‘But Minister, when will this be? People are dying as we speak,’
he pressed the point
‘I cannot answer that question, I wish I could, but this is an epidemic of global proportions. It has never been contemplated.’
The Minister looked genuinely distressed.
‘That is simply not good enough. Are you telling me that the Government has never prepared for widespread civil unrest on this scale? I find that extremely negligent and a dereliction of your duty.’
The newsreader was enjoying this.
‘Of course we have prepared for mass civil unrest. We have already been acting in accordance with directives that were formulated several years ago.’
He started to go back into default politician bluster mode.
‘Then why is the situation not under control? Could it be that the civil unrest is not merely the work of the general population, that there is another angle to the attacks?’
‘I don’t have any idea what you mean,’
replied the Minister. Yep, there it was, Kurt thought, his hackles were up, people were dying and this slob was covering his ass.
‘What I mean, Minister, there is overwhelming evidence that the dead are walking and attacking people, what do you have to say to that? We have footage that I would like to show you, that lends great weight to this argument.’
He indicated for the control room to roll the footage. In the background, the politician had removed his earpiece and stood up, moving away from the camera. Kurt’s hatred stepped up a notch.
‘Minister, where are you going? You need to give us an explanation of what we are showing you.’
The Minister was gone, but the footage still rolled.
It was a shaky scene, filmed from the perspective of someone running in terror. They ducked into a shop doorway, giving the viewer a chance to make details out. It was somewhere Asian, the intricate lettering of the signage a dead giveaway. They were panting audibly, struggling for breath. They looked out and filmed the running crowd, confirming the Asian nature of the country. Kurt was disgusted to find himself yelling in his mind, Godzilla, Godzilla! He shook it from his mind, the human cost impressing itself once more. The scene was still running, and a few people had fallen to the ground and were being set upon by the risen dead. The camera zoomed and left nothing in doubt. The torn, rotten and putrid assailants beamed in HD onto their 50” LCD TV screen. The sight of the victim being ripped apart and torn with dead teeth caused the screen to blank as the network shut down the footage. Moments later, the newsroom was back on the screen, the anchor a great deal whiter than he had been before, while attacking the politician.
‘I would like to apologise for the graphic nature of the images you have just seen, but it was felt that it needed to be aired. Folks, please be careful, stay inside and lock all doors and windows. Do not go out for any reason. We will be right back.’’
The adverts rolled. It brought it all home, this was global.
They sat there for a while longer, talking about various things. The news came back on and they watched. They showed more amateur footage, repeatedly tried to get the fat politician back on to finish the interview, to no avail. It soon became apparent that they would glean no useful information at the moment, and decided to take care of the sleeping arrangements instead. They made their way upstairs, exhaustion setting in, each step laboured. The sky had started to darken further, the grey clouds turning a darker hue as night descended. Kurt checked the bathroom. Each container was full, as was the bath and basin. He was proud at how they had worked together, the animosity and conflict between them seemingly forgotten, or at least on hiatus. He had been constantly surprised by the bully today, a different side breaking through the tough exterior. Knowing his upbringing, he wasn’t surprised that he had been twisted by it. Kurt was still a bit nervous having him under the same roof, but Braiden had saved their lives more than once, he had earned their trust and Kurt felt guilty at the lingering doubt. Movement caught his attention. Sam was standing in the doorway.
“Is that ok Dad?” he asked. There was at least five hundred litres of water in the various receptacles. It was quite a scene, most of the floor holding pots, pans, cups and glasses of differing sizes. It reminded him of the leaking roof that had been repaired, but this was quite some leak if it needed all these! Kurt smiled.
“Fantastic Sam, you both did really well. Even if the water stays on for a while, we are prepared for the worst.” He put his hand around Sam’s shoulder and they went back into the hallway, Kurt reached back and pulled the cord, extinguishing the light from the room. The darkening night faintly lit the room, insufficient to banish every shadow. Instead it lit the water topped containers like a hundred glowing eyes.
They walked out and met the other three in the master bedroom. Braiden sat on the reading chair in the corner, a high backed, floral fabric number that Kurt loathed with a passion. Patches on the armrests were worn where Sarah would tuck her legs underneath her body and lean there, lost in whatever novel had grabbed her attention, tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration. The youngster sat there, hands clasped, a faraway look in his eyes. The ladies were perched on the master bed, the duck egg blue quilt rumpled where they had seated themselves.
