John slowly awoke. It took him several seconds to remember where he was. He was used to waking up in a strange house or in the back seat of a car but this was the first time he’d woken up in a helicopter.

Rubbing his tired eyes, and stretching as much as he was able in the cramped confines, he looked out the window at the countryside passing by. Every now and then he caught sight of a zombie stumbling across an empty field. For some reason they never seemed to look up and notice the helicopter.

It hadn’t taken long for John to fall asleep in the helicopter. The soothing hum of the rotor blades and the warmth of the inside acting as an instant relaxant on his already weary muscles.

He looked down at Amy sleeping, her head resting on his lap. Every so often she would twitch, or a quiet groan would escape her lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had watched her sleep peacefully. Did he do the same things? He rarely remembered his dreams any more, and the ones he did he would rather forget.

He gently leaned forward, careful not to disturb his sleeping wife, and spoke as loud as he dare to the pilot.

“How much longer until we arrive?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t be much more than twenty minutes,” replied Oliver

John nodded and carefully sat back. He had been asleep just over an hour and he felt all the better for it. Maybe his subconscious mind knew there was no chance of a zombie attacking him in the helicopter and so had allowed him a proper rest.

John looked out the window again. It all seemed too good to be true.

He was starting to wonder if he was a lucky charm. For the time being he was happy to be lucky, and now here he was flying to a safe location. Yeah, he was lucky he figured, but he had to wonder at what point his luck would run out.

He had survived the initial outbreak, and what was more his wife, the person he loved more than anything in the world, had survived with him. Then he had meet Oliver, Kurt and Matt, three men who had become his close friends.

Finally, they had heard the transmission and found the helicopter. Until they’d lost Kurt, everything had been going well for John and his little group. He hoped it wasn’t the start of a run of bad luck.

~~~

Marcus finished his preparations for the pending arrival of his guests. He would have to play it safe as there was no way he would be able to do away with all five at once.

A finger brushed his shoulder and he took a small step backwards.

“Now, now dear,” he said to his wife. “There’s food on the way. No need to get angry.”

The zombie strained in an effort to reach him, however the thick choker around its neck was firmly attached by a length of metal chain to a ring, which itself encircled a pole that ran from floor to ceiling of the basement. This didn’t stop the zombie getting as much distance out of it as possible, like a dog chained outside a store trying to reach its master. It made several grunting noises.

“Won’t be long now, I promise,” Marcus said to the zombie as he made his way to the stairs and climbed out of the basement.

He left the metal gate at the bottom of the stairs open. With his wife securely fastened there would be no need to lock it.

It wasn’t going to be easy to separate his guests. He would send one of them into the basement under the excuse he needed them to get something for him. Once in, he would lock the door and make his way to his bedroom. There, the top of the pole his wife was chained to stuck up slightly through the floor. He would just need to remove a pin and lift the pole so that the ring that was attached to the choker’s chain could fall down the length of the pole and his wife would be free to dine.

He wouldn’t have to worry about the screams either. He had soundproofed the room months ago. Although he loved his wife, her constant complaining made it hard for him to sleep at night. The only thing that wasn’t sound proof was the door, but then you would need to be very close to hear anyone shouting through it, and he didn’t plan on anyone being near enough to be able to hear anything.

The other four wouldn’t be easy. He would try to send them to different parts of the house and trap them there. As long as he could get alone with each one he should be able to knock them out without too much trouble.

Yes separating them would be the key to success. Then making sure they were tied up so he could keep them for his wife. One a week should do her for the time being.

“Don’t do this. You don’t have to kill anyone else.”

“Shut up,” replied Marcus.

“Your wife is dead now, just like the hundreds of others who are surrounding your house.”

“I said shut up.”

“You’re a smart man. Think of all the good you could do, and now you have a way out of here. You’re no longer trapped in this house. This prison!”

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” roared Marcus.

He stood in the silent corridor for several seconds, shoulders rising and lowering with each deep breath he took.

Finally he composed himself enough to move on. It would do no good if he was worked up when his guests arrived.

He walked into the kitchen and checked on the bubbling contents of the pans on the cooker. The potatoes would soon be ready. Once they were done he would put some peas and carrots on.

Grabbing a fork he jabbed it into the other pan and pulled out a stringy bit of brown meat, dripping with what could loosely be called gravy. He stuck it in his mouth and chewed it a few times before swallowing.

Not bad, he thought. He would have preferred fresh meat and veg, but in these times you had to make do with what you’ve got, and he had tins of food, and lots of them.

Turning down the heat so as not to overcook the potatoes he made his way out of the kitchen and put his head in the dining room. The table was set up for six people, nothing else to do in there.

Finally he made his way to the roof. His watch said ten past three. It was just over two hours now since he had spoken with… James? John? Jeff? In all the excitement of preparing for the groups arrival he had forgotten the name of the guy he had spoken to, although he was sure it was a ‘J’ name.

Marcus stepped out onto the flat roof and scanned the horizon for signs of the helicopter. Walking around the edge of the building so that his vision wasn’t blocked by the small radio shack, the solar panels or the water container, he tried to look for anything in the sky that looked out of place. Nothing. Not even a bird. When had he last actually seen a bird? They stayed away now. Something was obviously scaring them away.

“The… fucking… zombies!”

Maybe there was a large group of cats in the woods that surrounded his property.

One last walk around the perimeter of the roof and he would have to go back and check on the food. If they didn’t turn up soon he would have to throw it all out and start again.

“Why bother feeding them when you just plan on killing them anyway? Why waste food that could be eaten later?”

For some reason Marcus’s thoughts turned to the old fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel. The two children who sought shelter in a house of candy only to find themselves trapped by an evil witch and fattened up to be eaten later.

As he finished his final tour of the roof and started to head back to the door leading down stairs, an unfamiliar sound made him pause. He stood still and waited to see if he could heat it again.

He tried to block out the ever present drone of the hungry people trying to break through the fences and get into his grounds. For several seconds there was nothing, but as a gentle breeze ruffled his long hair he heard it again, a strange almost clapping sound, like someone was hitting a sheet of plastic repeatedly. He looked in the direction the breeze had come from, understanding the wind had carried the sound from its source.

Marcus could make out the sound as a constant drone now. Although it seemed to come from all around him he continued to stare in the same direction.

After a few more seconds he noticed something in the sky. Just visible above the tree line, a few miles out, was a single black spot.

The helicopter! It had to be the helicopter. Finally they were here. Jim (Jim?) and his four friends had arrived. The smile that appeared on his face threatened to split his head in two. He clapped his hands together and, not realising it, skipped the few steps to the roofs door.

He had to compose himself now. This is where it would all go right.

“Or completely wrong.”

~~~

Amy gradually opened her eyes and looked up at her husband.

“Well good afternoon honey,” he said.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

“A couple of hours.”

“How much longer until we arrive?”

“Not long. Oliver said it would be about twenty minutes, and that was about twenty minutes ago,” replied John smiling.

“And you managed to wait all that time without complaining? I must say you’re getting better,” teased Amy.

John replied by poking his wife in the side, just under her ribs. She let out a squeal that was part pleasure, part pain, and sat up.

“Any idea where we are?” she asked, looking out the window.

“Best guess is eastern coast. Maybe somewhere in Lincolnshire,” said Matt from the front seat. “The landscape is fairly flat and I haven’t seen any major cities since we took off. Lots of small villages and fields, but no large population centres.”

“Any idea what we’re actually looking for?” asked Amy. “I mean I know we have co-ordinates, but are we looking for a house or military base or settlement?”

“This far out I’m guessing something small,” replied Matt.

“Wouldn’t think a military base as the signal was sent from one guy,” continued John. “And he kept saying ‘my’ or ‘I’ as opposed to ‘we’ or ‘our’ so I can only guess it’s not a settlement.”

“Do any of you guys think it’s odd that one man could survive for so long out here alone, with all that’s going on?”

“Don’t say you’re changing your mind, Amy,” said Oliver. “I’m not exactly short on gas for this bird, but I don’t know when I’ll next get the chance to fill her up. I would hate to think we wasted fuel coming this far for no reason.”

“Oh no, I’m not saying we turn around. I just think we should be careful when we get there. For all we know the guy ran out of food several months ago and has turned to cannibalism in order to survive.”

“It’ll be fine honey,” said John. “You’ve got three strong men to protect you.”

“I feel safer already,” replied Amy, with mock sarcasm.

This got her another poke in the ribs from John.

“Hey, I think I see something,” said Matt, pointing forward towards the horizon.

The others leaned forward, trying to see what Matt was pointing at.

“I don’t see anything,” said Oliver.

“There. There,” replied Matt thrusting his finger in the direction of what he was looking at.

“Wait I think I see it too,” said John. “I could only see a black cube at first and assumed it was a barn, but I think I can see a chain-link fence surrounding it and… my God!”

“What? What is it John?” asked Amy

“Outside the fence. There must be hundreds of them.”

As they flew closer to their destination they realised why Marcus was alone. Three metal chain-link fences ringed the building, like ripples spreading out from a stone dropped in a pond.

From a distance it looked like a moat of black liquid surrounded the last fence but as they got closer it became clear that the moat was in fact a river of the undead.

The helicopter flew over the building and hovered over the empty grounds between it and the innermost fence. John looked out at the building, taking in the details. The building itself was basically just a black cube. There were no windows that he could make out and no visible door on the ground, at least not on the side he could see. The roof was the only surface not an empty flat surface. Almost directly in the middle the roof was a hole with steps leading down to a closed door; presumably the entrance to the building. A few feet from that was a wooden hut, which looked completely out of place. The antenna coming out of its roof indicating it probably housed a radio. Finally there were several solar panels situated next to a large metal container which was almost full of water. Wires trailed out of the solar panels and snaked to a corner of the roof, where they disappeared down a small circular hole

The ground themselves were just a large empty plot of grass. There was the odd patch of mud where the grass had either died, or been torn up by the wheels of vehicles. Two sets of old tire tracks led away to a large gate in the fence. Behind that gate was a second and third fence, each closed, with chains and a large padlock making sure they stayed that way.

“I can see an entrance on the roof,” John mentioned to Oliver.

“There’s no way I can land on the roof mate, not enough room. It’s down on the ground or nothing.”

“What about them?” asked Amy, pointing the hoards of undead.

“They don’t seem to be bothered about us at the moment,” replied Oliver.

Amy looked over at the undead, it was hard to miss them, and noticed for the first time they weren’t actually doing anything. They mostly just stood in place, with the odd one or two shuffling around. Occasionally one of them would grip the fence, shake it a couple of times then turn and wander off.

“You can bet they’ll take notice as soon as we land,” said John.

“Well I can’t just hover around here forever. Someone make a decision.”

“How about we ask him,” Matt said, pointing towards the base of the building.

The other three looked out at the man on the ground waving his arms at the helicopter. As soon as he saw he had their attention he pointed to the ground a few feet away and gave the thumbs up sign.

“I think he wants us to land,” said Oliver.

“Guess that must be Marcus,” said John.

“Urgh, I bet he stinks!” said Amy, wrinkling her nose as she thought about it.

There was silence in the helicopter as the three men looked quizzically at her.

“What?” she asked, innocently. “Look at him. He has long hair and a beard. I bet he hasn’t washed or brushed his teeth in ages.”

“Not that I want to contradict your amazing powers of observation dear, but we don’t exactly get chance to clean ourselves on a daily basis,” said John.

“I know that, but we do when we can. It may only be in rivers and lakes, but at least we do wash occasionally. He, on the other hand, has been trapped in here for God knows how long.”

“With a large tank of water on the roof,” commented John.

“Sorry to break up this great conversation, but I’m landing,” said Oliver. “Please feel free to carry on once we’re down.”

With a gentle bump the helicopter set down. Oliver flicked several switches and the blades started to slow down. As the hum of the rotors slowly quietened down, the sound of moaning filled the air.

“Looks like they took notice,” said Matt.

The undead, who before had been relatively passive, were now in a frenzy of activity. The ones closest to the outer fence trying to squeeze through the tiny gaps whilst the ones behind them thrust hands and faces through whatever gap in the hoard they could find, in a vain attempt to get closer to the meal they could now see and smell.

John was the first to get out of the helicopter. The blades were still in motion, albeit slowly, and he kept his head low as he ran towards the man he could only assume was Marcus.

The man stood where he was, just smiling a strange smile through his beard.

“Are you Marcus?” shouted John, making himself heard over the dying sound of the helicopter blades and raising sound of the undead.

“Yes, yes. Dr Marcus Pointer. And you must be Jim.”

“John. John Harris. Please to meet you.”

By now the others had joined the two men.

“Let me introduce you to my wife Amy.”

“Hello Marcus.”

“And my new oldest best friends Oliver, our fearless pilot, and Matt.”

“And the other person?” asked Marcus, coming back to the present. “You did say there were five of you.”

Matt and Oliver looked sadly at the ground and Amy forced back a tear, the memory of Kurt’s death still raw in her mind.

“He didn’t make it,” said John. “We were attacked at the airport and he was killed.”

“Dear, oh dear,” muttered Marcus, turning away from the group. “What to do about making the food go far enough.”

“Excuse me?” asked John.

“Hmm? Oh sorry, I was just, um… wondering what I was going to do with all the extra food I cooked.”

“Well that shouldn’t be a problem. We haven’t eaten properly in a while and could eat loads,” said Amy.

“Yes, yes. Well follow me,” replied Marcus, still seeming slightly vacant as he started walking towards the house.

Amy shrugged as her and John followed Marcus. Matt tapped Oliver on the shoulder. He made a circular motion around his ear with his finger whilst crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. Oliver smiled and looked over at Marcus, who now seemed to be muttering to himself. He pointed to Matt then himself before tapping just under his eye and then pointing to Marcus.

Matt nodded his understanding and the two men hurried after the others.

~~~

Marcus led the four guests towards his home. They weren’t much to look at in his opinion. The men wore jeans, in various states of disrepair and a mix of t-shirts or shirts under warm looking jackets whilst the woman opted for a pair of knee length shorts and a white knitted cardigan.

John was the eldest by looks, maybe mid forties. He still had a full head of light brown hair, with just the odd bit of silver showing through. There was a look of caution in his brown eyes, and he walked with the discipline that made Marcus sure he had once been in the armed forces.

His wife, Amy, was an attractive enough lady, but not what he would consider beautiful. She looked a year or two younger than John. Her light blonde hair resting on her shoulders suited her blue eyes.

Matt was a wiry young man, probably the youngest of the group, yet easily still in his thirties. A mop of messy black hair sat on his head, and it was clear it had been cut, and badly, not too long ago. He had a look in his eyes, that unsettled Marcus. It was a look that made the animal instinct inside him suddenly wary that maybe he wasn’t the hunter, but in fact the prey.

Finally was Oliver. To Marcus he was the friendliest of the group, although he had a great sadness in his face. He was a fairly big guy, but not fat and his bald head suited him, without making him look like a thug. It was a tossup between him and John as to who was the eldest of the group.

So these are my four house guests.

“Well, what will Mrs Pointer do without the five meals you promised her?”

In some ways it made it easier, he could at least separate them without as much difficulty. He would just have to try and ration the meat out. His wife had gone a long time without a proper meal so she should be able to go a week between these offerings. That would mean almost two months before he would have to start looking for the next take-out.

He chuckled at the joke he had made.

“What’s so funny?” asked John.

Damn, thought Marcus. I must try to control myself better.

“Nothing really, I’m just happy that I have guests. It’s been such a long time. I was beginning to think we were the last people in the country.”

“We?” questioned Amy.

DAMN!

“Err… me and the people outside the fences,” said Marcus quickly.

“People? You mean the zombies?”

“Yes them. I guess I still see them as people.”

“They’re nothing but filth,” spat Oliver. “They stopped being people long ago. They deserve nothing more than a final death.”

Marcus just grunted his reply.

After a few feet they reached the edge of the building. Marcus walked up to the wall in front of him and pushed one of the black bricks that looked, to the others, exactly like the rest of the bricks in the wall. He then took hold of a handle, which was all but invisible if you didn’t know it was there and pulled open a door revealing a well lit but narrow corridor.

“Impressive,” said John.

“I designed and built this house myself,” said Marcus. “It was made to be impenetrable to all but the most determined invader. Now, after you.”

The corridor only allowed for them to go in single file. Once the entire group were in the corridor Marcus walked in and the door slammed shut behind him. He removed a key from his pocket, inserted it in the key hole and turned it until the sound of bolts sliding into place was clearly audible.

“The door can only be locked and unlocked from the inside,” he said to whoever may have been interested. “But once it is unlocked it can opened from the other side, if you know how.”

He squeezed past the group to the front and walked down the corridor, not bothering to check if the others were following him.

At the end of the corridor there was a left turn and another corridor followed by another left turn.  At the end of that corridor was a dead end.

As the guests looked around for a doorway, Marcus reached up and touched a brick in the ceiling. There was a click and a section of the ceiling dropped down with a ladder attached. The ladder un-folded once the ceiling section came to a rest.

“Welcome to my home,” Marcus said with a bow, his arm gesturing towards the ladder.

John shrugged, squeezed past Marcus and climbed the ladder, followed by Amy and Matt with Oliver bringing up the rear.

Once they were all up Marcus climbed up. At the top he grabbed the ladder and pulled. It folded back in on itself and the ceiling section clicked back into place.

“Impressive,” said John again. “And you say you built this place yourself?”

“Designed and built,” corrected Marcus. “Before this whole thing kicked off I had a completely different life. I’ve been an architect, an engineer, a husband and a builder. I guess I’m only a few of those things now.”

“Lunatic! Killer! Madman!”

“I’m confused as to the small corridors though,” said John. “From the outside I have seen this is a big building, but there are only three small corridors on the ground floor.”

“There’s also a basement room down there. The corridors circle around it. The whole point is to try and confuse any would be intruders. The tight confines also make it difficult to perform any type of actions other than walking.”

“And the lack of windows?” asked Amy.

“If the people outside can’t see anyone moving about inside they get less riled up. I know it may seem depressing without natural light, but would it cheer you up any to see what was actually outside? But anyway I would be pleased to give you all a tour of my home, but we should eat dinner first.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Amy smiling.

“This way then, honoured guests. Your banquet awaits.”

~~~

John dropped his fork onto his plate, leaned back in his chair and groaned. His hands dropped to his sides and his head lolled backwards as he let out another groan.

“You’ve killed my husband,” Amy said to Marcus.

“Not quite, but nearly,” said John, sitting up again and patting his stomach. “I haven’t felt so full in ages.”

“I just wish I had some bread to mop up the gravy,” replied Marcus with a smile.

“I haven’t had bread since this whole thing started,” said Oliver, a distant look in his eye as he thought back to his past. “But it doesn’t last long and without the right tools and ingredients there’s no way to make more”

“I may not have any bread but I do have some wine in the basement,” mentioned Marcus.

“I would love a glass of wine,” said Amy enthusiastically, clapping her hands together.

“What about everyone else? What would you gentlemen like to do?”

“I would love a shower,” replied Oliver.

“I’d like to see more of your facility,” said John.

“Not a problem. And you Matt?”

“I’d just be happy to relax here, maybe have another plate of food, if there’s any left.”

“Of course, help yourself. Now John, I’ll show you the roof first, where you can get a good look at the grounds as well. If you wait by that door there I’ll be back in a few seconds. Oliver and Amy if you would like to follow me I’ll show you to the bathroom and then the basement.

Marcus stood up and gestured to Amy and Oliver to follow him as he left the room.

John walked behind Amy and put his hands around her waist. She tilted her head back to look at him. A big smile spread across his face and, for the first time in months, his eyes showed the same joy his face did.

“What’s up with you?” asked Amy.

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just I think we may have actually hit the jackpot here.”

“Certainly looks that way.”

“But hurry now. You don’t want to miss out on that bottle of wine.”

Amy spun round to face John. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.

“Love you sweetheart.”

“Love you too darling.”

With that Amy hurried off after Oliver and Marcus.

~~~

Marcus showed Oliver how to work the simple shower. Stand under the shower head that was fixed to a metal pipe, pull the cord to start, pull the cord to stop.

“The water may not actually get you very clean, as it’s just collected rainwater from the roof tank, but it will be warm thanks to the solar panels,” explained Marcus.

“I’m sure it’ll be just great,” replied Oliver. He shut the bathroom door and started to undress, looking forward to his first real shower in many months.

“Now my dear,” said Marcus turning to face Amy. “Let’s do what needs to be done with you.”

He walked off quickly, not wanting Amy to see the grin that had started to spread over his face.

“Last chance to change your mind. Help them, don’t kill them.”

As he approached the basement door, he removed the key from his pocket.

“Why keep this door locked?” asked Amy.

“Well…erm…force of habit, I guess,” said Marcus quickly. “I never really thought about it until now.”

He unlocked the door and pushed it open whilst making a flamboyant bowing gesture to indicate Amy should enter the room. “Ladies first,” he said in an over-the-top posh voice.

Amy nervously entered the darkness. After she’d taken her third tentative step her left foot found the stairs simple because suddenly there was nothing under the end of it any more.

“I can’t see a thing,” she complained. “Where’s the damn light switch?”

“You won’t need it,” muttered Marcus, right in her ear.

Amy’s heart leaped inside her chest. She hadn’t heard him get so close. Suddenly it wasn’t his proximity to her that was the problem anymore.

Marcus took a single step back and before Amy had chance to turn around he leapt forward, both arms outstretched, the palms of his hands flat and his fingers splayed. His hands connected with Amy and she pitched forward. As she started to fall, Amy somehow managed to pivot on her left heel before it lost grip on the stair. Marcus saw the look of pure horror, mixed with confusion and betrayal on her face.

Her left arm, caught in the momentum of her turn, reached out to Marcus, her hand upturned in a gesture of begging.

“Grab it!”

Marcus’s right arm twitched, just a fraction, but he kept it by his side. It seemed to take an age for gravity to finally grip Amy as she tumbled backwards down the stairs. He had expected a quiet scream from her as she fell, but got little more than a grunt as her body hit the first of many stairs during her descent.

He quickly moved out of the room and shut the door, locking it behind him. If the fall hadn’t killed Amy, it was sure to have at least knocked her out, maybe even caused a broken bone or two. It didn’t matter anyway, as soon as he lifted the pole in his room and freed his wife there was nowhere Amy would be able to escape to.

Briskly he made his way towards his room.

“Marcus.”

He froze, slowly turning. Had one of the men seen him? Would he turn to see a gun pointed at his head?

“I’m surprised you weren’t gone longer,” said John. He was stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a satisfied smile on his face. He produced a small piece of kitchen roll from his pocket and wiped his mouth.

“Sorry, helped myself to seconds. Like I said, thought you would be gone longer.”

“Erm…I’m not sure I understand,” confessed Marcus.

“I just thought Amy would just have spent ages talking to you about what wine to choose. You see she is, well was, a bit of a wine snob.”

“What do you mean ‘was’?” asked Marcus nervously.

“Well, when you live as we do there isn’t much chance of getting wine anymore, and when we do get some we can’t really be picky, if you see what I mean.”

“Ahh yes, I understand,” said Marcus, relieved to see that, for the moment at least, he was in the clear.

“So do you want to show us this fascinating complex now?” asked John.

“Us?”

“Yeah, me and Matt.”

“I thought meat, err… I mean Matt, was going to stay here and have some more food.”

“Well I was,” said Matt, joining to the two men from the dining room, “but I decided I better walk off some of this first,” he patted his stomach with a chuckle. “Don’t want to start getting fat and lazy.”

“Sure,” said Marcus. “Let me just sort out something in my room first then we can go.”

“Well it was starting to get dark as we arrived,” commented John. “If you have things to do it may be best to wait until tomorrow. I can go help Amy choose the wine.”

“NO!” shouted Marcus before he could stop himself. “I mean you should let her enjoy this moment herself. You said she was a wine connoisseur; well she must be having the time of her life with my collection. Even I’ve forgotten what I keep down there. Plus it would be best to familiarise yourselves with your surroundings if you are going to stay here, just in case anything happens tonight.”

“That does make sense,” said Matt. “But we don’t want to bother you if you’ve things to do.”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait a while,” replied Marcus reluctantly. “Let’s go.”

Marcus led the two men to a door at the end of the corridor. He taped a code into the locking mechanism and pulled the door open. The faint sounds of moaning could be heard as soon as they started the assent up the flight of stairs.

“Why the fancy lock on the door?” asked John.

“Up here is where I keep the transmitter and radio. A few months ago a guest tried to use it for, shall we say, inappropriate reasons, so I thought it best to keep it locked when I’m not around.”

“He tried to call for help.”

“But this here is my roof set up. Over there is the radio hut where I search for survivors. I built the hut myself. To your left are the solar panels that provide all the electricity to the building and next to that is the water tank where all the rain water is collected.”

“Very impressive,” said Matt.

The trio walked over towards the edge of the building. There was nothing to stop them going right over so they stayed a few steps back from the very edge.

“As you can see, three sturdy metal chain-link fences topped with barbwire surround the compound. The panels are each six foot long and the poles between them go three foot down into the ground.”

“Why use chain-link?” asked John. “Surely solid panels would be more secure.”

“Not really,” replied Marcus. “Solid panels would be more likely to fall with enough force behind them. Those people out there don’t focus their attacks in the same place so there isn’t enough strength pushing against the chain-link fence to be able to break through. Plus this way I get to see exactly what’s out there. If a fence goes down I can see where the people are getting in. If there were three solid walls I may not know the outer two had fallen until the third went as well.”

“People!” snorted Matt.

“Makes sense when you think about it,” said John, trying to stop any conflict from arising.

“What’s this?” asked Matt. He had walked over to the water tank and was looking at a large metal pole with a hook on the end, which was fastened to the front.

“That is my D.B.R.D.”

“D.B.R.D?”

“Occasionally a bird will fall into the water tank. In order to avoid any diseases from spreading I use this device to retrieve the body. It’s my Dead Bird Retrieval Device.”

It started slowly, but within seconds all three men were in fits of laughter, Matt sat on the ground, whilst Marcus and John leant against the water tank. The absurdity of the device and the need to give it such an important name causing months of built up emotion to come to the surface.

It lasted several minutes then as quickly as it started it was over, at least for John and Matt. Marcus carried on for a few more minutes. Matt looked over awkwardly at John.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he said.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in months,” said Marcus, wiping a tear from his eye. “I guess when you are on your own for so long you forget what’s really funny.”

“You no longer have to be alone”

Matt walked back over towards the edge and gazed out at the sea of zombies behind the fences. They had settled down a little since the helicopter had first landed. They were aware there was a meal inside, and the ones closest to the fence still tried to get in, but the ones further out had lost interest, for now.

John joined Matt, followed shortly after by Marcus, still chuckling to himself every so often.

“Shit,” said John, looking towards the helicopter. “I forgot the bags. I better go get them before Amy gets back or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

John started back towards the stairs when Marcus shouted over to him.

“You’ll need this,” he said, fishing a key out of his pocket and throwing it towards John. “For the front door,” he clarified.

“Thanks. Be back shortly.”

Marcus turned back to Matt, who had sat down, legs dangling over the edge of the building.

“So tell me about how you came to be here,” he said, joining Matt on the edge.

“Where to start?” said Matt, looking off into the distance.

~~~

John hurriedly walked towards the hatch that led to the entrance tunnel.

“Amy?” he called out. There was no response. Man, he must have a good wine collection, he thought to himself.

As he approached the hatch he could hear singing coming from behind a closed door. He leant in a little and heard rushing water as well. He smiled to himself, amused that Oliver was still in the shower after all this time.

A thought popped in his head and he was glad it did. He quietly opened the door to the bathroom and took a quick look around. He was more than relieved to see a large shower curtain separating him and a naked Oliver.

He spotted what he was looking for in a pile in the corner of the room. He snuck over, not wanting to disturb Oliver and went through the pockets of Oliver’s trousers until he found the helicopter key, then snuck back out of the bathroom.

Can’t wait for my turn in there with Amy, he thought, his smile not the only thing getting bigger.   He shook his head as he opened the hatch and lowered the ladder into the corridor. If he didn’t get the bags from the helicopter he would be showering, and possible sleeping alone, for tonight at the very least.

He jogged along the narrow corridor until he reached the outer door. He unlocked it and was surprised when he had to put extra weight behind his body in order to force the door open fully.

As soon as he stepped out the door slammed shut behind him, melting invisibly into the wall of the building.

Damn it, he thought, I should’ve known that would happen.

He looked up towards the roof and saw two pairs of legs dangling over the edge. At least someone would be able to let him back in.

He quickly made his way towards the helicopter. The undead surrounding the compound had started to get riled up again, pushing and shoving against each other in an attempt to get closer.

John reached the helicopter, unlocked the doors, and started grabbing the group’s small collection of bags from the back seat. It was amazing to see how little they actually carried with them. Most of the important things they needed to survive were found on the road. All they carried with them nowadays was a single change of clothes and basic tools, like a can opener or screwdriver, to make living that little bit easier.

As John closed and locked the helicopter doors he glanced back at the house, ready to ask for someone to come and let him in, but noticed there was no longer anyone sitting on the edge of the roof.

“Shit! Well I’m sure they’ll come looking for me when they notice I’m not back.”

He was about to get back in the helicopter to wait when he noticed a small, round object fly off the roof and head towards him. His jaw dropped as he realised what it was and started running.

~~~

“No guns at all?” asked Matt, honestly surprised.

“No weapons of any kind. I have never seen the need for them. Well I do own some tools which could be used as a weapon I guess,” replied Marcus.

“Like a hammer round the back of the head.”

“When you are on the road like us you need protection.”

“So what kind of things do you have?” inquired Marcus.

Matt stood up and moved away from the buildings edge. He lifted his green t-shirt a little to show Marcus the Glock tucked into his waistband.

“May I?” asked Marcus, reaching out to take the gun.

Matt hesitated for a second, but then pulled out the gun and removed the magazine. He checked the chamber was empty before handing it to Marcus.

“Don’t want it going off by accident,” he said, as Marcus held the gun. “I also have one of these.”

Matt reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a grenade, a smile on his lips.

“We found three of them on some dead soldiers a few days ago,” he explained. “Never used one before but how hard can it be? Pull pin, throw at enemy, run in opposite direction.”

Marcus went to hand the gun back to Matt, but it fell from his hand just as Matt reached for it.

“Sorry. Clumsy me,” apologised Marcus.

“No problem. Lucky it wasn’t loaded,” said Matt as he bent down to pick up the gun.

In a flash Marcus brought his knee up into Matt’s face. His nose burst in a red spray and he stumbled backwards as Marcus followed up with a punch to the chest. He fell back into the water tank and let out a small yelp. Marcus moved in and grabbed the grenade Matt still held, before quickly getting out of range of any comeback strikes; however Matt just stood still, his face in shock.

It took Marcus a second to realise what had happened. As Matt had hit the water tank, the D.B.R.D had snagged him, digging into his flesh and trapping him there like a fish on a hook. It probably wasn’t that deep, but after being attacked he was still in shock.

Without wasting any time Marcus ran towards the edge of the building. He pulled the pin on the grenade and, aiming in the rough direction of the helicopter, threw it as hard as he dared. Instantly he fell to the ground and covered his head with his arms. If the helicopter did go up in an explosion he didn’t want any stray shrapnel hitting him.

It wasn’t shrapnel that hit him, but he did feel the pain in his side as Matt kicked him in the ribs. Marcus rolled over, howling like a kicked mutt and looked up into the face of a madman. Matt’s face was a mess of red blood, with two clear lines below his eyes where tears had run down his cheeks. His lips were pulled back in a scowl, showing his blood covered teeth gritted together. But worst of all were his eyes. Marcus looked into Matt’s eyes and realised what he had done. No longer did he see confusion, shock or fear. What he saw now was pure hate. The eyes of someone who wanted him dead.

“You…will pay…for what you… just…did!”

~~~

Amy opened her eyes and then wondered if she actually had. She was in pitch blackness. She moved her head around a little to see if she could locate even the smallest hint of illumination and instantly wished she hadn’t.

She gingerly reached behind her head and winced as her hand came away slick with, what she could only assume in the darkness, was blood.

