No Zombies Please We Are British (3 page)

It was dark in the apartment; the lights were off and all the curtains were drawn. Thick material over roller blinds fully covered the window.

“Thank you,” Jack spoke to the hazy figure of their rescuer. He was out of breath, and his hand was slick with blood from where he had stabbed the man in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” the voice whimpered.

“Sorry for what?” Jack asked as a shudder ran through him.

“I couldn’t leave you to die out there, but …” The voice trailed off and was replaced by a hungry growl.

Eric gave a cry, and in the darkness, all hell broke loose. The woman who had saved them started to cry. Uttering her apologies over and over again as she pushed Jack out of the way. He was off balance and disoriented by the darkness. He pitched forward, stretching his arms out to brace himself.

The door to the room opened, and he saw a figure slip out into the hall.

Jack careened into the wall, cracking his knee against a small table. Pain erupted in his leg; a sharp stabbing sensation that travelled through his lower leg and into his foot. Buckling, his leg not capable of supporting him, Jack stumbled sideways. As he fell, his hand raked down the wall, and caught the light switch.

Brightness filled the room, and he was just in time to see a very large elderly woman flatten Eric. She was easily three hundred pounds, her sagging skin blooming from her body in thick, doughy rolls. The front of her hospital nightgown was covered in a mixture of blood and a thick, yellow substance the consistency of oatmeal. It stunk of regurgitation, which fit with the stale, airless aroma that hung in the abode.

Eric was pinned beneath the woman, whose slobbering jowls were snapping furiously, her weight driving her closer and closer to his neck.

Thinking fast, Jack struck out, kicking the fat woman in the ribs. It felt like kicking concrete. His already-aching leg rang out in pain again as the jolt of the flesh-on-flesh impact reverberated through his body. Raising his foot, he kicked out again, only this time pushing with his heel. He kicked against the side of the woman’s head. Her skull whipped to the right as a result of the impact, but was soon snapping and snarling once more.

Jack raised his foot and kicked again and again, driving his heel into the side of the woman’s head. A rage built in him. A rage driven by fear and adrenaline mixing inside his brain, marinating it in a violent sauce and forcing him lose control.

He screamed and cried out as the obese neck gave an audible snap and twisted to one side. The woman wasn’t dead, far from it, but her teeth were at least aimed away from Eric’s neck.

Working together, the two men rolled the large frame over to one side. They failed to fully rotate the woman, but they created enough room for Eric to worm his way out from beneath her.

The woman fell back onto her face, her deformed neck bulging in all the wrong places. She growled and rocked, her enormous belly creating a see-saw effect as a result of her hunger-driven thrashings. She rocked back and forth as long, thin hair whipped around her, her nightgown riding higher and higher, exposing the undulating fleshy mounds of her upper thighs and buttocks, which were covered in veins and weeping sores.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked, his chest tight, his lungs burning.

“Yeah … yeah, I think so,” Eric said, looking at Jack with a clarity in his eyes that he had never seen before.

It turned out that the zombie apocalypse was enough to snap a stoner out of a multi-year long high.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jack suggested.

“How? We can’t go out there. Those … those things.” Eric was struggling, his body was shaking and his eyes were nervously surveying everything in sight for fear of attack.

“We don’t have a choice.” Jack looked at him. “There are only two of them. That woman, whoever she was, she ran out there, she must have thought she had a chance. I say we grab something to arm ourselves with, and run for it. We make it to the stairs, we get the others to block them off.”

The plan was made before Jack knew he was talking. They searched the two-floored apartment for signs of weaponry. The second floor was as good as empty, save for storage. The obese woman had condensed her life down to two rooms. The multi-purpose cross-functioning living room, and the kitchen.

There was little in terms of decoration on the walls; no pictures of loved ones, children, or grandchildren. The oxygen tank and medical equipment around the bed were interesting, but not much use when fighting off the undead.

As it was, they armed themselves in a similar fashion to when they set off, Eric grabbing a large carving knife, and a serrated-edged bread knife, while Jack took hold of a heavy iron skillet pan – an old-fashioned pan. He hoped it would hold up and deliver and old-fashioned thrashing as a result.

“What’s that?” Jack pointed at the blood trickling over Eric’s hand.

“Nothing. Bitch’s nails scratched me, that’s all. I’m good, I promise.” Eric sensed the apprehension in Jack’s voice and saw his nervous stare.

