No Zombies Please We Are British (12 page)

They did not need another invitation.

The dead were nearly on them, and after Steve turned and took his blades to the first faces of the wave, he too turned and ran, bringing up the rear behind Jack and Alessa.

Steve swung like a madman, hacking at any of the death-walkers that came close enough. Those that he felled served to their advantage, because they acted as a stumbling block for the others.

“Steve, hurry,” Alessa’s voice cried out.

Steve was surprised to see that the others had all disappeared inside. Taking down one final death-walker with a swinging blow that saw him bury the knife so deep in the creature’s rotting skull that his fist was covered in brains, he turned and ran.

Inside the theatre it was dark, and for a few moments while their eyes adjusted, the group was blind and vulnerable.

It was a strange sensation, but once the door behind them was closed and barricaded once more from the inside, the lights came on.

Lights in the form of the torches used by the ushers to move through the theatre in their own sneaky way.

“I was watching you out there. You need to be careful. This place is crazy, those folks … they are … they are dead,” the man said, speaking as if he were coming with some grand announcement.

He almost seemed disappointed when nobody panicked or gasped.

“Where is Sarah Welch?” Jack asked. “Is she here? Are there many survivors?”

The man turned around to face the group. “You mean to tell me you actually came looking for this place. You knew what was happening and you came?”

“We did, and we would appreciate it if you would help us. You saved us for a reason, there is no need to play games like this.” It was Steve who now stepped forward. “You know what is out there, you have seen what they are. Otherwise, you would not have fortified this place like that.”

The man looked at them and laughed. He was an older man, the wrong side of fifty. His hair was cut short and grey all over. He had a white beard growing on his face, which showed he was clean-shaven before the world ended. He smiled.

“We didn’t block it because of the dead. We did it to keep out them army folk. They didn’t last a day before they started getting all power hungry. They shot a man in the head because he didn’t want to get on his knees for them.”

“You’ve been stuck in here ever since?” Jack asked.

“Not stuck, but holed up. They were busy clearing the place and losing their minds. They never realized we were here,” the man answered. “I’m Thomas, by the way.”

Introductions were made and they agreed to get away from the doors. The dead were gathering outside and they didn’t want to extend them an invitation.

They climbed the stairs, creeping in silence, under Thomas’s instruction. They did not need to ask why. Behind the locked doors came the suffocating growls of the undead.

“How many of you are there?” Stan asked once they reached the third floor. Once again, he seemed to be the only one of them who was not even a little bit winded from the climb.

“There are six of us left. The rest, well, the rest became those things.” Thomas clearly disliked talking about the death-walkers, and it put Jack ill at ease, because it threatened a sense of complacency that would get them all killed.

“You have done well to get them separated,” Jack offered, hoping to see some glimpse of triumph in Thomas’s eyes. All he saw was pain.

“We ran,” the older man said. “We just kept climbing higher and higher. If they break through again, then we have nowhere left to go.” They were not the words of a fighter, but of a man who had given up.

“Then why did you save us?” Steve asked. “If you don’t think you have anywhere left to go, why save us?”

“To give you whatever extra time we could.” His answer was short and it was simple.

“Come with us, we are not staying here.” Alessa took her turn to speak. “We just came to find Sarah.”

Jack looked over at the young woman who so confused his thoughts. She spoke of his girlfriend as if she were a friend of hers.

“Sarah?” The question in his voice made Jack’s heart sink.

“Sarah, she is five-four, blonde hair, green eyes, slim build, friendly but a little distant, too.” Jack watched the man’s face for any sign of recognition.

“I know her, didn’t know her name was Sarah though. I thought Sharon, hmmm.” The man turned his back on them and entered the theatre.

It was dark; the upper section of the once beautiful Victorian-style performance house was dominated by shadow. The sound of the dead chomping at the bit in the sections below rolled in the stale, rot-heavy air.

The survivors sat together, side by side in the middle of the upper tier. The sole attendees for the last show on earth. They turned around to look at the group of newcomers, but none spoke. Jack searched the six faces and there, in the middle looking at him without so much as a trace of a smile on her face, was Sarah. She was pale, and her hair was dirty and covered with grime. Her lips were puffed up and the lower one was split on one side, but there was no denying it was her.

“Sarah,” he said, struggling to find the right emotion to use.

“Hi, Jack. You shouldn’t have come here,” she answered dismissively.

“Why, Sarah, we came to rescue you, all of you,” Jack began, but the words tasted stale. He had come to rescue Sarah, but that desire had died, the trip was no longer about that, and they had never given any thought to rescuing anybody else. Even Sarah’s mother, who he saw then was not part of the group.

“Really?” The scorn was there for all to see.

