Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (23 page)

He goes to pull, she senses it and throws herself forward to go with him but he stops at the last second and tries turning away instead. Her legs hit his, her feet tripping as she loses balance while trying to make him strangle her. ‘Just wring my bloody neck,’ she grunts, falling to be lifted as he rises. She fights him round and round with the poor man desperate to get his hands off her neck but not wishing to use any force to do so. ‘Oh my god just wring it…wring it…WRING IT…’

‘Ere, what’s all that?’

‘What?’ Heather freezes, half lowered to the ground while fighting with Paco to make him wring her out.

‘Just sod off up the road a bit…’

‘Eh?’ Heather blinks, trying to see between Paco’s legs to the voice coming from further down.

‘All that bloody racket…go on…sod off…’

‘What?’ Heather says again, twitching to get a view of an old man waving a walking stick over his head.

‘Them things’ll come if you carry on like that…bugger off the pair of ya…go on…’

‘Er…’

‘He obviously don’t wanna wring it does he…leave the poor bugger alone and sod off…bloody women screeching the place down bringin’ all them things ‘ere.’

‘Er…’ Heather falters, still half lowered with her hands gripping Paco’s wrists, too caught up in the refusal of Paco to wring her neck to realise she hasn’t turned. ‘Er…sorry,’ she winces, pulling a face at Paco. ‘Up Paco, stand up,’ she whispers. He lifts to stand, bringing her up onto her feet.

‘Never heard such a noise I ain’t. Never in my years have I. Bloody screeching and yellin’ like a lunatic and that poor bloke not sayin’ a word and you goin’ on…’

‘Yeah sorry,’ she says again, lifting a hand in apology to wave falteringly as she spots the stone cottage further down the lane behind him.

‘Just sod off,’ the old man shouts, poking his stick towards them.

‘Going,’ she calls out. Backing up the lane then lunging to grab Paco to stop him turning round. ‘Come on er….dear…we were just playing…’

‘Sod off.’

‘Weren’t we my er…my dear…it’s a game we…’

‘Don’t care. Sod off you weirdo.’

‘Yep, going now. Sorry.’

‘Stop YELLIN AND SOD OFF.’

‘You’re yelling now.’

‘Oh fack off,’ the old man turns to waddle back towards his cottage, chuntering and muttering in his thick country accent.

‘I’m not a weirdo,’ she tells Paco once a suitable distance has been gained. ‘Why did he say that? Did you hear him? He called me a weirdo. I’m not. I’m really not. I thought I was going to be infected so was trying to make you kill me. How is that weird? That’s not weird. Do you think that’s weird?’

‘Er, thanks for not wringing my neck though. That could have been embarrassing seeing as I didn’t actually get infected. Hey maybe I am. Are my eyes red?’ She looks at him, turning her eyes left to right to show him the white bits. ‘Are they red? I don’t feel like a zombie. Is that what they are? I can’t believe we drank from the same bottle but your saliva definitely would have been on it and it went in my mouth…what does that mean? Must be luck…no I was rubbing my mouth with my gloves and I’ve been touching you all morning with those gloves. I did anti-bac them a lot, urgh, thank God I anti-bacced them after you had a wee. Imagine that? Maybe you’re not infected anymore or…or maybe just your blood is bad now or something. Maybe it needs more than a bit of saliva or even the spit might need to go into my blood. I’m not a weirdo. Am I? Are you hungry? We’ll find some food in a bit. I can’t believe he said I was a weirdo.’

Twenty Five

‘Crumbs,’ she hesitates, holding Paco’s hand staring ahead down the street at the bodies. Lots of bodies. More than she has seen for a while. They look old and decomposing which is a good sign. Whatever happened was a while ago.

‘Come on,’ she whispers to press on. They need supplies. Clothes for both of them and food. It’s taken most of the day to reach this place. She was hoping for a village or small town but this looks more like a county market town, bigger and more urbanised. They’ll be quick. Get what they need and get out to find a place for the night.

She walks down the middle of the residential road that looks like it feeds into the town centre. Houses on both sides behind tiny front gardens and nearly every door lies open and every window is smashed. It’s silent too with the quietness that she now recognises is brought by lots of death.

Heather looks round, seeing the action seems to have been centred near a house up on the left. She can see the upstairs windows wide open and something hanging down. What is that? She stares harder until the connection is made. Knotted sheets hanging from a window. Someone trying to escape. She takes in the outside area that’s littered with just about every household object a person could possess. Television, cups and saucepans, plates, cutlery and bottles of spirits made into flaming Molotov cocktails that shattered and left scorch marks on the grass and bodies. They go past silent and watchful. Her hand held tight in his as she peers round him to keep watch on the house. The bodies get fewer as they move further along the street but it stays silent and foreboding.

The road does feed into the town centre and ends at a junction with the High Street where she stops to stare with her mouth hanging open. A moped lies on its side further down the street. In the opposite direction is an armoured cash in transit van with the doors wide open that looks like it crashed into the front of a building running over and crushing loads of infected at the same time. She can see the right leads out of town and away from the shops. She goes left, reluctant but confident they can go quickly. Besides, whatever happened here was a while ago. It must have stunk to high heaven before the storm and a rancid stench still hangs thick and sweet.

