Infection Z (Book 4) (2 page)

H
ayden kept
as quiet as he could as he approached the churchyard.

It was a nice spot just outside a small town. One of those proper traditional churches—all grey brick and moss. The graveyard wasn’t bustling, either, but there was a sense that the headstones were gradually filling the land. Hayden thought about the concerns they must’ve had at the church. The worries about what to do when it just got too full.

At least they didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

He twirled a daisy between his fingers as he perched outside the churchyard. He waited for a sound. Or a smell. Or sight of someone. He’d seen a couple of people around this spot a few days back. They had guns, and one of them fired at a headstone. He didn’t want to mix with people like that. They were the last kind he wanted to deal with.

Not that he wanted to deal with anyone at all.

Better to just stay alone.

That way, he couldn’t let anyone down.

He started to stand. The rain had eased, but the clouds were still thick. Soon, night would fall. Not as soon as it did in winter. Hayden thought he was looking forward to the longer days. Increased visibility, less time to worry about what he couldn’t see. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Spend long enough in the darkness and it becomes your friend. Your greatest ally.

He saw the sun slowly setting and prayed for dark.

When darkness finally did arrive and still no sign of anybody—or anything—around the churchyard, he stepped inside. He ignored the silhouettes he thought he saw in the corners of his eyes. Had to adjust. Had to accept them for what they were—tricks, nothing more. The fantasies of a lonely mind. The projections of a messed up imagination.

He ignored them. Because there was no smell. There were no flies.

He was alone.

He had to be alone.

He walked over to the unmarked headstone right at the back of the graveyard. Somewhere above, an owl hooted, like the most stereotypical graveyard movie scene imaginable. The moon was bright behind the clouds. A little too bright for comfort.

But he was okay. He was okay because he was alone.

Alone with her.

Alone with Sarah.

He put the daisy by the side of the headstone. “Hello, Sarah.” He wasn’t sure why exactly he used this place as Sarah’s grave. But since she’d fallen to her death over the Holyhead cliffside, after having no opportunity to stick around and commemorate her after the cliffside became infested by undead, he’d taken comfort in having
somewhere
to visit her. Just some place where he could stop by. Show he cared.

He was a long way from home. A long way from anyone.

But having Sarah here—having something to remember Sarah by—that made a difference.

It made him feel like he had someone to care for.

It made him feel less alone.

Slightly.

“Saw him again today,” Hayden muttered. He looked around at the thick trees surrounding the graveyard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about what he’d seen. The boy in the window. Wasn’t sure he wanted to let it all out. Not again.

But somehow, he found himself shaking.

Found the words spilling out.

“It’s… it’s like he’s punishing me.” He smiled. Shook his head. “What am I saying? Not ‘him’ exactly. But my mind. It’s like my mind’s punishing me. For what I did.”

He stroked the top of the headstone. Felt his arms tingling as the memory replayed in his mind, over and over and over.

The house.

The scream.

The look on the boy’s face as Hayden ran from the window…

No.

No more.

Forget.

“It’s… it’s like no matter what I do, no matter where I go, I’ll always remember. And maybe that’s right. Maybe it’s the way it should be. Because I know what I did. I—I have to live with what I did. I just can’t…”

He refocused on the headstone. Perfect silence in the graveyard. The headstone saying nothing.

He smiled again. “What am I doing talking to the headstone of someone I don’t even know?”

He said those words, but he knew exactly why. His memories constantly reminded him why.

He’d let Sarah die.

Let Newbie die.

Let…

“No!” he said, the tingling sensations building inside his skull. “That’s not how it was. I didn’t leave anyone.”

You left them.

“Okay maybe I left them but—”

Aren’t fit to lead anybody, nobody at all.

“I don’t want to lead anyone. I don’t—”

You let the little boy die watched him bleed watched him—

“NO!”

Hayden heard his shout echo around the churchyard. He heard shuffling in the hedgerows. When he looked over, he didn’t see a thing. No movement. No sound. No smells.

Just him.

Just him and his thoughts all over again.

He listened to his racing heart. Looked down. The daisy he’d brought along with him was crushed. Crushed under the force of his fingers. All because of the memories.

The memories of what he’d done.

Of what he’d become.

“I’m sorry,” he said, soon realising how ridiculous apologising to a headstone actually was.

He thought back. Thought back to Sarah. One of the last things she’d said to him.

“Go back to Riversford. Or keep on looking for some kind of safe haven. You do whatever you have to do. Just stay yourself. ’Cause yourself is fucking amazing, Hayden McCall.”

Well, he had gone back to Riversford. One of the first journeys he’d made after leaving Sarah. He’d gone back and hadn’t found a soul. No Martha. No nothing.

So he’d started surviving for himself. Started taking time on the road. Seeing sights. Looting. Taking food. Water. The lot.

Then… the boy happened.

He cast that thought aside once more. Remembered what Sarah said. About finding some kind of safe haven. To keep on being himself.