“Ok, how does this sound for tonight. Sam, if you and Braiden move the mattress from the front bedroom, you can sleep in the same room. Gloria, there is the other spare room and the bed is all made up, will that be ok?” Sarah had taken the initiative, knowing that their strength was waning.
“That will be fine dear, thank you very much. There is only one thing, and I don’t mean to be a nuisance, I don’t have any clothes,” she said, a little embarrassed.
They hadn’t even been thinking about normal things like clothing. They had been operating on such a high of fear and stress
,
that it had slipped their minds completely.
“Of course. That’s fine. I have plenty of nightshirts that you can borrow. We are both slim build,” Sarah stood and opened the wardrobe.
“Yes indeed, I was quite the fox in my day,” Gloria informed them, chuckling. The adults laughed. The boys looked horrified, even imagining their old teacher as someone who was once attractive… Yuck.
A phone rang and Kurt was surprised to hear the familiar ringtone chirp from his pocket. He quickly took it out and nearly collapsed when he saw ‘Dad’ on the caller display. His legs felt like jelly and he slumped onto the bed just in time. He pressed the answer button and slowly raised the phone to his ear.
“Kurt, I’m in trouble, Son.”
“Dad, where are you?” Kurt asked. The rest of the survivors were on their feet, gathering around him. Kurt was shaking, a mixture of joy and anxiety.
“At the moment, just past Woodmancote, I am doing as you asked, going through the farms and fields,” he explained, a pause stretching out into several seconds. “Son, I’m sorry, you were right, I have seen the Hellspawn.”
Kurt was taken aback, his father was a stubborn old goat and never apologised, mostly because he was very rarely wrong. Kurt knew that he was about two miles away, the terrain rough, but manageable. If he could skirt around Westbourne and come through Spencer’s Woods, he would be right on top of them.
“Don’t worry about that now. I’m just so glad you are ok. I think the best way in is to go around Westbourne, parallel the main roads in the fields. Then, come through the east of the woods, you will then be outside the front door,” Kurt didn’t want to think on how they were going to get him inside safely. The noises of the hammering and moaning were growing in intensity, fraying his nerves further.
“That’s what I was planning. I’ve seen a lot of those… things on the way so I will keep a respectable distance. How are you, is the family safe?” John Taylor asked his son with trepidation.
“They are all here Dad, safe and sound. I saw the start of this thing and was just in time to get back, it was close. What happened in Lavant? Were you hurt?”
The phone was silent for a moment; John was reliving the horror of that road briefly.
“Not now son, I may tell you when I get there.” There was a new tone in his voice, doleful, as if he had seen things no one should ever witness. Considering the unshakeable strength of his dad, this development unnerved Kurt.
“Dad, do you have any weapons to use?”
“Only a tyre iron that I grabbed from a car,” he told Kurt.
“That’s good. It will give you some protection at least. They are slow, and they only seem to get hurt by damaging the brain,” Kurt was advising his father on zombie slaying, a concept so utterly out of this world, that he nearly laughed. “Dad, I’m coming to meet you, I will take the woods track and bring something with me, something a bit stronger than the tyre iron.”
“Don’t you fucking dare!” John growled, the sound of the swear word causing Kurt to startle. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had used a curse word, if ever. “You will stay there and protect Sarah and Sam. That’s your job, do you understand me?” The last, his dad had spoken in a manner that brooked no argument.
“Ok Dad,” Kurt answered, deflated.
“Listen Son, I love you with all my heart. I am going to get moving now and will see you soon. Get the kettle on, I’m dying for a cuppa,” he replied, trying to lighten the mood. Kurt couldn’t help but think that the words were also meant as a goodbye.
“I love you so much Dad, be careful!” The call ended and Kurt’s hands slumped onto his thighs. Sarah and Sam both embraced him. Gloria stood and tried to provide reassurance after hearing one side of the conversation.
“Kurt, if your father has raised a man like you, who has not hesitated to help people he did not know, then he will be just fine. I can feel it in my old bones,” she immediately regretted the bones remark, but thankfully it had been taken as intended, and Kurt smiled in appreciation. He looked up and around, where was Braiden? The chill of night air blew though the doorway and caused the curtains to flutter.
