The boys hugged Mark in gratitude, sharing a nervous and relieved laugh not only about what had just occurred, but the whole situation in general. They all shook hands and smiled, the fear still on display but somewhat stifled by the happiness to see their friend and to escape another ordeal. After a brief chat, the lads took silence as Mark turned to face me. His smile for the guys subsided as he took a step in my direction, now standing a foot in front of me, peering down through his cheap, fake reflective sunglasses. Looking at the reflection in his glasses revealed unwelcome evidence of how weak and disheveled I was; exactly the opposite of how I needed to be for a face to face encounter with him. Mark peeled of his ridiculous, petrol station-bought aviators to expose his wide, piercing eyes, threateningly directing their gaze into mine. He placed both hands behind his back and leant forward to within an inch or two of my face, indicating a confrontation I really didn’t need right now, nor was I capable of dealing with.
“Good to see you’re all safe”
He said.
Huh?
He leant back and pulled his right hand from behind him, making it available to be shaken, as the smile re-emerged on his face.
“I’m glad to see that you’re ok. You can relax, you’re safe now”
Mark stood poised, his smile and outstretched palm a permanent fixture until I made the next move. I peered around his stupid fucking grin to the others who were nodding encouragingly, Phil even mouthed ‘go on’ at me, accompanied by a point at Mark, just in case I thought he was talking about someone else. I drew my attention back from them, past the edge of his military hat, and back into his eye line. Retaining visual contact, I pulled my dirty, cut hand up from my side and firmly grasped his. This was clearly a test of strength, but with my tiny girl hands and distinct lack of energy, I lost this round to his overpowering man hands. He had the control; he had been the bigger person already, his grasp had been stronger and more effective than mine, and we were in his house. I was immediately the underdog in this match up, and although he was being nice and seemingly welcoming, I didn’t trust it one bit.
“Is this all there is of you?”
Mark enquired.
“We lost Lance, his brother”
Replied Jon.
Mark again turned to me, poising some bullshit sympathy face before patting my shoulder.
“My deepest condolences”
He exclaimed.
Get fucked you fucking prick.
Mark wasn’t lying when he said he was ready for this in his text, and his words of truth almost rang psychotically; His house was dark, the entry hall we were in had no natural light coming in at all, but was lit by a series of tea candles lining the skirting board, creating an atmospheric up lighting adding a further intensity to the situation. The walls had an array of shelves and guitar hooks drilled wonkily into them, all to hold a collection of miscellaneous goods I assumed were to be used as weapons. There were spades, pitchforks, baseball bats, table legs, planks of wood with nails in them, those ninja swords you can buy as three size displays in those weird ‘sell everything and anything’ shops, and a series of other objects present for intended violence. We saw the windows had been boarded up with wood outside when we first approached the house, but on the inside he had applied another layer of wood, with sheets of metal over that too, all hammered tightly around the edges. To further remove the risk of unwanted entry, and if the three thick layers weren’t quite enough, there were also four chunky steel girders bolted vertically across each window, making them what appeared to be completely impenetrable. The door we came through was the original plain wooden house door but was reinforced with a sheet of metal on the back, then decorated from bottom to top with the aforementioned locks, chains and bolts. Then there was the second door of reinforced steel, with bars around the edge and top, leaving no gaps for anything to get through. As we walked in through the hallway, we could see a similar trend on all the exterior leading doors and windows throughout, each as heavily barricaded as the one before. It was one hell of a fortress, making the one we had made at the flat look like a short fence made from thin wood. It was impressive to say the least, even with the noise of the zombies banging and circling the outside in their hungered masses we still felt a sincere level of safety and reassurance that the blockades would hold out for quite some time.
Although the street lamps had worked overnight, it seemed like the consumer electricity was out completely, judging by Mark’s use of candles and lack of man-produced lighting. It may have been that he was doing this for mood lighting, creating a more intense setting, or perhaps thought the electric lights would generate too much attention to the house. But with the zombies now very much aware there were people inside, plus the window barricades not permitting a single ray of light to creep through, the latter seemed far less likely.
Mark waved us to follow him through a thick red rug hung up as a curtain to the stairwell, subsequently making his way up in to a far better lit upstairs area. The curtains were pulled back on the upstairs windows as the natural early morning light filled the rooms, revealing what looked like a more normal visual expectancy of a suburban household. Although the beds and most other furniture had all been lifted to rest against the walls, the upstairs just looked like a house that someone had only recently moved into; nothing sorted or put away, but far from derelict, still unveiling a homely feel accompanied with light blue floral wallpaper. Strewn across the carpet in the back bedroom were two ladies and a guy.
“Laddy-roos”
Stated Mark.