She tried to stand and immediately sat back down with a shocked cry of pain. Her right ankle had given away as soon as she had put even the smallest amount of weight upon it. It wasn’t broken, she was almost certain of that, but she must have given it a nasty twist at least, possible torn muscle or ligament damage at most.

In her head Amy did a quick check list of her body. Nothing broken = good. Lots of small aches, pains and scratches = moderate. Bleeding head and damaged ankle = bad.

She tried to focus on what had happened, and how to get out of the dark hole she was currently in.

Marcus had promised her wine, so they had gone to the basement. She had gone in first then fallen down the stairs. No, not fallen, pushed. Marcus had pushed her down the stairs.

The realisation suddenly hit her. This man had tried to kill her, and now was doing who knows what to her husband and friends.

Her fear of what could be happening outside the basement quickly became a fear of what might happen inside the basement as she heard a familiar sound; a low ominous groan.

Try as she might, Amy was unable to pinpoint the exact source of the noise. She knew it was roughly in front of her, but the groan seemed to echo off the walls, meaning one time it was to her right, the next to her left.

Finally convinced that the groaning was coming from directly in front of her she started to slowly back away on all fours, careful of her sore ankle. After only a couple of small movements her back hit up against a wall. She jumped at the unexpected feeling and managed to hit her head on against the wall, causing fresh agony to flood her body, and numerous curses to escape her lips.

All the while she had been withdrawing from the groans they hadn’t gotten any closer. Maybe the theories were wrong. Maybe a zombie did need to see you to attack you.

Amy started to feel around her on both sides. At first there was nothing, then, as she leant to the left, her hand brushed up against something wooded and raised. She edged slightly closer to it, fearful of what else may be lurking in the dark, and relief washed over her as she felt another bit of wood above and behind the first; the staircase.

As she moved closer to the stairs, the groaning seemed to follow her, and then there was the clink sound of metal on metal. Her mind tried to remember where she had heard the noise before, and it suddenly came to her. Her uncle had owned a large dog and kept it chained up in the back garden. Whenever anyone went near the garden it would charge at them, until its chain pulled tight against the metal pole it was secured to.

My God, thought Amy. He’s got one of those things chained up in here.

Slowly, carefully, she climbed to her feet, all her weight on her left foot. Using the wall to her left as support, she hopped onto the first step, trying to ignore the pain in her head every time the jump jolted her.

Reaching out with her right hand she found the opposite wall of the stairwell and also a metal bar. Running her hand down the bar she soon came to what she hoped was a hinge. Probing around in the dark she finally found something that cheered her up for the first time since she had opened her eyes; a door. She could close the door and keep whatever was in the basement, in the basement.

After a few more seconds of fumbling around, and hopping on one leg, she found the door was in fact made up of more metal bars running vertically.

A cage door, she thought. After realising she had been pushed into a basement with a chained up zombie, the fact there was a cage door at the bottom of the stairs came as no real surprise to her.

She pulled the door towards herself and flinched as it slammed shut, the noise sounding exceptionally loud in the previously quiet darkness.

She ran her hand down the outside of the door until it came to a large solid piece of metal. Tracing her fingers around it she found what she had hoped wouldn’t be there, a keyhole. Amy had hoped for a bolt or catch of some kind.  If there was a keyhole, it meant there would need to be a key to lock it, and it was highly unlikely that it would be anywhere near here.

Thinking positively, she ran her hands over the walls on either side, hoping to find a hook or shelf that may contain the key, but found nothing.

Never mind, she thought, at least the door offers a few more seconds of protection if the creature down here gets loose.

She warily made her way up the stairs, wincing occasionally when she didn’t lift her right leg high enough and her ankle caught on a step. At one point she was sure the ground had shaken and had nearly fell back down the stairs. Must just be getting tired, she had reasoned.

Finally she got the top, and hope filled her heart as she saw a keyhole shaped spot of light in front of her; the door out the basement. She prayed to whoever may be listening that she wasn’t too late to help her husband and friends.

Amy hopped the last few feet and as soon as she reached the door she started pounding on it with both fists.

“HELP!”

After a couple of minutes there was still nothing. She was just about to give up and have a rest until something in the basement caught her attention.

Just audible over the now almost constant groaning was the sound of metal scraping against metal. This sound went on for several seconds until there was the sound of metal chains falling on concrete then a few moments later the scraping metal sound again, only this time faster. It went deathly silent for what seemed like an eternity, even the groaning ceased, then suddenly there were the sound of footsteps followed by a chain being dragged over stone, which grew closer with ever second.

Amy turned back to the door in pure panic.

“Dear God, someone please help me!” she screamed.

~~~

John ran towards the falling grenade, his eyes never once leaving its descent. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he was able to catch the grenade, all he knew was he couldn’t let the helicopter be destroyed; it was their only means of escape if they needed to leave the compound.

Many thoughts ran through his head; how long is the fuse on a grenade? What if it explodes as I catch it? What if I fail to catch it? What do I do if I am able to catch it? Where did it come from?

His mind suddenly snapped back to the present as he realised he had overran the arc of the falling explosive. He skidded to a halt and with a quick turn ran back towards the helicopter, looking up at the grenade as it closed in on him.

Before he knew it the grenade was in front of him. John made a desperate swipe of his hands but failed to catch it. Time seemed to slow down and he watched in horror as it fell through his fingers towards the ground.

Almost without thinking his right leg shot out catching the grenade in mid air. The shot would have made a star footballer proud. The grenade flew away from him and past the helicopter. His mood suddenly went from joy back to horror as the grenade sailed over the inner two fences and landed, as if by design, at the base of a support pole for one of the outer fence panels.

Nothing happened for what seemed like hours, and then, suddenly, the grenade exploded. A cloud of mud, grass and body parts was rocketed in all directions. John, semi-protected by the helicopter ducked back to avoided being peppered.

As the smoke cleared he peered out from behind the helicopter and his heart sank. There was a large who in the ground where the grenade had exploded, and the surrounding fences had large holes than normal in them. But worse than that, the support pole between the fence panels, now with nothing to keep it upright, had fallen inwards under the pressing weight of the remaining zombies and taken either side of the fence with it. It rested diagonally against the middle fence, producing a ramp that the hoards of the undead were now shakily ascending.

As they reached the top they ungracefully fell in a heap at the base of the inner, and last, fence. A few got snagged on the barbwire running along the top of the fence and hung comically like old trainers on a telephone wires.

John could see what was going to happen straight away. Either the pile of undead would get so high that soon the zombies would be able to just walk across the final fence and enter the compound, or the sheer weight of zombies all focused on one single section of the fence would be enough to bring it down.

Either way, John knew the zombies would be in soon and there was no way to stop them.

~~~

Oliver finally pulled the cord and the shower stopped, but for a few drops. He’d lost track of how long he’d been in there, but he felt so much better.

The water had been hotter than he had expected, but then after washing in cold water for several months now any water with a bit of heat would have been a pleasure.

He really hadn’t planned to spend so long relaxing. Originally he had decided to stay under the shower until the colour of the water that ran off his body was the same colour as the water that was coming from the shower head, but he had become so comfortable that even long after the dirty brown water going down the plughole had turned clear he was still happy to stay where he was.

However he knew he had things to do and others would want a shower too. He dare not think how he would explain to Amy if he used up all the water.

He finished drying himself on the thin towel that had been left out by Marcus. It was too much to hope for a large fluffy white one.

As he dried the last of his body off, he looked over at his clothes piled in the corner and grimaced. The idea of putting his dirty clothes back on after spending so much time getting clean didn’t appeal to him at all. At least he had a clean change of clothing in the helicopter. He would just wear these until he could change into something else.

As he dressed he realised the helicopter keys were no longer in his pocket. He wasn’t that concerned as he guessed it would have been one of the others, gone to get their stuff, and that saved him a job.

He made his way out into the corridor and back towards the dining room. There was no one there. He did a quick walk around to try and find the others. He noticed the hatch leading down to the corridor they had entered by was open, as was a door that obviously led to the roof.

He was about to try the roof when he heard what sounded like an explosion in the distance. Just as he was trying to work out what it could have been Marcus came running down the stairs. He slammed the door shut and hurriedly walked towards another shut door, muttering under his breath the whole time. Oliver noticed there was blood on several parts of his body

“Hey Marcus, what’s going on?” asked Oliver.

Marcus looked over at Oliver, nothing but anger visible in his eyes. He carried on walking towards the door, a feral snarl escaping his lips.

“Help!”

Oliver paused. It sounded like Amy, but he couldn’t determine where it had come from. He slowly walked back down towards the shower room, being as quiet as possible.

He thought back to before he went for the shower. Marcus had promised Amy a bottle of wine from the basement.

His heart froze as he put two and two together. Amy in the basement, Marcus covered in blood and a cry for help.

Where the hell is the basement door? he thought to himself.

He didn’t have to worry about it for long as a few seconds later he heard another cry.

“Dear God, someone please help me!”

The plea for help was just off to his left. He ran to the door and twisted the handle.

Locked, he though. Of course it is.

“Amy!” he shouted. “Are you ok?”

“Oliver? You need to get me out of here. Marcus has a zombie in here and it’s coming after me.”

“Ok, the door is locked, as you probably know, so I’m going to have to break it down. Can you move clear?”

“Yes. Yes there should be enough room if I stand on the top step. But please hurry, I think it’s near to the bottom of the staircase.”

Oliver took a step back and lowered his shoulder. He took a deep breath and charged into the door. The impact sent him tumbling back on his ass and a bolt of pain shot up his arm. He stood back up and once again charged the door; this was no time to be gentle. He braced himself better this time and, although he bounced back off the door again, he was able to stay on his feet. The third time hitting the door he felt it starting to give a little. He was so caught up in breaking the door down he didn’t notice Marcus walking down the corridor towards him.

~~~

Matt brought his fist down hard into Marcus’s face again. Marcus was able to move his face at the last minute so the blow connected with his cheek. It would cause a nasty bruise but if it had hit his nose he knew it would’ve broken it.

So far he had endured five or six powerful hits, ranging from his ribs to his head. He was pinned to the floor by Matt’s body weight as he knelt over him and knew if he didn’t do something soon he would be pummelled to death.

As Matt drew back his arm in preparation of another blow, the grenade exploded. Matt looked up, taking his eyes of Marcus for a second. This was the opening Marcus had been looking for and swung his fist at Matt leg.

Matt gasped in pain and looked down at his leg. A small circle of metal was sticking out of his leg, blood seeping out past it. Marcus had still been holding the grenade’s pin and used it as a make shift weapon.

As Matt bent down to pull out the offending article, Marcus struck again. He couldn’t get much force behind his upwards punch due to laying on his back, however as Matt’s head moved down a little Marcus’s fist went up. It contacted perfectly on his Matt’s jay and he grunted. He was already slightly off balance, due to shifting the weight off his injured leg, and when his head snapped back the momentum caused him to topple backwards.

Marcus was on his feet in seconds and proceeded to rain down kicks all over the fallen Man. He tried to protect himself by curling up into a foetal position, his head wrapped up in his arms, however Marcus just kicked out at his arms.

After a few more kicks Marcus turned and ran for the entrance leading back to the house.

“You’re in trouble now”

“I can handle this situation,” muttered Marcus as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You should give up now. Maybe they’ll understand if you explain the whole situation.”

“They come into my house, eat my food, abuse my hospitality,” he carried on muttering to himself as he slammed to door to the roof shut and started to make his way to his bedroom.

“Hey Marcus, what’s going on?”

Marcus turned to look at the speaker. It was another one of them. This one had used his water.

He will pay as well, thought Marcus, a snarl escaping his lips as he carried on walking to his bedroom.

He entered the room and quickly walked over to a simple wooden table in the centre of the room. Grabbing it, he unceremoniously threw it out of the way. Underneath was a metal tube with a small metal pin sticking through it. He pulled the pin out and began to lift up the metal tube. He lifted it around four foot high, guessing that would be enough for his wife to free herself, waited a few seconds then dropped the tube back down.

Now time to deal with that water thief, he thought to himself, leaving the bedroom.

He started to make his way back towards the kitchen when he heard a loud thump. The noise came from the direction of the basement. As he came around the corner of the corridor he saw Oliver charge the basement door. The impact shook him, but he charged again.

If you’re so desperate to meet my wife I can arrange that, he though as he closed upon Oliver.

~~~

Amy edged as far back as she dared. She knew that she was on the edge of the top step, her heels hanging over the edge. Although she couldn’t see the door physically shaking she could see the light coming through the keyhole waver each time the door was hit. It had been three times now.

Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the sound of the cage door below being opened and the sound of footsteps on the stairs was accompanied by the ever approaching moaning.

“Hurry Oliver,” she shouted. “It’s almost on me.”

Amy thought about kicking out into the darkness with the hope of hitting the ghoul. What worried her most was she couldn’t see when or where to kick. If she missed it would off-balance her and she could fall down the stairs, or the zombie could grab her leg and start its meal.

With each slow footstep on the stairs, followed by the sound of the metal chain banging off wood, Amy wondered if this was her last moment on earth. Her biggest regret was not being able to say goodbye to her husband.

The moaning was now almost directly in front of her, the smell of decay overpowering her senses. Something told her if she reached out she would touch dead flesh.

She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Suddenly there was a load crash and then arms grabbed her. Amy opened her eyes in shock as she realised the arms had come from behind her, not in front.

Light flooded from behind her and she saw what had been coming after her. The zombie was, or at least had once been, a woman. Its milky white eyes stared hungrily at Amy, whilst its mouth, covered in dried blood, open and closed as if it was already eating the flesh it was after.

It wore a sunshine yellow dress with a flower print over it and flat-soled slip on shoes covered its feet. What surprised Amy more than anything was the dress was almost brand new. With the amount of blood covering the things face there was no way it wouldn’t have got even a splatter on the dress. That freak must be changing its clothing, Amy summarized.

The zombie lurched forward, and Amy screamed in pain and fear as she was pulled backwards towards the light. The zombie, who wasn’t fully at the top of the stairs, swiped a hand at Amy and missed by mere centimetres, however the movement caused the zombie to over-balance and it fell forwards, its face smacking wetly off the floor. It looked up and its eyes locked back on Amy, who was now lying on top of Oliver in the corridor, and started to crawl forwards.

Amy was on her feet in seconds. She made a grab for the door handle in the hope she could close the door in time, however as she reached for it another hand grabbed her wrist. She followed the arm up until she was looking into the face of Marcus.

“Come come, you were so desperate to open the door, why close it now?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Let me go you freak!” demanded Amy.

Marcus backhanded Amy across the face, whilst still holding her wrist in his left hand. As she started to fall back he pulled her towards him and grabbed her cheeks between the thumb and fingers of his right hand, squeezing them tightly and causing her lips to pucker up like a fish.

“You had to cause all this trouble didn’t you?” he spat, pulling her face close to his.

Amy swung her left fist and hit Marcus with a blow to the face. He barely flinched, but the anger was clear in his eyes.

“Bitch!” he hissed and thrust Amy backwards, letting go with both hands. She stumbled and fell over Oliver who was just getting to his feet.

“Any bastard can pick on a woman,” Oliver said getting back to his feet. “Let’s see how you do against someone who can fight back.”

Oliver pounced on Marcus and they started to grapple, fingers interlocked with each other, trying to force the other man’s hands into an uncomfortable position that would give them the advantage.

All this time the undead woman, who had once been Marcus’s wife, had crawled closed to the extra meat it now sensed. Amy, who had been dazed by both the slap and the fall, was sat on the floor watching the two men wrestle, suddenly turned as she felt a hand grab her ankle. She let out a panicked yelp and started shaking her leg in an attempt to keep the hand away.

Oliver turned briefly at the sound and gave Marcus the edge. He quickly pushed forward and kicked out at Oliver’s leg. Oliver stumbled backwards trying to keep his balance. It would have worked except he backed straight into Amy and toppled backwards whilst still holding Marcus’s hands tightly. The two of them landed full on Amy and the three of them ended up in a tangled heap of bodies.

In the split second the three of them lay there, before the first one could act, there was a scream and an arc of blood shot into the air.

~~~

John pounded furiously on the wall. He knew that somewhere was the trigger switch that would open the door, he just couldn’t find it. If he had more time he would have methodically been able to search the whole area, but a quick glance over his shoulder told him he didn’t have the luxury of time.

The undead were still pouring up the outer fence and pilling up against the inner one. As John looked on a single zombie stumbled up the pile of squirming bodies and fell over the inner fence. Luckily for John, the corpse’s clothing caught on the barbed wire running across the top of the fence and it hung there, arms outstretched, vainly reaching out to him.

From what John could see he had three options; firstly stay where he was and hope he could find the switch to open the door before the undead got him. Secondly head for the helicopter and lock himself in, and hope that his friends would be able to rescue him. Thirdly try to hide round the back of the building and again hope his friends noticed him missing and went to help him.

He dismissed the second option almost as soon as he thought it. There would be no way the helicopter could survive an assault by so many undead, and if the helicopter was damaged there would be no way anyone could leave the compound.

John looked over his shoulder again just in time to see two more zombies fall over the inner fence. This time neither got caught on the barbed wire. They hit the ground hard and started to crawl towards John.

Well that gets rid of option one then, he thought to himself, as he hit the wall one last time.

The two crawling zombie were now followed by a several more who had made it over the pile pressed up against the fence. In fact the sheer weight of undead bodies against the inner fence was causing it to buckle. It wouldn’t be long until it gave in and fell forward at which point John would really be in trouble. If he could be rescued whilst there were only ones and twos getting in he stood a chance of getting out of this alive. It may even be possible to draw the pile of undead along the fence and so thin out the number that was pushing at the same point.

John checked his gun, making sure the safety was off and the magazine loaded, and ran to the corner of the building. He fired off a two shoots at the two closest zombies, hitting both in the head and dropping them instantly. He knew the zombies would follow him round the back of the building, so if he could get them to follow him in one large group instead of smaller numbers he would have a better chance of avoiding them.

There were now around twenty zombies inside the compound, all heading his way. He shoot at the lead one, putting it down for good, then once the others were no more than six feet from him, he ran down the side of the building to the next corner.

After a couple of seconds the first of the group rounded the corner and started walking down towards him. Behind John, outside of the outer fence, the few zombies who had yet to make their way round to the hole in the fence moaned at him and doubled their efforts to get in. John hoped that their moans would bring some of the zombies that were currently piled up against the inner fence this way, thus taking some pressure off the section of fence they were pressed up against.

John anxiously waited by the corner of the building until, once again, the group that had followed him was no more than six feet away, then sprinted down the back of the building until he reached the next corner.

He glanced round the last corner and breathed a sigh of relief. The way was still clear and he could also see the tail of the helicopter, which meant that most of the mob must be following him. If he could make it to the next corner without being discovered he could buy himself some more time, and hopefully be found by those inside.

The group of undead were only a few paces behind him now so he ran for the final corner. He reached it and stuck his head round, straight in the undead face of an old man. Only his automatic reflexes saved him from having his nose bitten off as the zombie lunged at him.

Shit, he thought as put a bullet in the zombies head and backed away from the edge. From what he had seen in his quick glance, there were only a half dozen of them round the corner, but they were all heading his way. Along with the twentyish strong mob behind him and more coming into the compound every few minutes, he would find himself overrun pretty damn quickly.

From what he could see there were only two options left now, either head out towards the helicopter and get trapped at the front of the building, or head back behind the building and try to deal with the mob whilst praying nothing else came for him.

He probably still had a dozen shots left for his weapon and a full magazine of fifteen rounds left in his pocket.

There must be some sort of tool in the helicopter I could use as a weapon, he thought. There were few enough zombies currently at the front that he could avoid them, make his way to the helicopter and search around for something to use as a weapon. Then if he could get back behind the building and avoid the attention of the large group trying to get over the fence he could hold out for a while.

Having made up his mind that this was the way he could survive for longest, he took one last deep breath and ran towards the helicopter, ready to shoot anything that came to close to him.

~~~

Amy winced as she tried to stand. The pain in her twisted ankle had increased tenfold. First she had banged it again when Marcus had thrown her to the floor, then she had twisted it further when Marcus and Oliver had fallen on her, then… then…

“I’ve been bitten,” she whispered, the words barely escaping her dry lips.

She looked up and saw the undead creature, chewing its mouthful of flesh mere centimetres away. As if noticing its meal was aware of what was happening the zombie reached out for another bite.

Amy pulled her foot out of the way, hot pain shooting up her leg causing her to gasp in discomfort.

She kicked out with her good leg and her heel landed hard in the centre of the zombies face. Its head jerked back but that didn’t stop it trying for seconds.

Scrabbling back on all fours, fighting through the pain the whole way, Amy was able to put a few feet of distance between her and the creature. It was only when she had a few seconds of breathing room she noticed that Marcus and Oliver were struggling with each other again; locked in a bad example of a wrestling match.

In the few seconds she had been distracted the zombie had closed the gap and was once again almost on her. Reaching out, it went to grab her leg again, and would have if Amy hadn’t started waving her legs out of reach.

Like a cat after a piece of string, the zombie waved its arms every time Amy moved her legs until one lucky swipe caught Amy’s bitten leg, causing her to howl in pain.

Oliver, who up until this point hadn’t had anything other than to hurt Marcus on his mind, glanced over his shoulder at the sound. The realisation of what was happening hit him about the same time as Marcus did.

The blow wasn’t hard, but connected well enough to drive Oliver back a few steps, giving Marcus room to escape. He wasted no time in heading towards the roof access. The lock on the door was key-coded so he would be safe up there to catch his breath. Plus he know there was a weapon up there he could use to end this fight once and for all. It didn’t bother him that there was another one of them on the roof either. He had bested him once, and would do so again.

Oliver ran after Marcus but reached the roof door just as it closed. He heard the lock snapping into place and instantly knew there was no way he would be getting through the door any time soon, at the moment though he had more important things to worry about. He headed back to Amy who was still trying desperately to keep her legs away from the grasping hands of the zombie.

Getting behind the creature, Oliver grabbed the back of its dress in both hands and pulled. The thing was surprisingly light and Oliver ended up throwing it much further than he had expected. It landed on its back just outside the door to the basement. Weakly, it climbed to its feet and Oliver charged.

He lowered his shoulder and hit the zombie right in the centre of its rotten chest. Balance lost, it tumbled backwards and disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell.

“Stay here and keep an eye on the doorway,” Oliver ordered Amy. “I’m going to find something that will put it down for good. Shout out if you see it coming back up.”

With that Oliver headed into the kitchen. Pulling out draws and opening cupboards, he searched for something to use as a weapon. He rejected several items, such as pots and frying pans until settling on a large carving knife. He tested the sharpness of the knife against his finger and was surprised at how sharp it actually was. Sucking at the cut on his finger, he made his way back to Amy, who hadn’t moved since he left.

The sound of slow footsteps could be heard coming from the dark basement, accompanied by the rattle of the chain that hung from around the zombie’s neck.

“I hate to do this to you Amy, but I need to stay there a little longer,” Oliver said. “I’m going to wait just round the corner. When it comes for you I’ll jump out and finish it once and for all.”

Amy nodded dumbly, her eyes momentarily looking up from her bitten ankle. The realisation of the situation had finally fully hit her. There was nothing to be done now. In a matter of hours, maybe a day, she would be one of those things. It would be her that Oliver would be finishing once and for all.

She paid no attention to the zombie as it reached the final step and started shambling towards her, nor did she bother to take any notice as Oliver sprang out and buried the carving knife deep into its left ear.

The ghoul collapsed to the floor, its remaining light extinguished. Oliver removed the knife and wiped the blade clean on the zombie’s flower patterned dress. It was a good weapon and not something just to be discarded after one use.

“Come on Amy, time to go.”

“Not this time Oliver,” replied Amy sadly and pointed to her leg. “This isn’t just a scratch, it’s a bite.

“Damn,” replied Oliver.

His attention was drawn away from Amy as he heard someone walking down the steps from the roof. Oliver brought the knife up, ready to fight to the death if necessary, as the door slowly opened.

~~~

Marcus ran up the stairs and out in to the slowly fading daylight. The horizon to the east was already beginning to darken in the late autumn evening, an orange sunset out to the west.

But Marcus wasn’t here to enjoy the view. He knew there was a gun up here somewhere. All he needed to do was find it and then he would be in control.

He paused after a few steps. Something was wrong. Something was out of place but he just couldn’t work out what.

There’s no body.

The body of the other man was missing. Marcus spun quickly, expecting to see Matt coming up behind him, but the roof was still empty. Where could he be?

I know.

Marcus walked over to the edge of the building, looked out over his estate and cursed. There were around a fifty zombies milling around in the grounds, mostly hanging around where they had fallen over the crowded fence, although it seemed most were heading to the back of the building. Curious as to why, Marcus walked that way.

You’ve forgotten why you’re up here, haven’t you?

As Marcus walked towards the other edge something at the back of his mind made him pause for a second. This was all the time Matt needed to act. He burst out of the radio hut and charged Marcus, arms outstretched. Marcus turned just as Matt’s hands closed around his throat. The momentum he had built up, and Marcus failing to react in time, carried the two men towards the edge of the building.

Finally Matt came to a halt, no more than a few centimetres away from the edge, his arms at full stretch in front of him, still tightly clamped around Marcus’s throat. Marcus was held out over nothing, his feet barely making contact with the lip of the buildings edge, his body diagonal to the ground. His hands gripped Matt’s wrist tightly, knowing they were all that was keeping him from falling to his almost certain death.

“I’ve been a lot of things in my time,” growled Matt, his voice sending chills up Marcus’s spine. “A husband, a father, a son, a worker, a drinker and once, even a killer. Some of those things I’ll never be again and others, maybe in time. But there is one thing I am going to be right now, can you guess which?

“I’m sorry,” gasped Marcus painfully through his almost closed throat.

“I… don’t… care!” replied Matt.

Do it.

“But… but…” stammered Marcus.

Do it. Kill me. I deserve it.

“Nothing you can say will stop this. Just accept your death with humility you bastard.”

As Matt opened his hands and let Marcus fall he saw an almost unperceivable flicker in Marcus’s eyes. And as he fell, he wasn’t sure but he thought he heard a voice similar to, but not exactly like Marcus’s.

“Thank you.”

~~~

The roof door opened and Oliver almost lunged forward, but stopped himself just in time.

“Whoa there!” said Matt, holding up both hands in a surrender motion. “It’s only me.”

“Sorry mate, the last person I saw go up there was Marcus. Is he still up there?” asked Oliver.

“No,” replied Matt, turning away so as not to look at Oliver. “He was crazy. Tried to kill me and blow up the helicopter. There was a struggle on the roof. He tripped and fell over the edge. Even if he survived the fall the undead will get him.”

“Undead? How will they get him?”

“Have you not looked outside?” asked Matt, until he remembered. “Right, no windows. Well it seems when Marcus tried to destroy the helicopter he threw the grenade a little too far and it managed to create a point of entry in the fences for the zombies.”

“Shit! So what do we do now? The helicopter is our only way out of here and that’ll be surrounded by flesh eating bastards. There were thousands outside the fences”

“From what I saw from the roof there’s no more than a hundred out there. Most are spread out thinly with the exception of a large group that seem to be located at the back of this building for some reason. The good news is we could get to the helicopter without too much trouble. If it starts up quickly enough we’ll be away before they even know we are leaving.”

“Why should we leave?” asked Oliver. “The building is still secure and there is food enough to last us months.”

“Then what?” replied Matt. “Sure we can hold out here a while but in two weeks the hundred zombies out there will become thousands. We have a way out now, sure it means leaving behind some great stuff but we won’t be trapped. As soon as that helicopter is cut off, we have no way out of this prison.”

“Ok, point taken. Let’s get a move on then.”

“What about John?” asked Amy, who was still sitting on the floor.

“He came down about twenty minutes ago,” replied Matt, looking confused. “He said he was going to get our bags from the helicopter. It was right before… oh no.”

“What?” asked Oliver and Amy at the same time.

“It was right before Marcus threw the grenade. If he’s not in here he must be out there. That’s why there were so many of them things round the back.”

“Maybe he took shelter in the helicopter. Maybe he’s waiting for us right now,” said Oliver.

“Or maybe he brought us the time we need to escape. Look I know it’s harsh to say but this is going to be our only chance of escape. Now, whilst the main group is round the back. If we wait too long they’ll eventually come back round to the front and more are coming over the fences all the time. If we don’t leave now we never get another chance.”

“You’re right, I know,” said Oliver. “It’s just… well… it’s John, you know?”

“I know, but like with Kurt, we’ll have time to grieve later. Come on Amy, let me help you up.”

“I’m not coming,” replied Amy, pointing to her ankle. “There’s nothing you guys can do for me now.”

Matt crouched down next to her and had a quick look at the bite mark. It had already started to turn a dark purple colour, the surrounding veins a mix of black and brown and a clear jelly like liquid was seeping out of the broken skin.

“I’m so sorry Amy,” breathed Matt. He lifted his shirt a little to reveal the handle of his retrieved gun. “Do you want me too…?”

“No,” replied Amy. “There’s a chance John is still alive somewhere. He may come back and I could get to spend my final moments with him. Or maybe in death we will find each other again and wander this building together forever.”

“If you’re sure?” said Oliver.

“Yeah, I am. Although it would have been nice if you had tried to talk me out of it, just a little,” Amy said, smiling weakly.

Matt nodded, smiling back and patted her slowly on the shoulder before standing up and walking off. Oliver leant over, gentility kissed her forehead and whispered goodbye, before walking off to join Matt.

He chastised himself for not feeling worse. How he reacted to Kurt’s death and how he was reacting now were polar opposites. He tried to convince himself that it was the situation he was in and the limited time frame he had to get out of this place with his own life, but deep down he knew, loathed as he was to admit it, that he no longer cared about life. That scared him, but what was worse was looking into Matt’s eyes and seeing the same thing.

But this wasn’t the time to reflect on where he was in life; right now they needed to get out.

“Ok,” said Oliver. “The door to this building isn’t that far from the helicopter but I have no idea if the helicopter is still locked. I’m hoping John managed to make it there and unlock it. If not we’ll have a hell of time trying to find him and get the keys back.”

“There’s no way to break in?” asked Matt.

“I guess we could put the window in, but I’ll be honest, I have no idea how that’ll affect my ability to fly it.”