They opened the door to the hallway and ran out. The initial attack they had both feared was gone. The zombie from the stairwell was still trapped behind the door, her mangled face was pressed hard against the glass, as if she were trying to pass through it.

The two undead monsters were oblivious to their initial emergence for they were both preoccupied, feasting on the torn-open remains on the woman who had lured Jack and Eric into the apartment.

She was wearing what remained of a nurse’s uniform, and, Jack doubted it was because the fat woman was kinky.

The woman had made it half way to her escape, but now she lay on her back, her legs spread and her guts pulled apart. Thick strands of organs and meat lay scattered about where the undead had descended on her in a frenzy, not caring what was discarded as long as there was more remaining to be shovelled into their hungry mouths.

“Just run,” Jack said when he saw Eric freeze behind him.

The head of the female creature whipped up, and her grey eyes locked on Jack. She rose from the floor, a string of raw meat dangling from her lips. She sucked it up like a strand of spaghetti, and advanced on them.

Jack and Eric broke into a run, swiping out as they did. The male turned and blocked their path, inadvertent as it was. Jack wasted no time. He raised the skillet like a battle axe, and roared as he swung it down in a near vertical arc. The heavy pan connected with the dead man’s skull in a heavy, meaty thwack.

The bone was crushed like an empty soda can. Blood spurted from his ears, nose, and mouth, while his eyeballs bulged and grey brain fluid leaked from behind them. The weight of the pan carried on and out of Jack’s hands, falling to the floor, leaving the man with half a head. The scalp split open and jagged shards of shattered skull lined the long gash. It looked, to Jack at least, like a cracked egg, broken open, emptied, and discarded.

The man fell to the floor, and what remained of his brain leaked out to merge with the ever-deepening pool of blood.

Hurdling him, leaving the woman behind, Jack and Eric made it to the stairs. They jumped from one floor to another, sliding with blood and sweat-slicked hands down the railings.

“Help, help, everybody. We need to block the doors,” Jack shrieked the moment they barrelled through the stairwell door back on the second floor. “Quick, somebody, we need to block the doors.”

Whether it was the community spirit coming back to the crowd, the intensity behind Jack’s wild shrieks, or a selfish sense of survival rising in each individual, Jack didn’t know. All he saw was that the doors opened and people came out to see what was going on.

Within minutes, people were pushing and pulling all manner of furniture and belongings to block the doors at the end of the hallway.

“No, not that one, otherwise we are stuck here,” Jack called out when he saw a similar tactic being employed to the door at the other end.

“We need to do something,” a scared voice snapped back.

“Block the stairs themselves. Fill them up, but we need to keep a way out.” Jack was not sure why he was suddenly the man people were looking to for orders, but he answered their questions, and couldn’t help but watch as people began to listen.

It didn’t take long before everybody had sealed the upper floor from the lower. Those that had helped were drenched in sweat and just as scared as ever. Jack saw the young woman standing in his doorway, the child now missing from her arms. She looked at Jack and smiled. He found himself returning the gesture, and being genuinely pleased at seeing her again. The fact that he could have died just by going to look at the third floor of his own apartment building had not filtered through his overloaded mind until that moment.

“Are there still people up there?” she asked as Jack crossed the hall towards her.

“I hope not,” he answered. A shudder ran through him as he realized another component of his poorly thought out plan. “If there are, I just sentenced them to death.”

“You did what needed to be done,” a strong voice answered.

Jack turned around and saw a man he recognized, but could not name. The building was, for the most part, a friendly one, but not close. It was not the suburbs; people did not get together for drinks and barbeques in the summer. For the most part, people kept to themselves. They said hello and enjoyed the causal relationship of acquaintances, but not much more than that.

Jack didn’t answer the man, but nodded his appreciation.

With their floor secure, everybody disappeared back into their respective caves, eager to surround themselves with what they knew, and hoped it would be enough to block out the echoing growls that seemed to travel through the building like a whispering call of madness.

Chapter 3

Jack locked the door to his apartment, and turned to face the two people who stood there.

Tania was staring at him with her large hazel eyes. Her thanks, her fear, everything she felt was wrapped in the silent communication that passed between them.

Eric stood beside her, his body crusted in blood and the dried smear of yellow vomit.

Jack didn’t know what to say. Words failed him. Not because he could not think of anything that was either witty or comforting, but because his brain had literally failed him. He could not utter a single word.

“That was intense.” Eric broke the silence as he scratched at his blood-encrusted skin. Thick flakes of rusted blood fell to the floor.