I peered at him in disgust with reference to his way of addressing us. What a fucking dick he was. But a swift and sly jab to my side from Phil pushed me back into the bigger picture.
“These two lovely ladies are Tina and Kate, and this strapping young gentleman is Damian”
The trio arose to meet our outstretched hands as we matched their welcoming smiles. Tina was really short, about 5’ 2”, but slim and strikingly good-looking, sporting long, brown hair that, although showed signs of her evident lack of rest or access to product, still shone healthily. Kate was bubblier, and by bubblier I mean fatter; not
fat
fat, but certainly not skinny. Pleasantly plump, if you will. Again though, she was a very beautiful girl, rocking a blonde bob and very dark make-up. Immediately I thought that she would probably be far prettier without all the black goop taking over her face, but I didn’t know her to judge, and probably wasn’t a very important thing to focus on right now with all the undead flesh eaters scratching at the walls outside and all.
Damian was tall and athletic with a shaved head and light blonde stubble. He was the kind of guy that makes you feel bad about how you look, showing off his more than substantial biceps and strong man-chest through his grey, short sleeved t-shirt. He was not too dissimilar to Justin Timberlake, but a slightly more ‘built’ version.
All three had decided to opt against Mark’s douchebag trend, each sporting blue jeans and only really varying on the colour of their tops; Tina in tight red, Kate in a much baggier pink and white floral top, and Damian in the aforementioned grey. They all seemed trustworthy, un-scathed by zombie attack, and like they could all be integral assets to our spontaneous security survival program.
“What’s the plan then?”
Derek’s inquisitiveness momentarily overshadowed his exhaustion.
“Does anyone have a phone?”
All heads shook, and he darted me a sinister look.
Damian stood to his feet, adding further exacerbation to his striking demeanor with an inch on the height of the next tallest, so several inches on top of my mere 5ft 8. But he had a warming smile so his exterior didn’t come across at all threatening, nor did he seem like that was ever to be his intention. He took a couple of long-legged strides across the room to Derek and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We were up all night securing the house, and looks like you guys have been up a fair few hours too”
He looked around for a sense of agreement, which he received from us with little hesitation.
“Then why don’t we all get some rest. We’re safe, right Mark?”
All eyes on dick head Mark.
“Yeah guys, we’re safe, for now anyway. It will take hours for them to get through”
A rather unfortunately timed explosion boomed at the end of Mark’s response, but it seemed distant and faded enough for it not to ring any alarms.
In all honesty, if the plan was anything but rest I don’t think I would have been able to do much more before collapsing in a broken heap on the floor. My ankle was killing me, less so than my heart, and my eyelids had heavy weights relentlessly perched on top of them, so Damian’s suggestion was one most welcome and one we were all too willing to facilitate. With a grin of self-satisfaction, Damian re-perched himself back on the floor and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Following suit, Derek, Jon, Phil, Mark and I all joined Damian, Kate and Tina on the ground, pulling whatever material we could find over us to keep warm. With the zombie moans acting as a soothing lullaby, all eight of us gradually drifted into a deep, long awaited and much needed slumber.
7.
During my slumber, I was tormented with abstract images incorporating everything we had already encountered yet exacerbating it with terrifying effect. I dreamt that my brother kept luring me toward him, taking on his human form and pleading for me to help. I’d run at him, outstretching my hands and telling him not to worry, that I would
save
him; but every time I got anywhere close he’d instantly turn into a zombie and try to attack me with vicious aggression. I’d panic, running away in another direction, then stumble into him again to repeat the whole process. It happened over and over; Like an amalgamation of Stephen King’s Room 1408 with the M.C. Escher seen in Labyrinth, sprinkled with a blood-thirsty zombie for good measure. It was psychological torture in the most brutal form, my brain completely disallowing me the escape of a few hours rest and persistently tormenting me with fruitless visions of helping my lost sibling from his grizzly fate.
I also met Carl, who screamed at me for leaving him as he stood in front of us all. He was standing right in front of me completely ablaze with huge red, burning flames melting his skin off his bones. He stared at me, pointing and shouting “repent, repent!” over and over and over again, his eyes blackened as the white oozed from their sockets. Whilst he screamed at me, Stacey crawled around his feet like a dog, stopping at various intervals to pull out parts of her own entrails before feasting on them hungrily and aggressively. I twisted and turned all morning, not managing any uninterrupted sleep whatsoever, just unwanted experiences to leave me feeling unsettled, emotionally drained and utterly exhausted.
