Class Four: Those Who Survive (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Well, hello again, everyone. Hope you are all well? Been quite an eventful few days, hasn’t it? What with our little guest. Really has been quite the fillip. Just goes to show that not everything is doom and gloom. Not sure if any of you got a copy of the Survival Guide he brought with him, but I’ve got a copy if anyone wants a read?” Steve looked around the group with an off-putting sense of optimism.

Dee looked across at him. “Have you been smoking something, Steve? You seem a bit…well, fucking
annoying
if I’m being honest.” Anton let out an abrupt chuckle.

Steve looked at her in a daze. “No need to smoke anything like that, Dee. Not when you’re high on life.”

Dee fell about laughing. She was on the verge of blacking out from the lack of oxygen she was taking in due to her hysterics. “Whatever, Doctor Steve, you sap.”

Scratch.

“Fucking stop it now Steve, okay?” Dee warned.

Steve stopped scribbling, slid the pen into the metal binder, and turned the page around to face her. A large phallus and hairy balls had been drawn onto the page. “Not even you and your borderline psychoticism can bring me down today.”

Dee chuckled. “True, but my foot up your ass might.”

“Tease,” Steve simpered. “So, campers, today is the day we all thought would never happen. Anton here is the last to go. Take your time, please, begin.”

The Grey Worm – Part 1

When you die now and come back, do you reckon you know? I know what you’re gonna say: no. And that’s fair, I guess. I thought that, but after what I went through? I’m not too sure anymore.

Ha ha, guess that’s why I’m here with you lot.

Fair play.

Before all this I worked loads of jobs. Labourer, painter, office monkey, pulling pints, you name it, I’ve probably done it. Left school with grades that spelt one in French and what else you gonna do?

Never done anything that lasted too long. Think roofer was what I did the most, and I utterly hated it. Still, got money for it, and that’s all I wanted.

All
we
wanted.

She was the most beautiful woman in the world. About my height, long brown hair, all the bumps and lumps the right size. For me, at least, but each to their own, huh?

Jennifer.

That was her name.

I’d do anything for her. I did. We met when we were eighteen at some party. Love at first sight? Thought it was bollocks until I met her.

Within a month we were engaged. Ha, all our friends and family said we were too young. Laughed at them at the time. They were right, though. You haven’t had time to live by then. Need time to grow. Find out how shit works.

Like yourself.

Casey came along a few years later. We were living in some one bedroom flat in the middle of town. Unplanned. Mind you, who plans having a kid? I mean
really
plans it? We barely had enough money as it was, and now on top of everything we had to buy all that stuff. I look back on those days and wonder how the hell we didn’t kill each other. You could see it was playing over her eyes some nights.

Do me while I’m sleeping, then drown her and Casey after. She told me that once, a few months back. When we were still holed up in that craphole. Seemed to be the story of our lives. Holed up together. The things that had brought us together, they’d long gone. We were together because of Casey. No use pretending otherwise.

I was ‘in-between’ jobs when the world went to pot. Just got my social and we were skint already. Casey was a few months off five years old. We were going to have this party for her and her mates. Looking at the cash in my wallet, it was going to be a pretty shit one. Still, one thing though, we always found a way. Whenever we got brassic, somehow we’d find something to get us through.

Two days off payday once and skint. Bumped into her folks in town who gave her a fiver. We had the choice between food or fags. No choice at all. Life without one would’ve ended up in more arguments. That was our life. Constant triage.

Yes, I know what triage means. Don’t judge a book by the cover.

Ha, yep, unless you cover another. Good one Steve.

We didn’t even know anything had happened. Casey was in bed by then. We were watching crap telly. Woke up the next day still none the wiser. Casey was crying about having gone off milk with her Coco Pops. I pulled some clothes on and went down the shop. Anything to get out. Any excuse. I once went out to check whether it was raining down the pub.

Serious.

We lived on the fourth floor, so you get to walk past all the other flats. The microcosm of society right there. Old folks with ‘Good Morning’ on too loud. Potheads on the floor below, the smell of green under the door and XBox through the surround sound.

Except this morning, every door I walked past had the same thing blaring out. The News. That stupid bollocks jingle they play before the headlines? That. All the way down through a mix of speakers. Was like the shittest club in the world.

Outside was just as weird. People would’ve gone to work by then. I hated going out around eight with them lot leaving. Made me feel like shit. The streets were just filled with people though. Packing up cars. Kids screaming. Horns honking. Sirens. Endless sirens.

I get to the shop and it’s like the Wild West. The cashier is lying on the floor in the foetal position. Don’t look like it’s been too friendly in there. People are filling up their baskets like it’s Christmas.