“Uh-huh,” Jack stuttered, feeling proud that he managed to string such a comprehensive response together.

Jack walked away from the door and into his living room. He collapsed onto the sofa, without saying a word. Tania collapsed next to him. They looked at each other, staring at one another, lost in a trance as everything was being processed.

“I’m going to take a shower. Can I use yours?” Eric asked, seemingly adjusted to the change in the world.

“Sure,” Jack offered, once again impressed at his own linguistic skills.

Eric wandered away, and a few moments later, they heard the water of the shower running.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked Tania

“Yes, are you?” she asked, likewise stoic in her body language and emotional involvement in the conversation.

Jack stared at their reflections in the television screen. They looked like a married couple, together, side by side, running through their day, not because of any real concern or interest, but because it was part of the deal. It was a package affair and such questions belonged there.

“Where is Anna?” Jack turned to look at her now.

“She is sleeping. I hope that is okay.” The questioning tone of her voice made her sound worried.

“Of course. She can sleep as long as she needs. I know I won’t be sleeping ever again.” Jack tried to laugh at his joke, but then he realized he was most likely telling the truth.

“What was up there?” Tania asked. “We could hear, something, banging and screaming, and we thought you were dead, too.” Her voice fell away to a whisper.

“Do you really want to know?” Jack could sense her fear, and had the feeling that it went beyond what had happened that day.

“I need to. I need to know so I can protect my daughter.” Tania’s voice gained strength when she spoke of her daughter.

“She’s beautiful,” Jack told her, hoping to reassure her. “She takes it from her mother.” He paused, regretting he had said it. “I’m sorry, that sounds very bad, I don’t mean it like that, I just mean–”

Tania started to laugh, not even a laugh, it was a giggle, a light and refreshing sound. “I understand, and thank you.”

“It was bad up there.” Jack sat back, forcing himself to talk about what he had seen. It was real, it was all real, and they had to accept it or die. “There were people up there; they were dead. They were dead, but alive. Undead, zombies, creatures, call them anything you want, but they are up there. They came for us, and, well, there was someone else there, too. She was alive, but they got her. They ripped her open and ate her alive.” Jack ran through the events, sparing the detailed descriptions. There was no need to share that burden.

“What will we do?” Tania asked, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Wait, I guess. I mean, I’ve seen movies, read books. There are always evacuations. Military, at least early on. They will tell us what we need to do. We have enough food here, and we are safe enough.” Jack ran through his plan. It was not a masterful attempt at survival strategy. It was not brave, but it was the most he could do.

As the day wore on, the sound of sirens reached a fervour and then died down. The news reports that were still broadcasted held up the pretence of the riots before they too went off the air.

The streets were quiet. Nobody dared to venture outside. Eric had his shower and emerged clean, but in the same blood-soaked clothing he had been wearing before.

When it was clear that he had no interest in leaving the group, even if to just go across the hall to his own apartment for clothing, Jack offered him some clean clothes. He chose a ridiculous outfit of long white shorts and a bright red and yellow shirt. They were actually Terry’s from a party he had been to the previous summer.

Eric said nothing as he pulled on the clothes, rescuing a fat joint from his gore-encrusted trouser pocket.

“Do you mind?” he asked, lighting up before anybody had the chance to answer.

Jack spent most of the afternoon sitting by the window, watching the world. The rain continued in some form or another, the sky changing from black to varying shades of grey, before moving back to thunderous darkness again.

Every now and then, somebody would be seen running across the street. As afternoon arrived and the silence became deafening, the first groups of people made their move. They emerged with bags and suitcases. Filling cars in short-sprinted bursts. Families piled inside, looking like clowns at the circus. It amazed Jack just how much it seemed, could be squeezed inside a small hatchback, it just depended on the level of motivation.

All along, the reanimated corpse of the church-going man with a hollowed-out chest cavity lay there, his arms reaching furiously every time it heard a noise. Jack was pretty sure that if he opened the window, he would hear it growling.

He didn’t, however, because he was terrified of what else he might hear.

“She’s hungry,” Tania spoke. She had been sitting close to Jack ever since they had sealed themselves in the single floor home. When he moved to the sofa, she followed, when he moved to the window, she followed.

They spoke very little, but the comfort that was both offered and found simply by being close to someone else was powerful.

“I have some food. What does she like?” Jack replied, getting to his feet and heading towards the kitchen.

“Bread is good. A sandwich, or soup,” Tania said, following close behind Jack, Anna in her arms, her face buried in her mother’s neck.