“Jack, man, they’ve given up,” Steve whispered to Jack. “Look at them.”

Jack could see it, each of the six survivors had the same dull look to their eyes; a listless expression and that just screamed surrender.

“Sarah, come on, did you really think I would leave you behind?” Jack began, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Sarah burst into a hateful laugh. Below her, the undead were far more interested in the goings on in the upper seats than in the lifeless corpses that lay on the stage, or those that stood trapped in the band pit, their instruments crushed and tarnished at their feet.

“Jack, I’m sorry,” she said with a sudden clarity in her eyes. “I … I never expected any of this to happen, but I also didn’t expect you to come chasing after me.”

“I don’t get it.” Jack felt Alessa tense beside him. She took a step forward.

“You were cheating on him,” Alessa growled, her voice angry. “You were not here with your mother, but with your boyfriend.”

“Sarah, what the hell?” Jack moved forward, and at the same time, a muscular, dark-skinned man rose from the chair beside Sarah.

“Who the hell is this?” Jack pointed at the man, his heart thundering in his chest. He stared at the man and felt nothing but hatred. He balled his fists.

“Now, I know what this looks like …”

Jack strode forward, his fists raised and before the man, who was considerably larger, could react, Jack threw a right hook that caught him on the jaw and knocked him backwards. He followed it up with a strong left, thrown without finesse but backed by a rage, the purest of all emotions. He felt the man’s nose explode beneath his fist, and felt the warm blood coat his fingers.

“Jack, stop!” Sarah screamed, but it was to no avail.

Red mist descended, Jack looked on, as if he were standing beside Steve. He watched as his own body gave in to rage. Everything they had been through, everything they had fought for. His world and everything he had based it around was gone. Destroyed by an unfaithful girlfriend and her big black lover. Jack’s fists moved in a blur, and blood splattered his face and his hands. Lips turned to mangled lumps of flesh, teeth knocked out or through, deeper into the skin that surrounded them. Jack roared as he rained down hammer fists, further shattering the man’s nose and closing his eyes beneath a swollen mass of flesh.

“Jack, Jack.” Shouts and screams rang out as members of Jack’s group moved to pull him off, while Sarah lunged at her now ex-boyfriend, her fingers hooked into claws; savage talons that were feral and eager to taste blood.

“Leave him alone.” Alessa’s voice rang out as a shriek, rising above the clamour of the rest. She lashed out with a kick that caught Sarah in the ribs and sent her crashing off course into the barrier of the upper tier.

Sarah hit hard, her hands raised in attack, she had no time to brace herself. She paused for a second, turning to stare at the others, a trickle of blood ran from her lips. Then she was falling, toppling backwards.

“No!” Alessa cried out, sprinting over towards the woman she just struck. She arrived just in time to watch Sarah’s body crash against the siding of the second tier. Her spine snapped with an audible pop that seemed to rise up to Alessa’s ears. Her folded-over body then fell down into the first-class seating, where it was as good as caught and torn apart by arguably the best-dressed death-walkers in town.

Alessa turned. Everybody was staring at her. Even Jack had gotten to his feet, the man on the floor no longer recognizable. He was still breathing, but his survival in the new world depended on a lot more than just the ability to draw breath.

“Jack … I … she …” Alessa stuttered, her body trembling as she spoke.

Jack said nothing, but he looked down at the man on the floor, and to his hands. His fists were still balled and blood dripped from his knuckles.

“Everybody stop!” another voice roared. “What the heck has happened to us? Are we no better than the savages down there?” a man said, from the row of chairs. He was old and shrivelled, his balding head and hanging jowls gave him a look that made Jack think of the images of Winston Churchill. He stood, using a black cane to support his somewhat considerable bulk. His body shook through ailments rather than fear, but his eyes were clear and his voice authoritative. “We are still people, this is still England, and I would expect us to remember that.”

Beneath them, there was a rumble that was followed by a snapping sound, like twigs breaking in a forest.

“What’s that?” Ayse asked.

“I believe they have escaped,” the old man answered, taking his glasses from his face to clean them with a handkerchief before replacing them carefully. “Now would be the time that we show a united front.” He began to move through the seats and surprised them all by being the first one out of the theatre.

The group followed him, a clear rift in their numbers, but at least they all headed in the same direction.

“Here they come,” one man announced, as if the rising tide of death needed to be pointed out.

“To the roof,” Jack called, pointing farther down the hall where a sign indicated roof access.

Jack’s group turned and moved, sprinting to what they hoped was safety. They stopped and turned as they reached the door. The dead consumed the others. Only the old man was standing tall, surrounded by death. One by one, people disappeared through the door, until only Steve and Jack remained. They watched the man as he struck at the death-walkers with his cane. Knocking them fiercely on the head before they overwhelmed him. He never made a sound as they tore into his gut and swallowed his insides while his heart still beat.