They got up, searched the front rooms and found a window open. Why the heck had someone opened a window? It was freezing. As the others searched the back bedrooms, Kurt went to close the window, as much to keep the heat in, as to keep a little of the noise out. His eyes went to the top of their car, which was being assailed by three undead, several more had moved away inexplicably. It was then that he noticed the streaks of footprints on the top of the car. His eyes shot up, scanning the near darkness. He barely caught a glimpse of a figure nimbly leaping the fence that marked the boundary of Spencer’s Woods. Braiden! Kurt nearly called out to him, but checked himself just in time. He didn’t want to draw even more attention to himself, or Braiden for that matter. Sarah entered the room.
“We can’t find him.” She was totally confused, until seeing the look on Kurt’s face, understanding hit her like a bolt of lightning, “No!” She rushed over to the window.
“I think he has gone to help Dad. Why would he do that?” Kurt was unable to grasp the motivations of the lad. He pulled the window closed, shutting the sound of the zombies out in the night.
They found the toolbox open, a crowbar gone. The linen cupboard door stood open, several blankets were strewn on the floor. Their eyes met, they didn’t have the words. Their estimation of the poor kid had been so low that they felt disgusted with themselves.
John Taylor, Kurt’s father, scanned ahead for signs of activity. The night was still, yet full of menace. He knew what was prowling the countryside. He was crouched by a chain-link fence, watching carefully for movement, the night working against him. He had not made the best time over the fields and small wooded areas between Lavant and Funtington, the need to be constantly vigilant adding hours to what is normally a fifteen minute journey by car. The incident had left him shaken beyond words and he gripped the tyre iron that much harder. Holding his breath and trying to squint into the gloom, he couldn’t be sure what movement was caused by the wind and was harmless. He was loathing leaving the open area where the Ministry of Defence compound was located. It housed the radar defences for the southern region of England, giving advanced warning of any incoming threat. He wondered to himself if they only had time to see this new threat coming, how many more lives could have been saved. The area had been cleared for fifty feet from the fence to the woodland, which at least gave the chance of a pre-emptive warning if any zombies were in the area.
His knees were wet. The moist grass was soaking into the fabric of his jeans and chilling the joints, which were starting to ache. He wasn’t a young man anymore but was still remarkably fit for his age. He pulled himself upright on the fence with a quiet jangle of metal links rubbing against each other and shook his legs, getting the stiffness out of them. Procrastination could mean death. He made his move, keeping low and heading for a break in the trees. The temptation to use his phone torch to see was nearly overwhelming, but to his reasoning, if he couldn’t see
them
, they couldn’t see him.
“We are going that way,” he whispered and pointed with the tyre iron, his other hand coupled to the small, delicate hand of another. She could have only been late twenties in age, her skin smooth and tanned, laughter lines starting to leave creases at her eyes from better times. She would have been pretty, had it not been for the fact she was covered in dried blood. John had tried to wipe as much off as possible, without much success. There were still stubborn patches which would need scrubbing. She had not spoken a word or shown any awareness of their surroundings. He had dragged her through the hedge at the roadside in Lavant, the thick bushes seemingly sentient, the more he pushed, the harder the interlocked branches had tried to prevent him from breaking through to the safety of the open field beyond. Sheer, terrified desperation had won the day, with the bushes reforming much of their structure once they had fallen through in a gasping heap. It was then that the young girl had decided to go far away, withdrawing into her mind where she was safe and couldn’t know the things she now knew. He had cooed and talked, all too aware of the bow in the hedge where putrid corruptions were trying to get through to them.
It was at this point that John had decided not to leave the girl alone to her fate. He would be with her no matter the outcome, if this was their time, then so be it. Taking her hand, he had been shocked when she had immediately stood up. Her face was blank. His renewed attempts at communication had been just as fruitless as moments ago, but pulling on her hand, she had followed without complaint. Their trek had not been swift. Fences required careful manoeuvring of her through the available gaps, and she had fallen more than once when John had missed a rabbit hole or other obstacle. Now they were here, only a couple of miles to go. As soon as they could clear Westbourne, they had a clear cut truck route for the final stretch through Spencer Woods.
They reached the trees and stepped through the small gap, more than likely caused by the travel of deer and other wildlife. The soft grass was replaced by broken branches. Twigs on the forest floor snapped like the sound of firecrackers in the still night. Each time they would misplace a step, John would wince at the noise, pausing and listening. It was his heightened awareness that amplified his fear, causing him to wonder what ravening creature would come to investigate. The noise of owls hooting was a constant companion, the sound of them taking flight and searching for prey conjured images he would give anything to forget. Tonight, and possibly forever more, they were they prey. He shuddered.