It was impossible to tell how long I’d been out. Mark’s fortress had no clocks, no-one appeared to have a watch, and the wonderful batteries on modern mobile phones meant that they had all long since been declared dead. There was light shining into the room as the top part of the house only had curtains, as opposed to the impenetrable lathers of wood and metal on the downstairs exterior walls. The light meant I could make a fair guess at the time, the sun shining at what seemed like around midday, and unfortunately for me had yet again found a gap throw the curtains which lead straight to my eyes. The rude awakening was met with a momentary confusion; trying to figure out where the fuck I was took a few seconds at least, which preceded a reminder of my injury; it still fucking hurt, but seemed to be subsiding a little from the initial impact and had receded enough to permit a few hours of sleep, albeit poisoned with my horrific dreams.
Looking down at my injured foot, I could still see it’s mangled, bloodied form through the home-made cast, but felt gratitude toward Jon for putting it back in place. If he didn’t my ankle would have been beyond help, and the bones escaping my skin would have been unbearable, possibly even deadly as a result of infection or blood loss. I looked over at Jon as he remained asleep curled up on the wooden floor, he had come through for me and I made a mental note of ensuring I thanked him properly when this whole thing was over. As we often watched the football together I initially thought I’d take him to a footy game (even if it was Spurs; his team, certainly not mine…), but then a saddening realisation came that the likelihood of all the famous footballers being either dead or zombies was quite high. Although it may not be that different if they were zombies, having watched a few footballer interviews it really didn’t seem like too much of a stretch…
I looked over to Phil, also still sleeping peacefully with his back pushed up against Jon and an old, beige cardigan pulled over him in attempt to keep warm. He had really come through for me too, carrying me for several miles for a start. I was done for without him, probably being eaten before reviving myself from passing out back on the high street. Again, I wanted to thank him, but many things he loved, such as exploring British Historical sites, would no longer be places of touristic interest; now they would be ruins showing remnants of struggle, likely to be a zombie laced gauntlet to be best left well avoided.
I saw Derek and Mark too, Mark with his head rested on Derek’s thigh as they both breathed sighs of rest. Another note made to do something for Derek; he had saved me from the jaws of the zombie back on the road, a rotten, stinking catacomb of shard teeth had been the figure of my impending doom, but Derek’s quick thinking and blade wielding hand had yet again saved me from meeting my maker. Even Mark had saved us all, and as little as I liked him, we owed him our lives too. Perhaps I wouldn’t thank him as such, he was still a twat after all, but as he saved us from a zombie wave only that morning perhaps I wouldn’t kick his arse again when my strength was back up.
Perhaps
.
Tina and Kate had found some camping roll matts to snooze upon, and copied the others in their solemn slumber. We hadn’t encountered them really yet, nor had we seen what they had to offer, but just like Damian they seemed nice and genuine, like they would really add to the already apparent comradery. We stood a chance at getting out of this, all of us, all alive, and that was a feeling I felt with sincerity. Our team was strong, our determination was stronger, and we had already come so far yet now we had a plan and hopefully a way out;
The Barracks
.
As everyone else was still dead to the world with no sign of awaking, I thought I may as well utilise the time to revisit the land of slumber myself. Who knew when we’d get to rest again once we got going, and with what I assumed was only a few hours cessation under my belt it made sense to gain some more tank fuelling time. I prayed that this time my brain and my imagination would allow me some proper rest and stop tormenting me in my time of need. I tried to clear my head completely, but just as I shuffled down to get comfortable I scouted my new found roommates and realised one was missing. Where was Damian? I knew He couldn’t have gone far, but I could see the bathroom through the door from where I was sitting, and with that room’s door wide open too it was evident he hadn’t slipped out for a morning ritual visit. I scowled across the floor again, just to make sure I hadn’t missed him lying under a coat or something, but no, he definitely wasn’t there. Perhaps someone had been snoring so he moved to sleep somewhere else, but from what I could hear everyone was sleeping peacefully, all the furniture from downstairs and the other rooms was in here. I felt like I was concerned for no reason, but was concerned nether the less. He could easily just have curled up on the floor in another room, but he seemed like a caring sort who would want to stay with everyone, especially to comfort the girls.
‘It’s nothing’ I alleged to myself, ‘I’m just worrying due to the situation, not because of Damian’. I finished shuffling back down to comfort and closed my ears, but the removal of one sense heightened another as the sound of whispering bounced up the stairs and into my pricked ears. Who is he whispering to? There are eight of us, and seven are in here, so who the fuck is Damian talking to???
With caution, I slowly and quietly hobbled to my one good foot. The pain on the other although a lesser of its earlier counterpart was still significant enough to not allow any weight on it, so I moved around the edge of the wall, using the sturdy upright structure as my standing aid to assist me to the door. I moved steadily but gingerly so as not to awake the others, and certainly not to let Damian know anyone was up and about. The thick curtain guarding the bottom of the stairs acted as an sound screen, permitting me the stealth to get down the stairs undetected, but wasn’t thick enough to cancel out his whispering so still had to descend with care. With my injury I figured hopping would be pretty loud, so gradually lowered myself to a sitting position on the top steps and steadily descended in a spider-like crawl toward the bottom, intently searching for the source of the whispering’s recipient.