“Then that’ll be a last resort option. Now let’s go see what we need to do to get out of here.”

~~~

John had reached the helicopter with little trouble. The key was already in his hand a few feet before he reached it. The undead were spaced out enough for him to easily manoeuvre round most of them and push away any that got too close.

He knew it would be harder on the way back. The main group that had been following him had now come round from the back of the building and had started after him, picking up stragglers along the way.

John got the door open and did a quick search of both the cab and the back seat but there was nothing of any use in killing the undead.

He had all but given up hope until he noticed a small hatch at the back of the helicopter.

“The helicopters own car boot,” he said to himself, whilst praying the door key also opened the hatch.

Luck was on his side and the door sprung open. There wasn’t much inside, just a few odd looking screwdrivers, a flair gun with a couple of spare flairs and four high-visibility vests. However John’s smile got a lot wider as he moved the jackets to find a very large, very heavy spanner.

He picked it up and weighed it thoughtfully in his hands. It had to be at least five kilograms in weight and no more than two foot in length, the handle big enough for both his hands to comfortably fit around and swing it like a bat.

To test this theory he walked up to the nearest zombie and swung the spanner at its head. The spanner head connected perfectly with the zombie’s temple, whipping its head violently to the side. There was a loud crack as the zombie’s neck snapped and its skull caved in. It dropped to the floor, black liquid seeping out of the massive split along its head. It didn’t move or get up again.

Three more swings and another two zombies lay unmoving on the ground. Sweat was starting to drip down his neck and back. Although the spanner was easy enough to wield, it soon started to get heavier the more he swung it. It was by no means a permanent solution to his problem, but it might just help him delay the almost inevitable for long enough.

He made his way back behind to the building, following the same route he had done the first time. The large group of zombies that had been following him towards the helicopter turned and started to head back behind the building too.

He dropped a few more undead on his way before coming to a halt at the back of the building. There were a few stragglers from the main group still lingering about, but a few more heavy swings and they too joined the ranks of the actual dead.

Unfortunately, as soon as they had seen him, the groaning had started, attracting the rest of the mob. As John finished off the last of the few, the first of the many started coming round the far corner. One or two at first, but then larger groups of ten and fifteen. They would reach him in seconds if he stayed where he was. He quickly glanced behind him seeing around twenty between him the helicopter, all heading in his direction. Twenty he could probably deal with, they were spread out thinly enough so easy to avoid, however it wouldn’t stay just twenty for long. Others would join the group and soon enough it would be impossible to avoid them all.

Checking his gun he counted the shots left. His gun would be used only when he could no longer swing the spanner, and he would count each shot making sure he knew when he only had one left.

“Come on them you fucks!” he yelled, “Don’t make me wait. Get over here so we can finish this.”

With the sound of a giant hand slapping the ground the body fell right in front of him. John, in a state of confusion and slight shock, wiped his cheek and looked at his hand; blood, red human blood.

A pained groan, barely distinguishable over the noise of the undead came from the body. John moved to it quickly.

“Marcus?”

John knelt down next to him, and Marcus slowly, painfully, moved his head to look at John, the agony clearly visible in his eyes.

“Marcus, what happened?”

Marcus’s lips trembled, but no sound emerged. John looked up to the roof but saw nothing.

“Please Marcus, I know you must be in incredible pain, but I need to know what happened. My wife and the others, are they ok?”

There was the faintest sound coming from Marcus, and John moved his ear as close to his mouth as possible.

“Sorry… I’m… so… sorry.”

“For what Marcus? Tell me what you’re sorry about,” pleaded John.

Suddenly, with seemly impossible resolve, Marcus grabbed Johns head in both hands and pulled it so his ear was pressed right up against his mouth, his lips brushing John’s skin as he spoke.

“They’re not dead,” he hissed. “He tried to kill them but he failed. Marcus failed.”

With that he let go of John’s head and let go of life. John checked his pulse to confirm and stood up. The undead were mere feet away now, and John backed up to put some more room between them, although now they were heading for Marcus’s body. That would buy him some more time.

Just as John was trying to understand the cryptic last words of Marcus, he heard a sound that made his heart stop for a second.

“Oh no! Fuck no,” he cursed. He turned to run, but bumped straight into a zombie that had been approaching from behind. There was several more closing in behind it.

“I really don’t need this, not right now,” he said as he swung the spanner.

~~~

Matt and Oliver ran down the thin corridor until they reached the outer door.

“I’ve no idea how many are going to be between us and the helicopter, so as soon as I open this door we need to make a decision,” said Matt. “Remember we need time to get there and get into the helicopter, which, without the keys, could be several minutes. If it looks too dangerous we stay here and come up with another plan. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” confirmed Oliver.

Matt gripped the door handle in his left hand whilst with his right he held up three fingers. Me mouthed “three, two, one” whilst lowering a finger each time. After “one”, he pushed the door open and both men looked out.

They were shocked to see only around twenty zombies in total between them and the helicopter. There were plenty more over by the fence, although most of them were heading to the far side of the building.

Matt pulled the door closed and looked at Oliver, who had a massive smile on his face.

“Ok, so we know we can make it to the helicopter without too much trouble, but we don’t know what we will need to do then,” said Matt.

“It’s open,” replied Oliver happily.

“How can you tell?”

“The rear hatch is open. The only way to remove the keys is to close and lock the hatch. As it’s open the keys must still be in the lock.”

“So let’s go then. No point in waiting.”

The two men burst out of the door and ran straight for the helicopter. The zombies between the men and their destination were spread out enough that they were easy to avoid. Matt kept his gun pointed at any he considered too close, but refused to fire a shot, saving his ammunition and also well aware the noise would bring the others to him like ants to sugar. Oliver still had his carving knife and slashed it at anything within arm’s length.

The two mean reached the helicopter at almost the same time. Matt ran round to the passenger side and tried the door: locked. He waited impatiently, keeping his weapon trained on the shambling undead who had decided to take an interest in him after all.

Oliver ran to the back of the helicopter and slammed the rear hatch shut. Just as he’d said the keys were still in the lock. He locked the hatch and pulled them free. Jogging quickly to the driver’s door he gave it an experimental tug, and to his pleasant surprise it opened.

He clambered in and rammed the keys into the ignition, before leaning over and opening Matt’s door. With both men in, and the doors closed, Oliver started the machine. The blades started slowly at first but quickly gained momentum, until they reached their maximum speed.

Oliver slowly raised the helicopter into the darkened sky.

“Where to mate?” he asked Matt.

“No idea. Maybe north? It’s getting colder and I reckon them things will move slower the colder it gets. Plus there are many small islands off the Scottish coast. One of them is bound to be free of the undead.”

“North it is then. We have to put down soon though; I’ve never been good at flying at night.”

~~~

Covered in black blood, bits of skull and rotten flesh, John staggered out from behind the building. His hair was slick with sweat, and clung to his face. He looked up just in time to see the blinking lights of the helicopter disappear into the night sky, becoming lost amongst the many stars. He had fought like a madman to reach them before they’d taken off, but there had just been too many of the undead.

He could barely lift his arms, his lungs hurt each time he took a breath and his legs didn’t want to move another step, but he already knew the zombies he hadn’t killed were grouping up behind him, ready to finish him off.

With one hand still holding the spanner and the other on the wall for support he staggered down the side of the building. He really needed to find the entrance, and fast, although he wasn’t so hopeful given that he couldn’t find the switch when he was fit and nowhere near under as much pressure as he was right now.

The darkness made it all that much harder. He was now looking for a hidden black brick, on a black wall, at night.

A smile appeared on his face and he started to giggle.

“All I need now is for it to start raining,” he thought to himself.

As if realising he had suffered enough, fate intervened. As John placed his hand against the wall for support again, it shifted slightly.

Instantly John seemed to regain his strength. He moved his hand slowly until he located the thinnest of gaps along the otherwise smooth surface of the building. He quickly, but carefully followed the line until it returned to where it started. He held his breath and pressed the rectangle shape he had just traced out.

There was an almost imperceivable click, and, after dropping the spanner, John’s free hand reached to the side searching for the handle to the concealed door. Again his luck held and after no more than a few seconds he found it.

He pulled on the door and was bathed in light from the tunnel. He quickly ducked inside, picking up the spanner before letting the door slam shut. John pulled the key out of his pocket and swiftly locked the door behind him.

Now, finally safe, he allowed himself a moment to rest. His back hit the wall and he slumped down, ending up in a heap on the floor. He felt tired, but knew he couldn’t sleep just yet.

He needed to take stock of the situation. His wife and friends and left him. He could forgive them for that. The must have known he was outside, and with the amount of undead now inside the compound even he found it hard to believe he was still alive.

Next up, he was trapped in a house, surrounded by undead, with no means of escape. He would need to search the house and make an inventory of food supplies.

Finally he would see if he could work the transmitter on the roof. Maybe he could get someone to come rescue him, maybe even get in contact with Amy, Matt and Oliver, let them know he was still alive.

Fighting against his bodies desire to just stop moving for several hours, he pushed himself to his feet, and on weary legs started down the winding corridor. He reached the hatch leading into the house and climbed up. As he reached the top the unmistakable stench of decayed flesh reached him. Almost immediately his fatigue was replaced with awareness. He tightly gripped the spanner handle and edged slowly forwards. As soon as he saw the scene in front of him he dropped the spanner and collapsed on the floor with a whimper, the last reserves of stubborn resistance gone.

The body of a zombie lay sprawled on the floor, the split in its head proof it would no longer prove to be a threat, however what had caused John his pain was the sight of his wife, propped up against the wall, unmoving.

Tears streamed from his eyes as John clawed his way along the floor, unable to even stand, until he reached Amy. He saw the bite mark on her leg almost instantly, and let out a frustrated scream. Checking her over, he saw it was the only wound she had. Seeing as it was a long way from the heart, and the brain he guessed she would have a while yet until she turned completely, although she was non-responsive to anything John could do to try to wake her

She was breathing, albeit very shallow, short breaths. Her skin was cold to the touch yet she was sweating as if she was basking in the midday sun.

John propped himself up against the wall next to his wife and slipped his arm around her. Her head fell onto his shoulder and she muttered something unintelligible.

“I love you too,” he said in return.

He shifted uncomfortably as something was pressing into his back. Reaching behind him he pulled the gun out of the back of his trousers. He removed the magazine and checked how many bullets were left. It came as no surprise to him that two remained in the magazine.

He wouldn’t waste one on himself just yet. Amy would want him to go as long as he could, and in this house, although he was trapped, he was secure.

He knew what he had to do, but wanted his wife to have dignity in her death. He considered the options. There was no way to bury her outside. Not only did he not have the time to dig a grave before his wife turned, he would be swamped by the undead the second he set foot out the door. He could just shoot her here and then throw her body off the roof, but there was no dignity in that. Eventually his eyes fixed on the open door in front of him, and the stairs leading down.

The basement! He may not be able to bury his wife, but he could put her in the basement and seal the door. It would be a burial of sorts. He slowly got to his feet, again ignoring the protests of his drained body, and picked his wife up. Again she mumbled something in her fever like state.

“We’re just going for a walk dear,” John replied, as he carried her to the basement door, gun held tightly in his hand.

~~~

Winter rolled in and the days got shorter. The temperature rapidly decreased and snow started falling as early as November. Every day John awoke and carried out a daily ritual. Climbing to the roof he would make his way round the back of the house and attract the attention of the zombie mob that was now inside the compound, which at one point he guessed was around a thousand. Once there was a large enough group around the back he quickly made his way through the house, down the entrance corridor and out the front door, which he made sure to prop open each time. He spent as long as possible killing as many of the undead as he could, until he was in danger of being swamped, at which point he would retreat back inside, go to roof and start again. He did the same thing three or four times a day, depending on how much light he had, and how tired he was after each cleansing.

He had to rely on hand weapons in order to fight; luckily on an extensive search of the house he found three very important rooms. The first was the pantry. There was enough tinned and dried food in there to last him at least a year even if he wanted three meals a day every day.

Secondly and as important, if not more so, was what could only be described as a tool room. It contained everything from garden tools, such as rakes, spades and forks, to hand tools, like hammers, saws and pliers. It was obvious that Marcus hadn’t been lying when he said he had been builder and an engineer in his past.

Finally he had discovered a small but well stocked room of books. There was everything from fiction and fantasy to cook books and DIY books. It filled his time when he wasn’t able to clean up the grounds.

It had been two weeks after first arriving when John started clearing out the undead, at which point there had been at least a thousand zombies inside the perimeter fence. He was only able to take out a few at a time before becoming swamped and having to retreat. As the weather got colder though, the zombies started become less active. Their already slow movements were reduced to a snail’s pace. Several mornings John woke to the sight of several hundred frozen undead outside the building. It made his job all that easier and within a few weeks of the first ground frost, John had all but cleared out the inner grounds, and soon after that he had pulled a knife out the last one’s head.

He next set to work on clearing the space between the fences. On his many searches of Marcus’s home he had come across the keys to the gates in the fences.

As soon as the inner gate had been opened the several hundred zombies that had been originally trapped made their escape; John had to start his hit and run routine all over again. It took a few more weeks, but John had become familiar with the ways that allowed for the most damage done in the least amount of time. Also the days were slowly getting longer allowing him a bit longer to complete his grisly work.

It was less than a month later before he had cleared the remaining zombies. Now came the hard part.

The fallen fence panel had to be put upright again and fixed in place in order to shore up the weak point of his defences. John had removed several doors from the interior of the house, and smashed a few chairs in order to get enough wood together to use as supports to push and hold the fence panel upright. Using the garden tools he had found, he dug a hole in the inner grounds and used the dirt to fill in the hole created by the exploded grenade, once again providing support to the support posts. Finally he had cut bits of wire from other fence panels, being careful not to compromise the integrity, and used them to shore up the larger holes in the panels nearest the explosion.

His work was occasionally hampered by an infrequent zombie, or group of zombies, who stumbled across his little hideaway, but they were quickly and easily dealt with.

By the time John had finished his work spring had started to set in. The days stayed lighter until six or seven in the evenings and there was less need to wear his large coat when venturing outside. The grounds outside the building and between the fences were zombie free. The fallen fence panel was back in place and although it wouldn’t hold up to any large scale attempt at entry, it would do its job at keeping out the majority of the undead.

There were still undead outside the fences, but they were nowhere near the numbers that John had seen when he’d first landed with his wife and friends what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was currently no more than a few dozen that had stumbled upon the building. Something told them there was a meal inside the black cube beyond the fences and they wanted to get to it, but at the moment they were nothing to worry about.

For now, and probably for the first time in a long time, John was happy to stay put and wait it out.

Epilogue

John awoke lazily, and stretched his weary limbs. He looked at his watch; it was a little after midday. With a sigh he begrudgingly climbed out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom. He showered quickly and walked back to his room drying himself on the journey.

He casually dressed, before making his way to the roof door. The locking mechanism had been removed without any finesse by use of a hammer, so the door swung open easily.

John made his way to the wooden shack on the roof, sat on the chair in front of the radio, flicked the necessary switches and picked up the mouthpiece. It had been trial and error on working the radio as Marcus had neglected to leave a user’s manual, but eventually John had worked out what he needed to do. At least he hoped he did. He could hear static coming from the speakers and knew it stopped when he pressed the ‘speak’ button on the handset, but he had no way of actually knowing if his messages were being sent through the airwaves.

He pushed the negative thoughts to the back of his mind and took a deep breath.

“My name is John Harris, calling any and all listeners. It is just before twelve thirty and I am doing my daily transmission to confirm I am real and this is not a recording. My position is safe enough and I have heat, food and warm showers. There is enough room within the grounds to land a helicopter if by some miracle you have one, or if you have a vehicle you should be able to drive right in, if you don’t mind running over a few zombies. I’ll be by my radio for the four hours or so in case anyone can get in touch. Ending my personal transmission.”

John sat back in the chair and pulled a hefty book out of the cupboard to his right. He flipped through the first pages until he came to his bookmark and started to read. The book was entitled ‘Patience, how you can get it’.

After four hours John put the bookmark between the pages he had been reading, closed the book and put it back in the cupboard.

He picked up the radio’s mouthpiece and once again addressed the wide world.

“This is John again, signing off for the day. Be back roughly same time as always tomorrow.”

He sighed as he dropped the mouthpiece on the desk and flicked the switches to silence the static of the machine.

He walked out of the shack and stood on the roof. The moaning from outside the compound was faint but still audible. The numbers were growing again. Maybe he should try another cull in the next few days.

He walked down the stairs, headed back inside and along to the gap that led down to the basement. He had removed the door as it was broken anyway, and wouldn’t close properly. He walked down the stairs past the metal gate which hug open at the bottom and stood staring into the darkness.

There was a groan followed by the rattle of chains. A finger brushed millimetres’ past John’s cheek.

“Don’t worry my dear,” he said to Amy, “Someone will rescue us one day. I promise.”

Jeff Robinson sat in the chair and waited for his inevitable death. In fact he wasn’t as much sat in the chair, as strapped in. Think leather fastenings were secured tightly round his ankles, thighs, wrists, arms and waist. He looked around the empty room, moving only his eyes as his head was held firmly in place by the metal cap tightly fixed to it. It reminded him of a room where prisoners on TV shows were taken just before receiving several thousand volts in the electric chair. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

In front of him was a huge mirror. He knew it was a two-way mirror, and right now he was damn sure he was being watched. He would have died happy if he could just move his hand so he could give the middle finger to whoever was behind it.

Other than the two doors in the room there was nothing of any interest to occupy Jeff’s mind. He glanced down at the floor. The view wasn’t inspiring. The white tiles had turned a light shade of pink around the vicinity of the chair.

It must be where spilt blood has stained the tiles, Jeff thought to himself.

He looked back at the mirror, hoping to stare out whoever was staring back at him, but all he succeeded in doing was staring at his own reflection. It also didn’t help that he could make out the faint red marks of blood smeared across the reflective surface.

Maybe I should have eaten the food, he thought.He knew it was drugged, but that could have been a good thing. It could have relaxed him, or made him so out of it he wouldn’t know what was happening.

Not long ago his life had been simple. Well, as simple as it can get in a world overrun with the walking dead. He had moved from town to town, taking what he needed, when he needed it, when he could find it. He stayed away from groups as much as possible. The more people there were together the greater the risk of being noticed.

Of course, he wouldn’t have been captured if there had been someone watching whilst he slept. Taken by a group of soldiers who Jeff was sure weren’t official military, he had been placed in a prison cell with dozens of other men. They all had the same story to tell, either captured in small groups whilst scavenging, or living in secure communities until the soldiers had come and rounded them up.

There were only a few things they knew about their situation. Firstly, the women and children were not being held with them, and none of the soldiers would divulge their whereabouts. Secondly, around twice a week, one of the men, seemingly selected at random, would be asked what he wanted as his last meal. Shortly after finishing the meal he would be taken away by the soldiers and never seen again. Thirdly, there was no escape.

A couple of men had refused the last meal, aware that it was laced with something because of the effect it had on whoever ate it, but that didn’t stop the soldiers taking them anyway. It just meant they had to be more forceful when dragging them off to whatever waited down the corridor. More forceful usually meant beating the unfortunate man with batons.

Jeff had been in his cell for around two weeks. Time held no meaning when you had no access to the means to tell it. He would sleep when it was dark and wake when told to.

Finally, they had come for him. He refused the meal out of protest, and hadn’t even struggled as they carried him off, although that hadn’t stopped several hits from a soldier’s baton when it was decided he wasn’t walking fast enough.

Now here he was, strapped to a chair, in a blood-covered room, awaiting his almost certain death by means unknown, and for reasons unknown.

He really wanted to give the finger to whoever was behind that mirror.

~~~~

“I hope you don’t disappoint me this time General.”

The speaker took a long draw of his cigarette before dropping the remains on the floor and grinding it under his heel. He wore a jet-black suit, with white shirt and black tie. He also wore black lens sunglasses. He had an air of importance about him, which made people aware he considered himself far more significant than anyone around him.

“The boys in the lab have assured me there will be some obvious effects this time, Sir.” replied General Baxter.

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence. An obvious effect doesn’t mean it’ll do what I asked for.”

“That’s true.”

“Turning them blue would be an obvious effect, but that doesn’t solve the problem of the walking dead.”

General Baxter laughed, stopping suddenly once he realised the man stood next to him wasn’t joking.

“Just get this farce over with so I can go back to more important matters,” the man said, his face emotionless.

The General pressed the button on the intercom in front of him and ordered the test to begin.

Both men watched as a soldier in a red biohazard suit entered the room carrying the large needled syringe that contained the serum V two-zero-four. He walked behind the man strapped to the chair and waited.

The general rubbed his chin, finding himself shocked at the amount of stubble on his face. He was so used to being clean-shaven. How long had it been now since he had deliberately looked in a mirror? Too long, that was for sure. He just couldn’t look at himself anymore. Two-zero-four. Two hundred and four people sacrificed for the sake of millions, provided there were that many people left alive in the world. Could it be there were only thousands left to save now, or even just hundreds? What if they found the solution only to discover there was no left to save.

It had been a necessity at first. He had fooled himself into thinking that they would find the solution after a few sacrifices. However you can only last so long until you realise that you are doing wrong and your guilt comes back to bite you in the ass.

The General was roused out of his thoughts by an irritated cough from the man next to him.

“Waiting on your signal, General.” said the man, with a little annoyance.

“Of course.” he replied.

General Baxter removed a walkie-talkie from his belt and pressed the call button. This was the only way to communicate with the soldier inside the biohazard suit.

“Commence experiment please.”

There was a nod from the man on the other side of the glass.

Both men had watched this dozens of times. Even though they hadn’t seen all two hundred and four tests, they were always the same. First was the swab on the back of the subject’s neck to clean the area of any possible infections, followed by the injection itself. The serum had to be pure when it entered the blood stream, without even the tiniest hint of dust, dirt or bacteria.

The soldier would then leave the room and three captured undead were let in. So far there had been no success. Each time the undead feasted on the subject and nothing happened to them except being exterminated by the soldiers afterwards.

The soldier who’d administered the injection had now left the room.

“Time to let our hungry guest’s in.” said General Baxter, this time into the room’s intercom.

A few seconds later three zombies were pushed through the second door via poles with ‘C’ shaped ends. They grasped ineffectually at their tormentors until they noticed the figure in the chair and started shambling towards the free meal.

General Baxter was impressed with the condemned man’s tenacity. He refused to scream for as long as possible, although as soon as one of the zombies ripped his ear of his head, along with a large flap of the surrounding skin, he screamed until his throat was torn out. Not for the first time General Baxter was relieved he was in a sound proof room and could only see the man opening his mouth wide, and not actually hear the noise.

It took just under 10 minutes for the zombies to devour almost all of the man. Once they had finished their meal they made their way over to the mirrored glass and vainly pawed at it. They had enjoyed the main course and now wanted the dessert on the other side.

After a few minutes of watching the undead beating on the glass, the man in the suit turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

“I am not pleased General.” he stated as he stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

The General continued to stare at the undead for a few minutes longer, hoping that something, anything, would happen. He was fast becoming an unnecessary resource. All this time spent on researching a successful means of mass elimination would soon be better spent sending men in the field to just hunt down and shoot the undead.

“Fuck!” he said to the room.

Once more he pressed the intercom on the wall.

“Three more to dispose of.”

Unlike the walkie-talkie the intercom went through to the rooms either side of the condemned mans cell, where right now, in one of them, three soldiers were waiting.

He knew what was coming next, and usually stayed to watch the zombie execution. It made him feel slightly better knowing the undead weren’t getting away with having a free meal.

As if on cue the three undead slowly turned round as the soldiers entered the room, guns drawn. General Baxter turned and started to walk out the room. As he reached the door he glanced back over his shoulder expecting to see a room with corpses laying on the floor, instead the three undead were still on their feet and shambling towards the soldiers.

The General ran through his mind what could be wrong. Each of the soldiers was armed with an MP5 and the chance of all three weapons jamming was highly unlikely. Plus each man carried a side arm, an extendable baton and a taser gun. Even if all those weapons failed on each of the soldiers, they were all highly trained in martial arts and could easily deal with three corpses or failing that they would be sensible enough to just leave the room.

With a mix of curiosity and annoyance, General Baxter marched over to the window to find out what was going on.

Of the three soldiers only one had his weapon pointed at the undead. He was down on one knee in front of the other two and swinging his gun back and forth; adjusting the height slightly each time he came to a zombie to ensure he had a clear head shot. The other two soldiers appeared to be arguing with each other.

The soldier pointing the gun was Private Bone. The two men arguing were Second Lieutenants Hawk and Griggs.

Hawk had his gun pointed at the floor and was frantically pointed at the undead, whilst mouthing words at Griggs. General Baxter was unsure if he was shouting or not.

Griggs pointed at the undead and started poking Hawk in the chest then several times in the head. Hawk backed off slapping Griggs’ hand away.

Griggs gave Hawk the middle finger and General Baxter could easily read his lips as he spoke.

“Fuck you Hawk!”

He turned from Hawk and joined Bone in pointing his gun at the undead, which were no more than a few steps from the trio of men. A look of relief crossed Bone’s face, glad of the extra support he now had.

Suddenly Hawk brought up his weapon and pointed it at Griggs. His right hand held the gun firmly, whilst with his left hand he pointed to the door. Griggs never moved his gun from the undead; he just glanced quickly to look at Hawk, before looking back at the undead. He mouthed something, which seemed to upset Hawk even more.

General Baxter could tell Hawk was now shouting, the veins in his neck standing out and spit flying from his mouth. He moved the gun closer to Griggs, almost poking him in the head with the barrel and once again pointed to the door. After a few tense seconds Griggs lowered his weapon and tapped Bone on the shoulder. The two men backed slowly out of the room finally followed by Hawk. A few seconds after the door closed the undead reached it. They scratched at the door, attempting to reach the soldiers now safely on the other side.

The General let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He turned and walked to the door, confusion now completely replaced by anger. He was damn sure he was going to find out why there were still three undead in the room, and why one of his trusted soldiers had firstly disobeyed an order and secondly almost committed mutiny.

~~~

As he stomped down the corridor General Baxter could hear raised voices, and knew it was Griggs and Hawk before he even saw them.

When he rounded the corner he saw the men at the end of the corridor. They were face to face, each trying to shout the other down. He couldn’t make out the exact words but each man seemed to be very stuck on his own opinion.

Private Bone was sat on the floor to one side, trying to stay out of the way. Every so often one of the men would turn to him, seemingly asking his opinion. He would just shrug or mutter something and the two men would go back to their argument.

As the General got closer he started to make sense of the noise and could actually hear the argument. Griggs was currently putting his point of view forward.

“…pressure has finally fucking got to you, man.” he yelled.

“I know what I heard. You heard it too, no matter how much you try to deny it.”

“I heard one of the bastard things groan, like they always do.” Griggs made his point whilst poking Hawk in the chest.

“I told you once before, get your hands off me.” Hawk yelled back, slapping Griggs’ hand away for a second time. “It wasn’t a groan. I know it, you know it and Boner knows it.

Private Bone looked up at the mention of his nickname, and saw General Baxter closing the gap down the corridor. He was on his feet in seconds and pulled off a textbook salute.

“General.” he announced. His back was straight against the wall, eyes staring straight ahead.

Hawk and Griggs took a second to realise what was going on, and just managed to come to attention as General Baxter stopped a few centimetres in front of them.

“I want to know what the fuck is going on right now soldiers, and I want to know in an organised way. The first man to speak when he hasn’t been instructed to will be on trench duty for the next month, do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, yes Sir.” the three soldiers all intoned together.

General Baxter paced back and forth in front of the three men. He wanted to make them realise he wasn’t happy, but also he was trying to decide whose story to hear first. He had a feeling, even with the threat of trench duty, Hawk and Griggs would find it hard to remain silent whilst the other spoke and so decided to go with the only other option.

“Private Bone, as the only man to not fully disobey my orders I want you to tell me what happened in there.”

Private Bone was still saluting and Baxter realised he hadn’t returned the salute.

“At ease Private,” he said. “Now in your own words, what happened?”

Private Bone relaxed a little.

“Well Sir, it started off routine. We went in and the Z’s started coming for us. They were groaning as always when they see a meal, but then Second Lieutenant Hawk lowered his weapon and told us he heard one of them talk.”

“Heard it talk?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Thank you Private Bone.” said Baxter, turning to look at Hawk.

“And just what did it say Hawk?”

“It said ‘hello’ Sir.” replied Hawk.

Griggs coughed, which sounded suspiciously like the word “Bull Shit”. General Baxter just glared at him.

“I see. Did it say anything else?” he asked, turning back to Hawk.

“No Sir. Just ‘hello’, Sir.”

“What happened next?” asked General Baxter, now turning his attention back to Private Bone.

“Well Sir, Griggs said it was nothing and went to fire. Hawk stopped him and they argued about it for a few seconds. When Griggs went to fire again Hawk turned his weapon on him and told us to leave the room or he would shoot. We left the room and shortly afterwards you arrived.”

General Baxter walked down the line of men and looked at Griggs.

“Is what Private Bones describes an accurate report Griggs?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And you didn’t hear the Z speak at all?”

“No Sir. Just groans as usual Sir.”

“You could check the video recording Sir,” said Hawk.

General Baxter side stepped over to Hawk.

“What did I say about speaking out of turn Hawk?”

“Sorry Sir, but you could check the video recording to prove what I’m saying. If you find out I’m lying Sir, I will volunteer for trench duty for the rest of the time I serve with you.”

General Baxter took a step back and studied Hawk intensely. He had known the man for some time now and had never had to discipline him before. Also no one would volunteer for trench duty if they had any doubt about what they were talking about.

He finally came to a decision. Walking up and down in front of the three men he explained what would happen.

“All three of you are confined to quarters until further notice. I shall check the tapes and make my own mind up.”

He stopped in front of Hawk and lowered his voice, just a fraction.

“But if I find out you are lying to me Hawk I will come up with a punishment that will make trench duty will seem like a day at the beach I promise you.”

Baxter turned and marched off down the corridor.