The small section of forest was only a dividing marker between farmland so they cleared it within minutes. Once again John paused, he remembered this place, there had been an old and abandoned barn building in this field. It had been purchased and renovated into a home several months ago. They had taken the aged, rotten roof away, leaving just the solid flint walls. After the new owners had replaced it with a new timber structure, they had fitted the interior to a very high specification. The lights were blazing from the windows, a beacon in the night, but for what? He paused, trying to see within, however the house was too far for him to get a decent view. The vibration of the phone in his pocket caused him to start, it was so unexpected. It was Kurt.
“Kurt, I’m on my way, what do you want?” he whispered harshly, thanking his lucky stars he had switched the sound off, otherwise he would have been ringing like a church bell for anything to hear.
“Sorry Dad, but Braiden, a young lad we have helped, has just run off. He has taken a weapon and some blankets. We can only guess that he has gone to try and meet you, as I saw him heading down the forest track opposite our house, where I told you to go,” Kurt explained.
“Why would he do that? Did you ask him to come and try and help me?” There was anger in John’s voice now.
“Bloody hell Dad, of course not! I know what is out there, what a thing to ask me.” Kurt sounded hurt.
John wished he had not made the comment. Although now he was responsible for another life out here, and he had to find him first! “Ok, if he takes the main trail, I will run into him. I hope he doesn’t miss us somehow.”
“I don’t think he can. He listened to us talk and heard my suggestion to parallel the main road after the woods. He knows which way you will be coming from.” Kurt sounded sure, which at least meant John didn’t have to search for the boy.
“Kurt, I have to go, we need to move. I will find him.” He hung up, only faintly hearing the words ‘Ok, see you...’ before the call disconnected. John thought that they really needed to get a better viewing angle of the front of the home, where glass panels stood fifteen feet tall, giving a stunning view and glorious light to the occupants inside.
Leading the woman quickly to the flinted wall of the house, they stood there with their backs to the cold, jagged surface. A window had been cut into the wall six feet to their right, with the corner leading around to the glazed frontage and double front doors.
“Wait here,” he told her. A slight resistance met him as he tried to release his grip from hers, indicating that she was not totally lost. Her face was still expressionless, no sign that she knew he was there, perhaps he had imagined it.
John crouched and went to the window, looking around the edge carefully. He saw a beautiful bespoke kitchen; gleaming utensils, hand crafted cabinets and granite worktops. Everything was immaculate and looked like a show home rather than where someone actually lived. The copper pans hung from hooks in a neat row, almost imperceptibly, they rocked to and fro. However, it was only the reflection of the light in the ceiling catching them at a certain angle that caught John’s attention. No food was in evidence; neither cooked, nor waiting to be prepared on the shiny surfaces. He looked back and saw that his new friend hadn’t moved an inch. He moved to the corner of the building, listened and heard nothing, and risked a glance. Nothing stood there except the homeowners Land Rover and Audi R8. Moving around, he approached the first glazed window panel, the light shone out and cut a perfect line through the dark path and out into the garden. His mind conjured an image of old vampire movies, the sunlight creeping towards the monster as it watched in horror, knowing what the cleansing rays would do. John was similarly fearful of what the illumination would provide the moment he pierced the veil. The shadows were now a strange ally. The front door was shut, which was a good sign. He would warn the occupants of the danger and then move on. Emboldened, he approached the entrance and was just about to knock, when movement caught his attention from inside. The lounge was behind an ornate staircase that started just inside the entrance and rose, before splitting and curving away up to the landing level. It was freestanding and the treads had a space between them, which allowed the light to flow into the deeper parts of the house. The TV was on, and initially he thought this had been the movement he saw, yet then a person sat up, catching him by surprise. He reached up and rapped with the iron door knocker, loud clangs echoing inside the cavernous property.
