After the Fall (Book 1): Outside
OUTSIDE
After the Fall I
by Stephen Cross
Copyright © 2016 by Stephen Cross
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Find out how it all started...
SURVIVING THE FALL
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01KBPYRFM
How England died. The story of the first few days of the zombie apocalypse, of those who lived, and those who died.
Surviving the Fall collects eight non-stop terror tales in one action packed volume, which together tell of the panic filled dawn of a new, undead world.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01KBPYRFM
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Thump. There it was again.
Thumps in the night used to be the stuff of nightmares and imaginary monsters when Jack was a child. But now he was an adult, and the monsters were real.
Thump.
Just outside the window. On the wooden veranda that surrounded the chalet.
It was raining hard, but that wasn’t the reason he dismissed the notion that it was a person, or a living person, to be exact, making the noise; he dismissed the notion because a living person would have to be crazy to be outside after dark, raining or not.
Jack’s stomach fluttered with anxiety. There were no lights he could switch on as they still hadn’t got the holiday park’s generators working. Three months since the Fall and still living in medieval darkness.
Thump. Clatter. Thump.
Whatever it was, it was moving.
Must have smelled me.
He got out of bed, his heart beating fast. He moved to prise up the wooden window slats to look out. He placed his hands on the first slat and stopped.
What if it saw me? What if it didn’t know anyone was in here yet, and was just looking, and when it saw me, it would smash through the window?
No one had ever seen them smash through windows, but that didn’t meant they couldn’t. They were always surprising people, alway doing something that people said they couldn’t.
Stop, said Jack to himself. Stop. Relax, breath.
But he couldn’t relax. He hadn’t been able to relax for three months.
Ok then, just think, focus. He had to get to his daughter’s room, quietly. If the zombie heard him and moaned like they do, his daughter would scream. That could bring more of them.
If there was one, there was always more. That was the rule.
He looked at his watch, the luminous dial showing him it had just passed 3am. That meant the storm had been in full rage now for five hours. The summer storms on the Cornish coast where like nothing he had seen back home in Leeds.
Home.
It wasn’t home now, and it never would be again.
Thump. A bit further away, a bit further up the side of the chalet. Closer to his daughter’s room.
He knelt down and reached under the bed to grab the sledgehammer he kept there.
He stood up, his knees clicking.
Jack gripped the hard hickory of his sledgehammer in both hands and pushed the bedroom door open with his foot. He stood in the darkness for a moment, too afraid to move, his legs refusing to budge.
What if one of them was in the corridor? What if his ears were playing up, and the sounds were actually from in the chalet?
Then he would have to move even quicker to rescue his daughter. She was the only thing that kept him moving in this new world. The only thing that stopped him curling up into a ball and hiding in a hole until he died. That little six year old was all he had, and he had to do everything to protect her. So he found the strength and stepped into the hall. The darkness rendered the chalet’s interior into a series of uncertain inky blue black forms, silent in their stillness.
The next room along from his was his daughter’s. He crept towards it, feeling with his feet for loose boards - just because he couldn’t hear his footsteps above the torrential rain didn’t mean the zombie couldn’t.
Assume they see, hear and smell everything.
He rested his hand on his daughter’s door handle and turned it slowly. Small mechanical clicks, which to his ears sounded like the heavy clunks of industrial machinery, accompanied each slow inch of the handle’s rotation.
Jack peered in.
His heart left his chest.
He flung the door open wide.
There was a shape by the window. Standing on his daughter’s bed. Its deformed silhouette hung in the darkness, poised over his daughter.
He raised the sledgehammer and leapt into the room.
The thing moved quickly and let out a scream.
“Daddy! It’s me, Daddy!”
Jack stopped dead, his heart pulsing fast and unbridled, a stallion out of the stables. Sweat quickly formed on his brow and adrenaline got him higher than a satellite. Every inch of him shook.
“Annie,” he said. “Shit, I thought… Quick, get away from the window, it might see you,” he managed to whisper.
You nearly brained your daughter you nearly killed her yourself you fucking idiot you’re a fucking brainless idiot.
Annie said something. She was still by the window. He rushed in and pulled her down to the bed. “I said get away, it might see you.”
“Ow, Daddy you’re hurting me.”
Jack realised he was pinning her arm down. “Sorry, but keep quiet, it might go away.”
“It’s a sheep.”
“What?”
“It’s a sheep, Daddy. I heard it banging outside so I looked and I think it’s lost. I think it wants to get dry.”
A sheep. Jack got up slowly and peered out the window, his nerves causing the slats to rattle slightly.
Thump thump.
A big, woolly sheep nosed at the side of the chalet.
There was an old part of Jack that knew he should find this funny.
“Come on,” he said to Annie. “You’re sleeping in my room.”
“But Daddy, you snore.”