“I’m trying,” Hayden said, fists tensed. “I’m—I’m really trying.”

He heard voices over to the right.

Heard footsteps approaching.

He froze. Someone was here. Someone would find him. And he couldn’t just walk away if they found him. He’d need to explain himself. He’d need to tell them who he was.

He’d have to get to know them.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t get to know anyone.

Because when he got to know people, bad things happened.

He crouched behind the headstone. Then, when he was sure the voices eased off, he moved to another headstone, moved between all of them until he reached the graveyard gates.

And then he saw torchlight shine right over him.

He stopped. Felt himself in the light, like an animal on a country lane staring at an approaching car.

“Do you see him?”

Those words.

Those fucking words.

He listened to the footsteps pick up. Heart racing. Mind spinning.

“Hey! You okay over there?”

He wanted to turn around. He wanted to respond. To tell them who he was. To learn about them. To speak with them about… about anything.

But then the memories of those he’d lost filled his mind.

Newbie.

Sarah.

The boy.

Clarice…

No, don’t remember Clarice don’t remember—

You stood by and watched them take her head off.

No!

You failed as a leader. You failed as a human being. You failed as a brother.

“Just… just wait there. Don’t move. Don’t… Hey!”

Hayden didn’t stay put.

He couldn’t stay put.

He climbed the fence. Disappeared into the trees. Behind him, he heard the approaching footsteps. The shouts. People like him. Desperate for company. Desperate for some kind of meaning in this world.

But they wouldn’t get it.

Not from him.

Because he couldn’t be around other people.

He couldn’t lead other people.

People died when he made decisions.

So he ran into the night. Ran away from the churchyard. Ran away from Sarah’s memorial.

He came to this town for a reason. A reason that he was still working up the courage to explore.

But now, he had no choice.

Now, he had to run.

Now, he had to find what he’d come here for.

H
ayden’s mind
swirled with all kinds of thoughts, all kinds of feelings, as he stood outside the semi-detached house on Westwood Lane.

The moonlight shone down brightly on the little side road in Hindley Green. The weather was cool, but all the running he’d done meant he didn’t feel so bad. The street was quiet. No smell of death in the air. No sound of zombies groaning, staggering towards him.

Just this house.

This house he’d visited the town of Wigan for in the first place.

He walked up the driveway. Walked past the silver Toyota Celica. Dust covered it. Didn’t look like it’d been touched in a long, long time.

Hayden wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing anymore.

He walked up to the front door. Put a hand on the handle. No luck. Another search for a spare key on his hands.

He looked everywhere—under the plant pot, under the car, around the side of the house. No sign.

So Danny was just as much a security nut as he used to be.

Hayden walked around the back of the house. It’d been six years since he’d seen Danny. He called him “cousin,” but that was more a token name cause they’d known each other since they were little kids. They always used to play out together when Hayden lived around Hindley. Always used to ride their bikes together. Smoked their first cigarettes together.

When Hayden moved away from Hindley, he kept up contact with Danny until they both turned about fifteen, sixteen. Not that Danny didn’t
try
keeping in touch. Hayden’s fault, really. All Hayden’s fault. So many times he’d wanted to call his old mate. So many times he meant to Facebook message him. Just never got around to it. There was always another bill to pay, another mission on GTA to complete, another joint to smoke.

Then the world collapsed and everyone was gone.

The opportunity was gone.

Now was his chance.

He pulled himself over the wooden fence at the back of the house. Found himself glancing side to side, checking no one was looking. It didn’t matter if anyone
was
, but a sense of lawfulness was inherent. Reactionary. Very hard to shake off.

Seeing nobody, Hayden dropped down into Danny’s garden.

He looked around. Looked at the rope swing that snapped once when Bill Croft was playing with them. Not a big fall, but Bill cracked his head open. Wailed like a baby. Never lived that one down when they got back to school.

Hayden felt his body relaxing as the memories took over.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before snapping out of the nostalgia, realising where he was, why he was here.

He turned to Danny’s house. Looked at the glass doors of the conservatory. He knew Danny still lived here ’cause one of his final Facebook pictures tagged him in this garden.

Hayden walked across the grass. Walked over to the conservatory.

Danny was always so rational. Always so good at dealing with bad situations.

But a zombie apocalypse?

Would Danny be good enough to deal with that?

Hayden wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure anyone was, really.

It was all just luck. It was all just a waiting game.

A pointless waiting game of playing leader until the pretend leader died and then someone else got to play leader… then they died too.

He stopped at the conservatory door.

A slight shiver covered him when he saw it was ajar.

He felt a quiver in his stomach. Saw silhouettes moving in the corners of his eyes.
No. They aren’t there. All in your head. All in your imagination.

He pushed the door open. Listened to it creak through the conservatory. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d come back to see his old friend. He didn’t want to meet any new people. He didn’t want to form any kind of bonds. And more than anything, he didn’t want to lead. Because he couldn’t lead. When he led, people died.

So many people, dead because of him.

