The Undead. The First Seven Days (8 page)

I leave the car in the road, engine running and door open. I take the bat and leave my bag. Then I go back and close the door; in my mind is an image of an undead sitting on the backseat, waiting for me.
  As I slam the door, the old male undead turns round and watches me; he starts shuffling towards me straight away. Within seconds, they are all turned and moving towards me - like an unspoken message has passed between them.
  I think about getting back in the car and leaving the people inside the shop to their fate, but I would never forgive myself if I did that.
  The undead are still moving slowly and again I think about last night and how different they are now; arms hanging down limp at their sides, heads lolling about, walking with straight legs - which accentuates the movement of their upper bodies.
  I need to separate them, they are too close together for me to risk attacking them, even with the range of the baseball bat, it would only take one of them to lunge quickly and I could get bitten.
  I look at the area… the pavement has obstacles: a bike rack, litter bins and post box. There is a high step down from the pavement to the road, these are things which will impede my movements and could cause me to trip or fall.
   But the road is wide and clear, with no obstructions.
   I move off to my right, luring them into clear ground. I’m choosing my battle ground, selecting where to fight and it feels strange. There is almost a sense of excitement, a weird feeling, like just before the roller coaster moves off. I am  scared, yet excited.
  The old man is nearest; he saw me first and has the head start. I thought his old age would make him slower and the others would go past him, but they move at roughly the same speed. It appears the undead are not hampered by age or infirmity.
  Watching the old man come towards me, makes me uneasy - he looks very old and frail and there is a large wound on the top of his right shoulder where the flesh has been bitten away. There is blood all down his front; it is also smeared up his neck and on the side of his face.
  I’m getting the same feeling as I had when the undead girl in the blue dress was in front of me, attacking a woman or the elderly seems wrong.
  Then I remember how I felt after the motorway, when that undead woman tried to bite me – I had tried to help her, but she didn’t care.
  They are undead.
  They are
all
undead.

I raise the bat up, poised and ready - and wait for him to come.

He is a few metres in front of the others; red eyed with saliva hanging down from his mouth.
I look again and can see that he has no teeth, just gums. He is pulling his lips back and baring his gummy mouth. I almost laugh out loud… how can he bite anyone? Will he just suck on them… like a love bite? He should be carrying a blender to make flesh soup. I almost feel sorry for him and then I see his long fingernails, his old hands look like claws, the strength of that woman at the car was incredible and he probably has the same strength too. His fingernails look like they could rip flesh open. The infection could still be passed.
  The humour is gone.
 
Fuck him,
he is undead.

I step forward and swing the bat hard into the side of his head and he goes spinning off to my left.
  I move to the right, going round the side of the small group of undead. They all turn to follow me. I move back to the left and they all turn again. I move right and, again, they all move as one; synchronised zombies.
  I move backwards until they are in the middle of the road, then I run round the back of them. They shuffle round to follow me but they are too uncoordinated and bump into each other.
  The delivery driver is on the outside.

I dart forward and strike him on his shoulder, he spins into the two dog-walking women, knocking them away and creating space between them.
  As the delivery driver goes down onto one of the women, loud moans come from them, as they both try to get up at the same time, working against each other.
  The old man is still down; the young man is closest now.

I step out, so that I am facing his left side and, before he can turn, I smash the bat into his face. His nose explodes and I hear the crunch of bones above the impact of the bat. He stumbles backwards and falls onto his arse. I hit again and he goes down onto the ground, but stills moves and is instantly trying to rise up. I go behind him, so that his head is just in front of me. I then bend over and strike to the side of his head like a golf swing; the impact is hard and his body is jerked round with the force.
  The delivery driver and woman are separated and are trying to get up, the other dog-walking woman is coming at me, lips pulled back, showing her already yellowing teeth.
  I aim an uppercut swing to her chin, but miss and I almost fall into her. My body slams into her and I drop my shoulder to force her backwards, and, straight away, her arms come up to grab at me and she grips my left arm; her fingers like a vice, jabbing into my elbow.
  I use the end of the bat to hit the side of her head, but we are too close and I cannot generate enough force. I keep hitting to prevent her from getting her teeth into me. I try to pull my arm away but she is gripping too hard. I move backwards, forcing her to stumble after me.
  Her grip is so strong. I try to wrench my arm away, but she holds it tight. I keep smacking the bat into the side of her head and my feet hit the old man on the ground. I step away and force the woman to walk into him, tripping her up. She stumbles forward and goes down, but the force of her grip pulls me down too.
  The delivery driver is at my right; I swing out and strike at his chest. I’m half bent down and having to swing up and out to the right. The blow knocks him back, but he stays on his feet and comes back at me. I hit down again at the woman and drive her down again; she is still gripping my arm.

I swing out and, once more, knock the delivery driver backwards. I shuffle the bat out, so that I am holding the end, then pull back and swing down as hard as I can into the back of her head, then I put my foot onto her arm and pull myself free.
  Moving away quickly, I smash the delivery driver in the face and he goes down. I hit him again and again, driving the bat into his skull; the blunt trauma beats his head in.
  The tripped woman is rising now and I drive the bat into the back of her head, forcing her down; she lies still, on top of the old man.
  There is only one woman left and I am breathing hard, but I am focussed. I look up just as a young Asian man comes up behind the woman and hits her in the head with a cricket bat, knocking her forward, towards me and I quickly swing out and send her back at him. He is ready and hits her from behind and again she staggers forward.

We both step in and strike at her and she goes down from our repeated blows.
  Her head is destroyed; the skull imploding under the blows: brain matter, blood and tissue bursting out over our feet.
  I stop hitting and step back, looking around to make sure they are all down, then I look at the young man still hitting at her with the cricket bat.
  ‘I…  I think she is finished, mate,’ I say to him.