“Dismissed!” he shouted over his shoulder as he turned the corner.

~~~

A few days later General Baxter had gathered the four head scientists and the black suited man together in the main meeting room.

Five of the six men sat around a polished wooden table. The four scientists sat two each side of the table and General Baxter sat at the head. A portable TV hooked up to an old VCR sat in the space at the other end opposite the General. A tape sat half out of the VCR. The man in the suit stood in the corner of the room smoking a cigarette.

After everyone had got comfortable, and settled down, General Baxter stood up.

“Gentlemen, we have made a discovery. It seems serum V two-zero-four has had an effect on the undead. Now it’s not what we were expecting, but it could prove to be the turning point in winning this war.”

He started walking slowly around the table, hands clasped behind his back.

“I would like to show you the tape of what happened in yesterday’s final experiment. Now only Dr Blake and I have been present during the tests, but let me assure what you are about to see is one hundred percent real and a good example of what happened to each test subject.”

The statement was more for the benefit of the man in corner then the other three scientists. He was the one to impress, and at last General Baxter had a chance to do that.

“Dr Williams, Dr Zen and Dr Green, although you contributed work to each of the V serums, none of your work would be viable on its own. Only when the individual results are combined do we see a result, which is why I wanted you to be here. After seeing the results you may be able to improve it.”

He reached the TV and pushed the tape fully into the VRC player.

Quickly walking back to where he was originally sat General Baxter continued to the wall and turned the lights off. He sat back down and pressed the play button on a remote control. All eyes were on the TV screen, which jumped into life.

Static filled the small screen for a few seconds until a couple of black horizontal lines appeared followed swiftly by a black and white picture.

The angle of the shot showed the camera was positioned in the corner of a room, pointing down towards the centre.

In the middle of the image there was a female figure strapped into a chair. It became quickly obvious to the assembled men that the image shown was the room where the experiments took place. The main difference being, instead of a human strapped into the chair, it was in fact a zombie.

She was naked, her greying skin covered in dark black blotches. A large portion of her right hand side was missing, a couple of lower ribs clearly showing at the top of the gap.

“This Z is around 3 months old, from what we can tell.” said General Baxter. “We wanted to make sure that what was about to happen couldn’t be dismissed because the Z was recently deceased.”

Another figure appeared on the screen. He looked up at the camera and the group recognised him as Dr Blake, one of the four scientists sat around the table.

He glanced down at his watch then back up at the camera.

“This is Dr Blake,” the figure on the screen said. “It is now fourteen hundred hours, give or take a minute. This is our tenth test of serum V two-zero-four and if it is successful it will mean a continued one hundred percent success rate. We have used different ages, sexes and death ages to make sure of a statistically even spread.”

With that he turned away from the camera and walked towards the zombie strapped into the chair. Its sunken eyes followed the doctor as he walked whilst its mouth moved in a vain attempt to bite him, despite him still being several feet away.

“As you can see,” said Dr Blake, turning back towards the camera, “the subject is fully restrained and conscious, in its own way of course.”

The doctor moved out of the camera shot and a few seconds’ later two soldiers in red biohazard suits appeared. They were dragging a man between them. He wore a white, sleeveless jumpsuit and his mouth was covered by a gag, presumably to stop him screaming.

All over the jumpsuit were various belts and straps, which secured the man to two metal poles, one running vertically down his back, the other horizontally across his shoulders. The effect was to hold the man in a ‘T’ shape.

Although it was a futile effort the man still struggled as much as he was able.

“Please pause it there General.” said the suited man from the corner of the room.

The screen froze but for two wavy lines in the middle of the picture.

“Why wasn’t that man sedated? Or for that matter why wasn’t he secured to the chair?”

“Well Sir, the first time we saw the results of serum V two-zero-four the test subject had refused the drugged food. It’s possible this was a factor in its success. Secondly in order to properly examine the Z we need it to be secure after it has consumed the virus. It works out easier if it is secure from the start.”

“Very good General, please continue.”

General Baxter pressed the play button and the picture jumped back into motion. The soldiers continued to manhandle the struggling man towards the zombie. When they were just a few feet away one of the soldiers gripped the condemned mans wrist, whilst walking behind the seated zombie. Once there was a soldier either side of the zombie they moved the held mans arm towards the zombie’s waiting mouth.

As soon as it was able the zombie took a massive bite from the arm, just below the elbow.

A couple of the scientists watching the video winced at the sight of freshly torn flesh and muscle. Blood dripped from the ragged hole and the zombie’s mouth simultaneously, pooling around the chair legs.

Even though he was gagged the cries of the man could clearly be made out in the silence of the room.

The zombie went back for another bite, followed by another. It chewed its way up and down the arm as much as its restrained head would allow, like it was eating corn on the cob. Every few bites the soldiers would move the arm a little to the left or right so uneaten flesh was exposed to the zombie.

By the fourth bite the man still had not passed out despite there being hardly anything left of the arm, except a hand attached to the lower half of the elbow by a bone and a few bits of flesh.

The front of his white jumpsuit was covered in yellow vomit that had soaked through the man’s gag, mixing with the splattered blood from his all but destroyed arm.

Choking on the bile trapped in his mouth the man finally passed out as the zombie took a few last bites of the remaining flesh.

The unconscious mans limp body was dragged off screen by the two soldiers as the zombie chewed its final mouthful of flesh.

The image of General Baxter appeared on the screen. He slowly walked up the restrained zombie and stopped a few feet in front of it, hands crossed in front of his chest.

“Hello.” he said.

The zombie carried on chewing, but looked up.

“Do you know where you are?” he continued.

“Give it a few more minutes General,” said Dr Blake from off camera.

Finally the zombie finished chewing and continued to stare at General Baxter.

Nothing happened for several minutes, and then its eyes cleared slightly and it spoke.

“Where am I?” asked the zombie. The voice was croaky and gruff, spoken through dry, cracked lips, but also monotone and flat.

There was a collective gasp from the other three scientists watching the video. They started talking amongst themselves and trying to question Dr Blake.

“Silence!” ordered the suited man.

“You’ve been attacked my dear.” continued the on screen General. “Do you remember?”

“Have you seen my husband or children?” the zombie continued, either ignoring the question or not hearing it. It started to look around the room.

“Do you miss them?”

“No. They were with me a few minutes ago. We were running from a man for some reason.”

“Can you tell me your name?” asked the General.

It didn’t answer; she just kept looking around the room.

“Look at me!” ordered the General.

The zombie’s head snapped round to look at the General.

“Good. Now, tell me your name.”

“Jane.” said the zombie. “My name is Jane.”

“How do you feel Jane? Are you hungry at all?”

“No. Not hungry. Not anything. Why am I naked? What’s happening?” Even though it asked questions its voice didn’t change, as though it wasn’t actually interested in the answer.

The zombie started shifting around against it restraints.

“Please sit still Jane. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Don’t be scared”

Jane sat still.

“I’m not scared.” She said. “I don’t feel anything.”

The General turned away from Zombie Jane and made a cutting motion across his throat. Seconds later the TV screen filled with static before going black.

General Baxter stood up and switched on the lights. Almost immediately the scientists all started talking at once.

“Gentlemen, if could please be patient a little longer we will answer any questions soon. First Dr Blake will explain what he believes is happening here.”

The three scientists quietened down a little but continued to whisper to each other as Dr Blake stood up.

He was a middle-aged man with a horseshoe of white hair around the top of his head. Small half circle glasses sat on the end of a wide nose. Like the other three scientists he wore a long white lab coat with a few pencils sticking out of his left breast pocket.

He shuffled some papers in front of him and cleared his throat.

“General, esteemed colleagues and… erm…”

Dr Blake had nodded at each of the people as he spoke until he came to the man in the black suit.

The man took a long draw on the fresh cigarette he was now smoking.

“You may refer to me as Agent Carter.” he said, blowing the smoke out in one long breath.

“Very well.” said Dr Blake. “General, esteemed colleagues and Agent Carter, as you are aware we have been working for several months on a antivirus that will kill the dead virus that reanimates dead tissue and has lead to this plague of walking corpses. Well it seems we have been wasting our time.”

Once again there were some whispered questions between the three other scientists. Dr Blake continued, talking over them.

“Our original plan was to create a virus that we would inject into a live subject. The virus would work its way through the blood stream, into the oxygen and work its way to the brain. There it would develop a taste for brain tissue. Shortly after this we would somehow transfer it into the undead, preferably not via a bite, although that was how we first started. Now we wanted to develop this virus with a low tolerance to the human immune system, so that it could last an hour, maybe two in the human body before it was destroyed. This way any human infected with the new virus would suffer no ill effects, but seeing as the dead have no immune system that we know of, any virus that entered their system would have nothing to stop it.”

“But the dead have no blood flow Doctor. How would the virus move around an undead body?” asked Agent Carter.

“Good question. Once the virus found a taste for brain tissue in the original host’s body it would seek it out automatically if it entered a new body. There is still a blood like liquid in the undead body and veins to carry it, so the virus would still have a way to the brain. In basic terms it would walk down the highway instead of hitching a lift. It’s why we need to use live subjects to start with. If the virus was injected into a dead body it may not find the brain.”

“I see. Please continue.”

“Thank you. This new virus would attack the undead brain until eventually it had destroyed enough of it to render the victim officially dead, for as we know the only way to put a zombie down for good is to destroy the brain. Now what we have discovered, thanks to the recent tests, is that the virus that causes the dead to rise is in fact more of a parasitic virus. It actually takes over the host as opposed to killing it. For what end we do not yet know. Our new virus, V two-zero-four, decided it preferred the taste of parasite to brain tissue and started only attacking the parts of the brain directly controlled by it. Due to this we have discovered that the consciousness of the original host is not destroyed when they become these zombie creatures. Instead it seems it is simply pushed back into an area of the brain and lays dormant, in an almost coma like state.”

Dr Blake held for dramatic purposes and it paid off, as there were more gasps from one or two of the assembled scientists.

“Eight of the ten subjects we tested had no memory of being attacked, becoming zombies or their time as a zombie; however the other two could remember everything.”

Once again he paused, this time there were a few cries of dismay.

“Do you mean they were consciously in control?” asked Dr Green.

“No Dr Green. In their own words they could see and hear what was going on but had no control over their own body. They were like the passenger in a car, unable to affect the driver in anyway.”

“Do we know why those two had a different experiences to the others?” asked Dr Zen

“Again, no. It may just be they had a stronger will power than the others. Maybe they refused to accept they were dying after they were bitten. Maybe the parasitic virus wasn’t as pure in their bodies as others.”

“Wasn’t as pure?” asked Agent Carter.

“From what I have surmised, the parasite needs several weeks to fully control a host depending on the body and amount of infection. Imagine a single small bite on a healthy host. He or she would turn into a zombie in maybe twenty-four to forty-eight hours. This is the parasite taking control. Once in control it needs time to fully develop. Now if the host takes a bite out of someone else as soon as it has turned then some of the parasite is transferred into a new host. The old parasite needs to regenerate. It’s like giving blood. You can only do it once every few weeks, as you need time to make new blood. It’s why I believe some zombies are able to use basic tools, or why several will congregate in certain areas. We always just assumed it was a base memory, but it could in fact be the original hosts trying to assert some control again.”

“So those who remember their time as a zombie could have been bitten by a recently animated corpse, and so the parasite was in effect still growing,” said Agent Carter.

“Exactly Agent Carter. The body was strong enough to try to fight back but still ultimately lost. However the parasite wasn’t strong enough to fully subdue the consciousness.”

“Let me see if I have this correct,” said Agent Carter, walking to table and leaning on it. He looked Dr Blake in the eyes. “We inject a living subject with a virus, which attacks brain matter. This virus is then transferred into an undead subject. The virus destroys the part of the undead brain that is under the influence of a parasitic virus, allowing the original host to re-emerge and once again control their own actions.”

“Essentially, yes.” replied Dr Blake, a smile on his face. “Although now we know the virus works, I shall be working on a way to transfer it from the host to the undead without the need to sacrifice any more living beings. The only side effect is the re-born human is like an empty shell. No emotions of any kind. They care for, and about nothing and have no needs or desires. They don’t even have any basic concept of hot or cold. But they do seem to obey any order they are given. This may have something to do with the parasitic virus eliminating the part of the brain that controls independent thought, however without more research it is only a theory at the moment.”

Agent Carter stood up and slowly walked to the door.

“Gentlemen, ask your questions.” he said to the other scientists. “General Baxter, please come with me.”

With that agent Carter left the room.

As General Baxter followed him he heard the scientist fire their barrage of questions at Dr Blake and was glad he didn’t have to sit and listen to the long winded, and no doubt confusing, answers.

“If the virus is located in the brain how does it transfer to the undead through a bite to any other part of the body?”

“What happened to the ten test subjects and the people who were bitten in order to transfer the new virus?”

“If the virus can only be stopped by the immune system will these resurrected people be able survive it?”

~~~

General Baxter followed agent Carter down the corridor into another meeting room. Neither man spoke as they walked. As they entered the room Agent Carter sat down at the small table and gestured for the General to join him.

“I know it’s not exactly what you wanted Sir, but it’s a start,” said General Baxter.

“General it’s better than I could have hoped for. Your scientists have just given me a way to create almost invincible soldiers,” replied Agent Carter.

General Baxter looked at the man in confusion. For the first time he could remember, Agent Carter was smiling and it wasn’t a nice sight. It reminded him of a shark about to eat its prey.

“I’m not sure I follow you Sir.” General Baxter said.

“It’s simple; we infect a few of our best soldiers with the zombie virus, or parasite if that’s what you want to call it, then cure them with the vaccine. We then have a group of soldiers who can only be killed by a headshot. They won’t be scared to walk into a zombie infested town and since they’re undead the zombies won’t attack them. They can simply kill them all without danger. Add to that there is no need to feed or water them, they don’t get tired or feel the heat or cold, hell they have no feelings whatsoever and obey without question. Soon we’ll have destroyed every undead in this area, then the State and eventually the country. We finally have our super soldiers General.”

“But Sir, with what we now know how can we possibly kill these…these… infected people? The fact that they are still alive inside those bodies changes everything.”

Agent Carter shot to his feet and slammed his hands hard on the table.

“It changes nothing!” he roared.

In the space of a few seconds General Baxter had seen Agent Carter go from smiling to showing pure rage. It was a shock, as he had never seen him show any emotion at all before today.

“The undead almost rule this world and it is time we took it back,” continued Agent Carter, slightly calmer now. “This now gives us an edge we didn’t have before. We have just evened the playing field.”

“I can’t condone this new course of action Sir. We have the means to help these people. We can cure the world.”

“You surprise me General. I seem to recall a time, not too long ago, when you said you would be willing to sacrifice every man, woman and child to end the zombie menace.”

“Yes I did say that, and I stand by it, but we now have a way to end it without sacrificing anymore people. In fact we can end it and save lives at the same time.”

“This is war General, and in war there are casualties. As far as I’m concerned those people are already dead.”

Agent Carter started pacing back and forth in front of General Baxter.

“How many of them do you think will thank you if they have to live the rest of their lives with the memory of killing and eating their families and friends? How many will be happy to live with bite marks all over their bodies or even large parts of themselves missing?”

He stopped pacing and placed both hands back on the table, leaning into the Generals face and staring into his eyes.

“How do you think the living survivors will react to being asked to share their world with the very killers who forced them to fight for their right to live?”

General Baxter met Agent Carters gaze and slowly rose to his feet.

“You said it yourself; the ones we bring back will have no emotions at all. It may be harsh but they won’t care for their dead friends or family and they won’t have any feelings about the shape of their bodies. And as for the living, well, they will just have to adjust to these new events, as we all will Agent. The human race is very adaptable. We adjusted to this current situation, in time we will learn to adjust to a new one”

With that the General turned around and started to walk away.

“I will not help you kill these people if we can save them, not anymore.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way General. But I’m sure I can change your mind.”

“I very much doubt that Agent. You see…”

The General was unconscious before he hit the ground

Agent carter slipped the taser back in his pocket and stood over the Generals body.

“In fact General Baxter I promise you I can change your mind.”

~~~

General Baxter slowly opened his eyes and looked into the face of Agent Carter, who stood a few feet away from him. He realised he was strapped into a chair.

“Welcome back General Baxter,” said Agent Carter. “How do you feel?”

“I feel… I feel nothing,” replied General Baxter flatly.

“Do you know me General?”

“Yes, you are Agent Carter.”

“Correct. Do you hate me?”

“No.”

The General knew he should hate this man, but he didn’t. In fact he didn’t hate anything. Or for that matter he didn’t like anything either.

It was an odd feeling. No not feeling, not even a sensation. It was like having a memory which you couldn’t quite remember. You knew it was there, but every time you thought about it, it faded to nothing.

“So you will do what I order?” asked Agent Carter.

“My original orders were to follow your command so I will.” replied General Baxter.

“Excellent,” said Agent Carter, showing his shark like smile. “Then as soon as we get you out of that chair I shall introduce you to your new squad. I want you to start your new mission ASAP. The sooner I have this town under my command the sooner I can start saving the world.”

Daniel lay dead to the world. It felt like the best rest he had had in ages as he slowly opened his eyes and thought it about time he rose. The fact that his head was lying on a tiled surface did not alert him, nor what seemed like the distant screams of people locked in hand to hand fighting, it was the sight of a middle aged business woman, on her knees, trying to pull the heels from her stilettos out of some huge guys ears as he lay on the ground. At this he awoke with a jump and everything came flooding back to him; the fighting outside the train, the driver getting bit and then her head being cut off as she tried to attack them and then him leading a group of commuters against a bunch of zombies so they could escape the platform.

“Where the fuck were you?” asked Virgil, his hoodie now ripped down one side.

“I know where he was”, said the well heeled guy that had been wearing a bowler hat. “Just before we hit their front line he tripped on his own feet and knocked himself out cold!”

Virgil laughed out loud as the three of them turned round to look at the results of the skirmish. About a dozen bodies lay dead, for the second time, on the ground. All of the commuters seemed to be accounted for, most of them sat slumped on the ground, others wandered around with a look of disbelief on their faces. Daniel’s sense of embarrassment at his own lack of contribution was equalled by the pride he felt for how well everyone had done.  His head clear now he knew that they could not afford to rest, not here anyway, they needed to find other living people or at least a safe place.

“Okay people” he half shouted over the platform, ”grab whatever is left of your weapons, we need to move.”

Bowler, hat now back in its rightful place, turned round to him, “maybe it would be wise to wait here, help must be coming and we have proved we can defend ourselves.”

With perfect timing, the younger guy wearing the pin strip, blood splattered, suit came jogging over, out of breath.

“Up there” he pointed to the shopping area where all the platforms led, “I just had a look, there must be at least fifty just milling around!”

“Well, I’m not sure if I fancy our chances if they attack on mass”, said Daniel. “I think we will have to get going.”

They all agreed in now slightly lower voices.

With a weary acceptance all of the commuters got up. Daniel found himself next to the air-hostess from his carriage, wrapping a wound on the leg of a bald athletic guy who was flirting with her.

“This is the third one, all of them bitten, but none of them too badly injured.”

“Don’t worry mate”, said the guy, “it’s just a scratch, I’ll be beating heads again in no time.”

They had all been made aware of the threat that lay in the horde around the corner and so the twenty or so commuters limped and crept in silence looking for a safe way out.

With Virgil and Daniel leading from the front they found a fire exit. After a brief discussion over whether it was alarmed and what they would find on the other side they went through to find a narrow corridor leading up to concrete stairs. Very much aware they were vulnerable they decided to only take the first ten commuters, the other ten would remain at the door so they could warn them if the exit was no longer clear.

The first group walked in silence, some breathing heavily others taking quick shallow breaths, all trying to keep their calm which was growing increasingly hard to do. The top of the stairs led to another bare corridor which every twenty yards had an emergency exit on the left-hand side.  When they reached the first they listened at the door for several minutes, they talked over how to best open it without making a sound, when all of a sudden Virgil kicked the door in with a bang and released the unmistakable smell of hundreds upon hundreds of nuts and seeds.

The shop, ”Organic World” decorated in several shades of green, had every product your heart could desire, from fair trade coffee and smoothie makers to hand made soap and vegetarian BBQ products. They spilled through but did not go any further than a few feet from the doorway. The entrance to the shop was protected by a metal shutter firmly in place but on the other side was the large group of zombies they had been warned about.

“OK” Daniel spoke in a hushed tone, “We have some very … healthy supplies here but we won’t be able to collect them without getting their attention. My guess is this corridor has emergency exits to the back of all the shops. We need to open each door carefully and only take what we really need.”

A sense of hope spread among them. The shutter looked pretty secure and they had a lot of food and water to keep them going. Moving back into the corridor they were met with Virgil coming out of the next shop along, three of the latest mobile phones, still boxed, in his arms.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing” he said.

Back on the platform they were getting antsy. Air-Stewardess had pointed it out first, but now they all heard it, the rumble of a train. If nothing else they were worried the sound might draw more of the zombies from around the corner and so their heads darted from the way to the shops to the platforms. They need not to have worried about the un-dead shoppers though. Two minutes later the train arrived with a bang. The first thing they could see was there was no driver, which would explain why it hurtled in and destroyed the first carriage as it careered into platforms three and four. They saw a lot of bodies get thrown about inside the train as it piled up just sixty metres away. The doors opened and what looked like about forty zombies staggered off, all looking quite shaken by their arrival and taking a moment to orientate themselves. The crash had broken many limbs and only about half could still walk. The rest crawled or dragged themselves along as they moved down the platform, some tickets ready in hand.

Reaching the end they separated, that was until two spotted the still living commuters and gave a moan. The ten survivors stared in disbelief at what was coming, it was another few seconds before any of them stirred and by this time the quickest zombies were only thirty feet away.

They turned and ran shouting ahead to the others to start moving. The group merged and dashed down the length of the corridor. Pinstripe at the front came to a stop at the last fire exit only to be bundled through by those behind not so concerned about those at the front. They found themselves in the dark and were nearly all through the door before someone found the light switch. It was a large maintenance room with a small table for staff to eat at during their lunch breaks. Now the table looked more like a barricade.

“Get the table up against the door” said Daniel, already pushing it from one side.

“It looks like they are clearing out from the shopping centre” said Pinstripe looking through the keyhole in the next door that faced the shops.

“I can hear them coming” said Air-Hostess, “maybe we can grab some of these tools and use them as weapons.”

They began rifling through the cupboards and bags looking to muster together an upgrade to their arms as the soundtrack of moans gradually grew louder from out in the hall.

“Why the hell are they leaving?” said Pinstripe turning around.

“They can hear the other zombies coming after us and are following them. If we can wait a few minutes they should all be gone and we can get away” said Bowler.

Without warning the door was flung open and there stood a Japanese zombie, camera in one hand and what looked like his wife’s head in the other. Bowler took an almighty swing with an axe but as it came down it smashed the hanging bulb in the room and put them all in the dark. The Japanese zombie fell, his wife’s head rolling across the floor in one direction and his in the other, the camera hit the ground and something in it broke as it began to flash repeatedly. The zombies poured through the door and the flashes acted like a strobe, so to an outsider it must have looked like some kind of eerie disco. With everyone’s movements stuttering it was hard for the survivors to differentiate between the living and the living dead. Hammers and crowbars hit heads with dull thuds, a splash of blood, as someone’s artery opened up, went across the camera and bathed them all in a red light. Pinstripe got the other door open and the zombies were momentarily blinded by the lights giving the others a chance to escape. They ran from the room drenched in blood straight out into the bright cavernous main hall of the station. Three of them were left on the floor in the dark, mercifully dead as they were devoured, giving the rest of them a few seconds to make a decision.

“All the shutters are down!”

“They are coming back up from the platforms!”

The walking corpses were coming in from two directions now but Virgil managed to see a way out.

“Look, KFC’s shutter is half open, we can get underneath.”

They all ran with renewed energy and started to duck underneath the shutter. The Air-Hostess slipped on the trail of blood that they were dripping from their clothes. The Bald Athletic guy ran back to help her up but they were starting to be cut off from the group. Daniel and Bowler turned and screamed for them to get going and using shovels hit the closest three zombies around the head, though not killing them it knocked them to the ground and ruined any hope the zombies had of pursuing a career in catalogue modelling.

The four of them got to the shutter just as Virgil pressed the button to lower it but it was agonisingly slow. The Air-Hostess went first, just as the zombies closed in, the others carried on fighting.

“We need to hold them off or they will get in too!” shouted Bowler.

“I can handle them” screamed Athletic Guy “You go in and I will follow.”

Bowler didn’t need to be told twice and was soon on the other side.

“You next” said Athletic Guy “Quick.”

Daniel didn’t have time to argue and bent down to make it under. He had to crawl though and he realised there was little time.

“You need to move now” he shouted through the bars.

Athletic Guy turned and lay on his belly so he could just about squeeze through. Daniel and Bowler tried to hold the shutter open to give him time. He had just got  his arms and body though when he started moving backwards. Hostess and a couple of others grabbed his outstretched arms and a tug of war began. Daniel and Bowler gritted their teeth desperate to hold up the shutter but it was too heavy and was inching down. The zombies also proved too strong and Athletic Guy now only had his upper torso, head and arms in relative safety. He shrieked something unintelligible as the zombie’s patience evaporated and they began feasting on his legs, pulling tendons and muscles up to their mouths. His ribs began to crack from the weight of the shutter and Daniel and Bowler fell backwards as they were proven beaten. All of them backed away as Athletic Guy started eliciting animal noises of agony followed by a gush of blood from his mouth and his arms flapped uselessly at the shutter which could physically move no more having almost cut him in half. The zombies feasted and the Athletic Guy’s bottom half was little more than a bloody mess as his top half gave out a final gurgle.

Daniel steeled his face and mind, he turned to the group, “Get behind the counter, the shutter is damaged and won’t hold out for long.” He pointed to Pinstripe, “Get out the back and look for an exit, the rest of you ready your weapons.”

They moved in a daze trying to hold themselves together. Pinstripe threw his jacket over Athletic Guy’s head hoping it might help them start to focus on the next danger.

They scrambled over the counter and laid out all the weapons they had available. The exit wouldn’t open as if something heavy behind it was propped up to keep it shut. This was their Agincourt, their Rourke’s Drift and it wasn’t even 9.30 in the morning. The zombies moaned incessantly like babies for a bottle, rattling the shutters and looking to be satisfied. The living switched the lights on and someone turned on a CD player out back, the Smiths belted out, “Panic on the streets of London, Panic on the streets of Birmingham…”

Within a couple of minutes the shutters had broken and they swept in. The colonel looked down from his blood red haven above the chaos as the deadly cadavers shuffled towards the counter hoping the food would not be so fast they couldn’t catch it. In a desperate attempt to slow down the advance the survivors started to throw the fried chicken at the zombies to distract them.

“They won’t eat the chicken, maybe they only like free range!” said Air-Hostess.

“Free range like us?” asked Daniel.

The zombies were now within striking distance, the express queue already at the front, reaching out arms extended. The by now fighting veterans replied with a volley of shots from nail guns and the ineffective but largely satisfying flame blast of a blow torch which Virgil had found among the builders’ tools.

“I like mine extra crispy” he shouted over the din, pleased with himself.

Most of the nails either missed or embedded themselves harmlessly into bodies. Only four zombies went down with nails sticking out of their eyes and foreheads, about twice as many had hands and arms stuck at strange angles to other zombies chests, some looked like they were holding hands, but at least it slowed them down. The nail gunners moved back to reload and so stepped forward the group swinging shovels, fire axes and steel bars. Heads cracked and the dead fell but they still kept coming. The nail gunners stepped forward again.

“Aim for the eyes” yelled Daniel, “shoot fast but take aim.”

This time at least a dozen zombies slumped to the ground and a small cheer went up when they saw the damage they had done. At the far end of the counter Virgil was fiddling with his blow torch and didn’t notice two hands reach onto the counter dragging up a bald head and half a torso. The thing was soon up next to the tills and growled as it scuttled open mouthed towards Virgil. His head down concentrating he did not notice as it was only a few inches from its target when out of nowhere an older guy with silver hair and an arm full of tattoos reached over and nailed the bald head to the counter.

“Don’t mention it” he said to Virgil.

“Thank fuck” said Virgil breathlessly.

“I think you can call me Argenti” he replied.

The commuters worked like a well oiled machine, thankful for the distraction of the head on fight and not having time to think of the morning so far. Bodies had begun to pile up in front of he counter but they still came with their soulless eyes and blank expressions.

A jacketless Pinstripe came in from the back,

“Back doors open, there was some sort of plotting tool up against it, but it’s gone and looks all clear now.”

“Where does it lead?” asked Daniel, not daring to turn away from the front. The customers were starting to get onto the counter and the workers were starting to tire.

“Looks like a back entrance into paradise.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Daniel shouted across to the group, “Make this your last round people. Then we move en-mass to the back.”

The group fired off a dozen more nails but as soon as they stopped fighting the zombies had started clambering over the counter. They filed through the back door and into a covered courtyard. Daniel was last through and put the axe he was carrying through the door’s emergency bar so that it could not be opened from the other side. It looked like a small oasis, the waiting area for the first class passengers. A small pond with fish lay in the middle and dotted around were plastic palm trees with twinkling fairy lights. The far wall was entirely made up of glass looking out onto the street. The sixteen remaining men and women sat on the sofas, wiping blood and flesh from their weapons or reloading nail guns. Bowler stood at the drinks machine counting out his change until Virgil could not stand it any longer and walked over shoving the machine to the ground, the cans falling out like intestines.  Bowler muttered a thanks and picked up a diet lemonade. Air-Hostess, shaken, was already going over peoples’ cuts and bites with a first aid pack she had found behind a desk. Bowler, Virgil and Pin Stripe started to walk the perimeter unable to sit down.

“What the hell?” said Pinstripe, “I mean seriously, what the hell?”

No one replied. They stood and stared out through the thick glass windows. Nothing out there suggested that the whole world had changed forever except for the fact it was a Thursday, late morning and not one person could be seen when usually it would be bustling.

“This stuff only ever happens in films” said Bowler, “not in real life. Those things. They are real people, like us but they’ve…” He trailed off, unsure of what had happened.

“What does it matter?” Virgil blurted, forcing himself to wake up out of his daze. “We need to find somewhere safe and hole up until we can find out what’s going on.”

He looked around at the others and they knew he was being sensible but they were still struggling to get past that there were real dead zombies and lots of them.

“So where do we go then? Anyone, any ideas?” Daniel asked.

“This glass is thick, if any zombies come this way we are safe and the emergency exit is holding them  back. We have supplies and can see out into the street for help. I say we sit here and only move if we have to.”

Bowler looked to the others for approval. They looked unsure but none of them fancied leaving their new found safe haven. The four of them walked slowly and tried to force themselves to relax. It wasn’t easy. On the second lap he suggested to the others that they reinforce the emergency exit they had come through and so they pushed a desk, sofa and some chairs up against it, they figured you couldn’t be too careful.

When they had made there way back round to the glass walls, they noticed the street was starting to wake up. At first it was just the odd one or two people. The first they saw had been a fireman. He was called George and had been on night duty attending a fire at 2am that morning. As a fire spread through a family home he had run in when he saw a figure at an upstairs window. Fighting his way through the house he found a young woman on the floor, carrying her downstairs she bit though his Adam’s apple. He dropped her, staggered outside and fell dead in front of the house. The next person to catch their eye was an old lady, dressed in an elegant gown, wearing a multitude of diamonds. Barbara had been out to celebrate what would have been her 60th wedding anniversary with her late husband. When walking back from the restaurant that had been their favourite she was mugged by a drug addict. She had fought back and on receiving a fatal stab wound to her broken heart, fell on her attacker knocking him unconscious. He awoke a few minutes later with her rooting through his rib cage, head first. A young boy of about nine walked past, covered in blood. Max had died of an asthma attack in the night. First he bit through his mother’s thigh as she lay asleep next door. When she screamed his father awoke and knocked him across the room. Turning the light on he realised who he had hit and ran over to help his defenceless son. Max hungrily pulled an eye from his father’s socket and knocked it back like a city banker eating an oyster. Ten minutes later and the three of them were sharing his three year old sister. Next was Alice, a foreign student who had fallen from her apartment trying to escape her flatmate. Then there was a tramp, Shaun, who had purposefully overdosed when he’d been trapped by his friends on top of a news stand after one of them had bitten his arm.

“They’re wraiths” said Virgil, “tangible ghosts who now wander the earth looking for others to join their ranks.”

“Do you think they remember anything?” asked Bowler. He had spent all morning trying to not think about his wife at home or his son at university. His mobile hadn’t worked since he got on the train.

“I don’t think we should think too much about them” replied Daniel. “Any thoughts about who these people were in life or what there name was might cause us to hesitate and we can’t give them that opportunity.”

A screaming siren grew in the distance and a feeling of optimism awoke in them that authorities were coming to help. The commuters walked toward the windows as the scream got louder and louder until they could see a police van’s light flashing on the street outside. Their hopes faded pretty fast though as it zig zagged through the crowd and went up on pavement. Then a sudden turn at high speed to save it hitting a tree and it rolled. The commuters started moving back as they realised their calm surroundings were about to be shattered. The van crashed through the glass, knocked over several palm trees and landed in the small pond upside down. Any hopes of survivors were dashed when two palm trees rocked and then fell into the pond sending an electric current through the water and the van.

Other fallen plastic trees began melting from the broken fairy lights and then catching alight releasing an acrid smoke. The living did not notice though, they looked on at the back doors of the truck which began to bang from the inside. Firstly once every few seconds, then once a second and finally it was constant as it began to dent and finally flipped open. A gloved hand reached out and grabbed onto the side of the van followed by many more as dead armoured riot police, complete with helmets, emerged and then moved in unison towards the commuters. As they backed away, Argenti charged forward with a metal pole and slammed it into one of the zombie’s legs with a scream,

“Fucking pigs!!”

The armoured zombie fell un-dead to the ground but got back to its feet as if nothing had happened. He hit several more knocking them back but only for a few seconds before they regained themselves and moved forward. Argenti suddenly realised something,

“Look!” he pointed to their heads, “their mouths are covered, they can’t eat us!”

Argenti turned to dish out more blows but hadn’t realised they were encircling him and it was he that was the dish. As he swung, one of the zombies caught his arm and ripped it off at the elbow. The commuters screamed in fear and rushed forward to help. Argenti though did not slow down in his fight and the zombie cocked its head to one side as it held aloft a plastic arm.

“Don’t worry” shouted Argenti, “I lost that one a long time ago.”

He raised the bar only for his other arm to be grabbed. The commuters had picked up their weapons and fired nails but they bounced harmlessly off helmets and Kevlar vests. Moving closer they used their axes and metal bars trying to fight their way through to Argenti. Even the zombies they had knocked down though were dangerous, reaching out to grab ankles. The group were only feet away from saving him when a zombie put its hand into Argenti’s mouth and ripped off his cheek taking the skin off half his face, leaving exposed muscle and jaw on one side. He howled with pain and the commuters realised they were still in danger. The noise of falling plaster and crumbling walls made them turn. When they did, they saw hell. The heat from the plastic trees had set alight to the furniture leaned up against the emergency exit. The door remained shut but all around it the walls burned with intensity and in several areas had caved in allowing through packs of zombies from the main station, which in making their way through the blaze were now on fire but not slowing down.

The commuters were becoming trapped and had only one choice, to run for the last emergency exit, away from the broken window behind the armour plated zombies and towards the unknown. Argenti was slumped like a drunk being dragged away from a fight and the others knew they had to leave him or lose more of their own. The heat from the fire that was walking towards them carried by the dead spurned them on and they sprinted, ignoring any pain they felt. They went through the last emergency exit, which had DIS written on it in large letters, and entered a security room with banks and banks of screens and computer equipment. Each screen showed either death or the dead. A man in a security uniform cowered in a corner waving a torch in their faces.

“Don’t eat me, don’t eat me!!”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to eat you, but unless you tell us a way out of here quick we’ll be nothing but a mixed grill for these things.”

“There.. There’s a security lift over there.” He pointed to big steel doors whilst simultaneously kissing a small cross attached to a chain around his neck, “but there’s a problem.”

“Show me” said Daniel. “The rest of you get everything you can up against that door.”

Desks, cupboards, anything that moved was being shoved up against the door whilst the security guard showed Daniel the procedure.

“How many does the lift hold?” asked Daniel.

“Th,, th.. This key needs to be turned here while someone in the lift turns another k.. key and both will need to be held in place. The lift carries equipment so it’s big enough for all of you, b.. b. but I’m not going down there. No way, before the cameras went black it was even worse than up here.”

Daniel tried to calm him down as the man found it hard to get back to his feet.

“You’re doing great. What’s your name?”

“Uriel.”

“Okay Uriel, you work for the station right? Department for Internal Security I’m guessing?”

“Yes, there should be three more here, but they never showed up this morning.”

“Look, we are going to do this. Call the lift and we will sort something out. We have no choice, it‘s our only exit.”

Uriel turned to a monitor and punched in some commands. A red light flashed on a wall and they could hear the lift rising.

Daniel and the others began to notice how hot the room was getting, they could hear them now on the other side of the wall which separated them and a living inferno. The security lift arrived with a ping. As the doors opened he could see it was easily big enough and they piled in as did a reluctant Uriel. All of them accept Daniel.

“What’s the matter?” asked Air-Hostess.

“The security guard has one key, I need to turn this one at the same time to get the lift moving.”

“What!” said Pinstripe, “then we will think of something else. If you stay here you will die.”

“And if I don’t do this, we all will. Just go.”

Daniel ran over to the control board. The room had started to fill with smoke and the walls had cracks appearing in them.

“Now!” he shouted to Uriel.

They both pushed the keys into the slots and turned them, holding them in place. The lights started to flash and the doors started closing. The cracks in the walls were being pushed wider by flaming arms and faces, all fixated on him. Daniel knew this was it and didn’t feel like a hero just shit scared. He cast a final glance at the others and saw Virgil smiling. Virgil took an iron bar from one of the others and placed it between the closing doors. As they came together the metal grinded and the doors stayed two feet open as the lift pinged and began descending. The walls crashed down as zombies stumbled in, the heat almost unbearable. Daniel ran and still six feet from the door slid, just making it through as the lift moved below the security room and clear.

The survivors hugged him, relieved to celebrate something good happening after so many losses which they could do nothing about. The lift came to a halt and the doors opened into pitch black and they all struggled to see as their eyes adjusted. The silence was broken by a thump on top of the lift. This was quickly followed by a several more and the distinct smell of burning flesh. The trap door in the roof began to crease as more bodies landed driving those inside out into the dark. A rush of wind blew through them and a loud screech became ear piercing when two lights became visible a hundred yards to their left and got larger and larger until it raced past. It was an underground train and the contents only just visible through the blood smeared windows made them shiver. It was not safe down here.

Steve Blum scowled in pure hate as he heard the cackle of the old woman. How he hated her. He hated her more than he hated the roaming dead. They had an excuse for what they did. They were dead and, if the scientists were to be believed, simply acting on instinct. She, however, did it because she was senile. The hag was a drain on their resources, and Steve had made this very clear many times. Not only did she take up room in the already crowded refuge but also she wasted their supply of food and water. Not to mention the time it took to look after her. As long as she was awake then someone had to be with her at all times.

He said a small prayer of thanks to whoever may be listening that it wasn’t him today. She seemed to be acting up more than usual. Making stupid noises and, no doubt, causing trouble for whoever was unlucky enough to have to keep an eye on her.

Another shriek made him grip the rifle in his hands even tighter and grit his teeth as he walked a few feet down the walkway he stood watch on. He reached the end, opened the door and stuck his head inside the building.

“Who’s looking after the annoying witch of the east today?” he asked the man inside.

He got no response from the person sitting in the wooden chair with his back to him.

Noticing a bit of the wall to the concrete building was loose he pulled off a small chunk and threw it across it room. It missed the man but ricocheted off the table in front of him and hit the radio that was on it.

The man quickly sat upright and looked over to the door. Noticing Steve stood there Jason Price took his headphones off and put them down by the radio he had been listening to.

“What’s up mate?” he asked.

Steve repeated his original question.

“Vicki,” Jason replied, a smug grin on his bearded face.

“For fuck sake,” cursed Steve. “So I get the day off from her but I get to hear about it when the wife get homes. I hate that bitch so much.”

“Vicki?” teased Jason.

“No not Vicki you idiot, the mad hag. She’s half deaf, almost blind and senile so why not just put her out of her misery.”

“Because she’s still a human?” replied Jason.

Steve just snorted and went to leave the room. At the last minute he turned back to Jason.

“Anything on the radio today?”

“Nothing recently. I thought I heard something earlier though. A conversation between two guys about a safe house and flying a helicopter there, but I lost it. Lots of static you see. It may have just been an old recording on repeat. There are still plenty of abandoned military bases and police stations that are transmitting emergency broadcasts”

“Well good luck mate. I would rather listen to static for hours, than that bitch for a minute.”

“I’ll tell Vicki you said that about her.”

Steve walked out of the room giving Jason the middle finger as he did.

Jason smiled and put the headphones back on. He put his feet up on the desk and sat back listening to static as he stared out the window at the sea that stretched out to the horizon.