The further they go the more bodies they see. Small groups at first then tens of them. A beaten up old Nissan Micra left with its doors open and the metal sides smeared with blood. The windscreen smashed in. More bodies lead away towards the precinct where loads of corpses lie from being crushed by something heavy ramming them into the solid barrier. More stretch off across the ground so thick in number. The tens become hundreds. Literally hundreds of corpses forming a rotting carpet. She gains an idea that something big hit the barrier to the precinct crushing loads of infected then whoever was in that vehicle got out and fought back. There must have been loads of them. Like that army truck. People like that. Hard people that know what they’re doing. She looks for bullet casings but finds none. That makes her take in the details on the bodies. None of them have been bitten like Paco’s throat and most have had their throats slit in the same way she saw before. She spots a pair of lump hammers bloodied and dropped on the ground. A sledgehammer a bit further away then a chainsaw and other hand tools in a route all leading to the front of a smashed in DIY store.

She frowns at the sight, feeling somewhat proud that someone had a go at fighting back. Whoever it was got loads. There is a whole world still at play with things happening she has no knowledge of and doesn’t want to know about. It isn’t her concern. None of this is her concern.

‘Come on,’ she leads him into the precinct where thankfully the bodies becomes fewer. This town was certainly hit hard. Every shop window is smashed through, every door hangs off hinges or lies broken. The insides of those shops have been ransacked too. Clothes strewn everywhere. Travel brochures from travel agents, once glossy and promising far flung adventures but now a gloopy mess after being saturated by the storm. Debris lies everywhere. Chairs from an outside eatery overturned amongst stainless steel tables and big outside gas heaters. Glasses, cups and plates from the bars and restaurants broken and smashed. This is the apocalypse right here. This is the fall of humanity in all the grot and shit. It’s offensive. She is offended by the sight of it. By the smell and by the cheapness of life and what it was before it all came crashing down.

She shows that distaste too in a scowl that forms to stay. There’s nothing usable here and even if there was she wouldn’t want it. Not from this place. It’s tainted and dirty with corruption that would forever mark them. She moves closer to Paco, to feel his presence and he in turn detects her unease and stands straighter, taller with his head higher. She loops her arm through his, holding him tight. She doesn’t want any of this to touch them. What they have is beyond this. There is no connection, no relativity. Keep moving and get out. She’d rather forage in houses than scavenge like a rat in this filth.

Through that centre they pass to reach the side streets of commercial buildings. Garages, car sales, engineering workshops, carpet and furniture retailers. It’s still tainted. It belongs to this place and not to them. She could take a car and drive away but even that thought is repellent. Walking is their thing. That’s what they do now. They walk.

‘Tesco,’ she whispers at the huge sign standing clear across the vast empty car park. Residential streets at their back and the town centre only a few minutes away and it’s no surprise to find one of the supermarket warehouses situated on the edge. It’s huge too. A monstrosity of glass, metal and shiny white plastic surrounded by a concrete wasteland that disgorged the greed of the masses to take what they could without regard of where it came from.

They need supplies though. She guesses the food will be gone judging by the level of looting in the town but it might still have bandages and other things they need. Paco needs more clothes too. They both do and supermarkets this size normally have a clothing department.

There’s no noise. No signs of life. No sounds of anything. She checks Paco again who stares down at her. His eyes somehow conveying worry. ‘I’m okay,’ she smiles weakly but gives his arm a squeeze. ‘Come on, in and out yeah?’

The journey across the openness of the car park begins. Early evening and the sky overhead is still blue and deep. The air is still warm but it’s not pleasant. Not here. Not now. Her eyes scan the sides. She turns to check behind them. All empty. All quiet. The doors are reached without incident but the smell coming from within stops her dead. The smell is beyond anything she ever thought possible. A richly sweet stench of decaying meat mixed with blood, faeces and God only knows what else. From the entrance she spots the thick lines of blood lying like wakes across the once highly polished floor. Drag lines clear and obvious.

She holds still, edging forward with an attempt to withstand the smell but it repels her back like an invisible wall. She can taste it on her tongue.

‘God,’ she backs away covering her mouth with the back of her arm. She goes to turn away, to leave and forget this town ever existed but her eyes clock goods still on shelves. She moves out down the front to peer through the windows seeing aisles of shelves still filled with things. There’s been looting here but nothing on the scale there was in the town. It’s that smell. It would drive anyone away. She hesitates, thinking hard. They can get loads from here. Enough to last days.

She slides the bag off, opens the flap and pulls out a clean top that she wraps round the lower half of her face and tucks into her t shirt. Sod it. The shop has what they need. In and out.

‘Come on…’ she takes his hand to lead him inside then stops, goes back and takes another of her tops that she wraps round his face. Both of them become bandits. Robbers intent on mischief and at any other time she’d find the humour and laugh but not now and not here.