He stops and steps backwards, holding the bat with both hands down at his front, blood all over his shiny, white trainers. He looks young, no more than fifteen years old; he is dark-skinned with black, gelled hair; Indian or Pakistani, maybe Sri Lankan.
  Behind him, the shop door opens and an older woman comes running out, angrily yelling at the boy.
  ‘What did you do that for? I told you to stay inside!’
  The boy just stares down at the mangled body beneath him, he doesn’t react as his mother stands next to him shouting. She gets no sign that he is listening and tries to pull the bat away from him. Feeling that motion, he becomes alert and steps away from her, pulling the bat from her grasp.
‘He was trying to help us, we couldn’t just leave him on his own, he could have been killed,’ his tone is angered and high pitched, showing his age.
  ‘No, you could have been killed, you foolish boy and don’t talk back to me… don’t you ever talk back to me!’ she shouts back at him.
  She switches into a language that I cannot understand, speaking quicker to the boy. He finally hangs his head and starts back towards the shop. The woman stays and looks at me, and when she speaks, her tone is polite:
  ‘Thank you for what you did. I am sorry for my son, he is young and foolish.’
  She looks about at the bodies, the blood stains on the road, the woman’s brains beaten out of her head - but she shows no emotion or reaction.
  ‘You don’t have to be sorry… he was just trying to help, he was very brave to do that - you really shouldn’t be angry at him,’ I say to her.
  ‘Please do not tell me what I should or should not do with my son,’ she snaps back.
  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I can’t believe what’s happened, or rather, what’s happening, this is… just so… ‘ My voice trails off.
  ‘Have you seen more of them? We tried calling the police but we cannot get through. 999 is not working. We cannot get hold of anyone.’
  ‘They are everywhere. I’m from Boroughfare and the whole town is gone. I went through Littleton on the way here, that’s gone too.’
  ‘Oh… oh, my,’ she puts her hand to her cheek.
  ‘I was watching the news on television last night, it’s all over Europe,’ I say, gently.
  Her mouth hangs open, the shock is visible on her face. She stays silent.
  ‘I’m err… looking for my Dad, Howard. He comes down every morning for a newspaper, have you seen him?’
  She stays silent for a few seconds.
  ‘I’m sorry, what… what did you say?’ she looks back at me, with a confused expression.
  ‘My Dad… Howard? He comes down every morning for a newspaper, have you seen him today?’ I repeat.
  ‘Oh, Howard! Yes, we know Howard, always so polite. No, we have not seen him, there is just my family - my son and daughter and me, of course.’
  ‘Is your husband not with you?’
  ‘No, he is visiting family at home.’ Her voice becomes very soft.
  ‘I’m sure he is okay, maybe it is just Europe that’s affected, if he is somewhere else he might be safe,’ I try to re-assure her.
  ‘He is in India.’
  ‘Look, why don’t you go inside, it’s not safe out here in the open.’
  ‘Yes… do you want to come in?’
  ‘No, thank you, I have to go to my parent’s house, they live on the estate. Listen, I heard a broadcast on the radio, it said that people should go to the Forts.’
  ‘What Forts?’
  ‘The old ones, the Palmerston Forts, there’s quite a few of them all along the coast. The radio said that London was infested and people should head over to the Forts and take food, water and medicine.’
  ‘Oh, I think we should stay here and wait for help, we have enough food, thank you.’
  ‘I don’t think it will be safe here, those
things
are everywhere,’ I point at the bodies on the ground. ‘Other people might want to take your food, maybe you should take what you can carry and go to the Forts? They are strong and there will be others there… do you have a vehicle?’
  ‘We have a van - my husband uses it for the
Cash And Carry
.’
  ‘Take your van, load it up with as much as you can feasibly take and then leave,’ I urge her.
  ‘What about my husband? What if he comes back and cannot find us?’
  ‘Leave a note for him and… also one that tells other people where you have gone so they can go there too - but do it quickly.’
She glances back at the shop, clearly unsure of what to do. I can see her dilemma; the shop looks strong and secure, a safe place.
  ‘I saw these things last night, they were different, they weren’t slow like these were, they were fast. If they change again they won’t stop until they have got you… and your family.’
  She stares back at me, the suggestion of a threat to her family has sharpened her instincts for survival.
  ‘Where are these Forts?’
  ‘Check the Internet, if it’s still working, if not, look at local maps, they are tourist attractions and will be marked… do you sell maps?’
  ‘Yes… yes, we have maps.’
  ‘Check them and find the nearest Fort, then load up and go - please don’t stay here - it’s not safe.’
  ‘Okay, okay we will go. Food, water and medicine,’ she repeats back to me.
  ‘Take what you can get into the van quickly: water, tinned food, any medicine…
Aspirin
,
Paracetamol…
anything, take clothing too, but please be quick.’
  She goes to move away,
  ‘Will you come? We could travel together?’ She asks me.
  ‘I can’t, I’m sorry… I have to find my family. I will try and get my parents to follow you. I’ll ask them to come here first and see if you are still here, but don’t wait for them, load up and get going.’
  She nods, and walks back to the shop, still in shock. I’m worried that she’s not taken it in and will try to wait it out. Her son comes out of the door, walking towards his mother; a teenage girl comes out behind him and stands, holding the door open.
  ‘Hey, thanks for your help again, mate. I just said to your mother that people are going to the Forts on the coast, she said you had a van, I really think you should load up with food and water and go there as soon as possible, take anything you can carry.’
  “Are you going there too?’
  His mother interrupts before I can answer:
  ‘No, he has to find his family, go back inside please.’