Chapter 14

Closing the door to the stairs, they rose, climbing them to the top where they reached a ladder that led to the roof.

Jack and Steve arrived to find Alessa waiting for them. The hatch was open, Stan and Ayse were disappearing through it. The cool rush of fresh air was welcome. None of them had realized how stuffy it was in the theatre.

“Jack, I …” Alessa began, but Jack stopped her. He took her and pulled her into his arms. They hugged, and while they did, Steve took the chance to move to the roof after the others.

“Now isn’t the time. We will need to talk, but let’s get out of here first.” Jack smiled and wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek.

The roof was wide, with sections that rose and fell, but it was predominantly flat, with enough room for them to move around.

“Where do we go from here?” Stan asked.

“Guys, come look at this,” Ayse called. She was standing on the edge of the roof.

“You guys go ahead. I’m good right here,” Steve quickly offered.

Jack and Alessa moved over to Ayse. They looked over the edge of the building and saw the street below. It was a seething mass of the undead. Death-walkers crammed the street like the start of the London marathon. They flowed from buildings into others and back out again like a flood.

“What the hell? Where did they come from?” Jack asked.

“This is London, they came from here,” Ayse answered. “This thing is just beginning.”

“And you don’t know the half of it,” a new voice called.

Everybody jumped. They turned, and one by one, their eyes fell on the man standing at the back of the roof. Then they saw his uniform, and lastly, the automatic weapon he held in his hands.

“Who are you?” Steve asked.

“My name is Ryan, Ryan Cosgrove,” the man answered, not moving, making it difficult to judge if his weapon was going to be pointed in their direction, or if they could ignore it.

“Were you part of that group down there?” Jack took a step away from the ledge.

“I was, but I don’t want any part in what they are doing.” Ryan, too, took a step forward, and swung his rifle over his shoulders.

“What is it that you want?” Jack resumed his questioning, hoping the relief he felt at seeing the rifle disappear did not come through in his words.

“I guess the same as you. To get out of here. To leave the city behind and find somewhere to settle down and rebuild.” He and Jack both reached the middle of the roof, and the two of them became the stars of the show.

“Rebuild. You mean–”

“You mean it’s spread farther than London? Was that your question?” Ryan interrupted. “Shit, you guys know nothing. It’s everywhere, the whole country is down. Britain is gone. It was wiped out overnight.”

“What caused it?” Steve asked.

“What about Italy?” Alessa could not help but ask.

Ryan looked at Jack, their eyes locked. They communicated the way men do, one leader to another, for unbeknownst to him, Jack had in that moment been cemented as the leader of their pack. Ryan nodded at Jack, a gentle almost imperceptible movement of the head, but it said everything that needed to be said. Ryan then looked to the others. He saw their faces; the fear, the anger, the glint that told him they were survivors.

“We don’t know exactly what caused it. It would seem that that initial shock was an airborne transmission, but now is not the time to discuss it. We need to move. This building is no longer secure.” Ryan turned to his right and pointed. “We can make it to the other buildings, and scurry down the street without having to hit the floor. There was a roadblock set up down there. It won’t give us much time, but it will help us gather our thoughts before we move out. Ma’am, I don’t know about Italy. France is gone. Those things were coming through the tunnel this morning. That was when we shut it down.”

“So where do we go from here, once we get off the roof, I mean?” Jack asked.

“That’s not my call. You’re running this show, boss. You tell me.” Ryan stood down and offered his loyalty to Jack.

Jack froze. Everything was happening too fast. He had never thought his plan through, because he never thought it would actually work. He never thought he would survive long enough to reach the theatre. Not once had he planned on what came next. He knew it was foolish, but that was simply the way it was.

“We need to leave the city. We can head north, as far as we can go.” Jack turned to address the others. Ryan stood beside him, and Alessa and Steve moved over to them.

A few moments later, Stan and Ayse joined the group.

“What do we do once we get to where we are going?” Ayse asked. “If these things are everywhere, then what do we do?”

“We take it one day at a time. We fight, and we survive, and then, when we find the right spot, we will start to rebuild. We are not the only survivors. There are others out there. Plenty of us. We will retreat, and we will regroup, and build the world back up,” Jack said, feeling the energy of the group lift his spirits. He also felt Alessa’s fingers searching for his. He opened his hand, and her palms slid down against his own, their fingers interlocking once more.

The groans of the dead echoed through the ransacked London streets, but on the roof of the theatre, a new hope had been born.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Living Dead