The Afflicted: A Zombie Novel (14 page)

Amane
sat Joe down in a chair, and using the cloth napkins on the table, wrapped them around his burnt hands. He winced the whole time she was touching him, but never complained once. She pulled up the window and helped Joe through. He rested against the outside wall, shattered. Amane followed and stood outside beside Joe.

“
You’re right, there’s a framework here we can climb. Come on, Evan.” Amane beckoned him through the window.

“When I let go, they are going to pour right in here. We have to get up those walls fast. I’ll get up and pull you up, then Joe. Okay?”

“Okay, let’s just hurry.”

Evan scanned the room. Joe’s chair was now well alight
, the rug was smouldering and the painting of the last supper was melting in its frame. Soon, he mused, the whole room would be alight. The thought of this palace of sin being burnt to the ground pleased him. He hoped Father Thomas would burn with it. He let go of the door and sprinted to the window, diving through. He scrambled up the ivy-clad trelliswork onto a flat roof. As the zombies swamped the burning room, he leant down and offered his hand to Amane. She was halfway up and he grabbed her, helping her up onto the felt roof.

“Come on, Joe!”

A zombie appeared at the window, arms reaching through desperately. Joe looked up at Evan and put his feet on the trellis. Wrapping one arm through it, he hauled himself up about a foot off the ground. The exertion was too much for him and he fell back down onto the ground.

 
  “Joe, fucking move it, mate. Or I’m coming back down to get you!” said Evan, shouting at his friend. The zombie at the window was joined by others, pressing on it until the first zombie fell through.

“I can’t do this. Go get your kids, Evan. Find George, and go.” Joe was sapped of all energy and looked up at Evan and
Amane on the roof, stepping back away from the wall. He stepped back as the first zombie through got to its feet and began its sloping walk toward Joe.

“We’ll get George together
. Joe! Joe!” Evan watched as Joe walked backwards into the furthest corner, ignoring his friend. The zombies poured into the courtyard like a tidal wave directed straight for him. Not once did Evan hear Joe scream out or cry. He went down fighting, throwing punches that must have hurt him as much as the recipients. Eventually, Evan couldn’t see Joe anymore. He was overcome.

Amane
pulled Evan back from the edge and embraced him. “We need to keep moving,” she said softly against the backdrop of the carnivorous horde, locking eyes with him. They had both lost someone dear to them and no words could express how they felt. Evan kissed her and took her hand. He looked around at where they were and wondered how they were going to get the hell out of dodge.

* *
* *

Slamming the
cellar-door behind him, Nathaniel heaved at the huge wine-rack, only just managing to topple it over, blocking the doorway as the zombies reached it. They clawed and hammered at the door but there was no way through. Red and white wine poured out together over the floor from broken bottles, spooling around in circles, tracing looping lines erratically through the dirt floor.

Up the cellar
steps, he ran breathlessly, flinging the door open only to come face to face with an old woman. Her face had been shorn of its flesh and she looked more like a walking skeleton, only wiry hair protruding from flaps of skin left hanging on its scalp. In the corridor behind her, he saw more moving corpses and yanked the door shut, trapping the woman’s hand. Unable to get the door firmly closed, he pulled on the handle until he heard the bones in her wrist snap. He heaved the door with all his strength, severing tendons and fingers, slowly bludgeoning through skin and bone until the door clicked shut. He kicked the pathetic dismembered limb down the stairs in frustration.

R
ummaging in his pockets, he found the keys. He locked the door and trudged down into the cold cellar as the zombies piled up against both cellar doors, banging on them furiously. He was trapped in this hellhole: a cold cellar, smelling of wine, bloodthirsty zombies on both sides.

Nathaniel slumped against a damp wall as the single bulb overhead swayed gently whilst the ceiling vibrated from the hundreds of feet above. How could this be? Nathaniel realised he was not going to get out of this one. There was no way he could fight hi
s way through so many up there and the corridor to the funeral home was only just wide enough for one person. Add a dozen zombies and it was a death trap. He picked up a bottle rolling around his feet and wiped the label: pinot noir. He unscrewed the cap and drank. Deep crimson spilled down his chin, matting the curly hairs of his beard together.

The thought of being eaten alive, torn limb from limb whilst still conscious, wouldn’t leave him. No fucking way was he going down like that. He gulped down more wine, polishing off half a bottle in barely a minute. He took the pistol from his pocket and put the barrel in his mouth. He thought that he should try to think of a loved one before he bowed out. He briefly thought of his parents
, but they had died when he was young so they’d never been close. The only notable woman in his life hadn’t been around long and that was thirty years ago. The Father was his only real friend. He was a pompous prick though, always bossing him around. Fuck it, Nathaniel thought, and pulled the trigger.

