The Undead. The First Seven Days (23 page)

Not now.
  ‘Hang on, Mr Howie.’
  Dave runs back to the body lying on the pavement, I see him pick the gun up and pull the top bit back, then a magazine pops out of the bottom. He checks inside, then takes the gun apart, flinging bits in different directions. He puts one piece in his pocket then runs back.
  ‘It was empty.’

We start walking down the road. Jim is walking with his hands over his bollocks, but Dave makes him put his hands back on his head. He looks pathetic, just a skinny kid; black tribal tattoos stand out on his pale skin. We reach the end of the road and Jim turns left.
  ‘Where are we going, Jim?’
  ‘You said you wanted to get out didn’t you? Please, I’ll tell you the way - just let me go home.’
  ‘You want to go home… do you, Jim?’
  ‘Yeah.’
  ‘What?’
  ‘I mean yes. Yes, please… Mr Howie.’
  
Fuck it, now he’s calling me that too
.
  ‘Okay, take us to the barricade at this end.’
  ‘Really?’
  ‘Yes, but do as you’re told or we’ll kill you.’
  ‘Okay, Mr Howie.’
  We keep walking on; the houses have suffered more here. Nearly every one of them has smashed windows and doors ripped off.
  ‘Did you take all of the food from here too?’
  ‘Dad sent the boys out and told ‘em to bring it all back, so we could make sure everyone had enough.’
  ‘Regular saint, your dad.’
There are houses on both sides of the street, the barricade starts coming into view, blocking off the junction on the left.
  It’s piled high here too, the same method with the vehicles parked end to end; they found more vans for this end though and have stuffed the furniture between the gaps. The barricade forms from the end of the last house, right across the junction to the end of the next house, sealing off Carter Street.
  There are only a handful of undead gathered at the barricade at this end, but as we get closer we see lots of bodies on the ground, laying all round the end of the barricade and out into the road.
  ‘Who killed them, Jim?’
  ‘We did.’
  ‘What with?’
  ‘I dunno, anything we could find.’
  ‘Got any more guns in there?’
   He pauses.
  ‘No.’
  A look passes between Dave and I.
  ‘So, what are the rules in your street?’
  ‘What rules?’
  ‘There must be rules; can people leave if they want to?’
  ‘Yeah, course they can.’
  Dave rams the bolt on the rifle and pushes it into the back of Jim’s head, he staggers forward.
  ‘Don’t lie Jim, he will kill you, trust me. He won’t think twice about it.’
  That’s probably very true, from what I’ve seen so far, he wouldn’t even blink.
  ‘Okay, okay - they can’t leave, but dad said it was for their own benefit as they would just get eaten by the zombies and then the zombies would get inside.’
  ‘How would they get inside?’
  ‘I dunno… Dad said they would.’
  ‘So how does your dad stop people getting out?’
  ‘He’s got the boys watching both ends.’
  ‘How do you get in from this end?’
  ‘Through the houses.’
  ‘And I suppose the boys have got the end houses to stay in?’
  ‘Yeah.’
  Dave prods him again.
  ‘Sorry, yes… Mr Howie.’

We stop about a hundred metres down from the end of the barricade. There is a brick wall to a front garden on the other side of the road. I look at Dave and motion towards it. He looks over and then nods. Jim is pushed over the road and we all go behind the wall, which is only waist height, but gives us some cover.
  ‘Get over that wall and crouch down on your knees. Keep your hands on your head.’
  I push at Jim; he does as he is told and clambers over and then gets down onto his knees.
  I lean one shotgun against the wall and press the other end to the back of his head. Dave has crouched down and is using the wall to lean on, with the rifle aimed over the road.
  ‘John Jones!’ I shout out, but my voice cracks.
  ‘Dave… you call.’
  ‘JOHN JONES.’
  His voice is startling, and I imagine it booming out across a parade square, terrifying new recruits.
  ‘JOHN JONES! COME OUT OR WE’LL KILL THE BOY.’
  The undead gathered by the barricade start turning and moving towards us.
  Within seconds, a side door to one of the houses on the left of the barricade opens up. There are faces looking out of windows at both ends.
  A burly man comes out of the door and walks towards us. He looks confident, his thick arms swinging as he walks.
  The undead are coming across the road, getting closer to Jim. I can hear him whimper from here.
  The closest undead is an adult male, he looks like this breed; thick arms and torso, tattoos on his arms. Half his face is missing, bitten off, and the skin is shredded down to the bone, exposing teeth through holes in his cheek. Drool is hanging down from his mouth and also coming out of the hole.
  ‘Fuck! Oh fuck!’
  Jim is trying to squirm backwards, but the shotgun is pressed to the back of his head. I watch the undead coming. John Jones stops in the middle of the road, arms hanging down at his sides.
  Two of the undead veer off from coming in our direction and start towards him. He watches them without expression, then steps forward and slams his fist into the closest undead face, sending him reeling backwards. He grabs the next one by the throat and drags him onto the floor, then stamps down repeatedly on his face and neck.
  The undead he punched is laid out on the ground, trying to roll over.