~~~

Jason and Steve were just two in a group of thirtyish survivors who had come to call the small dockyard on the English east coast their home. It was a perfect place to hold up for the time being. A 10-foot high concrete wall with steel supports and topped with barbed wire ran along three sides of the area, with the North Sea providing the fourth defensive wall. The edge of the port that ran along the sea was a good six-foot from the water at high tide so nothing could climb ashore unseen.

Other than using a boat there was only one-way in and out; a large, solid metal gate that took three men to open when it was unlocked. A walkway ran most of the length of the wall, connected to the only real building on the site, what used to be the office block. The two-story building had been converted into the command centre of the group. Weekly meetings and strategy planning were carried out in the ground floor offices whilst the upper floor was used as a lookout post and radio room.

The survivors had made their living areas out of the many large shipping containers that had been stored in the dockyard. Once a few holes had been cut out to allow in light and some furniture moved in they weren’t too bad. Some people had even moved into containers that had been stacked two high, cutting a hole in the floor of the upper create and the roof of the lower crate and using a ladder as a staircase.

It wasn’t perfect, and the slightest knock on the create would vibrate around the whole of the inside like ringing a bell, but they were warm, dry and allowed the occupants some privacy and could be locked from both the inside and outside for extra security.

Steve walked along the wall, looking out over the industrial estate beyond the safety of the dock. Most of the warehouses had already been raided for anything useful. Generally it had been fishing supplies; nets, baskets, create to store fish, etc, but there had been a few good finds. A sporting goods warehouse had provided them with lots of hand held weapons, like cricket bats and golf clubs, but also stuff to keep them entertained. Steve had spent many hours just whacking golf balls into the North Sea.

Fishing provided the main source of food. Now that the North Sea was void of fishing vessels the fish had flourished. I was almost impossible to drop a line in the water without getting a bite. It took some of the fun out of it, but Steve still enjoyed a bit of fishing on his days off.

He wished he were doing that right now as the shriek of the old woman brought him back from his day dream.

What was her problem now? Normally she just made the odd noise then shut up for a while, but this time she was continuously shrieking. Suddenly there was another scream, a woman’s voice. Then a gun shot.

Steve ran down the walkway back towards the office building, removing the safety on his rifle as he did. He burst into the radio room and pulled the earphones of Jason.

Jason looked up at Steve, about to chastise him for his actions until he saw the look on his face and the curse died in his throat.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Gunshot. Downstairs.”

“Shit,” said Jason, opening a draw in the desk before him and pulling out a handgun. As he stood he hit the warning siren button.

Originally it was just the tannoy system to alert workers they were needed in the office, but it had since been hooked up to an air horn. Once the main button was pressed it simultaneously turned on the tannoy and pressed the air horn. Once people heard the noise over the loud speakers situated around the dockyard they made their way to the largest container and locked themselves in. A few people would stay on guard duty until the all clear was given.

“Just how loud is that radio that you can’t hear a gunshot?” asked Steve as they cautiously made their way to the staircase.

Jason said nothing as they both slowly edged downstairs. As they reached the bottom they could hear talking coming from the front room that used to be the reception. Opening the door they stepped into the room. The first thing they noticed was the smell, a mix of dead flesh and sewage. A zombie lay on the floor, most of its head missing or splattered on the ground next to it. The old woman was cowered in the corner sobbing, being calmed by one of the other women.

Len Clark stood in the middle of the room trying to calm down the half dozen people who surrounded him. Steve noticed Vicki sat down, her usually bright face now pure white and she cradled her right arm in her lap, her left hand gripping the wrist tightly.

Steve ran over to her, ignoring everyone else.

“Baby, what happened?” he asked.

“Steve, it was an accident,” she replied, looking up with sad eyes.

“What was?”

“Please don’t get mad. I don’t want to remember you being mad.”

Steve stood up to face the group of people milling around the room.

“What…. the fuck…happened?” he growled.

Len walked over and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He shrugged it of as soon as he felt the touch.

“Would someone please tell me why there is a headless zombie on the floor and why my wife has a bite mark on her wrist?”

“From what we can tell,” started Len, “this one somehow made it into the compound. We have people looking for more now.”

“I don’t give a shit about more of them. How was my wife bitten?”

“He was banging on the door,” answered Vicki. “But at the time we didn’t know who it was outside.”

“We? You mean you and her?” said Steve pointing an accusing finger to the old woman in the corner. She shrieked and backed further into the corner as if Steve’s finger was a gun about to go off.

“She opened the door,” continued Vicki, “and it burst in. I tried to shut the door again which is when I got bit.”

“I was in the other room and came as soon as I heard the commotion. I managed to put it down but not before it got Vicki.” said Len. “So you see Steve it was an accident.”

“In which case so is this,” Steve lifted his rifle up and pointed it at the old woman who was now rocking back and forth, sobbing madly.

The woman comforting her moved so she was in the way of the shot.

“Don’t Steve, please,” she pleaded.

Steve was suddenly aware that several of the others had drawn their weapons as well, and had them pointed at him.

“Put the gun down Steve,” said Len calmly. “Don’t make us shoot you.”

“You would kill me to protect her?”

“No one has to die. Just put the gun down and lets talk.”

“She is a drain on our resources. She wastes man-hours looking after her. And now she gets my wife killed. She deserves to be put out of her, and our, misery.”

“It was an accident Steve. Please put the gun down.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your wife who had been bitten Len.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But that isn’t the point right now. Put the gun down or I will put you down.”

“Fuck you Len”

Len sighed, shaking his head.

“Damn you for making me do this Steve.”

Len lifted his gun pointed it right at Steve’s head and flicked off the safety. Steve turned his head slightly to look at Len, which is when Jason hit him round the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Steve dropped to the ground. He heard Jason say sorry before he fell into unconsciousness.

2

Steve slowly came round. He reached up to his head and remembered too late to stop himself from prodding the back of his skull. The pain caused him to almost black out again. He would be having words with Jason at some point.

He felt the warmth of sunlight on his bare arms and slowly opened his eyes so as to let them grow accustomed to the brightness. Once he was able to see, he looked around at his surroundings. He’d been laid out on a pile of blankets in the corner of one of the shipping containers. The only hole that served as a window was high on the back wall, clear plastic sheeting covering it to keep out as much of the wind as possible, and far too small to fit through.

Half way along the container metal bars had been welded to the top and bottom to create a cage that he now found himself in. On the other side of bars Len sat on a white plastic patio chair.

“Morning.” he said.

“Got any aspirin?” replied Steve. “I’ve got a killer headache.”

“Some on the table.” Len said, gesturing to the corner of the cell with a nod of his head.

Steve cautiously got to his feet, the pounding of his skull a constant reminder of his situation. In the corner of the cell was a simple wooden table. On it sat a plastic cup of water, half a bottle of pills, a candle in a holder and some matches.

He removed the top of the pill bottle, tipped three into his hand and threw them down his throat. Without touching the water he swallowed and went back to the pile of blankets. He sat down, his back leaning against the back wall and looked at Len.

“Not thirsty?” asked Len.

“No telling what’s in the cup.” replied Steve.

“Damn it Steve, no one wants to poison you.”

“Maybe not, but maybe you just want to keep me sedated.”

“In which case why take the pills?”

“I’ve got a headache,” said Steve, smiling for the first time.

“What am I to do with you?” asked Len, smiling himself.

He stood up from the chair and paced back and forth along the bars. After a few minutes he stopped and turned back to look at Steve, who hadn’t moved the whole time.

“If I let you out of here, what will you do?”

“Kill her,” replied Steve, without a seconds pause.

The smile left Len’s face.

“Fuck sake Steve, leave it. It was a disaster what happened, but it was accidental. You must know that.”

“She was allowed to wander around. She should have been confined to a container, like this one. Nice job by the way. How long did it take to get this ready?”

“Couple of hours,” replied Len. “Once me made sure you were going to be ok we put you in here and welded these bars in place. Only way out is for us to cut you out”

To prove his point Len grabbed the bars and tried to shake them. They didn’t move an inch

“But that’s not what we are here to discuss. Look Steve, we’ve taken your views on board. You have a right to say how she is dealt with. She has now been confined to a container. We’ll let her out for a few hours every day to get some air and stretch her legs but other than that she’ll be a prisoner. It’s the best I can do, because I am not willing to end her life.”

“Then let me. It’s my damn right Len and you know it!” shouted Steve.

“You’re getting upset and that’ll get us nowhere,” replied Len. “Look I’m going to give you some time to cool off again.

He walked over the end of the container and pushed the door open. As the light came in Steve saw the roofs of the warehouses outside their compound and knew they must be high up.

“Three containers high Steve,” said Len, as if reading his thoughts. “Even if you do get through the bars you’ll not be able to get down with out a ladder, which by the way I will be taking with me once I get down.”

“So I’m just expected to live out the rest of days in here?”

“Just until you calm down and see reason. She’s no longer a threat or a burden to anyone. Instead of someone watching her 24 hours it’ll just be a couple whilst we let her out for a bit each day. I’ll be back later with some food and something to read. We’ll talk again then.”

Len started climbing down the ladder.

“What about Vicki?” shouted Steve.

Len stopped, the top of his head just visible above the edge of the container.

“About four hours ago,” replied Len, sadly. “She came to say goodbye, but you were still out. Again, I’m sorry Steve.”

“So am I Len,” Said Steve as the container door closed. “So am I”

3

Steve spent the next couple of weeks contemplating his situation. He rarely spoke to anyone, declining any visitors and just mumbling a few words of thanks to those who brought him food and items to pass the time.

He spent hours thinking back to the times he and Vicki had spent together. The fun they had together with his children and his parents before the outbreak, then trying to survive on the run with his family. The pure devastating feeling of failure when he’d lost his children and praying he’d never have to feel that way again. The joy at finding safety with other people, and the security it offered with new friends.

He cried for days at the loss of Vicki, but came to terms with it quicker than he would have liked.

But what made it worse was every time he tried to find it in his power to forgive the old woman the rage built in him. Len had given him a pair of boxing gloves after finding him pounding his blooded fists into the side of the container. He wanted him to work the anger out in any from he could, but didn’t want him to hurt himself in the process.

It was the start of the third week when he finally started talking again

~~~

It was Doug’s turn to bring food to Steve. Everyone was surprised Doug had survived this long. He was a skinny kid, only 24 and completely bald. He had a slight limp and was a bit on the slow side when it came to thinking. From a distance he looked like one of the walking dead. The group often joked he should paint his head a different colour so they would recognise him and not accidental shoot him.

He awkwardly passed the tray of food through a gap bars to Steve who walked over and picked it up.

“Thanks Doug.”

“No worries Steve. See you later.”

“Wait a minute. You got some time?”

“Err, sure. What’s up?” Doug sat down on the patio chair removing the rifle he had slung over shoulder and resting it across his across his lap.

“Nothing really. How is everyone?” asked Steve.

“Good, I think. They don’t talk much to me really, but everyone seems fine.”

Steve carried the tray over to table and placed it on the top. He picked up the fork and then froze. Tilting his head he walked over to the makeshift window and looked out.

“Not hungry?” asked Doug.

“Thought I heard something,” he replied.

“I hear things as well,” said Doug, a simple smile across his face, glad to be in a conversation.

“Shhh!” hiss Steve.

As he listened he heard it again. It could have been a gull, but Steve was sure it was a human scream, and this time it was louder. A couple of seconds went by with nothing happening, then Steve saw a girl come running out from behind a container. She stumbled and fell, looking back over her shoulder whilst crawling hurriedly across the floor. Seconds later a zombie lurched out from behind the same container, arms reaching for the girl, mouth moving silently.

“Shit!” said Steve. “That’s Valerie’s daughter.”

He turned to Doug who was still sat on the chair, a smile on his face.

“Doug, quick give me your rifle and go tell Len with have a Z in the compound.”

Doug’s face screwed up in concentration.

“I shouldn’t give you my gun. Len would be unhappy with me.”

“Do you think he would be happy if Samantha is killed by a zombie?” asked Steve.

Doug bit his bottom lip as he thought over the question. Steve turned back to look out the window. The young girl now had her back to a container, the zombie advancing slowly. Her shoulders bobbed up and down quickly and Steve knew she was out of breath and probably unable to move anymore.

“I shouldn’t leave you alone with the gun either,” said Doug.

Steve turned back to him. Trying to hold his anger back. Getting frustrated wouldn’t so any good now.

“Ok. Stay and keep an eye on me, but give me your gun or else someone is going to die.”

“Do you promise to give it back after, and not hurt anyone?”

“Yes I do. Now give it to me.”

“Cross your heart?”

“DOUG!” shouted Steve, regretting it straight away. If he upset Doug now he could have just sentenced Valerie’s daughter to death. He thought his fears would come true as Doug stood up and started to turn away. Instead he moved back towards the bars and passed the end of his rifle to Steve.

Grabbing the rifle he spun it round as he hurried back to the window. The angle wasn’t great, and he hadn’t fired a weapon in a while, but he knew he was good enough to make the shot.

Breathing slowly he aimed down the barrel and fired a shot. The bullet missed the zombie by a couple of feet and bounced off the ground, causing Samantha to let out a yelp of panic.

Wind must be blowing more than I know, he thought, as he compensated for it. His second shot hit the zombie in the shoulder. It staggered slightly but continued to make its way towards the promise of an easy meal.

“Shit,” muttered Steve. If he missed this shot then he knew it would be all over for Samantha.

Once again he aimed down the barrel, and adjusted for the wind. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out before squeezing the trigger. The zombies head exploded, seconds later its body dropped to the ground, like a puppet with the strings cut.

Samantha let out a scream as the zombie’s hand landed on her foot and shook her leg until it was no longer touching the lifeless limb. She slowly turned her head to look up at Steve, a smile of relief and joy on her young face. Steve smiled back. He heard the sound of people running and calling out to Samantha as he walked back across his cell and handed the rifle though the bars to Doug, who had been waiting patiently.

“Told you you’d get it back and I’d not hurt anyone,” he said.

Doug took the rifle and looped the strap over his shoulder.

“I better go now. Bye Steve.”

“Do me a favour Doug. Tell Len I’m ready to talk.”

4

Steve sipped his coffee, pulling a face at how strong it was. It had been a while since he had drunk coffee and knew it would take a few more cups before he was used to the taste again.

He looked up from the black liquid in his mug and focused on Len, who was sat on the other side of the table to him.

“So you will not go anywhere near her accommodation unless in a dire emergency, is that agreed?”

“Even in dire emergencies I may decide to stay away,” replied Steve, smiling.

“Damn it Steve, will you take this seriously. Unless you want to spend another week in that cage I have to make sure you’re not a threat to anyone on site.”

“Look Len, I will stay away from her as long as you can promise me I won’t see or hear her around me.”

“That’s fine. You won’t even know she’s here.”

“Then we’re good,” said Steve.

Seeing another zombie attack in the apparently secure area had forced Steve to make the decision that there were more lives at stake here than he was willing to risk. With his incarceration it meant there were less people out there protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. So he had agreed to follow Lens rules if he were to be released. He would stay away from the old hag at all times, and promise to do her no harm. In return he would be given areas of patrol that were no where near her, and she would be confined to her living quarters 23 hours of the day, only allowed out an hour for a walk, and whatever toilet breaks she may need. During those times Steve would be informed before hand and be moved as far away as possible. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but it was the best they could do at the moment.

Steve was glad to be out of his cell and free to move around. He was desperate to find out how two undead had been able to get inside the compound.

They hadn’t come through the main gate that was for sure. He had been guarding it on the first attack and he knew that someone else would have been there during the second. Plus the zombie had come from the port side. There was no way it could have made it that far across the compound without being seen if it had come in the front way.

“So what are you thoughts so far?” asked Len, noticing Steve had been sat in silence for the past few minutes.

Steve explained about his theory of the zombies coming in by the port side.

“Well that makes the most sense but I’ve had guys on patrol around the waters edge since the first attack. The tide hasn’t been high enough for something to climb up, and there haven’t been any waves strong enough to wash a floating corpse over the edge.”

“They’re getting in somehow Len, and we need to find out soon or else we could be over run before we know it. I’m going to patrol the grounds tomorrow and see what I can look up, but now I really need to get some proper sleep. That cage just wasn’t comfy.”

Steve got up and finished the last of his coffee. The now cold liquid made him pull a face again. He nodded to Len as he made his way out of the meeting room into the night air and across the yard towards the container that he called home. The home he used to share with Vicki. The memory brought with it pain and his eyes started to water. Maybe it was time to move. There were plenty of families who could use a bigger container, as he only needed a single now.

He didn’t notice someone walking up behind him until it was almost too late. If it weren’t for the awful smell he would have been dead before he knew it. As it was the smell brought him back to reality.

“Good lord, what the hell is that?” he wondered aloud.

As if answering the question the zombie that had moving up behind him let out a groan. Steve spun around and narrowly avoided its grasping hands by a hairs breadth.  He backed away, cursing the fact that he didn’t have a weapon on him. He should have asked Len for one as soon as he had been released. Too late for that now though, he had to work out what to do. One on one with a zombie shouldn’t be too much bother, but he was weapon-less. He could out manoeuvre the thing easily, but that would only do him so good. He needed to find a weapon or someone with one.

It seemed luck was on his side. As he backed away he saw a torchlight sweeping back and forth. Just at the edge of his night vision he could make out a black shape of a man walking behind the zombie, completely oblivious to what was going on just meters away.

“A little help here.” he shouted.

The figure looked around and his torch illuminated Steve and the zombie. For the first time Steve got a good look at his attacker. It was a regular zombie in most aspects with the typical sunken eyes, greying skin and rotten teeth. The few distinguishing features he did notice were the sailors clothing it wore, the fact that it was dripping wet and stank of shit.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the figure with the torch. He charged at the zombie and shoulder barged it out of the way of Steve, who also fell over backwards in his attempt to get out of the way. The creature stumbled sideways, hit the side of a container and fell to the floor.

Steve heard muttered curses coming from inside the container; the zombie’s collision had obviously woken up whoever lived there. Steve watched as his rescuer, who he now recognised as Paul, pull out his gun and put a single shot through the zombie’s head. The zombie twitched for a second before laying still. Paul waited a few seconds, the gun still aimed at the zombie’s head. He holstered his weapon once he was sure that he had delivered a killing shot.

“You alright mate?” asked Paul, offering his hand to Steve and pulling him to his feet. “I just came back from the toilet so you’re lucky I was patrolling this area, otherwise I would have been on the other side of the compound.”

“Actually I’m fine.” replied Steve. “I think I may have just solved the zombie mystery thanks to sailor Jim here.”

“If you think it comes from the sea just because of its clothing you’ll have a hard time proving it. We’ve had guys on sea watch since the first attack.”

“But I think I may have discovered another clue, something to check out in the morning. Night Paul.”

“Night mate.”

Paul walked off as he carried on his nighttime patrol. Steve smiled to himself. If he was right he may have just saved the community further zombie attacks, and also have a way to settle accounts with the person he hated the most.

5

“What do you see?” Steve asked Len.

They were stood on the deck of the small fishing vessel that was used for gathering fish, patrolling the waters and, if ever needed, escape from the compound.

Len looked out towards the compound, taking in everything as the small boat bobbed up and down and the gentle sea.

“Our compound, which consists of several containers and an office building, the dock side where this ship is normally moored up and an impenetrable wall surrounding the whole thing.” said Len eventually.

“A bit too literal, but a goods start.” replied Steve.

“Well just tell me then.”

“Look below the compound.” said Steve, ignoring Len.

“I see a solid wall which is around eight foot from sea level to the top.”

“And?” pressed Steve.

Len looked again; he was slowly getting frustrated with the game of eye spy.

“I don’t know what you want me to see Steve, but I’m obviously missing it so just tell me.”

“The large hole about seven feet down from the top and a foot from sea level.”

“You mean our sewage outlet pipe? What about it?”

“That, my friend, is how the undead are getting in to our compound.”

“Impossible. We’ve been using that old sewer pipe since this thing began and we decided to hold up in the docks. We just built the toilet over an existing water pipe that ran out to sea. That pipe also goes all the way inland as well, and to make sure nothing did walk down the pipe we barred it up just before it reached our entrance.”

“That’s what I think is causing the problem.” replied Steve.

“How so?”

“Well normally any debris which was swept up into the pipe would be flushed all the way through. Since you put up the bars in the tunnel you created a net of sorts. Anything washed in gets caught on them and stays there. Now we know the pipe goes underwater at high tide, so I’m guessing a zombie floating in the sea gets washed into the tunnel where it stays until the tide goes down. When someone goes to the toilet the zombie tries to get at the food and eventually manages to climb out and goes on a wander.”

“That’s a lot of big coincidences to consider.”

“True, but that’s why we have only had three attacks in almost as many weeks not more. The one that attacked me last night was wearing a Royal Navy sailor’s uniform. I can only guess he fell overboard from a ship or maybe he was at the coast on leave. Plus it smelt of shit, and Paul had just been to the toilet before I was attacked. I bet if you check with Samantha she will say she had either been or was just heading that way as well.”

“So what do you suggest?” asked Len

“Put up another grill at the entrance to the tunnel. In the mean time I’ll keep guard of it. It’ll keep me well away from you know who.”

“Well ok. But I’m still not convinced. I’m not going to go to the trouble of sending men to put up a grill that may not be needed. It’ll be a waste of manpower and resources. You can stay on guard and if you can prove your theory then we’ll see about the grill.”

Steve smiled to himself as he walked back to the controls of the boat and started to steer them back to dry land. Len had reacted just as he hoped he would. His plan was slowly coming to it conclusion.

6

It took several weeks until Steve could complete his plan. He had been on guard every night for almost two weeks outside the toilet with no sign of any zombies. He was beginning to think that maybe his theory was just that, and the zombies were in fact finding another way in. Then one night he heard the almost unperceivable sound of moaning. He entered the toilet, opened the lid of the bowl and looked down the hole. Staring back at him was a pair of dead eyes.

The zombie began frantically clawing at the air above him, despite being a few inches short of actually grasping anything that it could use to pull itself up. The zombie’s feet were covered in seawater, but the walls around the sides were not yet wet. So the tide was obviously still on its way in. It wouldn’t be long until the zombie would be floating enough to grasp the ledge and pull itself up.

Steve hurried out of the toilet, leaving the lid up. If anyone tried to go before he had managed to complete his plan they would be able to see the zombie and avoid any disasters. His main job was to silence the alarm but he needed to hit the tool shed first.

~~~

Jason removed his headset as soon as Steve walked in radio room. Normally he would be watching the sea for signs of ships, or just daydreaming, but as it was still dark outside he was content to drift off in his own imagination whilst watching the door.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” asked Steve.

“Only when there’s something boring on the radio.” replied Jason.

Steve smiled and walked closer to Jason.

“So aren’t you supposed to be on toilet guarding duty? Looking for the zombie from the black latrine.”

I found something.” replied Steve. “I need to speak to Len, is he around?”

“Still in bed I would guess. Like most people. I think it’s just me you and two other guys on guard duty tonight.”

“That makes things much easier.” said Steve, still smiling.

He suddenly pulled his gun on Jason, the barrel resting no more than a few centimetres from his forehead.

“What’s up buddy?” asked Jason, going crossed eyed whilst trying to stare at the end of the gun.

“I don’t want to hurt you mate, just get of the chair and slowly move away from the radio.”

Jason did as he was told. A part of him was thinking it was all a joke, and any minute the other guys would all jump out and yell surprise.

Steve stayed in the same spot, just turning his body to keep the gun pointed at Jason. When Jason was by the far wall Steve told him to stop. He fished in his pockets and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and tossed them over to Jason.

“Put these on and handcuff yourself to the radiator please.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I am.”

Jason did as he told, fastening one of the cuffs over his left wrist and the other around the old metal radiator that was secured to the wall. He tugged his wrist a few times to prove he wasn’t going to be able to move anywhere.

Steve nodded to confirm he was satisfied. He walked to the door and stopped just before he left the room.

“Tell Len I’m sorry I betrayed his trust and let him know he won’t ever see me again.”

Steve walked out the room, but came back in a few seconds later carrying a small bag. He slid it across the room so it was in easy reach of Jason.

“There’s a hacksaw and a pistol in there.” he told him. “If you start on the cuffs now you should be free in about 20 minutes, and the gun can be used in case something goes wrong. But don’t try to shoot the cuffs off like in the movies, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

Steve left again and Jason reached for the bag. True to his word Steve had put the hacksaw and gun in the bag, along with two spare hacksaw blades and an extra magazine for the pistol. There was also a chocolate bar and bottle of water.

“Damn it Steve.” Jason said to himself as he pulled out the hacksaw and started on the handcuffs. “Just what are you planning?”

Steve moved as quickly as he could from container to container. He checked each one had someone inside before locking them, making sure the handles to the containers were in the closed position and inserting a metal peg into the hole that would normally accommodate a padlock. He found the two men on guard duty one at a time and, at gun point, escorted them into a container before locking it as well.

Finally when he was sure that everyone in the compound was locked up safely he went back to the toilet. The moaning was still audible as he carefully opened the door. He couldn’t have timed it better, as soon as he opened the toilet door he saw the soaking wet zombie dragging itself out of the hole to the sewer pipe.

Its dead eyes locked onto Steve and it started making more of an effort to pull itself free, moaning louder now it saw a potential meal.

Steve slowly backed away, keeping the door open the whole time to make sure the zombie didn’t loose interest in him. With one final pull the zombie freed itself from the hole and fell forward towards Steve, landing a few feet from him in the doorway. Steve slowly started walking away, checking behind him to make sure the zombie was following him.

The creature at first started to crawl after Steve until it managed to pick itself up and slowly stumbled after Steve, arms raised in typical zombie fashion.

Steve walked off leading the zombie to his final destination, the only container he hadn’t locked. As soon as he saw the container ahead of him he checked behind him one last time to make sure he was still being followed and quicken his pace.

When he reached the container the zombie was still about 30 feet away from him. He pulled open the containers door hiding behind it as he did so. This was now the biggest gamble of his plan. Hopefully the zombie would walk into the container instead of following him.

Not wanting to wait around in case the it case it decided he was the tastier option, Steve made his way past the container and started walking towards the docks.

As he reached the end of the container he heard a voice shouting to him.

“Help me. Rotting thing. Rotting thing.”

Steve glanced to his side and saw the old woman at one a window that had been cut into the back wall of the container. Bars had been welded into the gap to prevent anyone getting out. She held the bars tightly, knuckles white, her face pushed out as far out as she was able to.

“You, help.” she called to Steve.

He just carried on walking.

“You deserve this you hag.” he muttered to himself as he made his way towards the waters edge, pulling the boat keys out of his pocket.

“Please Steve, don’t do this. I love you.”

In a rare moment of clarity the old woman had suddenly regained her senses. Maybe it was the knowledge of imminent death that had allowed her to fully understand what was about to happen.

“STEVE. STEVE!”

As Steve walked away he tried to block out the shouts. They slowly turned from coherent words to just random noises. Either her sanity had retreated back into her brain in order to block out what was going on, or she had given up trying to appeal to him and was now attempting to rouse help from another source.

Eventually the noises turned into screams.