Better to just float along. Take life one step at a time.

Alone.

But Danny felt different, for some reason. He was an old friend. Him and Hayden understood each other. Understood each other in ways the new world couldn’t change.

Going back to Danny was like going back to his old life. A life free of responsibilities. A life where he didn’t have to prove himself to anybody.

A life he could just enjoy—

He heard something rustling around in the lounge.

Nausea welled up inside Hayden. He closed the conservatory door, turned the lock. Walked over to the back of the conservatory, slowly. Squinted in the darkness. The moonlight shone in through the front window, but it didn’t do much to help him. Just illuminated the dust floating around this room. Lit up the massive television perched on the wall. Revealed old computer magazines. Crime thrillers, like that bullshit McDone series Danny always went on about on social media. Films. Games.

All untouched.

Like it was some kind of showroom.

Like the world had just fallen to sleep.

Hayden walked into the lounge. Saw photographs of Danny perched on the mantlepiece. He still lived with his parents. Got a bit of stick for it, but he was a good lad from what Hayden knew. An ambitious lad doing everything he could to do freelance work on websites. He paid his rent. His parents supported him. He kept his head down and focused, just like he always had.

Now, Hayden just had to find him. So much to talk about. So much to catch up on. So much to—

He heard the rustling again. Only it wasn’t coming from the lounge. It was coming from the hallway. From upstairs. A tapping. A tapping on the wall.

Hayden rubbed the back of his neck, then walked over to the hallway door.

The tapping continued as he approached. The only sounds he could hear were this tapping and the thudding of his heart. He lifted his hammer. Held it aloft. If Danny were out there—“out there” meaning zombified—Hayden would just have to deal with him. He’d have to detach himself. Just like he always had.

He wasn’t sure how easy it would be. And that’s what stopped him visiting Danny sooner. He’d worried. Worried about what kind of condition Danny might be in. Worried about what he’d think if Danny was gone.

In a way, he didn’t want to find Danny here. Because not finding Danny here meant he’d got away.

Not finding Danny here kept his fate a mystery…

His thoughts stopped when he heard the buzzing at the top of the stairs.

When he saw the source of the tapping.

Danny hadn’t got away. He was still in his house. Still in his boxer shorts, for that matter.

Only his jogging bottoms were wrapped around his neck.

He was hanging from the bannister.

Hayden’s chest tightened. He wanted to run. Wanted to be alone. Wanted to get away. Wanted to go before the silhouettes came. Before the boy returned to his memories. Reminded him of what he’d done. Of what he’d—

Danny moved.

Hayden blinked. Looked up at Danny’s hanging body. He’d seen him move. Definitely seen him move.

“Danny?”

He walked up the first step. Heart racing.

“Danny? Are…”

He saw the bite wound on Danny’s arm. The chunk of flesh missing from his skin.

And then Danny lunged for him.

Hayden tumbled back. Fell off the bottom step, landed on the Welcome mat.

Danny struggled against his jogging bottoms. His eyes had popped out with the fall. His skin was completely purple.

The fall. The fall mustn’t have broken his neck.

He’d been bitten so he’d hung himself.

And he hadn’t finished the job effectively.

He looked at the blood drooling down Danny’s mouth. Looked at his lips, which he’d bitten away to the point of mashing them up. And Hayden couldn’t do anything but stare. Stare up at his friend. Danny. The last person on earth he could think of.

Gone.

Gone, just like everyone else.

All your fault. All your—

“No!”

His heart pounded in his ears. His vision tunnelled in on Danny.

He stormed up the stairs.

Saw all the dead. All the dead who’d killed those he loved. All the people who’d hurt him.

Saw all the loss he’d experienced, saw the voice inside his head right in front of him.

Tears rolling down his cheeks, he pulled back his hammer.

Smacked it into Danny’s neck.

Hard.

Harder.

Harder.

He wasn’t sure how long he beat his old friend to death. Blood crusted on his hands. His body twitched. He couldn’t focus outside himself. Just on the memories.

Sarah.

The boy.

Clarice.

His parents.

And now Danny.

Everything he’d had. Everything he’d taken so for granted.

Everything he’d lost.

He hobbled away from Danny’s limply hanging body. Walked into his lounge. Climbed on the white leather sofa, curled up into the foetal position.

There was no world for him anymore. Because he wasn’t strong enough.

He couldn’t save people.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Saw the image of the boy in his mind. The boy he’d left behind. The boy he hadn’t had the balls to run back and save.

The boy he’d watched die.

He squeezed them tighter as images of his parents, of Clarice, of Newbie and Sarah and Danny and everyone, replayed through his mind on a loop.

His older sister Annabelle, hanging, all those years ago.

People die because of you.

He felt tears dampening his cheeks. Felt his eyes straining as he tensed his eyelids even more.

There was nothing for him anymore.

No place for him anymore.

So he curled up tighter.

Waited for the inevitable moment.

The only ending in all this hopelessness.

Waited to die.