John Jones stops stamping and walks back towards us, one meaty arm raised and pointing at me: ‘IF YOU TOUCH MY BOY…’
I raise the shotgun and fire at the undead just a few steps away from Jim. Jim drops down screaming and the undead is blown back; blood spraying out from where his head used to be. If he wants to show force we can both play at that game.
  I drop the gun back down to Jim and push the barrel into the back of his head.
  ‘Don’t fucking move.’
  ‘Dad, do something.’
  ‘Shut up, Jimmy. Easy now boys… what’s the problem?’
  ‘You killed that woman.’
  ‘Yes I did. Is that your problem? I killed her and I will kill others, if I have to. There’s plenty of people in there, they need protection and the food won’t last forever. There’s kids and families… who’s gonna feed ‘em and look out for ‘em… you?’
  ‘She only took some milk.’
  ‘Is that what Jimmy told you? He’s a fuckwit, he ain’t all there. Kids these days, they’re different in the head.’
   He taps the side of his head, as though to demonstrate the point. His tone is calm and very natural, easy going - like you are talking to your best mate; the charm oozes off him.
  ‘Now listen gents, fair enough, you thought we done wrong, fair play to ya. I appreciate ya keeping to ya principles, I admire that in a man but that woman was a smack head, and she kept thieving from us. We told her to stop but she wouldn’t listen. I gotta whole street to take care off and well… it might look hard to you boys but there’s gotta be order. Now, do me a favour boys and let the lad go.’
   He sounds so reasonable, so calm and genuine.
  ‘Between me and you gents, I don’t much care for the little shit, but he’s mine. You know what women are like, he can’t do no wrong in her eyes and she’ll give me hell if anything happens to ‘im.’
  ‘I’ll tell you what John, I’ll let him go, but only if you tell everyone in there that they are free to go, if they want to.’
  ‘Sure, sure I’ll do that. They can go anytime they want. But where to? Have you seen what’s going on? They won’t last five minutes out here. They ain’t like us; they ain’t survivors. Those things will tear ‘em apart… you must have seen what they’re like at night - they change.’
  ‘Yeah… we’ve seen.’
  ‘Well… there you go, I’m only protecting ‘em till help arrives, just for now until the law gets a grip of it - you boys can see that can’t you?’
  Fuck me, he sounds so normal. I imagined some tyrant with a harem and armed bandits surrounding him. Fair enough, he was shouting when he came out, but I am holding a gun to his son’s head. Mind you, the way he dealt with those two undead…
  ‘So, let me take the boy in. I’ll give him a good hiding for the trouble he’s caused you gents, then you can be on your way. Or… I’ll tell ya what, why don’t you join us? We got food and plenty of booze…’
He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. ‘And we got some nice looking birds in there too, if you know what I mean gents, couple of young lads like you - well they’ll be all over ya.’
  ‘No, you tell those people they can leave if they want to.’
  ‘Or what?’
  ‘Or we’ll kill young Jimmy here.’
  ‘You’ll kill him will ya? Go on then, one less mouth to feed - if I’m honest.’
  ‘Jimmy, you tell your dad what we did to his brother and his mates.’
‘They shot him dad, they shot Uncle Jamie.’
  
John, Jimmy, Jamie - talk about inbred families
.
  John Jones’ face flushes red, his fists start clenching and he breathes hard. Then he stares straight at me, and, although I’m the one holding the gun, I can see the power in the man and why his son said he was the boss.
  ‘You killed my bruvver? You fucking cunts.’
  He takes a step forward and Dave shoots him in the leg. He drops down to the ground, writhing and clutching at his leg.
  ‘DAD!’ Jimmy screams out.
  ‘Jimmy, you run in there and you tell those people they can leave if they want to, you do that now or we’ll finish your old man, you got it?’
  ‘You shot my dad!’ Jimmy scuttles over to his father, his bare arse poking up into the sky as he bends down to him.
  ‘Jimmy, you listen to me. We’ll kill him if you don’t get in there now and tell them.’
  Jimmy runs off, heading towards the door, then another man comes out and grabs Jimmy, leading him back inside.