Steve climbed into the boat and took one last look at the place he had called home for the better part of a year. He had lost so much here it no longer held anything for him.

“Goodbye Len, Jason and everyone else.” he said to the air.

Turning the key the boat sputtered into life.

“Goodbye Vicki. I’ll always love you.”

He manoeuvred the boat away from the dock and turned it to face the open sea.

Just before he throttled the engine he thought he heard one last high pitch scream coming from the compound. He gritted his jaw, and put the boat in to gear as he headed off, saying one last goodbye.

“Goodbye mother.”

James Saxton stood up and allowed the two guards to each hold an arm as he was led out of his small cell. He was drugged, he was sure of it. There was no way he would let these men take him to his death without a fight otherwise. Not that there was much he could do about it anyway. His wrists and ankles were shackled together and a sturdy chain linked the two.

As he shuffled past the other cells he groggily looked at the faces of people he thought he knew staring back. The fear in their eyes was obvious, but he wasn’t afraid. Just another sign he was sure he’d been drugged. There must have been something in his final meal. It still tasted good though. He’d forgotten the last time he’d had such a beautifully cooked steak, such perfect fries and peas so fresh they could have been straight from the pods, and a chilled beer as well. He wasn’t sure they would go for that request, but they had allowed him one last frosty cold one.

Someone shouted his name, but James didn’t care. He probably recognised the voice but that memory was currently gone.

“Man these drugs must be good,” he thought. “I’m off to die, but whatever; at least it won’t kill me. Will it? Where am I again? Ohh this orange jumpsuit is nice. I’ll have to get me one when I get out of this restaurant. Man these drugs are good.”

His name was shouted again. This time James did look to his left, towards the sound. A man wearing the same jumpsuit as him was pressed up against the bars to his cell, his knuckles white as he tightly gripped the bars.

“James, fight it man. Remember what happened. Fight it”

Something in James’s drug addled mind suddenly clicked. A moment of clarity shone through the drug induced fog.

“Don’t let them do this James, fight it!”

~~~~

“Fight it James!” Shouted Ray as he ran towards him.

The zombie was on top of James trying its hardest to rip a bite sized piece of flesh out of him. James had the thing at arms length, its neck held tight in his black biker’s glove, keeping the rotten snapping jaw as far away as possible.

“SUMATH!” Shouted Ray. He had reached James now and swung a large fire axe at the zombie. The axe connected with the zombie’s head, splitting it open like a melon. Black liquid that might once have been blood, brains, skull and rotten skin splattered the side of James’s face and the surrounding floor.

“Don’t move mate,” Said Ray as he slowly reached out and took hold of James’ chin. He turned his face so he could see it fully. After a few seconds he let go.

“All clear mate, you live to fight another day.”

Ray helped James to his feet and patted him on the shoulder.

“Come on James, only a few more to go and we can head back to Salvation.”

~~~~

The fogged rolled in once more, clouding James’s mind again, the memories slowly disappearing. The two guards continued to lead him further down the corridor, the shouts of the strange man slowly fading away, until the could no longer be heard over footsteps on the stone floor. Finally they reached a door where two more guards stood. These two were armed with automatic weapons. One turned, removed a set of keys from his pocket and opened the door. As soon as James and his escort had entered the new room the door was closed and locked again. James looked sleepily around the room. It was a basic square with only two noticeable features. The first was the fact that one of the walls was just a mirror, and the second was the metal chair in the middle of the room facing the mirrored wall. It wasn’t like a normal chair, unless normal chairs have high backs with a helmet attached, or leather straps on the arm rests and legs. This was the kind of chair that once you sit in it you didn’t stand up again.

James willingly sat in the chair and allowed himself to be strapped in, the helmet secured on his head.

“There’ll be no salvation for you now” said one of the guards with a chuckle.

Salvation. The word sparked another cord in his brain and once again James was able to focus on the past and drag up another memory.

~~~~

It had become clear almost as soon as the zombies had begun the invasion that in order to survive mankind would have to adapt, and adapt quickly. When small groups of survivors got together and formed a make shift community wherever they could, rules would always become important. It was no different in Salvation.

It was a small place, ten houses, a garage and a small church, in the middle of America. It had been easy to defend, as the surrounding land was flat as far as the eye could see and the nearest bit of cover was a small patch of trees about half a mile out.

When James had first stumbled upon it, the Andersons had nearly shot him. They were an old couple that had refused to leave the home they had lived in for the past forty odd years. All the other houses were empty, as the families who had lived there ran for the safety that the army had promised everyone. Mr Anderson and James had started to build defences around the village. They removed any flat wood they could find from the empty houses, like doors and furniture, and used them to build a fence around them. Then James had dug a ditch around almost all of it, leaving one end of the road intact as an entry and exit point. Over time several other people found their way to Salvation and the community slowly grew.

Zombie attacks happened, but they were infrequent and dealt with quickly and easily. After a year a section of the fence was removed, the ditch filled in a several new shelters built in order to accommodate the increasing number of residents. They had discovered a lumberyard ten miles down the road, and once there were enough people and trucks available it wasn’t too much trouble to go raiding for supplies. As they scouted further out they found other garages where small amounts fuel, food and other essentials could be acquired. They always stayed away from the more populated areas that they knew off. The risk of being followed back to Salvation by hoards of undead or other scavengers just wasn’t worth the risk.

That was one of Mayor Saxton’s laws. Don’t do anything that could endanger Salvation. James couldn’t believe he had been made Mayor. He had been told it was because he’d been the one to start turning Salvation into the secure community it now was and everyone trusted him. Although James had argued that Mr Anderson had been there first, Mr Anderson had refused the role, saying he was told old. So James had been elected Mayor and Saxton’s laws were created. Most dealt with ensuring the community was kept safe at all times. Others dealt with how to deal with the undead, and the rest dealt with how to behave in the community.

The ones concerning the undead were fairly straightforward. If you got bit, you would be killed on sight. There were no last requests, no period of mourning, no chances to say goodbye to loved ones and no chances to be able to live until you turn.

As everyone knew the zombie virus spread with a bite, it stood to reason that any form of fluid exchange would probably have the same effect. Therefore it had been decided that if there was the chance you had ingested any part of a zombie, accidentally or otherwise, be it fluid or solid, then you would be killed. Most of the adults had worn face masks when facing up to zombies in close combat in order to avoid any chance of being splashed in the mouth with blood, but for the few who didn’t, they just turned their heads away and closed their mouths.

In order to teach the lesson to the few children who were in Salvation, a rhyme was created.

“Shut your mouth and turn your head

Or else you could end up dead”

Of course in some cases it wasn’t always the person who the zombie was attacking that would do the killing. So if someone was about to kill a zombie that was attacking someone else, and there was the possibility of fluid being transferred, they gave the warning shout “SUMATH”, which stood for

Shut Ur Mouth And Turn Head

No one remembered who came up with the cry, but it had saved many lives.

The other law concerning the undead was if you hesitate about killing one, you won’t be allowed to. It sounded stupid, but if you’re were in the middle of a fight the slightest hesitation, maybe because you recognised one of the undead, could cost lives. It was safer to have people who were focused on doing what had to be done, without the distraction of wondering if the man behind you was covering your back, or trying to reason with their undead ex-girlfriend.

The laws that dealt with behaviour were pretty straightforward as well. No stealing, fighting, killing the living or general unsociable behaviour. A first offence was dealt with by imprisoning the person at the top of the church tower for one-week without food. The second offence was either two-weeks in the tower with only one meal during this time, or you were expelled from the community for a week and forced to fend for yourself.

No one ever committed a third offence

Things worked well. Within the first few months all surrounding farms had been raided for animals that had survived and soon Salvation had its own livestock. Cows, pigs and sheep gave the residents milk, meat and clothing. Vegetable patches were commonplace on the lawns of every house, as each person had grown something different to add to the storehouses. Salvation had been the perfect place in a world of hell.

And then the soldiers had come. The first sign was when a helicopter had flown overhead. Some of the children had never seen a helicopter and ran screaming to the protection of their homes, unsure what to make of the flying beast. James on the other hand had called together the adults for a meeting. It was unclear whether or not the helicopter had seen anyone on the ground, or if in fact it had been looking for people in the first place. It had been decided that no one was to leave Salvation for the next 48 hours just in case. All guards were put on high alert and told to raise the alarm at the first sign of anything out of the ordinary. Almost 36 hours had gone by before they noticed the convoy of army vehicles approaching. Four troop transports and an open topped jeep. As the convoy had approached, the town of Salvation had prepared itself for the unknown. Rumours were abound amongst the residents, were the army there to help or take over. Had they brought news that the Undead been repelled from the country or were these soldiers a rouge unit, come to take what they wanted? James had told the town to have guns ready but not to show aggression, just be ready to defend themselves if needed.

Things had started out friendly enough. The convoy had stopped a few hundred meters away from Salvation and a single man exited the jeep and walked slowly towards the town, arms outspread to show he was unarmed. James had gone to meet him at the gated entrance to Salvation and he had introduced himself as General Baxter. He was an old looking man, but James had suspected the lines on his face showed an age past his actual years. White hair cut close to his scalp added to the impression of a much older man. General Baxter had explained how his unit was travelling the country, looking for communities like Salvation and letting them know that things were slowly getting back to normal. The undead were still at large in the country, but the army was fighting back with the help of the citizens. All communities of sizable proportions were being recorded so help could be delivered at a later date.

General Baxter had inquired about numbers, average age and sex of the citizens. James had given rough numbers, not wanting to give away too much information. The General had thanked him and began to walk away, which is when it all went wrong.

The General must have given a signal to his men because suddenly two of the townsfolk fell to the floor. James had instantly noticed darts sticking out of their necks. Within seconds more and more people fell unconscious and he’d ordered the gates shut, but it was in vain as he noticed two soldiers already inside. They must have somehow made their way in over the perimeter fence at the back whilst everyone’s attention was at the soldiers at the front. They carried small thin guns with large hoppers on top. The guns had fired darts at the panicked people, every shot hitting its mark be it man, woman or child.

The last thing James had seen was the General smiling before he’d felt a sharp prick in his neck and he’d passed out.

~~~~

As he came back to the present James saw the two guards leave the room. He was alone now. He thought back to a few weeks ago. After he had woken up following the attack he’d discovered he was in a cell on his own. No one had told him why he was there or if he was the only citizen of Salvation who had been taken. After several days of being questioned by soldiers about everything he had done up until the point he was arrested, (he hated that the soldiers kept calling it an arrest, it was abduction to him) he had been taken to the joint cells where he’d found all the men from salvation. None of them knew the fate of the women or children, and the soldiers said nothing. They had been kept in the cells since that date, then two days ago General Baxter had paid him a visit. He had told him he was to be executed and ask him what he wanted as his last meal. Now here he was, about to die.

The door to the room opened and James looked to his right and watched as a soldier in a red biohazard suit walked in carrying a long needled syringe.

The sweat started to build on James forehead and his heart began to race faster. The drugs must be wearing off, he thought; I wouldn’t be panicking as much if they weren’t.

The soldier walked carefully to James, all the while watching the syringe intently, as if it would explode suddenly if he took his eyes off it for a second.

James lost sight of him as he walked behind his chair. A few seconds later he felt something cold being rubbed on the back of neck, then pain so intense it felt like a beam of pure fire was being directed at his neck. Almost as soon as it began the pain dissipated. James felt his core temperature slowly begin to rise, starting at his neck and slowly spreading throughout his whole body. He just assumed to blood was carrying whatever was in the syringe to every part of his body. So not long to live now then. Would it be a gentle sleep, or a sudden stop of everything?

As the soldier in the biohazard suit left by the door to his right James heard a small click to his left. He turned his head and noticed, for the first time there was a door in the wall. There was another click and the door began to open. A low moan reached James’s ears as the door opened further. Suddenly three undead shuffled in the room. Without a pause they all moved as one towards him, the door closing as soon as they were clear.

“No.” Whispered James. The drugs were still holding his full emotions in check, but the parts of his brain that had recovered quickest tried in vain to bring the realisation of the situation to the rest of his mind.

The zombies advanced on James, their arms now raised, fingers grasping at the air as they got closer to their meal.

Final the full danger of the situation caused James to snap out of his drugged fuelled state for on final moment of defiance