It took some restraint not to make any noise during my descent, as my ankle was still pretty bad plus the stairs were difficult to manoeuvre in way that didn’t cause creaking. The muffled moans of the zombies could still be heard outside as they clearly didn’t take the opportunity to rest as we did, but their persistent hum provided some cover for me as the inevitable creek did on occasion occur. As I found the bottom step I carefully pulled the thick curtain to one side to peer into the darkness of downstairs; most of the candles had burnt out overnight but a couple were still ablaze, dancing with their affiliate shadows on the dilapidated walls. The stairs met the middle of the hallway, which stretched through the house and stemmed off into a living room, a dining room, a W.C and a kitchen at the back of the house. The latter room was where Damian was, revealing him standing on the far side facing the metal and wood sheets which barricaded the back of the house. He was leaning forward with one hand on a small, wooden breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen, facing away from me with the other hand up against his ear.
He wasn’t talking to someone in the house, he was on
the
phone
.
My memory went back to the earlier part of that morning. Derek has definitely asked if anyone had a phone, and Damian definitely said no. We had only spent a few minutes meeting him before we all decided to sleep, but it seemed an integral asset that was very odd to lie about. Why wouldn’t he just tell us he had one? And presumably as he said no, Mark, Tina and Kate didn’t know he had one either, and they must have been with him for days if not longer. I just couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t say, and why he was whispering. Perhaps so as not to wake us all up, which is why he had found the furthest possible place to find seclusion without vacating the house, which I appreciated was an impossibility, or impossible without becoming breakfast anyway. That certainly seemed like the logical explanation regarding his positioning, but the secretive possession of a phone still didn’t sit right with me, so I continued my stealth-like approach to try and listen in to what was being conversed.
As I crept down the edge of the hallway, my one good foot hugging the skirting board, I eventually made it to the door way leading into the kitchen. But on my arrival the floorboard creaked beneath my foot which was just that bit too loud to be disguised by the external zombie moans. Damian straightened up, clearly hearing the floor’s groan, and twisted his torso in my direction. With his alerted motion I threw myself behind the left side of doorframe against the edge of the stairwell, smacking my bad ankle in the process. It hurt like a motherfucker yet I knew if I made any noise then any hope of finding out what the call was about would be swallowed up into a potential lie, so I mutely winced in pain whilst tucking myself tight against the wall.
“Wait”
I heard him say.
“Hang on just a second”
I was rumbled, and whatever suspicions I had were about to be subsided with whatever story Damian chose to tell me. His footsteps across the vinyl floor got closer to me as I debated whether or not I should just swallow my pride, rolling out from my soon discovered hiding place. Maybe I could scare him and pretend it was a goof? He’d probably buy that, but the phone call would be long gone. He came right to the door and stopped, but instead of either sticking his head round the corner to see me with a rather sheepish look occupying my face, he pushed the kitchen door to before pacing back into the lightless depths of the kitchen.
My heart was racing, which was really fucking stupid as I wasn’t under threat, nor did I even know there was anything worth hiding for. If anything, I felt a little embarrassed of myself, a little fucking ridiculous for playing spies, just like when I was a kid, except this time I slammed my smashed ankle in the process. With a feeling of self-degradation, I leant forward with intent to walk in the kitchen and wish Damian a good morning, forgetting the whole thing. Yet as I did, he turned back to my direction and I heard
exactly
what he was saying…
“They’re all asleep…..yeah……so you’ll bring the car?”
He’s found us a way out! He’s found us transportation! I knew I liked him!
“So we have an understanding yes? I’ll create a diversion so the zombies run one way, then when the coast is clear I’ll peg it your way and you pull up, pick me up, and we’ll speed off?”
I knew I hated him.
“And the helicopter is still there waiting?.......Yeah………ok sounds good……..sit tight and I will phone you to let you know when it’s all go, five minutes before action…..see you then, bye”
Gob smacked, I struggled to find the right reaction. I could shout bloody murder, but he would easily catch me and shut me up, perhaps for good, before I could tell the others this cunt’s plan. The stairs were too much of a struggle for now, and parading up them just seemed pointless as would most likely be met with noise and more inevitable pain. So weighing up all options, I decided to make my way back up the hallway to the foot of the stairs, then make it seem like I had just that second come down. I one foot moonwalked my way across the floor to the curtain, then hopped and loudly slammed my foot on the floor to create a very deliberate noise. To further caricaturise my entrance I started singing ‘Oh what a beautiful morning’ from Oklahoma, but I’m not really sure why.