Twelve pints of milk? Check.

Four loaves of bread? Check.

Novelty jar of chilli olives? Well. Okay, I didn’t see any of them. But you get the idea, yeah?

I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Pull out my folded Bag for Life from my pocket. Seriously. Never leave home without one. Especially these days. Bag For Looting I call ‘em now.

I waltz out of there feeling like a goddamn king. Think someone must’ve been capped. Racially motivated incident? Perhaps it’s a terrorist attack or something? I ain’t fussed. Free food. Plus even got some fags and a bottle of Jack. Today was my lucky day.

That’s what I thought then anyway.

Get back to the block and there’s still people
everywhere
. The roads are clogged. Worst I’d ever seen it. Even when they have the half marathon on and close the streets off. Bump into a few people who don’t even bother to check if I’m there.

Wankers.

I’ve never been so glad to get back to mine before. Well, not since before Casey was born. Kids change everything. Thing is, everyone tells you that, but like a twat you think it’ll be different for you. Like you’re something special. We weren’t. Hadn’t been for a long time. Jenny was different, though. That bit they got spot on. She was born to be a mum.

I get back and Jenny and Casey were sat in silence watching the telly. Not CBeebies. The News. I know. I was shocked too. Those reports just kept going. Some of the things they showed, though. Not sure Casey should be watching that. What was I going to say, though? Jenny would’ve just got the hump and then the prison would’ve been hell.

Again.

People eating people. Think that needs to be said out loud once in a while. What a messed up sentence, huh? You heard it from time to time back then. To be fair, mostly from Germany where some guy puts up an online advert.

Yeah, you remember that, too?

Mad.

Thing is though, at least that implied consent. Those reports were something else. Animalistic. Primal. Fucked up.

We watched it until lunchtime. Casey had gone off the idea of Coco Pops by now. Wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever want to eat again after seeing that reporter. Yeah, that one. Always wondered why the cameraman just followed the body dropping. You notice he didn’t lift a finger to help? Recorded the whole time.

You can bet your arse if we had internet now, the full length clip would be on YouTube. Wonder how long it was until the reporter got up and ripped the cameraman’s throat out. Thing is. Goes back to my earlier question.

Do you think he knew?

Did he do it because;

1. He’s a zombie.
   

Or

1. To get the disrespectful prick back for filming instead of fighting?
   

I’m not sure anymore. But for a while, she sure as hell convinced me that it was B.

Not yet mate. This is called background. Context. You lay the foundations before you build the house yeah? Patience. Where are we in a rush to go anymore anyway?

Chill.

Now I’m not much of a survivalist. Not much of a talker, either. Yeah. You guessed, huh? But I do listen, and I take in a lot of pointless shit. Remembered a mate talking about what to do in an apocalypse. Not tape the windows up shit. They were the undead, not a nuclear blast wave. Filled the bath and sinks up with water. Got the candles out from the kitchen drawer. Anything else we might need. Got it all to hand.

Then we just sat there and watched the world burn. In amongst the zombies eating people of course.

The Grey Worm Part-2

Like most normal city folk, we never met our neighbours. Sure as hell had names for them. The Old Fucks opposite us. Potheads and Star Trek Tennis Porn below us.

Eh? Oh, you used to hear it at night. Just as you’re trying to get to sleep. You know the sound of the transporter in the old Star Trek? Well you got that interspersed with:

UH

UHHH

UH

UHHH

If he got into a pattern with that, by day five it would go on for twenty minutes or so. Must’ve been yanking his dick red raw by then.

So. Single White Female and Estate Agent Cock on two. Pingu and Pervy Old Bastard on one. Then Gary Glitter and an empty on the ground floor. No. Not the real Gary Glitter. Just this guy. Well. He had a look of the paedo about him, that’s all. We were worried that someone would firebomb his flat in the night and we’d go up, too.

Heard this big commotion and go out onto the landing, can see the single bird downstairs dragging a suitcase out of the door. She’d been crying. Red eyes and that. Looked a right state. Sounds like Pingu was also getting out of Dodge too.

Pingu? Have you seen the cartoon? You know the sound? Yeah, that matched the exact pitch of his voice. You couldn’t have a conversation with him. Not without checking to see if he was squeezing his balls at the same time anyway.

Went back inside my flat. We had one of those chains for the door. Never used it before. Sure as hell did from then on, though. Our kitchen had this big bay window. Useless if you fancied a quickie. That had ended years before anyway. But it was handy if you wanted to watch what was going on outside. It was madness. Single White Female got into her MX5.

