Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure (51 page)

‘The old ones, the Palmerston Forts, there’s quite a few of them all along the coast. The radio said London was infested and people should head over to the Forts and take food, water and medicine.’

‘Oh, I think we should stay here and wait for help. We have enough food, thank you.’

‘I don’t think it will be safe here, those
things
are everywhere,’ I point at the bodies on the ground.

‘And other people might want to take your food, maybe you should take what you can carry and go to the Forts? Do you have a vehicle?’

‘We have a van – my husband uses it for the Cash and Carry.’

‘Take your van, load it up with as much as you can take and then leave,’ I urge her.

‘What about my husband? What if he comes back and cannot find us?’

‘Leave a note for him and … also one that tells other people where you have gone so they can go there too – but do it quickly.’ She glances back at the shop, clearly unsure of what to do. I can see her dilemma; the shop looks strong and secure, a safe place.

‘I saw these things last night. They were different, they weren’t slow like these were, they were fast. If they change again they won’t stop until they have got you … and your family.’

She stares back at me. The suggestion of a threat to her family has sharpened her instincts for survival.

‘Where are these Forts?’

‘Check the Internet, if it’s still working. If not, look at local maps, they are tourist attractions and will be marked … do you sell maps?’

‘Yes … yes, we have maps.’

‘Check them and find the nearest Fort, then load up and go – please don’t stay here – it’s not safe.’

‘Okay, okay we will go. Food, water, and medicine,’ she repeats back to me.

‘Take what you can get into the van quickly: water, tinned food, any medicine … Aspirin, Paracetamol
…
anything, take clothing too, but please be quick.’

She goes to move away, then hesitates.

‘Will you come? We could travel together …’ she asks me.

‘I can’t, I’m sorry … I have to find my family. I will try and get my parents to follow you. I’ll ask them to come here first and see if you are still here, but don’t wait for them, load up and get going.’

She nods and walks back to the shop, still in shock. I’m worried that she’s not taken it in and will try to wait it out. Her son comes out of the door, walking towards his mother; a teenage girl comes out behind him and stands back holding the door open.

‘Hey, thanks for your help again, mate. I just said to your mother that people are going to the Forts on the coast, she said you had a van. I really think you should load up with food and water and go there as soon as possible. Take anything you can carry.’

‘Are you going there too?’

His mother interrupts before I can answer.

‘No, he has to find his family, go back inside please.’

I turn and walk to the car. The bottom of my bat is covered in blood and bits of gore that smears across the seat as I get in.

My parents moved here a few years ago; the old house was the family home. This is their new house and it feels different, still homely and welcoming, but not the same.

My dad retired two years ago. He was an engineer for a telecoms company and had a good retirement package, but he quickly got bored of playing golf and went back as a part-timer.

My sister and I bought him a new set of clubs for his 60
th
birthday. Well, I say
we
bought them – my sister paid most of it as she earns a fortune. I paid what I could, but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Their new house is detached and modern, but the large driveway is empty. Dad bought a new Toyota
when he retired and always leaves it on the driveway, proudly cleaning it at every opportunity.

I leave the Micra
on the street, engine off, but keys in the ignition, ready to go. I walk towards the house; the front door is closed, and all the windows are shut. There is a gate to the rear garden but it’s locked and too high to climb.

The front door has been left unlocked and I enter, pausing for a minute in the hallway, eyeing the stairs ahead of me. The hallway leads to the kitchen; to the left is the lounge with the door open. The dining room is to my right. There is no sound and I close the front door gently behind me.

I want to call out but don’t want to risk alerting any undead that I am here. I go into the lounge and then the dining room and finally the kitchen; there are two half-drunk mugs of coffee on the side, both are cold.

I go upstairs with my bat raised, but find nothing in the two guest rooms. The bathroom is clear.

My parents’ bedroom is also vacant; the drawers are empty and thrown around and the wardrobe is open – there are clothes lying about. It looks like they were in a rush. So they must be aware of what’s happening. I go back downstairs and check the rooms again. There is an open notepad on the dining-room table with a handwritten note in my mother’s writing:

Howie,

Dad got a phone call last night from an old colleague working in France, they said what was happening, awful things. Dad spoke to your sister. Sarah is safe at home, locked in and secure. The phone line went down when we were talking to her. We kept trying to call you but all the numbers were engaged. We are going to come and get you, but I suppose if you are reading this, then we have missed each other.

Stay here Howie, we will try your place and come back here before we get Sarah. We left the front door unlocked, in case you left your key behind. You can lock the door though, we both have our keys.

Please stay here Howie, we will be back soon.

Love, Mum and Dad.

I read the note over a few times … Sarah is safe, thank God. The relief is massive.

I know they will come back here before they do anything. I feel so weary now, hungry and exhausted. In the kitchen I find a Cornish pasty in the fridge and wolf it down within seconds – followed by another. I make a mug of tea, as the electricity and gas are still on.

I try the home phone but find it dead – there is not even a dial tone. I check the router: lights flashing red, no Internet and no phone line.

After locking the front door I go upstairs into the bathroom. I am filthy and covered in blood, gore, and dirt.

My hands are blood-stained, with black crusty grime under the nails. I strip off and have a hot shower, wondering how long it will be before the power goes off … might as well take the opportunity now.

I soak and scrub myself. The water runs red at first, and I keep scrubbing until the filth is washed away.

My clothes are too dirty to put back on, but my dad is a much bigger build than me and I know that his clothes won’t fit. These clothes need to be thrown away; the blood could be infectious, but then I would have nothing to wear.

I remember that there are some old clothes of mine in bin liners in the loft. I’d left them at the old house and Mum kept nagging me to go and sort them out, which I never did.

I wrap a towel around my waist and find the long stick to open the loft hatch in my parents’ room; the hatch opens downwards and a folding metal ladder extends down. I climb into the loft and turn the light on. The loft is boarded out and I can see a pile of black bags with white sticky labels marked ‘Howie’ on them.

I find an old pair of faded blue jeans; I used to live in these years ago. At first I grab a plain, white t-shirt, then I figure out that the white colour won’t blend in too well, and so I keep looking through the bag until I find an old, black, v-neck jumper. I check that the jeans still fit; they are a little tight around the waist, but they will have to do.

Finally, with nothing left to do but wait, I go into the lounge and lay down on the sofa, thinking through all that has happened.

Within seconds, my eyes are heavy and my breathing has slowed. I jerk awake a couple of times, my body twitching, but eventually, I drift off to sleep.