An undead female is getting close to John. He rolls over, sees her coming and starts trying to crawl away. I take aim and fire at her, the pellets striking her sacrum and tearing her to pieces. I break the shotgun and remove the empty cartridges, then two more are slotted in.
  There is a lot of blood pouring out of John’s leg - he is grabbing at the wound, trying to stem the blood flow.
  A window smashes off to the right and a shot rings out, we both drop down instinctively, pellets strike the wall and pavement in front of us… another shotgun.

Dave pops up and fires a shot at the window and I see faces drop down, out of view.
  Another shot from somewhere in the barricade, this one strikes the wall with a loud ricochet, not a shotgun this time.
  ‘Any ideas?’ I ask Dave.
  ‘Shoot back?’
  I stand up and fire both barrels into the barricade; someone screams out in pain.
  ‘Good shot, Mr Howie.’
  ‘Cheers Dave, but it is more luck than judgement.’
  I shake my head, looking at the shotgun in my hand, the other two are leaning against the wall and then I see Dave crouching down, holding a rifle.
  A loud crack and splinters of brick chip off near my head; whoever is firing from the window is using the rifle now and is getting better with their aiming.
  Another shot and more brick splinters. 
  ‘Bloody hell… he’s getting closer.’
  Dave lays down on the ground and starts wriggling along the base of the wall, towards the entrance.
I look up at the wall above me to see an undead leaning over; his mouth is inches away from the top of my head. I drop down onto my back and push the barrel of the shotgun into his face and fire. His head explodes and his body is flung up into the air and out of view.
  ‘Fuck me.’
  I want to lift up and see over the wall, but another shot ricocheting inches above me keeps me down.

Dave has positioned himself against the wall and is slowly edging out to get a view of the window.

The axe is still wedged behind my bag; the hard metal head is digging painfully into my back.
  ‘Mr Howie… can you draw him out please?’
  ‘What?’
  ‘Can you draw him out please?
  ‘How…? What do I do?
  ‘Give him something to shoot at.’
  ‘What!?’
  ‘I can’t get a shot, I need him to have something to look for.’
  ‘Oh… fucking hell! Okay, hang on.’
  I take the other shotgun that Dave was using - the one with the barrels on top of each other - and start to raise it up to the wall until the barrel is poking out of the top. Two shots ring out, one of them from the window, which hits the barrel and sends it flying out of my hands; the other shot is a split second after the first and comes from Dave.
  ‘Got him.’
  ‘Thank fuck for that.’
  I reach over and pull the shotgun back towards me, the barrel is dented, rendering the thing useless.
  ‘He broke your shotgun.’
  ‘You used my shotgun?’
  ‘Err… yeah - he broke it.’
  ‘Right.’
  He almost sounds annoyed as he shuffles back and takes it from me, inspecting the damaged barrels.
  He breaks the gun open and takes the cartridges out. He then dissembles the gun, breaking it into pieces and taking out a small, thin, piece of metal, putting it into his pocket.
  ‘Sorry about your gun, Dave.’
  ‘It was a good gun.’
  ‘We still have two more, you can have one of these, if you want.’
  ‘No, it’s okay.’
  ‘Honestly mate, I really don’t mind. I shouldn’t have used it.’
  ‘Its okay, Mr Howie.’
  ‘I feel bad now… shit! I’m sorry, mate.’
  He looks genuinely upset, his face is impassive as ever, but just the slightest change in his manner portrays his feelings.
  ‘Honestly, Dave, have one of these. I can’t carry both of them anyway, just take it for now, until we get you another one.’
He slowly raises his head and looks at me, then at the shotgun lying by the wall.
  ‘Really mate, go on, take it.’
  ‘Are you sure, Mr Howie?’
  I pass the shotgun along, so that the wooden end is just in front of him.
  ‘Honestly, please have it - I want you to.’
  He takes the gun and pulls it towards him.
  ‘Thanks, Mr Howie. I’ll look after it.’
  ‘It’s all yours, mate.’
  He busies himself for the next couple of minutes, reloading the rifle first and then he looks at me, before starting on the shotgun.
  ‘Where now, Mr Howie?’
  ‘I don’t know, we should get going, but I feel terrible leaving those people in there. Mind you, I suppose they are getting some kind of help and protection, or at least they were until you shot him in the leg, talking of which…’
  I pop my head up and look over the wall, then straight back down again.
  ‘Or rather until you shot him in the leg and he got eaten by a zombie…’
  ‘Oh…’
  We both raise up and look over the wall.