Gongs still echoing within, he turned to look back at the corner where the lady was waiting for him. John was unhappy that he couldn’t see it now. The light had ruined his night vision. He looked back and expected to see the homeowner, confused at who was knocking his door. Instead, the head had turned, it was dripping blood and flesh, and a dozen other heads had risen and looked his way. He shrivelled inside, feeling like his crotch had crawled into his stomach. They were all damaged, with freshly torn wounds where they had been partly devoured. He also noticed two children among their numbers, their eyes full of malevolence as they started to stand and make their way towards the front of the house. Without hesitation, John ran back to the side of the barn, he narrowed his eyes to try and get some sort of vision after the brightness. He made out the figure of his new, silent friend and was amazed to see that she was mobile and approaching, about to pass the window of the kitchen. He went to meet her to offer his support, however something was wrong. She was making a gurgling sound, like she was struggling to clear her throat. Knowing what was coming for them, he was no longer concerned about making noise and he just wanted to run. He froze mid step, the slow emergence of the person into the kitchen light banished the shadows. It became clear that this wasn’t his new friend. The zombie that approached was struggling to chew and swallow a huge piece of flesh which it had ripped free from someone. It must have found the lady and attacked her while she was incapable of defending herself. The zombie had stopped gurgling now. Somehow, the flesh had got stuck in its throat, enlarging it like a bloated leech.
Hatred flowed through his body at the sight of this monstrosity feasting on the meat of his charge. He stepped forward, placed his hand around the back of its head, and with no small sense of righteous vengeance, placed the pointed end of the tyre iron to its eye and pushed. The metal entered the brain, not stopping until it scraped the curvature at the rear of the skull. He ground it around inside the cavity slowly. The creature was already dead, yet his need to hurt and to destroy had to be satiated after what he had been through.
The pain of the loss was almost too much to bear. He stepped backwards slowly, withdrawing his weapon with a wet popping sound, and let the corpse drop. He had let that woman die. She was his responsibility and he had failed her. Numb, he turned away and walked back to the front of the house. Shadows danced on the front path as the dead tried to reach him. The tough glass was preventing them from escaping. The way they writhed at the window, desperate to feed was almost sexual in nature and chilled his very soul. Only the thought of Kurt and his family waiting spurred him on. Knowing there was a youth running through the woods to help gave him resolve. He made the choice to simply walk to the main road and follow it to Spencer’s Woods. The slow movement of the zombies would give him a good chance. He gathered himself, clenched the tyre iron firmly, and started down the driveway. It was only pure luck that he questioned the glimpse he caught out of the corner of his eye. Stopping and taking a second glance, he nearly leapt with joy. The woman was sitting in the passenger seat of the Land Rover, staring forward, the same blank expression as before. He ran over, pulled the door open and checked her for injuries. She was unblemished. Still not quite believing, he was even less sure of his sanity when he caught a glint of keys swinging from the steering column.
He looked at her, “You?” he questioned. She was inscrutable.
The weight of pressing flesh had caused a split to occur in the huge glass window, running from one side to the other. As John watched, the glass started to fracture like ice on a lake, threatening to plunge you into the murky depths. Wasting no more time and knowing the glass would give any moment, John ran to the driver’s door and leapt in behind the wheel. He was certain this was all an illusion, his mind trying to compensate for the guilt he felt. He twisted the key and the engine turned over and started. Reaching for the lights, he got the wrong side and the wipers swished back and forth a few times. The second lever was the correct one and, as he pushed it, the glass of the home’s entrance blazed into reflected light, cutting off the vile view of the occupants at the window. Instead, it served to illuminate the encroaching dead that flowed down both sides of the converted barn building.
John looked at his companion who was staring forward, face still expressionless and blank. The zombies were spreading out in her field of vision and he had no trouble imagining her inner dialogue,
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
He backed the car away and turned around on the crunching gravel of the driveway. No longer worried about stealth, he accelerated down the long drive. The dust cloud spinning up from the rear of the vehicle obscured the macabre scenery.
They stopped at the entrance and John turned right, towards Westbourne. All thoughts of going on foot now flown, he just wanted to get the woman to safety. The roads were free of the walking dead. The cars around were abandoned and empty. They must have been attracted to the light of the barn. He navigated the quiet country roads, watching intently for any sign of life, but there was nothing. He had circled above Westbourne in only three minutes and fast approached the entrance to the truck path in Spencer Woods. Slowing down, he caught the reflection of a pair of eyes in the headlights. Panic caused him to steer towards it, wanting to crush this abomination. Resolute in his desire to run this horror over, he wondered why it was waving a blanket in its arms around its head. Recognition dawned and he slammed on the brakes, the wheels locked and he skidded forward, rubber shrieking on the tarmac. The Land Rover stopped with only a foot to spare, the young man stood there as a cloud of rubber smoke engulfed him. John jumped out.