrated at hanging around in one place for too long, he was
beginning to feel as if a target was being painted on his back, creating an
uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades. The child continued to
stare at the ground, furious, tears running down his cheeks. “Do it for your
sister,” Daniel said, hoping to use the protective instinct in the boy for his
sibling, to get him to make the right decision.

“We can’t leave him here, like this,” Sam said finally,
gulping down air, fighting to hold back his misery. At last, a response.

“We can’t do anything for him,” Daniel replied.

“I, we’re not going anywhere,” the boy replied, a determined
look on his face.

“Alright, then, we’ll do something for him,” Daniel
surrendered. “But we must hurry.” With that, Daniel shrugged off his backpack.
Glad of the relief of losing the weight for a while, he helped Sam lay his
father on his back, hands placed on his chest. They began to pile the rubble
from the tracks around and over his body. Penny looked on in silence, and Rob
stayed on guard, trying not to look at his handiwork. When they had finished,
Sam held his sister by the hand, and led her to the head of the pile.

“Do you want to say something, Sam? What was your father’s
name?” Daniel asked.

“His name was Les Carmichael,” Sam replied, and turned to
his sister. “Say goodbye to Dad,” he whispered. Another tear fell down her
face, and she mumbled something unintelligible. She bent down and placed the
small teddy bear she had been holding on top of the mound. After a moment, her
brother looked at Rob, and then Daniel.

“We can go now,” he said. Daniel was amazed at the sudden
maturity the lad was now displaying.

“Before we move from here, I need you each to use this stuff
on your skin and clothes. It will stop those things from detecting you so
easily.” Daniel handed each child a bottle of the aftershave spray. The kids
looked dubious, still suspicious of these two strangers. “Trust me, it works.
You didn’t notice we smelled a bit strong when you first came across us?”

“That was what Daddy noticed first of all,” Penny said, her
face clouding over at the memory. “Before we hid.”

“With this stuff on, we have walked right by
them
and they haven’t noticed us. All we
did was walk slowly, a bit stiff like they do and, with this smell masking our
own, it worked like a charm.”

Not entirely convinced, and still looking for a catch, they
acceded to the request and began to spray each other. “Mind your eyes,” Daniel
said, watching them, making sure they covered as much of each other as they
could. They could deal with allergic rashes later. Finished, they handed back
the bottles to Daniel. “Right, let’s go,” he said, returning them to his back
pack. Waste not, want not. The mismatched band made their way carefully down
the escarpment to the road below.

Looking left and right, Daniel’s face brightened. “I know
where we are,” he said, sounding relieved. “If we go that way,” pointing to the
right, “we will reach Lewisham town centre. I can get some trainers there, so we
can keep walking. The down side is we don’t know where the people are that did
that bit of butchery back there.”

“We’ll just have to go street by street, at least until we
can get to the shops.” Rob looked around, seeing how bleak and empty things
looked at the moment. There was a small line of workshops off to the left. They
were deserted, no-one around at all. Where was everyone? Four bodies could be
seen on the street, and as they approached them, they could see the corpses had
been shot using high velocity rounds that had made very big holes in their
bodies, and almost removed their heads. It was hard to tell if they had been
infected or whether someone had been honing their shooting skills from a
distance.

Both Daniel and Rob looked around, trying to find where the
shots could have come from. The only likely place was a tower block almost a
mile away. Ducking down and guiding the children, they made sure to keep
obstructions between them and that building. They came to the end of the street
which opened out onto a car park, beyond which they could see Lewisham train
station. There was movement near its entrance. Slinking between the parked
cars, the group made it to the main road in one piece and crossed over. Running
along the pavement, they turned off onto a tree-lined, newly built road,
slowing once more for the sake of the little girl, and to use the trees for cover.

As they got closer to the shopping area, more slow-moving,
walking dead, had gathered, their stench more noticeable now, as if they were
decaying while walking. Even a single one fifty feet away could be detected;
earlier, their proximity would have to be about six feet for it to be
noticeable. At least this might offer them advance warning of their presence
and approach.

The motley group walked through a new trading estate,
adjacent to the shopping mall. Nearly at their destination, they had arrived at
a small bridge that crossed a wide, concrete-coated, square storm drain, at the
bottom of which there was a trickle of water. Walking towards them, on the
other side of the bridge was the infected man previously thought of by Daniel
as the general. Behind him were approximately thirty undead, slowly making
their slovenly way towards the same bridge. Most carried machetes and other
large knives; the edges of the blades looked freshly honed and some were dulled
by blood. They might explain the cuts on the bodies at the massacre they’d seen
earlier.

“What the fuck?” Rob said, “what do they want?” He couldn’t
believe he was asking himself this question; up to now, these people’s actions
had been random, no logic or calculation to their movement. These were, it
appeared, coming to meet them as an organised party.

“Oh my God!” Daniel exclaimed, “I knew I should have shot
that fucker.”

“What do you mean?” Rob’s look was quizzical. He had clearly
missed that memo.

“When you had cramp outside London Bridge, I saw that guy on
top of a building, watching our escape. I considered killing him, but he was a
long way off, and I couldn’t see what harm he could do us. How the fuck he got
here, I can’t explain.”