The pistol clicked empty. Shocked, Nathaniel
unlocked the chamber and stared at it. It was completely empty. His last bullet had gone into the corridor, taking off the face of that bitch who was currently trying to batter down the door to eat him. He knew he didn’t have any more ammo on him, it was all upstairs. Nathaniel felt sick. He was going to die in this poky, cold cellar, shitting and pissing in the corner, until his body finally gave up on him.

He flung the useless gun against the wall and picked up the wine again. He stood up shakily, drinking until the acid rose up his throat and bile began to stir in his stomach. He idly scratched his groin and flung the bottle against the wall, sending smashed pieces of glass flying.

“Fuck off! Just fucking fuck off!” He screamed at the top of his voice, terrified, his words bouncing around aimlessly. The zombies neither heard nor comprehended them. They just continued their ceaseless assault on the cellar. Nathaniel gripped his dizzy head. That fucking little shit’s mother, Karyn, it was all her fault. He roughly scratched his groin again, feeling the itch spreading down one leg. His alcohol-addled brain stalled. She had turned into one of them
after
he had screwed her. So she must have been infected
before
he screwed her. He finally put two and two together.

Nathaniel’s roaring laughter echoed off the walls as he realised he was wrong. He wasn’t going to be torn limb from limb, but he wasn’t going to wither away down here, drooling and wallowin
g in his own excrement and self-pity. He was infected and soon he would be dead. Before long, he would be undead, reanimated and hungry for living flesh. He supposed he could open the door now and be savaged, dying in a relatively quick way, suffering only brief pain. Or he could bounce around these four walls for eternity, just one of the millions of zombies walking the world. He laughed again, a laugh of nervousness, fear and utter despair. It ricocheted back to him, reminding him that he was certainly going to die. He was going to die alone. Very alone.

*
* * *

Father Thomas was old, overweight
, and angry. He packed a powerful punch and kept Karyn at bay with sharp jabs at her growingly disfigured face. Nathaniel had the gun and the only other one was upstairs. He thought he would easily dispatch of this tiresome woman, but it was proving to be harder than he thought. Every time he pushed her away, she would spring back. He managed to corner her with a chair like a lion tamer. Pinned against the wall he looked at Karyn, fascinated. What was she thinking? Was there anything left of the mother inside her? Had she seen the Almighty in her brief death? If He had sent her back, what was her purpose? It didn’t make sense to Father Thomas. He was a righteous man, why would God want him dead? He surmised that Karyn had not passed through the pearly gates but had more likely lived a life of sin and had a one way invite to Hell. Maybe the Devil had sent her back, along with the rest of the damned human race, to seek vengeance on God’s miserable creatures. A shiver ran down Father Thomas’s back. If that were the case, he was going to need more help.

Each time he stepped back, she pushed against the chair to follow him. If she g
ot on top of him, it would be hard to shift her. Breaking her neck wouldn’t stop her. He struggled and pulled a small penknife from his back pocket. Holding the chair with the weight of his body, he jammed the tiny blade into her neck and began to saw. If she knew what he was doing, she didn’t show it; there was no reaction at all. He gripped the knife and sawed into her neck, congealing blood dribbling out and trickling down his arm. When he was halfway through her neck, he had to pause and rest. Her head was leaning to one side now, but still she tried to reach him. If anything, her desire to bite him seemed to be increasing. Her jaw was moving up and down slicing through the air, teeth clacking together.

He continued his slow kill. Father Thomas sawed through her neck and her face slumped forward
. Her head was still attached to her body by the spinal cord that he couldn’t reach. Karyn followed the Father as he dropped the chair and backed away, but, with her head dropping forward over her chest, could not see him. He whipped behind her, grabbing her hair with his left hand, yanking her head backwards. He pushed her forward so she fell onto the floor. She thrashed around on the floor, blood spilling over the floorboards as he stood on her back. With both hands holding her head he pulled it upward forcefully, bone’s cracking as her spine slowly ripped out of her back. With the head now severed, trailing her spine with it like a tail, he watched her twitching hands and feet cease. He turned the head around to look at her and laughed as her eyes locked on him. Her jaw kept moving up and down like clockwork. He spat and wiped his sweaty brow.

“Is this what you wanted?
Immortality? Was it worth a life of degradation and sin?” Father Thomas flung Karyn’s decapitated head into the corner of the room and left her to suffer an eternity of frustration. Her jaw moved up and down and her eyes followed him as he left the room.

Out in the hallway he heard the stairs creaking
, and moaning sounds emanating from below. He saw the flood of zombies in the corridor, many of them climbing up the stairs. Seeing him, they increased their speed: girls, boys, parents, all together in a deadly pursuit.

