“Can I sharpen these quickly when we get to the grinding wheel?” he asked.
“Of course, we should have enough power for now. The light won’t be fading for at least an hour,” John replied.
They left their sanctuary, hugged Gloria and the silent woman, who was now part of the family even if she wasn’t with them yet. In the far attic they filed the screwdrivers to a wickedly sharp tip, easily able to penetrate skull and flesh. Braiden tried brandishing both but it was quickly clear that he lacked the coordination with his left hand and, despite looking like a badass with both, looking good wouldn’t stop him being eaten. He slid the second into his belt as a backup and gripped the first with his right hand. Climbing down one by one, they gathered in the main hallway by the front door.
“We will have to fight some of them, but keep your distance. Kurt, Sarah, only go after those that are likely to reach us and pose a threat. Boys, I will hit them with the hammer and you finish them off when they are down. Can anyone think of anything else?” John asked with a hand on the door handle ready to pull it open. They all shook their heads, they knew what had to be done and that every passing minute increased the danger. John looked through the frosted privacy glass to see if there was any obvious movement, but it all looked clear.
“Let’s go.” John pulled the door open and a wave of frigid air hit them. They filed out and there was no threat in the near vicinity. Zombies milled around, but they would take minutes to reach them, so they relaxed a little. Kurt and Sarah took up positions by the front door. It would remain open the whole time they were out. Kurt wedged the entrance mat under the bottom of the door to prevent an errant gust of wind blowing it closed, trapping them outside.
John, Sam and Braiden reached the corner of the garden wall and looked around it to see if anything was close. They were free and clear for now, so with a last wave back at Kurt and Sarah, they moved off. Keeping low, they rushed across the road and hugged the wall of the terrace of six houses that ran perpendicular to their own. The one they sought was three houses down. Instead of moving down the main road and risk drawing attention to themselves by the greater number of dead who were in sight further down the estate, they opted to scout the back alley and rear carpark. If they could get in and out quietly, they may not even need to fight any of the undead.
“Follow me,” John instructed. They slid down the side wall, trying to conceal themselves the best they could in full daylight.
Looking around the carpark, they only saw three of the zombies, all of whom were facing away from them. They wouldn’t get a better opportunity so they continued their stealthy run down the rear fences, checking for open gates. They didn’t want a repeat of Sarah’s encounter. With their backs to the gate of the house they wanted, they took one last look at the zombies who were close, none had even noticed them so they opened the gate and ducked back out of sight.
The garden was extremely untidy, overgrown grass was attempting to grow through discarded toys. The shed roof was rotten and sagging into the dark space below. They pulled the door open, but there was nothing much of any use within. Any tools inside were rusted beyond repair. John caught sight of an object in the corner. It was a discarded lump of metal, roughly two feet long, four inches wide and half an inch thick. It too was covered in orange flecks of rust, but when he picked it up, it was still solid. He took it with them to the dirty back door, where they cupped their hands to the glass and tried to see within. The light could barely penetrate through the lace curtains and there was no movement from within that they could see.
“Stand back, I’m going to break in.” John raised the sledge hammer.
“Wait Grandad,” Sam said then ran to the shed. He emerged with an old roll of tape which still had some adhesion. He rolled strips free and stuck them to the glass until a whole corner was covered. Taking the hammer, he gently hit the taped section. The whole window panel in the door shattered into a thousand fragments. All that was left was the tape which held the other slivers in place.
“It worked in the movies,” Sam pondered to himself as they listened intently for any sign of danger.
“Don’t worry Sam. It still caused less noise than me beating it down with the hammer,” John encouraged, then reached in, turned the lock, and opened the door.
They entered and the silence was absolute. A musty smell assailed their nostrils, not dirty as such, just a lack of deep cleaning. If they didn’t know better they would have thought the home was abandoned long ago, the dust on the window sills littered with fly corpses. The dishes were washed and stacked in the drying rack. The strange disparities in the cleaning habits of these people unnerved John.
They checked the lounge and dining room, nothing was out of place and there were no signs of life, the utility room was also empty. The furniture was sparse and cheap, showing signs of age and use. There were very few decorations and no pictures at all, which troubled John more. They went to the stairs and looked up. Dust motes were visible, floating in the rays of light that broke the gloom from the hallway window. All the doors were closed to the rooms and despite standing like statues there were no creaks or sounds from the upper floor.
“Hello, is there anyone up there?” Braiden called out quietly.
The noise was met with the sounds of muffled voices and movement. It spurred them into action. They climbed the stairs two at a time, the thought of seeing another human was enough to cause them to lower their guard. They got to the door and Sam clasped the handle, the noises coming from the room beyond.
“Did you see the message? We said we would come for you.” Sam was smiling from ear to ear, but John’s hairs were standing up on the back of his neck and his skin crawled.
The door swung inwards and the smell of excrement hit them full in the face. The whole family was standing there, the mother, father and little boy, all with wet, brown stains on their trousers and dress. They had bloody foaming mouths and their chests were stained with a mixture of bile and coagulated blood. Sam leaped back as if he had stood on a hot roof. The family advanced, dribbling their insides down their chest in a thick torrent. The young boy was the fastest and he was on Sam before he knew it, clawing and trying to climb his body. The small teeth were snapping but the thick clothing Sam wore prevented them penetrating to the flesh below. Sam danced backwards, arms raised as if he had a spider crawling on him.
“Get it off, get it off!” he cried, leaping around.