“NO!” he screamed as the undead final reached him

~~~~

The two figures stood silently, watching the scene of carnage taking place through the two-way mirror.

“How long before the serum is supposed to show signs of success, General Baxter?” Asked one of the figures. He wore a black suit and sunglasses, despite being indoors and in a darkened room.

“Between 3 and 5 minutes after adequate consumption sir.” Replied General Baxter

A spray of red arterial blood splattered the glass. Both men took a small side step in order to continue viewing the spectacle unhindered.

The black suited man removed a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket, put one of the sticks in his mouth and lit it. As an afterthought he offered the packet to the General.

“No thank you sir. I gave up when this whole thing kicked off. It wasn’t easy to get them back then so it wasn’t a hard decision or an easy task, but I’ve kicked the habit.”

The other man just grunted.

Both men continued to watch as the three undead ripped chunks of flesh and muscle from James’s now dead body.

Finally there was nothing left of James to continue eating. The three zombies shuffled towards the mirrored glass and started ineffectively pawing at it.

“Amazing.” Said the man in sunglasses. “They can’t see or hear us, yet somehow they know we are in here.”

He dropped the cigarette butt on the floor and ground it under his heel.

“I am curious though, why do you use three zombies to devour one man?”

“Well sir, current stats show that the creatures need to consume at least one third of the human body in order for the virus to fully integrate with their system. After observing the eating habits, the men in the labs found some interesting traits”

The General paused and look over at the other man. He nodded so the General continued.

“Well it turns out they are very competitive when it comes to food. One of them will take its time over a meal; whereas the more there are the quicker they eat. It’s almost as if they know there is less food to go around the more of them there are. So to go back to the original point, two will not eat enough of the body before the virus passes it’s termination point, and four or more won’t have enough meat to go around.”

“And why can’t we just inject the virus straight into them?”

“It needs time to gestate, and it can only do that within living tissue. As you know the reason the creatures don’t rot is because nothing lives on them, even the basic bacteria that breaks down dead tissue. This is the only way to get the virus inside them whilst it’s still active.”

The man looked at his watch and then back to the zombies who were still trying to get though the unbreakable mirrored glass.

“I take it this batch is another failure”

“Looks that way Sir. We’ll try again in an hour. I’ll get the boys in the lab to start getting cooking up V one-six-nine.”

“Carry on without me General, I have more important things to look into. Only contact me if you make any kind of break through.”

“Yes Sir. By the way Sir, has there been any success in tracking down Dr Matt Pointer?”

“Nothing yet, although we believe he managed to board a plane back to England before the virus got too widespread.”

“It would really help if we had him here. He couldn’t have created this thing without having some knowledge of how to stop it as well.”

“I’m working on it General. Now dispose of those three failures and prepare for you next set of tests. I want to see some positive results soon or you could find you get to personally try out V one-seven-nine.”

“Yes sir.” General Baxter said as the other man left the room. He walked over to an intercom that was situated on the wall near the mirrored glass. He pressed to talk button and waited a second.

“Sergeant, please dispose of the three specimens in the observation room, and tell chef to get ready to make another last meal. The lab will be sending up the secret ingredient soon.”

He smiled to himself at the little joke he just made and looked out at the three zombies still trying unsuccessfully to get though the glass. They were right in front of him, having followed his movements from the other side.

“Soon you bastards will be gone. I won’t loose this war to you. Even if it means I have to sacrifice every man, woman and child in this country, I will win.”

He watched as the zombies turned away from him. They had noticed the two soldiers who had entered their room and seeking easier prey had decided to go for them. The general turned and walked out of the observation room as three gunshots were fired.

“I will win.”

The audience draws in, eager to witness his feat.

He presses down with his right foot, testing the line.

Would like more rope tension…

Would like a drop in the breeze …

Would like a safety harness…

………but the audience is waiting.

“This will give them something to quicken their dead hearts”.

He controls his breathing and attempts to bring his own heart rate down – eyes focussed on the horizon.

The crowd’s anticipation is growing……..

All eyes are on him…..

Somewhere behind him he can hear a rhythmic pounding, providing the soundtrack to his act…….

A slow waltz of clenched fists on wood……..

Now or never.

He steps up, using his right thigh muscles and extends his arms out.

On the step up the sudden movement coils away from him sending a shock wave the down the cable. The change in tension affects the pitch of the wind creating a whistle like a sharp breath across an open bottle.

The line settles, as does the pendulum motion that was swaying him from side to side.

“Balance. Get your balance right here and you’ll be fine all the way along”.

Zen, Nirvana, Ready.

He extends his left foot out and places it down in front of his right.

The audience’ mouths are open as he edges out in to the ether.

He begins to work his arms slightly, undulating them up and down to help with his balance. This draws the disturbance out from his core and keeps him planted on the line.

Four steps out and he has cleared the parapet and the audience’ moans grow.

Seven hundred pairs of eyes fixed on his every move.

Arms reach for him, grasping, urging the air to bestow its bounty upon them.

The breeze is constant but not too stiff. He can do this. He tells himself this again an again. It becomes a mantra.

He can feel the sinew of the cable beneath the ball of his foot. Every twist, every knot that combines to form this line.  What formerly carried power now holds life itself aloft.

As he reaches the midway point where the slack is greatest the pendulum motion begins again more violently. The wind rises markedly, the audience moans increase in pitch.

They anticipate the inevitable – Icarus will return to earth.

The motion permeates through him, wanting to unsettle him, wanting to own him.

This he must control or it will undo him. Extending out his left leg he attempts to ride and dampen the sensation.

Three stories up, he fights the very foundations of the world for life itself. Gravity, air, and fear all conspire to unseat him.

The grey faces reach for him, wishing to claim him….

…….they fail.

The motion on the line settles, composure is regained and balance is restored once more.

He begins moving forward.

He clears the remainder easily and stands on the post office roof- joyful. He looks back over the 40 feet of abyss he has crossed. He fishes a water bottle from his pack and toasts them, salutes them as Caesar to his people.

They finally broke through the door on the roof he had left. They surge towards him with grasping hands and fall straight off the roof into the massed crowd below. He watches the lemmings for a few minutes until they finally halt their actions on the roof top and stand as a group staring at him.

With a wry smile he wonders if one of them might try and copy his feat.

He turns and walks away to the other side of the post office where a massed bunch of phone lines stretch to a telegraph pole in the middle of the street. He will try again, from here to the library, from the library across the river to freedom. Or at least the hope of freedom.

He stands and gathers himself. He controls his breathing and attempts to bring his heart rate down – eyes focussed on the horizon.

Below a grey face looks up and notices him a low moan escaping its lips.

A new audience begins to gather.

He places one foot upon the high wire.

END

—

Ben Grove lives in Manchester, England and included a vital lesson on zombie survival in the groom’s speech at his wedding. 50 close friends and family are now fully prepared to destroy their staircases in the event of their home being attacked by the zombie hordes. If you have zombie problem and you know where to find him…perhaps you can hire him. If no cash is offered he’ll do children’s parties or barmitzfars for free.

Jim leant against the window; the cool night air leaked around the broken frame and cooled his reddened, drunken face as he sipped at the whiskey trying to garner some resolve.  His eyes refocused on his own reflection, as grey, wan, and lined as the skin of any Zombie. He thought about the last sixteen years running from the knowledge he had lost everything in The Fall, the same as everyone else. He had a memory of that black time, of biting teeth and running in the dark from the moans. Times of black grief and reckless mourning that weren’t to be talked about.

The weight of the experience formed a cross too heavy to bear. Everyone in Greater London yearned to share the stories of that time and gain some solace, yet few could, because the cross was carried by everyone. The memory of the Zombie apocalypse was too dark and personal to be borne by others.  Jim wondered if he was the only one with that recognition. Then, as he poured himself another glass of rough whiskey, he thought about Shayna and the kids, three little gems of life, and although he had a picture on his desk he realised he hadn’t thought about them in a long time. He had hidden from the pain using responsibility. He realised, that after sixteen years of fighting the enemy and building this city, he hadn’t grieved for them. He knew that was probably the longest time for anyone in the city, but it was too late now to grieve, no tears came, and he wasn’t even sure any more of the name of the youngest one.

He tried to gain the will to face his men and tell them it would be OK, that it wouldn’t be like The Fall. He knew this to be a lie. It would be worse than The Fall, and they would all die, no one would escape that hadn’t left the city already.  He knew this because The Minister had phoned him and told him so.

Eight days ago it had started as a curiosity, a lone Zombie shambling slowly down Knightsbridge, wearing a smart suit and carrying a sign, the last protester at an Undead rally. It was picked up on CCTV and tracked by a tired, laconic, operator who reported it to the Gate Patrol. They acknowledged with a casual grunt and watched it move onwards in its own quietly determined way past the husks of cars and overgrown verges piled with detritus. It was an ‘Ancient’ with sunken eyes and wiry limbs.

Eventually one of the guards folded his poker hand, shrugged at his friends around him, took his winnings and climbed the ladder up the wall of broken concrete and cars. As he struggled upwards he passed the hanging drapes that warned those who left that they would receive no more safety once through the steel and aluminium gate.

The wall stretched along Piccadilly in one direction and along Grosvenor Place in the other, encompassing Buckingham Palace and the gardens within the walls of ‘Greater London’. He climbed the forty feet to the top of the gate, constructed at the end of Constitution Hill, sat on the little chair in the rain rusted corrugated structure, took the binoculars from the hook, and looked out towards the lone figure ahead in the cracked and dusty streets. Once he had a bead, he focussed in. It didn’t look too fresh, but strangely the suit did. It shambled past the remains of shopping carts pushed to the side, and over shrubs that grew from the rain filled drains. The sign, clutched in its white knuckles, wobbled about as the grey Zombie lurched inexorably left to right like a metronome. It read;

The End is Nigh.

The guard finished his tea. Rifled in his bags for some bullets, found some and with them a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and carefully loaded the rifle. Looking up, the Zombie was a little closer, so he finished the cigarette and waited. Finally the guard raised the rifle, cocked it, settled it into his shoulder, and shot the Zombie through the head. It flopped dustily to the floor. The guard leant the rifle against the chair, rested his head in his hands and sighed.

An hour later to the second, Control rang through. Two more had been spotted coming down Knightsbridge, both carrying signs. He told the operator in the Department of Control about the sign the first one was carrying, and she asked him to tell her what was on the signs these two were waving.

The end is nigh

The Minister is coming!

Ten hours later, the guard was flanked by snipers, dressed in black fatigues and dark polarised glasses, their protection from the morning glare. They settled on the walls like Gothic crows, kneeling, crouching and lying with eyes pressed up to the sights. The minigun stations were manned, as were the flamethrower apertures at ground level. Behind him troops ran, frantically ferrying ammo from supply vans to the individual guns. He could hear orders being barked, men and women sweating as they threw case after case of ammo into position. An alarm sounded. Everyone fell silent and over public address system, an announcement was made.

“Here they come. Wait until the order to fire.” The tinny, disembodied voice said.

They number of Zombies had doubled every hour until this wave held over a thousand.  The signs they carried repeating the same mantra.

The end is nigh

The Minister is coming!

Prepare yourself

For confession

In one week

He will come

As soon as the mobs of Zombies were in range, and the order was given, the miniguns fired up to speed with a spinning whine. There were four of them around the gate and as one they roared in defiance at the mob. The bullets ripped through the flesh of the Dead, into those behind. Those who were not shot in the head rose to fight again. The guns trained in on them and cut them down with efficiency. A few minutes later, it was over and the guns spun down. The acrid smell of hot metal pierced the senses of the soldiers around. They relaxed, flexed wrists, cricked necks, smoked, and waited

For an hour more ammo was ferried to the gunning posts, and Engineers tended the hot old guns with cooling oils and pastes in readiness for the doubling of the Zombies again. Jim had wondered at that time how many Zombies The Minister controlled, or could control, maybe it was about a thousand, as many as had been sent in the last wave. If that was the case, of course The Minister would be better using subterfuge, so why announce his arrival? Jim realised this was the psychological component. The attack had been broadcast all over the city on the BBC. Everyone knew the Minster was coming, everyone knew that something was about to happen.

After an hour the next wave never came, nor an hour after that, and there was nothing for a few days. Even the reconnaissance missions reported very few or no Zombies around. It was as quiet as ever in the City of the Dead.

Jim remembered sitting in his office three days ago. It was late afternoon and he was reading a very dry report about estimated repair times for the wind farm system when his phone rang.  He flicked the receiver up to his ear and held it there with his chin.

“Bramer.” He said curtly. There was a shuffle and a click on the end of the line. Jim was just about to repeat his name.

“Ahh Jim. I kent I would just leave ya a wee message.”

Jim’s legs went weak. He recognised the voice from the MP3 he had played to Paul Jollie all those months ago. It was flat, hollow, threatening even in the quiet between words.

“Dunnae try talking to me, I’m just a recording…..I just wanted to let you know that its time for you to stop fightin’ and ready yersel. I’ll come and hear yer confession. I want you to kneel afore me and admit your sins. I say this, Jim, because when you see me for the first time, in three days time, i’ll walk straight intae yer city an’ you’ll weep an’ realise that there is nothing you can dae. Nothing you can dae to stop this happening.  Make yer peace with God, Jim, and I’ll gladly welcome you intae my arms. See you soon big man. See you soon”

Jim held the phone long after The Minister rang off.  He felt as vulnerable as the first time he had hidden unarmed from the Dead. The Minister had told him that he wasn’t safe. All the mechanisms and safeguards they had built against the Zombie horde meant nothing when there was a mind behind it.

The call was traced to a payphone on the Isle of Dogs. CCTV found the person who made the call and held the Dictaphone to the receiver. His name was Charlie Willoughby, and he had entered Greater London through the North gate claiming he had come to trade, in his Land Rover, from one of the isolated communities to the north.  He had been admitted after screening, then made the call after travelling right across the six miles of walled city. Charlie was easily picked up, and under robust interrogation had admitted that the Minister had taken a thousand Zombies through his community and taken his family hostage, Charlie begged them not to tell the Minister when he arrived for the sake of his family. They reminded him they were more than likely already dead. According the Charlie the Minister was alive and well and on his way. They locked Charlie up and waited.

Then, on the morning of the seventh day the city of London awoke, turned on their TV’s and saw. Pictures were beamed live from a helicopter as it flew down Knightsbridge and into a sea of the Dead. They stood in a line starting a quarter of a mile from the gate. In between the buildings, they filled the car parks, streets, the shopping precincts, and sports fields, in every open space for mile after mile. The helicopter flew over not an army of the Dead, but a Nation of the Dead. Millions of zombies had appeared over night at the Gates of London and now stood facing the city in silence, evenly spaced and unmoving, muting all sound with their collective mass.  The BBC reporter was trying frantically to describe the vastness of the scene whilst concealing the fear evident in his own voice.

At that moment Jim knew that the Minister was right, there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t evacuate the city, but they would try, and in the end the nation of the Dead would roll over the city like a tsunami. Jim reached for the whiskey bottle. The Dead stood there as the city fell into chaos. The army stood resolute. They had been trained well, but the population fled to the east of Greater London and into any ships, planes and even rafts that would carry them. Now, as Jim watched the last hopefuls file towards Westminster Bridge, a wave of tiredness fell over him. The empty whiskey bottle fell to the floor and spun.  Jim lurched over and kept his balance against the desk. He was more drunk than he realised. He reached over to grab the faded photo of his long dead family and knocked it over. He scrambled to pick it up and looked at the smiling faces within. He had been wrong, there were tears left to grieve.  He flopped into the leather backed chair and stared at the picture cradled in his hands weeping until the alcohol took hold and he passed out.

…..

Little Paul Jollie sat up in bed and screamed.

“Mummy! Mummy!” He started to cry and although he knew he was safe at home he could still feel them all around him.

“Mummy turn the light on. Pleeeaaase” He wailed.

The door flew open  and the light came on, not to show the crowded dining room of his dream, crammed with dead and rotting figures with little Paul cowering in the middle, but to his little bedroom. It was blue and had all his toys and little boxes and all his Bob the Builder posters just as they should be. His Mum ran in and swept him up. He sobbed, terrified into her shoulder.

“Oh my darling what’s wrong?” She soothed as she hugged him close. Between sobs Paul blurted out.

“It was the dream again Mummy. I…I was not walking. I was just standing this time. They were all around me all stinky and ill”

“Oh my baby. My Darling. It was just a bad dream.” She whispered. Paul began to calm down after a time and slowly she lowered him back into bed, with words of love and gentle kisses.

“Mummy.” Said Paul. “Leave the light on.”

“I will babe.” She tucked the duvet round his shoulders. It was cool and welcome.

“Do you want me to stay for a while?” She said.

Paul nodded. So she sat there and gently stroked his head.

Finally as he drifted off into the grey of sleep he could feel the weight of his Mum on the bed. He could hear her gentle breathing, the warm smell of her in her bed clothes, then, just as the grey of sleep drifted over his mind, just for a second, they were all around him again.

There in the grey, the space that existed between sleep and consciousness, surrounded by tiny eyes of darkness, a speck of light hid from the enormous black hole that spun silently before it.

…..

Jim woke with the early summer sun full in his face. It streamed through the window and made his face sweat precious water. He groaned and tried to get up, but his old stiffened neck complained loudly with a crack. He rubbed at the loosened flesh. The war of flesh was coming. The memory shocked Jim awake. He grabbed a half empty glass of water from his desk and drained it. He staggered to the toilet in the other room, drained himself, washed quickly, and just as he straightened his hair while returning to his office there was a knock at the door.

“Come” Shouted Jim.

The door opened and in stepped Miss Mitchell, who was a short woman, in her late forties and fiercely efficient. She has short black hair and a faded but smart twin set.

“Good morning Sir. I have Control on the line. They want to give you a sit rep but couldn’t get hold of you, probably because your phone is off the hook.” She strode over and replaced it, shaking her head slightly. It rang immediately. She picked up the receiver.

“Mr Bramer’s office?…..He’s here…Yes….No, I’ll have him call you in five minutes…….Have the Zombies moved?……In that case, Sir, I will have him call you in five minutes.” She said tersely and plonked the phone down with just enough force to indicate to the caller on the other line they had been hung up on.

Jim sat at his desk, and Miss Mitchell wrinkled her nose at him.

“By the smell of you you’ll need coffee and water. All non-military staff have left the building so there’s no breakfast but I’ll see what I can do about toast. That was General Jones.”

Without saying another word she strode out of the office.  Jim had employed her simply because to her the Zombies were another obstacle to be overcome, like not having milk in your tea. He put his head in his hands and pulled his hair back. He picked up the phone and dialled.

“Control. General Jones speaking.”

“Jonesy. It’s Jim. What’s the situation?” There were too few Generals to not be on first name terms.

“No different. They haven’t moved all night, but while you have been incommunicado we’ve pretty much got everything ready. I have a Division of troops at the gate, minigun and flamer crews ready. Everyone else is lined up on top of the wall or barricaded on the top of buildings along Birdcage Walk, the Mall and Buckingham Gate. We’ve also managed to get twenty choppers on the go, but no armour.” Tanks, like most military tech too big to be carried, hadn’t been used since The Fall.

“Any luck with the TIC Snipers?” The TIC snipers were Jim’s best hope. The Minister was the only one alive amongst the crowd, and with Thermal Imaging Cameras, a sniper would be able to pick out the heat signature and take him out. Needle in a haystack didn’t even begin to describe the task.

“None so far and the BBC helicopter we outfitted hasn’t seen anything either.” Said General Jones.

“Keep looking. Remember the TIC snipers can fire at will, but only at a signature. I don’t want that bastard walking up to the gate only to find they are out of ammo.”

“Righto. There are no reports of Z activity from the other gates too, so we’ve pulled a couple of Divisions over to the West Gate.”

“Good idea. Any luck with the heavy ordnance? “Jim said.

“None. All the tridents were made safe years ago, and we know from The Fall what nukes would do to the Undead, even if we had any.”

“Radioactive Undead? Not Good”

“No. All the bombs, tanks and heavy stuff were dismantled for parts years ago.” Jonesy said.

“Its ironic. There hasn’t been a war between humans for sixteen years. Peace at last eh?”

Jonesy didn’t know what to say to that.

“Also the situation at the Docks is getting worse, we estimate two hundred thousand trying to get out, we can’t contain the situation much longer.” Jonesy continued.

“Where the hell are they gonna go, Jonesy?”

“Everything’s that’s got an engine, wings or sails has already left.”

“Pull your men out. Get them deployed this side of the river. If the people want out the gate then let them go. It’s their choice.”

“You think they’ll think twice and calm down if we play ball?”

“It doesn’t matter either way, if we can’t stop him they might stand a better chance on their own, and all his forces are this side of the river”

“Fair enough, but we’ll get him Jim.”

“I bloody hope so. Call me if there is any change.”

“Will do.”

Jim put the phone down and picked up the remotes. He turned on the CCTV system and logged onto the Control network. Several different sized TV’s fixed to the opposite side of the office flickered into life. He could see what the commanders on the ground could see. The might not have armour but they had information, nothing moved in Greater London without it being picked up. Jim flicked on the BBC as well and watched the footage of the reconnaissance flyover again. He couldn’t comprehend the scale. He had hoped to feel more positive after he woke but in the face of these odds, how could he? The gate might hold until they ran out of ammo. The gauntlet that the Zombies needed to run to get to Westminster and Westminster Bridge might thin them down enough. With a stroke of luck one of the TIC crews might pick up The Minister and they were then into a straight fight, but Jim was a realist more than anything else, and he knew that battles throughout history were won by the army with the most troops. He didn’t expect this to be any different, and as Miss Mitchell arrived with his coffee and toast, he swung into action. He picked up the phone, and made some calls.

…..

Paul knew that part of him was here, in the dorm of the orphanage set up in the compound of Windsor Castle. He couldn’t move but he could feel the warm sheets, he could smell the dirty pillow beneath his head. Part of him was here, in the now, but part of him was in the dream. The same dream he always had. He was walking at night, surrounded by Zombies, through broken streets and overgrown fields, endlessly walking. He had no control over his movements but could see his hands, and they were as dead as those around him. He screamed and sat up in bed. One of the other kids told him to shut the fuck up. Paul was eleven and his Mum was long dead. He laid his head back on the pillow and sobbed quietly until he fell asleep into the grey.

…..

“They’re moving. Yes they’ve started walking towards the gate. I’ve never seen anything like it. God help us. God help us all.” The reporter commentated, but Jim wasn’t listening.

The whole nation of the Dead, moving as one, started to walk towards the gate, their footfalls a low rumble through the concrete and stone of the cities’ foundation. Slowly, inexorably, they came. The images from the BBC helicopter showed them moving like an oily tide through the city, meandering over broken glass and rubble, around toppled streetlights and rotting furniture, the discarded remnants of history.

In the helicopter the camera span round to show a line of twenty helicopters heading out from the city towards the massed crowd.  It was a rag tag collection of machinery, converted civilian and military helicopters, older than the end of The Fall as the parts were easier to find or convert. They stopped over the front line and waited for the order. Cannons exploded simultaneously at the crowd, flicking bodies into the air and splitting the concrete below into a fine dust that rose from the army, mixed with their black blood in an oily mist.

The BBC helicopter lurched sideways and the camera focussed in to see a covered arctic trailer. It was being pulled by a line of Zombies, roped together like slaves moving a sandstone block for their Pharaoh. Suddenly the covered side of the trailer fell away and inside you could see a row of Zombies holding tubes. The cameraman tried to focus in on what they were doing as they raised the green tubes to the sky, it zoomed in frantically to see that all the Zombies in the trailer had stinger missile systems crudely duct taped to their hands, and as Jim realised what was happening, they fired simultaneously. Missiles streaked into the sky trailing ragged fingers of smoke. The helicopters had either had their chaff systems removed for parts, or the pilots were too young to have been trained in this pointless defence against Zombies. In the case of the two remaining military Lynx machines, their old Pilots fired the chaff but in their surprise fired too late and, with a searing light and concussive blast that knocked the crowd below off its feet, it showered the Zombie army with fiery helicopter parts. The humans’ air defence was removed with one stroke, along with the BBC helicopter as the screen in Jims office turned to static for a moment.

The phone rang.

“Jim, its Jonesy. Did you see that?”

“He’s rolled through every military base in the country, picked up equipment and tools. You better expect more surprises.” Jim said, coolly. He realised now they had underestimated the Ministers power and cunning.

“Is there any news from the TIC snipers?”

“No.” Said Jonesy

“Stick to the plan, Jonesy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Nation of the Dead approached the gate. Miniguns and rifles exploded at the crowd as they came within range. Thick cordite smoke rose lazily past banners on the gate pronouncing ‘Work Hard: Live Safe’ and into the summer sky as the miniguns and ten thousand rifles picked at the crowd below. Like pushing oil on a table, the fingers of each miniguns probed and prodded the mass only to be replaced by more dead as they surged forward towards the narrow opening.

The gate was sheet aluminium and steel, thick enough to protect against a multitude of banging fists, but not thick enough to protect against the thousand Rocket Propelled Grenades that streaked haphazardly toward the gate, loosely aimed by their Undead troops.

The Minister relied on quantity, not quality of each shot. They slammed into the gate and the surrounding area with such a ripple of explosions that it shook the windows in Jim’s office. He looked towards the gate, past the ramshackle city, and saw the flash of light past Buckingham Palace.  Some of the RPG’s flew ineffectually over the barrier and some hit the crowd of Zombies in front of the shooter, flicking them up like plastic soldiers duct taped to a firecracker, but most hit the gate or surrounding wall.  It shattered like glass sending shrapnel down Constitution Hill, shredding the home made polytunnels that housed some of Greater London’s food source, with a ripping sound.  The blast knocked over home made ploughs and farm equipment like a winter gale.

There was a calm after the explosion at the gate, as blackened shards of metal clanged and clattered to the ground, then the sound of injured troops crying out in pain, victims of the RPG’s or shrapnel blast that followed. This was followed by the sound of tramping feet as the Zombies breached the gate. The CCTV’s in Jim’s office switched to show the gate itself and as the smoke cleared the first line of Zombies shambled casually through the breach. They marched round the ruined Portacabins and markets used to process those coming into the city and provide them with food and water when they got there.

…..

The grey was nothing. Neither warm nor cold, neither dark nor light, it just existed as a distance between two unspecified points. Yet it had character, Paul could see this now. There were areas of grey thicker than others, clouds of etherea that he could use to hide from the black disc that spun in the centre of millions of black eyes. They watched it slowly rotate in rapture, these dead eyes, these soulless wells. All this time Paul hid from the dark. Then he could feel it, the road beneath his feet with the dead walking with him and the buildings that flanked them like broken monoliths. Ahead, he could see a gate explode as a thousand fingers of fire stretched from the dark hole in the grey to envelope it.

Paul juddered awake and could feel the warmth of Sarah against him in the cramped single camp bed and he wanted to stay here with her more than anything. They were young and in lust. He wasn’t dead, and it was just that dream again. He drank in her scent as she snored like a purring kitten. The fear finally left him, but he couldn’t sleep so he thought about passing his basic training in two weeks time and he rested his cheek against her soft warm ribs as they lay together in the darkness.

…..

Inside the gate lay Constitution Hill and the fields of Buckingham Palace gardens. Between that and the gate lay the semi circular ring of five bunkers, each equidistant to the gate. Inside, the guns spat rounds at the aperture where the gate used to be, tearing at the dead and those injured from the blast, without prejudice. The bunkers were constructed from rubble left over from the buildings demolished to make the wall but had never been used, as the wall had never been breached. The mound of corpses grew, unable to pass the weaving aim of the gunners.  Each gun was taken out in turn to cool, and for a while it held back the Zombies until, pushing through from behind, scrambling past their older slower colleagues, the runners came. They shoved their way through from the back like commuters hurrying for a train, each desperate to get to the front line.

These were the freshly dead. To run as fast as they did they must have been turned within the last forty eight hours, before they started to slow and become as unstable as their more ancient brethren. Jim realised that they must have been pillaged from the myriad small communities that had lasted since The Fall, or recently formed strongholds as humanity pushed back. They had been kept alive by The Minister until the day before the Nation of the Dead appeared. They had been turned into his shock troops, undead suicide bombers in The Ministers’ Jihad.

Figures sprinted through the thickening crowd, dodging and weaving towards the bunkers. Jim could see these were the young and fit dead, children and teenagers who had never known the world before The Fall, marched to the point of exhaustion and then turned to be moulded by the will of The Minister.

They closed on the bunkers and Jim could recognise the belt of grenades each wore, swinging wildly as they ran. The miniguns couldn’t track them all with the crowd of normal Zombies moving in behind past the gate. While The gunners concentrated on the runners, a solitary girl reached bunker number four to where the gun couldn’t reach. She ran behind the bunker and detonated. The steel door was blown off its hinges as a second runner, a thin teenage boy dressed in a dark blue shell suit, reached the entrance and disappeared inside. There was a crimson flash from the bunker and the minigun span down as smoke poured from the slotted window. One by one the bunkers fell and the mass of dead climbed over their comrades without a word, expanding out inside the city itself. Small groups closed in on the injured and dying, not to devour them but just to place a single bite so in a few hours they would join The Minister on his crusade.

Jim’s phone rang. It was General Jones.

“Jim. I want you to get out. Get on the last Evac and go. We didn’t last a fraction of the time we expected, shit we expected to run out of ammo first.”

“Don’t talk crap Jonesy. He’s after me, its my face on the posters. I’m ‘Uncle Jim’.” He said, quoting the posters all over the City. “He wants to make an example out of me and to prove no-one is safe”

“That’s why you should go.” Jonesy’s voice was cool and level.

“I’m not going. Full stop. Now give me an update.”

“Update is we’ve got a lot more Z’s left than we wanted, and we’ve lost everyone at the gate and along that section of the wall. At least ten thousand men if you include the support crews behind the gate.”

“Any TIC snipers left?”

“I’ve kept some in the city but most were on the wall.”

“And they saw nothing?”

“No.”

“Bollocks!”  Jim shouted. He banged the table in frustration. They had to find him to end this. They had to find the one lone heat signature.

“Pull back into the city for phase two, let’s hope the gardens thin them down a bit until they get into the streets.”

“Ok, Jim…and good luck.”

“You too, Jonesy.” Jim said replacing the phone gently on the desk.

The Zombies fanned out inside the gate and moved towards the converted gardens. They formed a rough front line before striding towards the Palace. They trampled across fields of corn, potatoes and lettuce, showing no regard for anything that was not human meat. They marched across the poly tunnels of tomatoes and strawberries. Jim watched as all his work was crushed into dirt.

Then there was an explosion as one of the hastily planted landmines exploded, showering dirt and body parts, flicking buckets and pots up into the sky to fall and smash to the ground. The Zombie Nation didn’t need fields or irrigation to survive, all it needed was time and meat. Greater London had the latter, The Minister the former. Further down the line a pipe bomb exploded flicking a Zombie above it into the air where it spun like a ragdoll before falling to the ground. Explosions ripped down the line as they advanced and the frequency increased until it was an immense firecracker celebrating the revolution. Corpses piled deep as the Dead marched on with most of the force still cramming towards the gate from the outside.

Jim and Jonesy had scant few hours from when the dead miraculously appeared to prepare. Every landmine and explosive had been used to make the killing fields the Zombie army now moved straight through. This was the perfect army. No fear, no morale, unswerving loyalty, invulnerable to pain and fatigue. It would not stop until it achieved the dark purpose The Minister set for it. The carefully ploughed fields and well stocked greenhouses were destroyed by both sides in their desperation to win this, the largest land battle the world had ever seen.

Eventually the firecracker died and the army rumbled on past the ruins of Buckingham Palace and the Victoria memorial. It was still covered with notes to the lost, little stories of those trying to find friends and families in the apocalypse. Left for all this time just in case, and now ignored by those who could be the object of the note, as they walked on into the city itself.

…..

For months the grey had been a static place, but now the black hole rotated furiously, casting its gaze left and right as the tiny pairs of black eyes winked out of existence around it, and yet the disappeared ones were just a drop in the ocean for the cloud of Zombie minds was seemingly endless.  The millions of empty vessels stared in rapture at the Undead Godhead.

Beyond, he could see the same familiar scene from all his dreams. He walked left, right, left, right endlessly walking with the thirst and hunger nagging him on, and then in daytime hiding in sewers and houses, in ruined sports halls and crumbling churches from the Helicopters that infrequently flew overhead.

As he lay in the hospital ward, numb from morphine with a memory of pain shooting through his temple and eye, he drifted in and out of the grey. He wondered, for the first time, just why the dream ran contiguously and yet he couldn’t remember a day between waking up and shouting for his mother, and waking up screaming in the orphanage. Yet the dream was changing and, rather than the endless monotony of walking and hiding, now the dream was a dream of carnage and horror as he joined his red armoured cohort and walked with the throng through the gate. He stumbled over corpses and rubble with the smell of death in his nostrils and the ripple of explosives and gunfire ahead in the distance. Then as he walked he realised that the black suited man in the centre of the cohort was a priest or Minister. Yet how he knew this and exactly who The Minister was escaped him.

…..

Jim and the personnel in Control saw it first. Moving through the gate, like Astronauts to the flight, sauntered The Minister surrounded by his personal guard. Six of Jim’s Special Forces troops, symbols of Greater London, England and humanity itself, murdered so their loyalty turned, with their black armour spray painted the colour of blood. It was aimed, like the phone call, at Jim personally, but with a psychological component recognised by anyone who hadn’t already fled the city. He was using the army to clear his route and allow him to walk straight into the heart of Greater London.

Just over half a mile ahead, the forefront of the Zombie Army entered The Mall, Birdcage walk and the treeless St James Park. The wide streets where covered in multi coloured lines of drying washing, and cabling criss crossed the street providing the city’s jury rigged power supplies. Old buses and lorries had been moved and converted into cafes and shops, and on every street corner there were posters and banners reminding you of your responsibility to the collective, and the rewards of safety and growth for you and your family for that work. The banners were red lettering on a black background with a portrait of Jim Bramer himself watching over those under his protection. Prince William was still the titular Heads of State, but Jim was the power in Greater London and everyone knew this city wouldn’t function without Uncle Jim. On every building along the route, on top of the once opulent buildings that lined the route to Westminster lay the bulk of the British Army. They hid between windmills and rain water collectors for the advancing horde.

The front line came within range, and over the comms Jim heard Jonesy give the order to fire. The CCTV operators changed the screens to show the route through to Westminster and Jim watched as the troops opened up on the Zombies below. Jim expected it to be more frantic than it was. The troops were confident that the entrances to their individual buildings had been sealed by steel doors and rubble. They took their time, drew a good bead, and fired when they were confident of a headshot.

From the window of his office Jim could see the rising gun smoke in the distance as the troops engaged the enemy, the rumble of gunfire punctuated by grenades tossed from rooftops into the crowd below, bangs and flashes echoing through the ruined canyons of London. The troops settled into a steady rhythm of fire, reload, shoot. Once again the tide was slowed and once again the humans had underestimated the time and thought Minister had put into the invasion, and the resources he had gathered on his drive through the ruined countryside.

Gun smoke burnt the nostrils of the troops and made vision difficult in the windless summer. On the streets below, Zombies wandered aimlessly up to the barricaded doors of the buildings in which lay the soldiers.  They meandered as close to the building walls as possible to make them difficult to hit by the soldiers above. In turn the soldiers picked numerous easier targets still making their way down the centre of the street. The dust and gun smoke obscured the Zombies close to the walls so they could not be seen to pull the pin on the grenade, or clamp the landmine in each hand, that many of them carried. The troops on the building rooftops could feel their barricades crumble and the slow tramp of feet up the stairs before they engaged the Dead that made their way slowly up to their position. Using time and numbers the first building fell, then the second, then the third. Then as the afternoon wore on and the troops began to run out of ammo the buildings fell more frequently, and still the mass crowded through the gate, with many more awaiting their turn outside in ruined London.

The Undead Army weaved its way through the streets, denser now and filled with the colour and life of the rebuilt city now abandoned for the second time. They made their way circuitously towards Westminster. Jim could smell the gun smoke now and see figures running through the streets as the troops backed from building to building in a running retreat, picking away at the masses as they went.

Jim and everyone in control heard the voice, it was quiet but authoritative, and in the background you could hear the moans of the Dead were very close to his position.

“Control? This is James Rogers. TIC crew seventeen. I have the target but no thermal signature. I repeat I have the target but no signature. Do I take the shot?”

The Minister and his red armoured cohort had entered the city; the start of the Mall was quieter now as the front line moved inexorably on a few hundred yards ahead. James was hidden on the roof of an already overrun building, near the entrance to The Mall, but they hadn’t seen him and he had waited for the opportunity that now presented itself. The CCTV showed the Minister walking down the street looking up at his troops on the rooftops above, but the smoke made an outline of Minister and Jim couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something wrong. Why was there no thermal signature?

Jonesy didn’t hesitate.

“Rogers. Take the shot!” There was a loud crack over the radio and the The Ministers head flicked back, his back arched and he fell to his knees before collapsing flat on his face. The comms went silent, no-one, including Jim, knew what to expect. Nothing changed as the cohort moved on leaving the black suited corpse behind, and then, in the crowd of Zombies behind the personal guard, one pushed through to resume The Ministers position. With a flourish he removed his thick overcoat to reveal the white dog collar and black suit within.

Over the open comms Jim could hear James Rogers fight his last desperate battle as the rooftop Zombies tracked in on his position from the crack of the shot. There was a scream before the operators cut the comms.

“It’s a decoy, any TIC crews remaining keep scanning the crowd for as long as you can. Standing orders remain. Only take the shot if you have a signature,” Jonesy said, dourly. Jim was sure he could hear “Goddamn it!” as he cut the connection.

Jim picked up the phone on his desk, hesitated slightly, and dialled the number.

“Miss Mitchell, could you come in here please?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The door opened and she stepped in.

“Its time for you to go, Miss Mitchell. You and the rest of the troops downstairs.”

“Are you leaving?” She asked, hand on hip.

“No.”

“I took the liberty of asking the men their opinion, and if you are staying so are we.”

Jim was dumbfounded. She walked over to his desk drawer, took a fresh bottle of whisky and two glasses from inside, poured two generous shots, took a glass and sat down on the cracked leather sofa on the other side of the room. She sipped half the glass straight off the bat.

Jim raised the glass at her, without a word, and drained it in one and she raised her glass in response.

It was nearing the endgame now. Jim stood slowly and looked out of the window. In the distance he could see the rooftop troops firing at the mass below. He could hear the distant rumble of continuous gunfire and he could see squads of troops directed by Control retreating from buildings to take up defensive positions closer to the Houses of Parliament. Jim sipped the whiskey and waited. Miss Mitchell watched the CCTV screens as the Zombies continued to pile through the gate in a never ending flow.

“How many do you think there are?” She said finally.

“It doesn’t matter.” Said Jim flatly.

…..

Paul couldn’t sleep. He had spent the day practicing the Z Kata on live targets in the new armour Jim Bramer had provided. The cage had been set up in the courtyard with troops positioned to take the captured Zombies down if Paul let his concentration slip for just a moment. Paul was young and strong, intelligent and quick witted, and had known the Z all his life; he worked hard to perfect his skills.

However, even with the Zombies’ nails and teeth removed the fear of fighting them was still omnipresent. It was their stench and that ungodly moan they made. He lay in bed unable to sleep because of the adrenaline pumping through his system. He thought about the day’s exertions and what he would say when asked about the effectiveness of the armour and the Union Jack sword. Suddenly Paul thought he heard a noise like an explosion and a scream, he stood up quickly, his pumped muscles sore from the lactic acid of the day’s work. He looked out of the window to the courtyard and cage below but saw nothing. Then he had the strangest sensation that he was walking, slowly and steadily, and he could hear the screams again. He lay back down in the bed and confusion clouded his mind. What had he done yesterday? What had he eaten this morning? He couldn’t remember yet he could remember dreams from years gone by. What did it mean? Finally, as tiredness overtook him, he questioned what was the dream was and what was the reality.

…..

Jim watched as the Zombies overran the entrance to the building below, slowly taking the gunners and their crew, falling and being replaced as if nothing had happened. The troops fought well and took many of the Dead with them, but the never ending well of Zombies replaced them immediately. The smell of blood and meat, both fresh and rotten drifted through the ill fitting window into Jim’s office and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He watched The Ministers’ troops skilfully injure a stricken soldier by holding him down and biting his arm, ripping great ribbons of sinew from the bone. The blood ran in rivulets from the exposed artery. Then they wandered off in search of new prey leaving the man to stumble in shock and horror as the realisation of his fate overwhelmed him. More than one troop immediately raised the gun to his chin and pulled the trigger before the enormity of their fate could be realised.

Jim marvelled at the control The Minister had over his troops. He had expected a force of Zombies, thirty, forty, at the limit a thousand strong. This perfect army under the tacit control of The Minister was unimaginable. Each troop acting as they had since The Fall, yet operating within the boundaries set by The Ministers’. Working as the individual hunger drove them on, yet reined in by the power of the will of The Minister to mobilise the biggest army the world had ever seen.

Now they were in the building, and the roar of gunfire shook the ancient door on its hinges. Shouts and screams echoed through the home of a government overrun a second time. Then as Jim looked lazily through the window, and Miss Mitchell clinked bottle to glass on her mission to numb the forthcoming pain, he saw the battle move away from the window and towards Westminster bridge. Then through the smoke, and surrounded by the crowd he saw the red armour and the black suit. They walked purposefully down St Margerets street, and a rising panic took Jims’ drunken legs as the disconnect between the CCTV cameras and the reality outside his window was removed.

The Minister is coming

The end is nigh.

Jim chided himself and sat down in his chair. He straightened his tie and flatted back his hair. Suddenly he wished he had a gun, but at that moment he didn’t know who he would use it on when The Minister arrived. In the end he was glad he didn’t. He waited.