The smell gets through the material and makes her eyes water within a few steps. She tries breathing through her mouth instead but it makes no difference. The customer service counter lies ahead with a row of knives left on the top. Butchers knives, meat slicers, carving blades from big to small. Macabre and sinister. She clings to Paco, pushing into his side to feel his warmth with her hand unknowingly kneading his bicep. She aims up the first wider access aisle, past the newspaper and magazine stands still filled with smiling faces of perfect white teeth. She spots Paco. His broad handsome face so tanned and alive on the cover of some glossy magazine promoting a new workout to get
arms like Paco Maguire and make women swoon!
She tuts and shoots him a dark look. She’d say something about women swooning and his absurdly high numbers that’s got to be like six thousand at least, but she doesn’t say anything. Speaking means breathing which isn’t going to happen unless she’s desperate.

A noise reaches her ears. A weird solid buzzing like an electric machine but far off that’s rising and dropping in pitch and tone. She recognises it but can’t place it. No other noises though. The further down the aisle they go the louder the buzzing becomes. Like one of those new drones but, no…more than one. It sounds organic, like natural. The blood trails go this way too. Up this aisle to the middle section that runs the width of the store. They reach the corner and see. They see it all in one glimpse of a sight that can never now be taken away. Her heart jack hammers as her stomach heaves to drop and twist. The back of her throat tugs as the precursor to vomiting. At least she knows where the buzzing is coming from now.

Flies. Thousands, hundreds of thousands that rise in clouds to drop and feast on the mound of bodies stacked in the middle aisle like a wall. Human beings and each with their throats slit so they bled out as they were dragged up to be taken round the corner and stacked. Arms hang down, legs poke out between the bricks of human cadavers. Heads hanging down from necks cut open. Red bloodshot eyes dead and lifeless. Pale bodies drained of blood. The ones at the bottom are just meat. Squished and sunken from the weight bearing down. Those on the top and sides writhe with maggots. Thousands upon thousands of fat little maggots that make the whole thing seem alive. The first thing she notices is the neatness of it which instantly makes her think of the farmhouse and the two bodies in the kitchen. The way they’re stacked on top like bricks but overlapping so the mass supports the weight. A mop and bucket at the side on a patch of floor that was cleaned but now has bloodied footprints going through it. She can see the spreading pool of goo being pushed out the bottom of the mound will soon cover the entire width of the aisle.

In the horror of the view she spots the cut necks, the same as she’s seen time and again now. The knives on the customer service desk. Lots of knives. Lots of slit throats but all of them are infected. This is days old though. More than that. This was done at the start. The decay is clear even to her untrained eyes.

Okay. You’ve seen it now. Move on. Get what you need and leave. She looks at Paco who stares at the mound but shows no signs of alarm or aggression. Where first? Bandages and medical supplies. She leads him back to the use another narrower aisle to circumvent the mound to reach the health and beauty aisles. She gets the bag open and starts loading with dressings, antiseptic creams and sprays, bottles of anti-bac, she grabs multivitamins and anything she thinks might be of use. Razors too. Her legs and armpits have never been so hairy. One aisle leads to another in the genius but sickening design perfected by years of money grabbing corporations desperate to prise the last bit of money from your dying hands. She loads as she goes, tinned food, packet food, high energy, protein bars, nuts and muesli. She spots signs of looting and empty wrappers lying strewn across the floor as though someone was in here eating as they browsed. A big packet of dried pasta. Tins of tomatoes and loads of tuna. The stench is nauseating. Her head swims and she has to blink to clear the mist in her eyes. On they go, side by side with Heather filling the bag.

‘Ssshhhh…’

‘FUCK,’ she drops the bag to spin with fright. Her eyes wide and strobing every direction. ‘Did you hear that?’ she demands to Paco. ‘What…who was that…’

Snatched words hushed and quiet. A rustle of fabric, feet running then silence until that small voice comes again. ‘Ssshhhh.’

Heather swallows, her hand reaching for Paco to pull him close. ‘WHO IS THAT?’ She yells out, her voice cracking with fear. Paco tenses, detecting her fear which makes her heart hammer even more.

The voices come again. Quiet and hushed then feet running fast and light on a hard surface. She spins to look down to the end of the aisle then to other. One of voices was that way but the running was the other end. ‘WE’RE LEAVING,’ Heather calls out. ‘WE’LL GO…’

‘Say something…’

‘No! Be quiet.’

‘It’s a woman and a man…say some…’

‘Ssshhhh.’

Children. It’s children. A boy and a girl. Heather grabs the bag, closes the flap and hefts it up onto her back. ‘WE’RE GOING…WE JUST NEEDED FOOD…’

‘Say something, Subi.’ she hears the boy whispering urgently.

‘Er…’ the girl calls out, fear and uncertainty in her voice. ‘You can help yourself,’ she adds politely.

Heather starts walking. Her hand holding Paco to keep him close. ‘THANKS…WE’RE GOING NOW…’

‘Is it mummy?’

Heather stops in her tracks at the third much younger voice.

‘No. I told you, mummy’s dead. Ssshhh,’ the girl says.

Don’t do it. Keep going. She starts off again going faster with her hand tightly grasping Paco’s.