Took her twenty minutes just to get let out of where she parked.

That was that. We spent the rest of the day watching people trickle slowly out of the street. By night time it was pretty quiet. We went back to watching the news. Casey was bored of it by then. Was grateful for that fact. She went onto her 3DS.

Cooking Mama I think, Matt. Yeah? You too? No I never tried to cook proper food on it.

It—

It doesn’t work that way.

No. I’m not surprised you got food poisoning.

We went to bed late that night. Jenny was really quiet. I woke up in the night and she was just staring at me. Was really freaky. Worried I’d wake up with a carrier bag over my head and look up into her face. With the red Tesco logo stretched over it.

That became our life for a few days. Aside from the news, we never actually saw one of the zombies. Nope. Guess they were hitting up the roads and that. Supermarkets, hospitals, all the places they say to avoid in crises.

First one we saw was a few doors down. The kitchen window was our second telly by then. Not much was happening. But the fact nothing was going on was equally as fascinating. This car screeches up the road and brakes real sudden. Two guys jump out and are kicking in the door of this house a few down from us. Looked like they knew where they were going. Didn’t look random.

About three or four minutes later they saunter back out. Real casual like. One gets in the driver’s side and starts the engine. The other, though, he stops to light a fag or a spliff. Something. See this shape behind him.

Just. Lunges.

Even from where we were stood we saw the blood. Sprayed everywhere. The car was white. A poor choice in hindsight, eh? The smoking guy falls to the floor and the zombie follows him to the ground. He’s clawing at the guy’s throat. It was like he was sorting through all the veins. Looking for one in particular. He must have found it as he pulled on this bit of purple string.
Whoosh
. Another fountain of blood. The driver must’ve seen it, but just like the cameraman. Does nothing about it. After a minute, he’s done one. Gone.

We just stood there and watched the zombie. The other man was alive for a bit, but with the amount of claret all over the place, not for long. It was weird. The zombie was eating him. But didn’t really seem that fussed. He was chewing. But looking into the middle distance, like he was thinking about what he had for tea last night. After ten minutes and having torn the man’s arm off and nibbling on it a bit, he got bored. Got up. Threw up. Then staggered off down the road.

The other guy lay there for ages. When we came back later, though, he had gone. Just this big patch of dried black blood. And his arm. Looked like a rolled-up doormat lying in paint from our window. Over the next few days there were more and more. It was like they had been cooped up somewhere. And then someone had just set them all free.

Estate Agent Cock tried making a break for it at the end of the first week. Jenny and I had a side bet on whether he’d make it to the end of the street.

That cigarette never tasted so good.

Poor bastard barely made the third lamp post. Think he might have had a chance if he’d travelled lighter. Dunno what he was thinking about when he made the decision to take his golf clubs.

Well, hardly aerodynamic, are they? The bag just kept banging against his back. Interesting factoid. Golf clubs are shit against zombies.

Yeah.

We saw it alright. He got taken down. But we saw his smug bastard grin. Pulled out his driver and swung it at the closest one. The club head broke off on contact. The zombie’s jaw was a bit fucked but he was left there holding this metal stick.

No. Don’t think there was enough of him left to come back. Least the dick closed the front door.

Few days later we lost Gary Glitter. Stupid bastard. Must’ve seen the schoolkids go past. Didn’t check their vitals though. They checked his alright, by chewing through his jugular. When he was going, though, all these kids over him, biting, I’ll never be sure if the look on his face was pleasure or pain. Sick fuck. One thing for sure though. He had the biggest grin.

Everyone else hunkered down. For now at least. No one left their flats. Star Trek Tennis Porn man went into overdrive. Don’t think any amount of Vaseline would put his dick back together again. Three hours was the record. Must’ve been an old VHS tape. A T-60 I think. Had to rewind it once it was done. Could hear it over our telly it was that loud.

Then a couple of weeks in.
Boom
. No more television. Food wise we were okay. Well in the sense that we had enough frozen fish fingers to last until the second coming. We would have to do something. But not for a week or so.

The telly was a bummer, though. Meant we had to communicate with each other. We compromised. We sat in the kitchen longer. A few days later, that’s when we heard the shots.

We used to hear the odd boom when the exercises were on the plains. But never a gunshot. Too far away.

We looked at the end of the street. The goddamn cavalry was here. We thought that it would all be over in a few hours. A day at most. Sure the council would have to clean up the blood and body parts, but at least things would go back to normal.

Fuck. I’d even do that job. This steady trickle of soldiers walked from right to left. Down the hill. You could see the muzzle flashes. Even Casey tore herself away from her 3DS to see the ‘soldier men’.