Then he could hear the shots die down to a sporadic pop and the screams fade to a panic filled gabble. The moans of the Dead rose in response and then there was the singing. It rose in volume pausing only to ask one of the dying troops the location of Jims’ office.

“All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small. All things wise and wonderful. The Lord God made them all.” It rang out triumphantly as it approached the door.

Three knocks, widely spaced.

Jim looked at Miss Mitchell.

“Come!” He bellowed with as much gravitas as he could muster, and the alcohol helped. He would stand up to the Minister. If it was a psychological battle The Minister wanted, it was a psychological battle he would get, and Jim would not fold nor confess his sins. At that moment Jim would be everything he guessed The Minister despised in humanity. He would not fold; he would be the very essence of courage in the face of overwhelming odds. Good God, he would be the essence of England itself. Jim reached across his desk to the comms unit, turned down the volume and opened the mic. Everyone based over at the Department of Control, safely tucked away high up on Canary wharf, would hear his last stand. Miss Mitchell shifted nervously in her seat.

The door opened.

In shuffled a number of old Zombies. Their torn and shredded suits and dresses hung from their emaciated frames. Pockmarked and grey-faced they moved silently into position around Jim and Miss Mitchell. Jim had never been so close to a Zombie without running or shooting wildly, but they were here now standing within grasp. They swayed and moaned slightly, and involuntarily, as they waited for their Master. In came the red armoured personal guard. Jim recognised them all, each sent after The Minister, each never to return.  The plastic segmented armour looked scratched and bitten, the suit below ripped and torn with all the military insignia removed, but they still carried their weapons, including the short sword in the scabbard at their back. Looking through the open door, Zombies crowded in the hallway behind. The two nearest Jim leant down towards him and clumsily opened his suit to look inside. Satisfied they opened the drawers in his desk and rifled inside, finding nothing they pulled them out until they fell on the ground. Jim was glad he hadn’t had a gun after all.

“Hur, Hur ,Hur” Chuckled a voice in the corridor. The crowd parted and Jim could see a small figure in a ruined hooded leather cloak enter the room slowly chuckling to itself. Head bowed, it flicked the hood back. Jim was shocked to see a Zombie raise its head. All the reports he had received, and the MP3 where Joe Wyndham had described The Minister, had said he was human. It unclasped the cloak and let it crumple to the floor.

The Minister cut a small thin figure in front of him, tattered black suit and bloodstained dog collar hung limply from his ectomorphic frame. One shoulder was hunched higher than the other through choice or disfigurement.  Jim realised this was why the TIC snipers hadn’t found him, he was already dead. What had been a needle in a haystack search had become an impossibility.

The Minister looked around the room and saw Miss Mitchell. His brow furrowed and he waved his hand gently in her direction. The three Zombies nearest her turned slowly in her direction. She looked up at them and finished her whiskey in a long swig. The Minister let his subjects go and they fell on her with all the fury of their hunger unleashed. She tried to fight them off as they ripped at her clothes and flesh but she wouldn’t scream. One grappled with her arm and gnawed on it like a chicken leg, another peeled at her torso to reveal the red morsels inside, and the third buried his face in her neck until a torrent of blood pooled on the floor around them. They slavered and chewed at her loudly until she stopped twitching and hung limply like a concubine pleasured by her hungry suitors. Jim watched in terror but would not let it show on his face. He was angry now, there was no need for this other than a demonstration of power. More psychological warfare. All the time, The Minister watched Jim’s face, until he had had enough and the murderers stood back up to attention. Blood covered their tattered clothes and dripped lazily from their stained teeth. They were passive again, all trace of their fury gone.

The Minister sat slowly in the chair opposite Jim and his black eyes gazed into his. Jim hesitated and wanted to run, his legs were weak, but he would not let it show.

“Ye looked taller in yer posters, Jim.” The Minister said finally. He spoke in a low cracked voice that still rang with a resonance around the room. Jim ignored the comment.

“So, are you another decoy or the real thing, because I’m done pissing about with this shit” Jim spat. The Minister raised his eyebrows, and smiled a thin, wan smile.

“I walk straight into your city, just tae come and see you and this is the welcome I get. Nae way to treat a man of God, a pilgrim, is it now?” He said cheerily, crossing his hands in his lap.

Jim felt stronger. Dead or not, this was just a man. He paused, knowing the calm would make his enemy speak first.

“Well.” The Minister said. “I’m ready to hear yer confession. Time to make peace Jim.”

“I’ve nothing to confess to you, you murdering scum.” Jim said with just the right amount of control and contempt.

The Minister feigned a hurt expression.

“Murderer? Me?” The Ministers’ Scots brogue rolling the R’s in the word.

“Well. Only the once. I believe you know Paul here.” Jim saw the Zombie Paul Jollie step forward. He had known Paul since he was a lad and now he was just another puppet in The Ministers’ Army. Another victim in a world full of victims.

“It turns out I havnae really got the stomach fer it. Paul and I have a special relationship. He killed me and I killed him. Mutually assured destruction, they used to call it.”

“Shame he didn’t finish the job.”

“Jim. This antagonistic attitude won’t win you a place in heaven, now will it?”

“Then I’ll see you in hell.” The Jim smiled sweetly.

…..

Paul walked into Jim Bramers’ office full of trepidation about his latest mission.

“At ease, Paul” Said Bramer

“Sir.”  Said Paul, relaxing.

Bramer motioned towards a chair.

“Whiskey?”

“No thank you, Sir.” said Paul taking a seat in the red leather high back in front of the old mahogany desk.

“The reason I have called you here is, unfortunately, not a social one” Said Bramer

“It never is, Sir.” Said Paul, smiling

“No… No” chuckled Bramer.

“I want you to listen to this recording and tell me what you think”

Paul looked around, his brow furrowed. He was confused. He had been here before. He remembered this conversation. Jim leant forward to push the button on the Sony Vaio and Paul stretched and grabbed his hand. Jim just looked at him. There were two Jim Bramers. The real one he could see reaching forward with his hand and the ghostly image behind leaning back with a furious look on his face talking silently.

There were others around him too, dark shadows in the grey stood in the room with him, and, on the leather sofa over there, a ruined corpse. Paul could smell the fresh meat and a hunger rose in him. He wanted to grab Jim and consume him. He pushed the impulse away.

This didn’t make sense, why had he come here? What was the mission? How had he got here? The last thing he remembered was being in the hospital in a morphine fugue. What was the reality and what was the dream? Paul didn’t know anymore, but behind this all he could feel the grey envelop him as he shone like a bright star, close, but behind the gaze of the black hole that stared intently at Jim Bramer.

…..

Jim saw something from the corner of his eye as Minister talked. Pauls’ slack expression changed for a moment. It looked confused.

“Well, if I must confess to you, then at least answer me a question.” Jim said. “How did you do it? How did you make your Army appear from nowhere, and how did an army this massive move through the country unseen by the helicopter patrols?”

The Minister laughed his hollow laugh.

“You mean you hadn’t even worked that oot?”

Jim shrugged, and stared into the obsidian black eyes of The Minister, sunk in his graying, ancient face.

“James. James. In the day I hid them. Simple as that. In town halls and cinemas, in sewers and houses, away frae the prying eyes o’ your whirlybirds. That wus the easy part. The hard part was training them to use the missiles tae take them whirlybirds oot. Hae you any idea how long it takes tae train a Zombie to fire a stinger. Bloody months, and it has tae be the right Zombies tae. An if they failed at that, they could use they RPG’s. The real brainwave wus the runners, did yer see that one coming, eh Jim? What yer real question should be was how did I outsmart you and walk straight into yer city and intae yer office to sit here.”

“I already know the answer to that.”

It was The Ministers’ turn to smile.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Your tactics, if you can call them that, were juvenile. Cheap parlour tricks from your marionettes. You won through numbers and nothing else.  Your armies aren’t brave or noble or have any of the qualities that a great army has. You aren’t God or the Messiah, Alexander the Great or Genghis Khan. You are just a freak. In fact you haven’t been granted this ability; it’s just fallen to you through random chance. Maybe there are others in this world with your ability that haven’t realised it yet, or they were killed before they knew they had the gift. No. You were just lucky.” Said Jim, calmly. He paused, but didn’t give The Minister a chance to speak. He could see the doubt in his eyes now and pushed on.

“Each one of my men has given a good account of themselves and fought bravely until the end, each one of them is a hero, and given enough time and resources we would have whittled your army down to nothing, found you and put a bullet through your ugly head. Look at the piles of corpses you left in your wake. My troops must have taken a hundred of yours to every one of my heroes. Every single one of my men would die for his brothers in an instant, and every single one would die for his country to have things back as they were. Your troops aren’t loyal, they aren’t brave or heroic, they don’t recoil at the horror of war as they walk over their fallen comrades, they just are. You think God wants this? You think God wants his flock to die in screaming torment or turn into these monstrosities? No Minister whatever-your-fucking-name-is. God is on our side and one day God will grant one human the chance to put you down once and for all. Then we will rebuild this world without you or your army. Just as God intended.” Jim leant back in his chair and relaxed, smiling and in control of the situation. He had said what he wanted to say, let the bastard take him now.

This was a speech for the personnel in Control, not The Minister.

Anger flashed through Ministers’ face. He tried to reply but fury robbed him of the words.

…..

Thoughts rushed through Pauls’ mind, and try as he might, he couldn’t remember the days between the dreams, yet the dreams ran on, longer than his waking hours. It didn’t make sense. In the dreams he was Dead, in his memories he was alive.

What if.

What if he really was dead, and the dream the reality, and the reality the dream? Why would he think this? Why would his mind think this way?

Then it came to him. His mind had protected itself from the unimaginable horror of this reality the only way it could. Its living soul had retreated into the recesses of this dead brain so it could learn and come to terms with its new reality. He was dead. He had died with a sword in his belly in a kitchen in Edinburgh. Whatever The Minister had within him had mingled with the fake Ministers’ Zombie blood and Paul’s human blood, on the black and white tiled floor. This forced evolution created something new.

With an almost audible lurch, Paul was in the room with the Minister and Jim Bramer as they argued back and forth. The Jim stretching forward to start the MP3 was gone and Paul was there surrounded by the Dead in Jim’s office so many months after he had first received his orders to go to Edinburgh.

In the grey, Paul shone like a thousand stars in the murk, light poured from him like sunshine eating away at the edges of the black hole that raged at Jim Bramer, like bright dawn through skeletal winter trees.

…..

The Minister sat forward in the chair and ranted incoherently at Jim, while Jim sat back and watched impassively. The Minister spat insults and threats at him, promised tortures and pain to him and everyone who lived in the city or had fled in fear. Each sentence was unfinished, each threat worse than the last. Jim had hit all The Ministers buttons and he was giving it to Jim with both barrels. Jim’s failure to react did nothing to pacify him; in fact, it made the dead priest angrier.

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Pauls’ arm move. Instinctively he wanted to look, but knew The Minister would notice. Paul raised his arm slowly towards the Union Jack sword in the scabbard on his back, the look on Pauls’  face was grim and determined, yet filled with emotion. Jim was convinced this wasn’t The Minister in control, but Paul.

…..

Paul reached slowly towards the sword on his back. He couldn’t afford for the Minister to see him. He had one chance to do this and he wouldn’t waste it. In the end it wasn’t Paul’s movement that alerted The Minister but his proximity in the grey. The light was close enough to eat away at the black of the Minister and black hole span round to stare at the tiny star in front of it.

…..

The Minister spun and looked at Paul’s arm halfway to the sword on his back. He reached out and grabbed Pauls’ arm, pulling it down again.

…..

In the grey, the full force of Ministers darkness was brought to bear against the tiny spark of Pauls’ light. For a second it threatened to consume him totally. It overwhelmed Paul and he could feel himself fading against its might.

Paul pushed back, igniting his soul against the blackness. Paul raged in the grey. He would not be consumed.  The hunger and rage of a Zombie starved, combined with the anger and fury of a man who could avenge his own murder, created a firestorm of light that burned at the shadow. The black hole was fixated on Paul yet it seemed to struggle to turn away from him like a man forced to stare too long at the sun.

…..

The Minister held onto Pauls’ arm but couldn’t look him in the face, his head flicked frantically about and a gurgled cry escaped his lips.

Paul had one chance, and the firestorm of emotion filled his every point of being. He lunged forward and tipped The Minister’s chair over, spilling the skinny old man to the ground. Paul tried to scream in rage but air rushed from his dead lungs through his torn throat which hissed and gurgled ineffectually. He leapt over the chair and onto The Ministers’ chest. There was no Zombie or man here now, Paul was a being of pure fury.

The Minister struggled, turning his head furiously away from the light as the grey and reality became one. Paul plunged his fist through the brittle bones into The Ministers chest and grabbed at anything it could find. He ripped a lung from the old Zombies body and held it in his teeth, his other hand around the old mans throat. He bit at the lung like an animal and ripped it away with his hand, shredding it. He discarded it like a rag and ripped at The Ministers’ throat. Skin and sinew came free and he held the bits of flesh in the air like a caveman glorying in the hunt. He plunged his ichor blackened hands into the chest again and ripped out bone and decaying arteries that spat black fluid over the green carpet of the office.

Finally he grabbed the Minister’s flailing head with both hands, and ripped his gargling screaming skull from his body, twisting it, pulling it as the vertebrae snapped and the ligaments tore until it was free in his hands, attached only by a few sinewy cords. He flung the head over against the wall where it lay blinking until its black eyes faded milky white and its jaw hung limply from its pivot.

In the city the Zombies stopped and gazed blankly into the distance. Those humans still fighting hand to hand or firing from rooftops continued the battle, all caught in their own bloodlust.

In the grey, the final vestiges of black dissipated like wisps of smoke and Pauls’ soul shone like the sun in the gloom of a foggy morning. All the tiny twinkling eyes gazed unthinking at the new Godhead that spun slowly before them.

Paul crouched over the headless torso. Jim noticed he was panting with exertion, his Zombie lungs needlessly pumping air into his dead blood. It was a thoroughly human autonomic response.

Paul turned his head slowly to look at Jim, but there was no vestige of humanity there and for a moment Jim thought the creature would turn on him, but it lowered its head to stare at the headless torso below and it stayed crouched over the corpse.

Finally, slowly, its breathing, slowed and gradually it stood, head crouched with clenched fists. Its eyes still focussed on its prey below.  Then it turned its dark head, black fluid dripping from its chin and looked at Jim’s desk.

Jim stared aghast.

The Zombie Paul, its long dank hair hung over its face, raised its hand and stupidly shuffled the papers around until it found what it was looking for. It grasped the pen in its fist like a small child and raised its other hand to hold the paper in place. It raised the pen like a knife and tried to scrawl on the slippery page. The pen ripped the paper, so with its other hand it cast that paper to the floor and tried again. Slowly it drew on the paper and Jim noticed that its tongue was sticking out and Pauls’ face was screwed in concentration, like a small child.

Then it cast the pen to the ground, raised its head and lifted the paper to its chest. Jim stared in amazement as the creature raised its black, obsidian eyes to stare at him smiled a wide, twisted, scarecrow smile. Jim found himself, despite everything, smiling back at the monster before him.

Paul rustled the paper in front of his chest to get Jims attention. Jim stared at the crumpled form that it held to its chest and struggled to make out the words. In the city, and all around Jim’s office, the Zombies stood stock still and smiled a big, twisted scarecrow smile.

Finally Jim realised what the note said.

hElLO Jim

The End

The rushing water of the shower brought back memories of odd dreams. He remembered the wail of emergency vehicles and what sounded like moaning. Moans and groans were something that his bed hadn’t seen in a while, but by the time he was down for a quick breakfast the dreams had slipped back into his sub-consciousness. Grabbing some juice while he burnt his toast, Daniel ironed his shirt for the morning and put on his suit. A few minute later he was halfway down the hill to the train station, i-pod blaring and head down. As he approached the station he began to notice how quiet it was, though it wasn’t a busy road he hadn’t seen a car go past. Almost on queue he had to jump back as a 4×4 came screeching out of a driveway packed with what looked like camping gear, parents, their two kids and a family dog. ‘Must be hoping to miss the morning traffic’ Daniel thought. The car went at a manic pace down the road and over the tracks before disappearing in the distance. I-pod off now, Daniel wondered if there had been an accident on the main road and it had been blocked off, which would explain the lack of cars. Passing an old people’s home just before the station there was an unusual amount of activity. A group of nurses and the sprightliest residents were nailing boards over the ground floor windows and doors. ‘Seems a bit harsh’, Daniel joked to himself, ‘I wonder if they are keeping them in or the rest of us out!’

Stepping onto the station platform it was unusually quiet. Being a small town station with only two platforms it was never busy but there were usually at least fifteen people waiting for the 6.45 fast train to the city, at the moment there was only half a dozen. After waiting five minutes he looked at his watch and cursed the train for being late again. The information board was on the blink so he didn’t know how long the delay was going to be. Yet another twenty minutes later there was still no train and no announcement. Even for regular commuters, a species that likes to keep itself to itself, it was too much and as if some unknown power grabbed hold of each of them they all turned and trundled into the ticket office to find out what was going on. The booth was closed. This was strange because even if the station manager was ill they would have sent a temp in to answer questions and sell tickets in case the machine was out of order. The commuters looked at one another and weighed up their options, before any of them took the actual step of talking, they heard a train in the distance and they all visibly relaxed and dispersed out on to the platform.

The train pulled in with perhaps a third of the regular passengers on board. Daniel even treated himself to a seat for a change. As the train moved away the driver apologised over the tannoy for the late running which was due to multiple signal failures. It mattered little now, there was only one more stop before the capital, in about thirty five minutes. Daniel sat back and relaxed.

It didn’t last long though. Less than ten minutes later other passengers had started talking to one another in blatant disregard to what came natural to all commuters, ignoring everybody. Daniel noticed they had started gathering at the windows on his left side and looked out at the blur of passing scenery. When there were gaps in the trees he started to see what had got people’s attention. In one field he could see a jogger running along a path followed by a mob of perhaps twenty five people. Before he could digest this his eyes flicked to one of several plumes of smoke rising as they passed through a town. He could see a fire engine still flashing but stopped on a high street with two hoses spraying wildly across the road with not one person in the vicinity. The train had become quiet. No one chatted, just stared out of the windows, minds racing to come up with explanations for the odd scenes that popped up in front of them as they flew through the towns edging closer to the sprawling suburbs of the city.

Moving through the last isolated town, a pattern emerged of people dotted on roof tops. Some in small groups, others on their own, the roof people peered over edges as if looking for something, a ripple of nervousness spread through out the carriage. Someone suggested the idea that perhaps a tsunami was coming and people were moving to high ground. An older man in an expensive looking suit and bowler hat said,

“Would have to be a hell of a wave, we must be hundred miles from the nearest shore.”

This didn’t make any one feel better but no one offered up a better reason.

“Look riots!” a young guy in a pin stripe suit said a couple of minutes later, looking out the opposite window. A group of flats marked the edge of the capital and the train had slowed slightly as it went through more built up areas.

“That’s not like any riots I’ve seen” someone commented almost under their breath. A group of well over a hundred people shambled through a small park and had begun to surround and file into a tall block of flats. Glimpses of people running along balconies and leaning out of windows could be seen. Before it went out of view those on the train saw a couple of people fall from some of the highest floors. Once on the ground they could see many of those in the crowd move over and engulf the fallen, as if to help.

“What could have been behind the people who jumped to make them leap out like that? I couldn’t see a fire”, an air-hostess thought aloud, nobody replied.

Well into the urban area now, things were getting worse outside. The ever changing view in front of the boxed in travellers had stuck with chaos as a theme. Overturned cars blocked roads, people emerged from wreckages looking half dead and silent or screamed wildly as people moved towards them as they scrambled to pull themselves away. Daniel noticed that the people he saw fell into two categories. Those that ran, looking terrified and those that moved slowly usually in crowds, as if they had all the time in the world. Sobs could now be heard among his fellow travellers as death became more prominent in their sight. The train slowed down even more as they would be there in about ten minutes.

A woman’s scream at the end of the carriage pulled everyone’s attention from the window, that was until they followed her gaze. A group of maybe six kids, none of whom looked older than 12, were being cornered up against some fencing surrounding a school playground by a mixture of adults and youngsters. A couple had managed to climb the fence and were trying to help the other kids up, but it was too late. The crowd were upon them dragging them down, the kids on the inside looked out through the fence reaching to the two now on the other side. From the train they could not hear them, but the fear and agony was etched on their faces as hands and mouths descended ripping them apart. Daniel stared in disbelief, mind blank he continued to stare at the same spot in the window though it had passed.

The air in the carriage was filled with a mixture of profanity and calls to Jesus and his immediate family. Some people had started freaking out or throwing up. Most sat down and rocked, eyes closed. Daniel was considering these options as he saw a running battle between several armed police and more of those…packs. This one was mostly made up of anti-war protestors who had organised a rally that day, some still dragged their banners behind them. Their mouths were all open as if they were speaking in unison, but they were not cheering and the police fired randomly towards them. As Daniel lost sight of them he saw a smaller group advancing on the police from behind.

The guy with the bowler hat had started banging on the driver’s door, shouting to get her attention. The door opened and the driver’s quizzical expression dropped as she felt the panic in the air.

“I’m sorry we are going to be late sir, but I am going as fast as I can.”

“Fuck that”, replied Bowler, “Haven’t you seen what’s going on out there! People are eating each other, they’ve turned mad.”

“Errr…” the driver looked around for support, waiting for someone to drag the man away apologising about him missing his medication, but no one said anything, they just stared, some blocking their views of the windows, tears streaming down their faces.

“I’m sure there is some sort of explanation…” The driver was cut off by thuds coming from the front of the train. Daniel, the driver and Bowler ran in to see dozens of people wandering across the rails as the trains took them one by one. The driver slammed on the breaks and started pressing the horn to warn everyone on the tracks to get out of the way. They all turned to the train but expression didn’t change even for the ones that they ploughed right through. One had become stuck to the font of the train and began hauling itself up to the window. The driver began yelling “Sorry!” and “Hold on!” as the train slowed. She reached round through the side window to see if she could grab the guy and help him. As he did the guy’s head turned and bit down on the driver’s hand, taking a chunk out of her wrist. The driver retracted her hand pretty quickly in response as Daniel pushed the accelerator lever back up hard. The guy on the window chewed on the flesh like a chicken strip and then began banging his head into the window creating bloody splinters in the glass. The three of them all took a step back as a hole appeared and the head came through, Daniel grabbed an umbrella from the corner and shoved it hard into the skull, the man fell limp off the train and underneath it.

The air-hostess from the carriage had found a first aid kit and began wrapping up the driver’s wrist to stop the bleeding. She sat in first class with her head between her legs trying to control her breathing. Through the pain, without looking up, she said,

“The train, ease back on the lever, you don’t want us crashing into the station do you?”

Bowler went back to the controls and after a few seconds they could all feel the train slow to a steady pace. The pin stripe suit walked into first class,

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know,” replied Daniel.

“I’ve been getting no answer on the radio since before the last stop,” said the driver, “can’t get a signal on my phone either, so we can’t change track directions. We either stop the train or pull into the station.”

“I’m thinking station” Bowler said, “There are loads of those lunatics still out there.”

About 15 people from the back two carriages had by now piled into the front one. Everyone wanted to know what was happening. Daniel stood on a chair and shouted out the facts; the driver was hurt but they should be arriving in the city in about two minutes. He left out about the mental guy on the windscreen.

A young guy in a hooded top came forward,

“We had a fat guy in our carriage in the back die with a heart attack about 5 minutes ago.”

The air-hostess stood up,

“I’ll check it out, the driver has passed out from blood loss but I think she’ll be okay.”

She stepped through the crowd and as Daniel watched her leave he noticed everyone else was still looking at him. Not sure what to say he improvised,

“I think the best thing we can do is stop on the bridge just outside the station. Hopefully it will be a quiet spot and we can plan our next move.”

Bowler stepped out of the driver’s room,

“Bad news, I think there are a few bodies now stuck under the train, the breaks aren’t working. I’ve taken the acceleration right down, but I think the rest is out of our hands.”

Another wave of panic swept through the carriage. Now in the middle of the capital the windows were mostly filled with brick work and small back gardens with the odd church spire and office block. ‘Great’ though Daniel, ‘I’m on a run away train in crazy town’. They were now travelling slowly as they crossed the bridge over the River Ache. They all turned in silence and looked out. The sun was still rising and bathed the city in a warm glow. The morning mist was still hanging on, supplemented by smoke from large scale fires. Daniel’s eyes followed the arc of a pigeon as it flew over parliament and into the distance. A large airplane had crashed, devastating the old city. It didn’t look real. Everything that had looked familiar now looked like a disaster movie.

They crossed over the bridge and under the city, an automated message came over the tannoy,

“We are now arriving at your destination, thank you for travelling with City Hill Rail. This train terminates here, all change.”

The tunnel leading into the station was silent and black. They waited with bated breath for what and who would greet them. Suddenly the air-hostess came running back into the carriage,

“The guy who had the heart attack, he is up but when I got closer he tried to attack me! I managed to get away because he doesn’t seem to be able to work the doors between the carriages!”

The driver’s eyes slowly opened and she rose from her seat just as the automated message came on one last time,

“There may be a short delay before the doors open, please mind the gap.”

—

Daniel turned as the driver reached out to him, he made to grab her shoulders to give support, as he did he noticed there was something wrong with the look on her face. Just then the train bumped to a halt as it came to the end of the line. Everyone standing fell forward, the driver flew further than most though and on going through the still open doors into her cabin she impaled herself onto the umbrella still sat on the controls. As it passed through her back and exited out her stomach the friction caused it to open, revealing it to be a souvenir of a holiday to Pala. Any hint of a tan was faded though as she pushed himself up of the controls and attempted to walk back through the door only to be rebuffed by the open umbrella and narrow entrance. The passengers struggled to their feet and froze one by one watching the driver bouncing off the doorway, falling backwards, recovering and then repeating the procedure, the slack jawed mouth and lifeless eyes unchanging, a low moan constantly coming from somewhere deep inside her.

No one moved to help not understanding what was happening but some instinct telling them that the driver was now dangerous. The train doors slid open revealing the world as it now stood, or shuffled, to the passengers, and in turn revealing the passengers to the world. Their platform appeared empty, underground now half of the lights were either not working or turned off. A few trash cans had been turned over and some bags were left dotted around but besides that there was no sign of the chaos they had viewed on their journey. A few individuals on other platforms could be seen moping about but that was all. That was until the Heart-Attack guy made his appearance. A few people had stepped cautiously off the train and had seen him lumbering along. He had left his end carriage and was making his way the length of the platform to the open doors at the front of the train. People pressed the close buttons frantically but as this was the last stop, that was not an option.

“There was an over-ride switch, I saw it among the controls”, piped up Bowler.

He and Daniel realised they were going to have to tackle the driver somehow.

“I don’t suppose you have an arsenal of weapons in that suitcase?” Bowler asked pointing at Daniel’s bag he had unconsciously brought up with him from his seat.

“Yeah, just so happens I’m a gun runner and this is your lucky day. No! Unless we can take her down with paper cuts, I’m all out.”

They began scrabbling round, but first class offered up little except for a rolled up newspaper. The guy in the hoodie from the rear carriage stepped forward,

“I don’t want to be a cliché, but I have a 6 inch blade that might help.”

He pulled out a kitchen knife, that whilst sharp did not instil much confidence.

“You guys grab this bitch’s arms and I’ll shut her up.”

Daniel and Bowler were able to grab an arm a piece and hold them inside the carriage safe from the gnashing teeth as its head was trapped with the rest of the body in the front cabin. Hoodie didn’t flinch, whilst the driver was distracted, he grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair, held her head back and was halfway though sawing through the windpipe before Daniel and Bowler knew what was happening. The moaning became a muffled whisper as the knife went through the throat and took out both jugulars and arteries. The driver hardly struggled now, Daniel and Bowler couldn’t look as Hoodie butchered away, now only the spinal cord remaining. The knife stubbornly refused to finish the job, so instead Hoodie snapped the head quickly forwards then backwards, so hard it actually became separated and fell into what now ceased to be the driver’s room, the driver herself now slumped only held up by her arms. They were quickly let go as Hoodie stepped backwards, a smile on his face. Bowler gingerly stepped over the body and head pressing down on the door control shutting them before Heart-Attack guy could get to their carriage. Daniel turned and looked at Hoodie as he cleaned the knife on the driver’s uniform, unsure of what to say.

“What?” Hoodie said, “It’s a fucking zombie, innit. What did you want me to do? Negotiate with her?”

Between the three of them they shoved the driver into front seat, head back between her legs,

“Sorry Karen”, said Daniel looking at her name badge

They turned to face the rest of the train who were now distracted by Heart-Attack. He had his head pressed against the carriage’s windows, eyes wide open moving up and down the carriage staring at the contents, much like he probably used to at the window of Krispy Kreme.

“I think we are going to need a bigger knife.” said Daniel.

“I think we need to start moving again,” replied Bowler, “Look over there”.

Daniel then saw just under a dozen, what he now accepted to be zombies, as so eloquently put by Hoodie, rounding the platform corner, perhaps attracted by Heart-Attack’s continuous moan. They looked like a mixture of cleaners, shop workers and ticket inspectors, some clearly injured with severe wounds whilst others had no visible marks. The three of them looked down the train at about 20 faces, some looking for guidance, some for a way out, all panicked. Bowler stood forward,

“We need to move, maybe my hooded friend here is right and we are facing some sort of zombie attack, but we can discuss that later, right now the longer we stay here the more of those things we will attract.”

“I need to get home, to my babies, they need me!”

A lady began panicking just in front of them as the extent of the situation began to dawn on her. She began to start pressing the exit button, which had been turned off. When this didn’t work she started slapping her hands on the glass screaming to be let out. Heart-Attack came straight over and stood right in front of her on the platform, spit drooling out of his open mouth. The Air-Hostess came over and managed to lead her away and sit her back down with some soothing words. Hoodie began to speak,

“Everybody grab what you can to use as a weapon, those bitch zombies are shit-ass slow and we can take them out with ease.”

Though not sure if the people on the train were fighting fit and up for an apocalyptic battle, Daniel thought any weapons they could get their hands on right now would probably come in handy. He managed to pull the umbrella out of the driver with a literally gut wrenching sound. Bowler grabbed the emergency hammer used to break the train’s glass in a power failure. After a couple of minutes most people had something, but it was pretty desperate, weapons ranged from a crutch, a fire extinguisher, a pair of scissors and one woman was brandishing her stilettos with what she hoped would be killer heels.

“They are slow and we can probably move round them, only use your weapons if absolutely necessary and don’t get caught in a fight, keep moving.” Daniel said to everyone.

He hoped his pretence of confidence may rub off on him and the rest of the group. Nobody paid attention as the woman who screamed about her babies made her way back to the door, she managed to pull the emergency handle and rushed out. People shouted at her to come back but she didn’t flinch at she just about dodged around Heart-Attack who spun round and lumbered after her. The train stood hushed willing her escape as they had a preview of what they were about to face. She stopped in front of the larger group of zombies who were starting to block off the end of the platform and weighed her options. The moan of the shambling crown increased as she moved to the far left, shuffling in between the platform edge and grabbing hands. As she dodged one hand she lost her footing falling backwards to the electrified rails but was momentarily saved as another hand grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her back up, she let out a terrified cry as she went out of view and the zombie group fell over one another to get to her, at least two falling off the platform in the process.

The passengers had little time to think about the scene though. Heart-Attack had realised he was going to be too late for the hors d’oeuvres and had turned back round to go straight for the main course. The train panicked and started pushing down the carriage to get away. They were filtering into the next carriage as Heart-Attack came onto the train and his frame blocked any exit as he moved down the aisle. Hoodie looked at his knife and the prospect of having to take him on by himself in a cramped space was not appealing as he, Daniel and Bowler were in the rear of the retreat. Once they were all in the next carriage the automatic door closed behind them and they felt safe for a moment knowing that Heart-Attack no longer had the wits to press the button to open the door. Still they had to make a move, the longer they left it the more zombies that would approach and the less time they would have to make a plan. Daniel shouted for them all to move along one more to the last carriage which they duly did as a little calm restored.

“Okay”, Daniel said again as he attempted to rally the motley troops, “I know this is a nightmare scenario, but we have to focus. Let’s just get through the next few minutes. They are slow and we out number them about 2 to 1. Everybody get a partner.”

Daniel opened up the carriage doors with the emergency lever and they filtered on to the platform. The zombies were now 30 yards away but were slowly closing the gap.

“In a line people!” shouted Daniel. He started to feel like an officer in the First World War leading his men over the top. A line of sorts soon formed behind him.

“They have blocked our escape so it is either us or them. Choose your targets and work in pairs. Try to keep them at arms length, we have seen what they can do when they get close, and aim for the head, we know they are vulnerable their thanks to… sorry I don’t know your name?”

“Virgil” Hoodie replied.

“Mine’s Daniel, a pleasure to meet you.”

They shook hands and the adrenalin began to run through him as a look of determination spread though them all. He lifted the umbrella in his hand, the moment was slightly ruined by the fact that it sprang open, a la Mary Poppins, but he soon popped it closed and pointed it menacingly at the encroaching enemy. He let out a war cry that rose in volume as it was joined by first the living bodies on the platform and then the moan of the dead ones. He led them forward on a jog. Weapons held aloft the men and women, ranging from mid-twenties to mid-sixties, nearly all of them suited, bared their teeth to match their foes. Someone let off a fire extinguisher and a mist surrounded the platform as the weapons came crashing down and the noise of battle rose.

I thought about asking for my CD again, but I know they will just shout at me or each other like before. They have had Radio 4 on since we left this morning with this boring bloke going on and on about “infection rates” and  “demilitarised zones” whatever they are.

I still need a wee as well.

“Mum”

“Yes babe” She says, sounding bored too.

“How long have we been in the car now?” I say.

She looks at the clock.

“Six hours”

“Mum I need to go to the loo.”

“So do I babe. How badly?” She says.

“I’m alright for a bit.”

“Good. We’ll be moving in a while I’m sure and we can stop at the next services”

She said the same thing last time I asked.

“Dad?”

“Yes mate?” says Dad.

“How long until we get to Auntie Cassies?”

I should be on the beach at Auntie Cassies now. Eating an ice cream and scaring Mum with crabs and gippy things found in the rock pools. We had such an ace time we went to Cornwall last year that I was really excited when Mum said yesterday we were going to visit for a while.

“Sat nav still says three hours but it depends on traffic” He says, sounding annoyed.

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“I don’t know mate, must be an accident or roadworks or something. Same as the last time you asked.”

“Sorry.” I say, but don’t mean it.

“Dad can I get out of the car?”

“No son. If a motorbike comes down in between the cars he might hit you.”

“Well can I get out of my seat then and lie along the back, my bums gone to sleep.”

“No.” Says Dad.

“Oh let him stretch out, its not as if we are going anywhere.” Says Mum.

“Fine” says Dad sighing and rubbing his face. He looks tired.

I unbuckle my seat and scramble to the other side kicking newspapers and bags to the floor. I stand up on the seat and look out the back, past all the camping gear and boxes of stuff we brought from the house. What was weird is when we went on holiday before we didn’t take boxes with wedding albums, and the pictures off the wall.

I look out the back and see the lines of cars stretching back up the hill behind us for miles. Some people are sitting on the bonnets of their cars, some of them are standing round in groups talking. Everyone looks bored.

Suddenly there is a massive bang and I turn round to see a mushroom cloud of smoke and fire out of the front window. Its a big explosion like you see on the telly on Yu Gi Oh or Dragonball Z, but its a fair distance away.

“Wow!” I say

“Fucking hell!” Says Dad

“Dad!” I can’t believe he said the F word!

Mum looks at Dad, they both look scared.

“You don’t think they are here do you?” Says Mum.

“Who? Who’s here?”

“Shut up you. No. Its not them, they haven’t reached this far west yet, its just an accident. I’m gonna go and see if anyone needs help.” Says Dad, opening the door.

“Jamie no!”Says Mum grabbing his arm.

“I’m just going to go and have a look. If I see any of them I’ll come back. Besides someone might need First Aid.” Dad pulls his arm away from Mum.

“Jamie you aren’t a bloody paramedic, you’re a First Aider at work.”

Dad steps out of the car.

“Its ok hun, I’ll be back in a minute I promise.” He smiles at her. He closes the door. She gets out of the car and calls him back. I can’t hear what they are saying. Ew they are kissing now, that’s grim. Mum gets back in driving seat and winds the window down. Dad disappears in between the cars jogging towards the cloud of smoke.

“Wheres Dad going?”

“He is going to see if the traffic jam is clearing and we can go to Auntie Cassies. When we get there we’ll have fish and chips for tea. Sound Good?” She smiles but its not a proper smile, its only her mouth that’s smiling and not her eyes.

“Yeah” I say, doing that sort of half smile as well.

I clamber over and get into the seat next to her.

“Mum?”

“mmm?” She says, staring down the road after Dad.

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” She says, still staring.

“Well all this? We have been to places before like Legoland on Bank Holiday and we never got stuck like this? And Dad said that journey was the worst he had had for getting stuck in a jam, and what’s a Zombie?”

Mum looks at me with a weird expression on her face. Really serious.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Bobby Driscoll at school said they were going to come and eat our heads and stuff.”

“Well Bobby Driscoll is wrong.” She says, still looking at me. She shuffles round to face me better.

“There is a disease that some people are getting, and it makes them angry and violent. Thing is there are a lot of them getting it and that’s why we are going to Auntie Cassies to be safe. She says they are building a wall where we can hide behind in Cornwall.”

“Oh.” I say, not really getting it.

“How do I know who’s ill? Is it like a cold?”

“No its not like a cold, if they are ill with this they look all grey and erm, they will probably have blood on them. If you see them you have to hide and when they have gone come find Mummy and Daddy. Got it?”

I nod.

Boom! There is another huge explosion, a bit closer this time. I can see flames and smoke. Mum stares out of the window.

“Can you see Dad?” I say.

“No.” She say very quietly. She looks in the rear view mirror.

“Babe, can you scramble in the back and pass me Dad’s binoculars in the Tesco bag?”

I climb to the back and rummage around until I find them and pass them to Mum. As I get into the front of the car Mum opens the door and uses the binoculars to look down the road.

“Can I have a go?” I say.

She doesn’t answer and I can hear glass smashing and tyres screeching. I can hear screams as well. My legs feel a bit funny and my mouth goes dry.

“Mum?” I say, but she doesn’t answer. I look out the window and see a car in the distance go off the motorway and down the ditch at the side, its wheels shoot mud up into the air but its not moving. Mum is still looking through the binoculars, but her hands are shaking.

“Mum?” I say again.

This time she turns and looks at me, her eyes are wide, my legs go really numb, she looks really scared but her face is blank like she’s thinking.

“Mummy?” I say again.

She beckons me over the seats. I scramble over and she picks me up in her arms, the fresh air outside feels nice but I can hear more screams, and glass breaking, and tyres screeching, and I can smell burning. Mum has turned me away from where Dad went and I try to turn round in her arms, but she is holding me facing back up the road. I see her face and she has tears in her eyes. I stop struggling.

“Babe. Remember when you were little and we used to play the ‘Stop’ game, where you had to stay very still when we shouted stop!”

“When we were on busy roads and in car parks?”

“Yes thats right. Good boy. Well I want you to get under the car and play the stop game until I come and get you.”

“But I don’t wanna get under the car, its dirty!”

“Listen. This is very, very important and you mustn’t make a sound for anyone until I come and get you.”

The sounds are getting louder now and I want to twist and see but Mummy’s face is red and she is crying. In her eyes she looks like she loves me when I have been a good boy all day and she tucks me up with a nice story.

“Ok”

“Your Dad and I love you more than anything, you know that don’t you.”

“I love you too Mum.” I throw my arms round her, she smells warm, like bed. My neck feels wet and I realise its her tears. We hug like that for ages. I hear another explosion and it makes me jump its so loud. There is another sound too, like someone moaning.

She lowers me to the floor.

“Now Paul. Get under the car now!”

I scrabble under the car, its still warm from when Dad was running the engine earlier. It smells like the garage. I think about calling out to Mum. I can still see her feet, but I remember the ‘Stop’ game and stay quiet. The screams are louder now and I can hear running and something like a dog growling.

I can see Mum’s  feet walking backwards slowly, and then there are people running past her and the screams are so loud I cover my ears and want to cry and I can hear the growling again. Then I see someone hit Mum and knock her over and she’s lying on the ground and I can see the back of her head and I want to crawl out to her but I remember the ‘Stop’ game, and someone is hurting her and I can see her blood and the man has blood on his face. Oh…my..God ..its a Zombie. The man gets up and carries on running and the screaming won’t stop and all the people running past the cars and I see Dad’s shoes I think and I can’t cover my ears hard enough to stop the screaming and growling but I can’t see any dogs and there is blood spraying on the floor and Mummy is just lying there and I want to go to her but the ‘Stop’ game won’t let me and I feel wet on my legs and I don’t need a wee any more and I lie there for hours and the people keep running and the dogs I can’t see keep growling and the tyres keep screeching  and things keep exploding and then Mummy gets up slowly and something red and covered in blood falls from her as she stands and then she runs away and she’s gone. Mummy’s gone!

Then it starts to go grey.

Paul Jollie sees the images from a lifetime ago fade away, but the feeling of fear stays with him like a child. It’s so real, the letterbox view from under the car, but soon it fades to milky mist like a cloying London fog. He can still feel the fear in his legs, still see his Mum lying on the ground a thousand years ago. Before……

Before something happened.

Before he died.

Now all Paul can see is the fog, so close he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, yet all around he could see myriad specks of black off to a billion miles. Specks in pairs, like soulless eyes all facing in the same direction. Billions of black colons looking past him.

Paul turns slowly to see what the eyes see around him see, and, with the feeling of dread spreading through his dead mind, he sees the monstrous black shape that they stare at. Slowly it rotates like a massive black hole in the grey and he finds himself on the edge of its centrifugal force, both repelled and attracted to its horror and majesty like all the other Dead around him. They are waiting for the black to cast its vastness at them and tell their dead legs how to function.

Paul died in a kitchen in Edinburgh with a sword in his belly and his image reflected in the black eyes of the Minister. Eyes that contained the black hole in front of him, and the boy was how it all started.