The adults would soon be upon them. John kicked backwards, dragged the boys with him as the door shot open. Braiden had grabbed the little boy by the hair. Pulling him away from Sam, he stuck the screwdriver through the boy’s ear and into the skull. He went limp and Braiden lowered him to the floor with reverence. He was crying as he did it, consumed with the knowledge of how scared the poor boy must have been in the final moments of life. Sam had recovered and raised his slingshot, bearing loaded as the mother reached the doorway. He aimed, however the adrenaline was causing him to shake uncontrollably, he had come close to death mere seconds ago. The shot went wide by inches and embedded in the wall behind her left shoulder. John had positioned himself to the right of the door and as the zombie mother stepped through, he swung with all his might, the sledgehammer shattered her forehead and crushed her brain. She flew backwards and rebounded off the wall with a sickening, wet crunch. The back of her head had left a murky green patch running down the wall from the force. The father stepped over his love. Sam took several deep breaths. He drew the leather back with a steadier hand and released it in one fluid motion. The bearing was travelling so fast that it took the entire right side of the head away in a green and crimson spray. The body fell forward into the room, shaking the floorboards, a pool of slime spreading from the open skull.
“Jesus!” Sam exclaimed, still breathing shakily.
“Good shot Sam,” John complimented him. He carefully looked around the doorway and found the way was clear. One by one, they knocked on each of the closed doors and listened, before opening to check the room within. There was no more noise, the threat was gone. They felt numb, all this effort and risk for people that were already dead.
They went into the room. The stench was vile with decomposition and shit. The stains of death were all over the bed. The family had obviously lain there as they committed suicide. An empty bottle of bleach was tipped over on the bedside table.
“They used bleach? What the hell did they do that for? Oh God, what an awful way to go.” John held his face in his hands at the thought of them drinking the noxious liquid, the excruciating pain that would have soon followed.
“He must have made them drink it, look at the bruises,” Braiden said quietly, a faraway quality to his voice. They saw signs of bruising not caused by death, wrists were abraded and mouths had damage from the bottle being forced in.
“Mother fucker. MOTHER FUCKER! MOTHER FUCKER!” Braiden screamed and launched himself at the father’s corpse. He stabbed repeatedly, driving the sharpened screwdriver deeply, shattering ribs and spine. Over and over and over he stabbed, chunks flying free and spreading across the room. It was only the fear of the blood contaminating the boy that caused John to reach down and stop him. In all honesty he could have quite happily swung the hammer at the bloodied mess until it was pulp. Or given the power he would have brought the man back from the dead to kill him slow for the agony he had caused his own kin. It was not to be, so Braiden stood up and panted from the exertion.
“This is a dead place. Let’s just go,” John said, unable to say any more. They felt desolate and lost as they made their way downstairs. Instead of leaving via the back, they just walked straight out through the front door and into the cleansing light.
“My dad has a shotgun. Our house is just over there,” Braiden told them matter-of-factly. There was still no undead close enough to pose a threat. The thought of gaining nothing out of this day was unacceptable to the trio.
“Lead the way lad,” said John as he and Sam followed close behind.
They reached the overgrown garden and Braiden walked down the path, John caught sight of a glint in the foliage and reached down, pulling the shotgun free. It was laid in a pool of blood, but it would clean up fine when they got it back home. He broke the chamber and pulled two used cartridges free, throwing them into the grass.
“Are there any more cartridges inside Braiden?” John asked.
“Yeah loads, he has boxes of them, all different weights of shot. In here.” He beckoned them to enter and made his way to the cupboard under the stairs. He reached backwards and passed each box carefully. In all there were twelve boxes, totalling over two hundred shots. They stood in the hallway in silence. The drops of blood on the carpet, mixed with the general filth of the place, going unnoticed. A shuffle caught their attention as the pretty zombie with the hole in her chest walked out of the kitchen. They couldn’t even summon the energy to be scared, Braiden stepped forward and stabbed the woman straight through the eye with his screwdriver, showing no emotion in his face as she fell. Neither Sam nor John felt much either. Even the new weapon and the safety it would convey were as nothing compared to the happiness they had felt at the chance of seeing others. They left the house and made their way back to the main road that led back up to their home. Kurt was looking around the corner and waving frantically. They looked and saw a swarm of hundreds of zombies heading towards them from the road that entered the housing complex. They all groaned but something caught John’s attention.
“Boys do you see that? Over there!” he pointed to the terrace of houses two rows down, five from their own. Either it was a trick of the light, wishful thinking, or it was really smoke drifting from the end chimney, white puffs dispersing as the wind caught it.
“I see it too Grandad, its smoke. We have to go, NOW!” The masses had passed the smoke house and were advancing with menace. The sheer number was enough to make them flee for their lives back to the safety of Kurt and Sarah.
“What’s that? A shotgun? Where are the people from the house?” Kurt asked, fear in his voice as he watched the rotting advance.
“Let’s get inside, we will explain everything later.” The tone of his father’s voice told him it wasn’t good news. They shut the door, climbed the ladder steps and drew them up and out of the way. Crossing the attics in silence, they all entered the warm bedroom. Gloria was eager for news. She looked and saw no new faces with the family, it had been unsuccessful. Disappointed, but heart soaring with the safe return of her new loved ones, they all sat and John explained the occurrences in the house, followed by the retrieval of the gun. They all looked on with sorrow in their souls, the suffering was so unnecessary, and Kurt wondered if he could have done more to save them. It would haunt him.
“What we did see is that there are survivors on the estate. The fifth row down on the end has smoke coming from the chimney. We can’t get there, however, because of the new multitude of walking horrors that have just shown up,” John finished, hoping to stir some hope, but failing. The images of the poor little boy would be in their dreams tonight. Dinner was flavourless and sleep was slow in coming for all of them as they thought of the family in the mystery house. Darkness took the dying light and their consciousness both. They dreamed of being forced to drink bleach, the maniacal face of their attacker being their most cherished loved one. It was a long night.