“Come on Annie.” He took his daughter by the hand and led her briskly back to his room. “Just for tonight.”
She got into the large double bed and seemed to fall asleep within seconds.
It took Jack longer. Most of the night.
Chapter 2
“What’s for breakfast?” said Annie. She was cuddling her sheep teddy.
“Porridge sound good?” said Jack. He opened the cupboard and pulled out a tupperware jar that contained some oats.
“We always have porridge,” said Annie, her face glum.
“Well, once they have the Frosties factory open again, I’ll let you know.”
She pulled up a chair by the dining table.
“I’ll get some water,” he said.
The water butt was outside. He paused by the door. He always paused by the door. He took a deep breath and grabbed the door handle. He turned round to look at Annie. She was watching him.
“It’s ok Daddy. I don’t think there are any out there.”
He nodded and opened the door.
The Chalet was at the edge of Tulloch’s holiday park. The view from the doorway opened up across rolling patchwork fields, where sheep wandered oblivious to the new and desperate world around them.
The water butt was next to the door, placed there so that he wouldn’t have far to go. He didn’t like to go outside, not if he could help it.
The holiday park was very still at this time of morning. In any other world, this would be a beautiful place. The sea was only five minutes walk away across the thin band of sand dunes that separated the park from the beach. There was a leisure facility with a swimming pool, gym and sport’s hall. There was a bar, a restaurant, and of course a play park. Annie would have spent all her days there, if Jack had let her.
But it wasn’t home. He wondered what had become of Leeds, where he had lived. He wondered what had become of Stewart, the workmate who had lent him use of the chalet Jack and his daughter were now living in. He wondered what his wife, Amy, would have thought of the chalet.
Even thinking her name hurt. Her name would flash him back to the night they had arrived, when she had been torn apart by zombies in that road in the middle of nowhere, in the moaning, hissing, flesh hungry darkness.
He replayed the night over in his mind. The broken down white van. Him stopping, insisting he check to see if anyone was hurt.
Amy asking him not to go.
Why hadn’t he listened to her?
Sometimes, he lay down, closed his eyes and imagined he had agreed with her, imagined he hadn’t gone to check the van. If they had just drove on then she would be alive. He tried to will that parallel universe into existence. He would fall asleep, maybe dream of them all together again as a family, and wake, the pillow wet from tears. Who cries in their sleep? Pathetic.
He jumped at a sound above him. A seagull had landed on the roof and clattered clumsily across the boards. It eyed Jack.
Jack took a scoop of water back into the chalet. He made the porridge for him and his daughter. Just water, no milk.
The sun came out that afternoon.
“Can I go out and play, Daddy?” asked Amy.
Jack was sitting on the couch. He was staring out across the fields, watching the birds land and take off. Watching the sheep graze mindlessly. Watching the clouds roll and form and disappear.
“What?”
“Can I go out and play? With Becky?”
Becky was from the chalet three down. She was about Annie’s age. Both her parents were alive, they had already been in the holiday park at the time of the Fall.
“Why not get Becky to come here?”
“She says she’s bored of always playing here.”
“Well, I think it’s best if you just play in the chalet today.”
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see her face, but he knew it would be painted with disappointment and sadness. He knew by her dragging steps, by her sighing. By the quiet voice she used in playing with her dolls. By the way she would be staring out the kitchen window, to the street outside, where Becky and other children were playing.
Peter’s heavy footsteps where hard to miss. They always stomped in the same way on the veranda; powerful workman stomps that belied his sixty-odd years.
“Hey Jack!” Peter waved in through the glass door.
Jack got up and opened the door.
“Hi Peter. You want to come in?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m not staying, just thought I’d ask you and Annie round for dinner tomorrow night.”
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Peter held up a hand and interrupted him.
“Now, now, I know what you are going to stay, but this wont be a late one. I’ve been getting some good results with my rabbit traps. Don’t you fancy some fresh meat?”
Jack was getting very tired of tinned food. The rabbit did sound enticing.
“And Simon and Elsie are coming over,” continued Peter with his sales pitch. “I met Simon on the run yesterday, nice fella. About your age,” Peter leaned in to direct his next words to Annie, “and they have a young boy called Tom, I think he’s seven or eight.”
Annie jumped up and ran over to the door. She grabbed Jack around the leg. “Can we go Daddy, can we please?”
Jack looked at Annie. Jack was eternally amazed at how Annie still managed to get excited, at how she could still find joy in this world. It gave him hope.
“Ok, sure, sounds like fun.”
Annie let out a large whoop, “Thank you Daddy!”
Peter smiled. “Great, that’s just great. We’ll have a fun time. Starting at six, sharp! Mary is cooking up a feast.”
“Sure, we’ll see you then.”
“Can’t wait,” said Annie.
Jack closed the door. Jack’s smile turned to a sigh.