Above them, something heavy banged on the floor. It made everybody in the flat jump.

“What do you think caused it?” Tania asked as Jack handed her the sandwich he had made.

“I figured she didn’t eat the crusts. I never did when I was a kid,” he said as he looked at the plate.

“Thank you,” Tania answered, sitting down on the sofa, placing Anna beside her. Almost instantly, the little girl grabbed at the small triangular sandwiches.

“I don’t know what could have caused it,” Jack finally answered. “In the movies, it is always the flu, or something like that, but this … there was nothing like that. Last night, everything was normal, and today, well, today it is all just crazy.”

Beside them, curled up in the chair, Eric slept. In spite of his initial exuberance, it had worn off and left him a lot more withdrawn than either of them would have expected.

“It had to be something. People changed. The dead, should stay dead.” Tania looked at her daughter as she spoke, and stroked her hair behind her ears.

“Well, whatever happens, you guys are safe here with me. You can stay as long as you need. Until they come for us.” Jack smiled and sat back in his chair.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he tried to call Sarah, but there was still no service. He could not hide his worry, and he dropped the phone into his lap.

“Who are you calling?”

“My girlfriend. She is in the city with her mother.”

“I’m sorry.” Tania looked at him.

“Thank you. I’m sure she is fine. This just needs to be contained, that’s all.” Jack knew it was a lie, but it was one he had to believe.

As evening hit, more people appeared in the street. Clearly hoping that the cover of darkness would help aid their escape. Jack watched as a man stumbled towards a couple who were trying to unlock their car door. He wanted to call out, to warn them about the shambling figure that was bearing down on them.

He didn’t. As his fists were about to pound the glass, he thought about how doing so would draw attention. It would show them, the undead, that people were alive up there.

As it happened, the figure walked by the couple, stopping only after he had passed to take a long drink from an indistinguishable bottle.

“They are leaving,” Tania said, joining Jack by the window.

“They are scared,” he replied.

“So am I.” She looked at Jack.

“Do you live alone?” Even though he’d asked her this before, Jack wanted to take his mind off the situation outside.

“Yes. My family is all in Poland.”

“Poland, that’s interesting. What brought you out here?” Jack asked, genuinely interested.

“The lifestyle. I always loved to look at England. At English girls. I wanted to have that, to be that. So I saved my money, my wages from my job, and when I had enough, I left Poland and came here. Four years ago, when I was seventeen.”

“What about Anna’s father?” Jack had never seen anybody coming and going in Tania’s flat, but he was not one to sit and watch everybody that closely.

“He died before he knew about Anna. A car crash.” There was sadness in Tania’s voice, but her face remained strong.

“I’m sorry.” Jack felt like an ass for asking. “It’s getting dark.”

“Yes, I think I’m going to sleep. She is tired, but she won’t sleep alone.”

Jack got up from the table, and took the empty coffee cups through to the kitchen.

“You can stay in my room. I will sleep in the spare room.” Jack pointed to the room that was his.

“Thank you, Jack. You are a good man.” She gave him a hug and picked Anna from the sofa. “We will see you in the morning. Tomorrow, we will need to make some decisions.” She did not wait for further discussion but slipped into the room and closed the door.

Eric was still passed out on the chair. He was breathing lightly, but had not moved in a long time. Jack debated on waking him but realized he didn’t really want to spend the evening chatting. He liked the silence. Making himself a cocoa, a tradition since his childhood, he sat back down by the window and drank until he felt drowsy.

Outside, a large group of people moved through the street. They were singing and laughing. Jack couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they didn’t know the truth. He thought, sadly enough, that it was most likely that they just chose to ignore it. They were all men, and they had been drinking, that much was clear. They were putting on some macho display, proving they were not afraid of the undead.

Jack had not contemplated sleep. He had naturally assumed that after everything he had seen that day, sleep would be the last thing his brain would allow. He was wrong. Sliding into Terry’s bed, he was asleep not long after he closed his eyes.

Dreams came, and while they were not pleasant, they were not the horror-filled nightmares that Jack had expected. There were no undead creatures walking around, flesh dribbling from their mouths. Instead, he was lost in a fog. A thick haze that smothered everything. Someone was holding his hand. Their fingers interlocked in his own. He looked but could not see who it was. He felt alone, and as he walked, an endless march through a never-changing field of grey, he kept squeezing the hand that held his own. Even though he could not see the owner, he kept going, because they gave him the strength to do so.