“No
. No, this can’t be.” Father Thomas took a few steps backward in horror and realising he had nowhere else to run, turned and fled into the furthest bedroom. No sooner had he shut the door behind him than the barrage of bangs on the door began. He could smell decay and death on the other side of the door, eager to get in. He was trapped in the room with nothing but dolls for company and sat down on the bed. His gun was upstairs in the attic and Nathaniel had disappeared. Who the hell had let them in? For the first time in a long time, the Father was afraid.

CHAPTER TEN

Evan peered over the edge of the roof, the courtyard now full of moaning, shuffling zombies. Buried beneath them all was Joe. Evan prayed his friend was truly dead.

The zombies were pulling at the ivy and trellis, scrabbling at the wall, unable to work out how to get up there. More still were pouring in through the broken window, piling on top of one another. Eventually, Evan thought, the pile might be so big that they would simply be able to climb over one another to the roof. Pouring through the window was smoke. The room was alight along with many careless, carefree zombies who staggered about
, unaware that they were burning. Amane was reminded of November fifth, of a guy lit up on a bonfire: limbs burning and a hideous face melting. Evan looked through the trees and saw the outline of the funeral home.

“We’re going to have to jump for it. That tree there is close enough and big enough for us to get hold of. If we climb down a few more
feet, we can drop to the ground. I think we’ll land in the funeral home driveway so we should be clear.” All the noise was coming from below and beside them; the grounds looked quiet.

“Assuming we don’t break our legs falling out of a tree,” said
Amane, hands on hips, “then what? If George made it out, he might be over there you know? We have to look for him.”

“Yeah, he’s probably there right now. He seeme
d to have a good head start on Nathaniel, so I hope he got away. I’m not leaving without him either.” Evan prepared himself to jump when he heard breaking glass overhead.

“W
ait! Help!” called the Father.

“You
have got to be joking,” said Amane to Evan. “Let’s go.” She looked up to see smoke drifting out of the window where the Father was calling from. Evan nodded and ignored Father Thomas’ pleas.

“Wait
, please! You can’t leave me here!” Coughing and spluttering, gasping for air, smoke was curling around him, squeezing its way past his fat body, which filled the framework of the window.

“Burn in hell!” screamed
Amane.

“Please, I can help you. I have a boat.
It’s really close by. I can take you anywhere!” His face was red and sweaty. Amane thought he was going to die right there and then as he coughed up dirty black phlegm and dribbled it down his greasy chin.

“Where’s
Karyn?” said Evan.

“
They got her. I’m sorry, I tried to save her but it was too late. Please, you must help me. Won’t you have mercy?”

Evan turned to face him. He could feel
the heat of the flames that were now leaping out of the window and across a sea of bobbing zombies’ heads below. If the zombies didn’t reach them first, the flames soon would.

“You’re going to have to jump, Father.” Evan
shouted over the crackling noise of the fire and the cackling of the undead. Father Thomas crawled out onto the ledge and sat there coughing, chubby legs dangling.

“Please, there’s a ladder next door, Nathaniel keep
s one in the garage. If you can...”

“No, now, o
r we leave you to burn, there’s no time, Father,” shouted Evan, angrily.

“Seriously?
After everything he’s done?” said Amane to Evan, incredulous that Evan was going to actually save this man.

“For now, yes.
We can use him, Amane. I’ve no interest in saving his worthless life, but do you have a boat? Do we even know how to sail one? Unfortunately, right now we need him.”

Father Thomas looked down at the
roof that looked a long way away, struggling to bring himself to jump. He imagined breaking his legs, or worse. Suddenly the banging on the bedroom door stopped and he heard a massive thud as the door gave way and the zombies scurried in toward him.

“God help me,” he
whispered, and closing his eyes, pushed himself off the ledge. He held his breath as he fell, waiting for the inevitable hard roof rushing up to meet him. Amane and Evan watched as he plummeted down and landed with a tremendous thump. The roof shook when he landed, sending vibrations through them all.

“
Aaargh!” screamed the Father in agony, clutching his arm. His left arm was broken and twisted, his fingers bent at ridiculous angles. Evan picked him up by his collar and dragged him over to the roof edge. Holding him precariously balanced over the courtyard, the Father’s feet were barely touching the roof. He looked down, snivelling and sobbing.

“What are you doing? Oh God, please!” Each time he kicked
out, the baying mob below became more agitated. Swaying beneath him, the burning zombies reached for him. Wide-eyed with panic and pain the Father clutched onto Evan’s arms.

“God isn’t going to save you, Father
,
I
am. From now on, you do what I say or I swear I will drop you. Understood?”

“Yes, please, just don’t. Please!”

Evan swung the Father back onto the roof and he fell to his knees, crying.

“
Amane go find George. Get to the garage and see if there’s a car in there. I’ll bring him,” Evan said pointing to the Father. The heat was making them uncomfortably hot and Evan rolled up his shirtsleeves. Amane looked over to the trees and took the longest run up she could manage. She leapt through the air and crashed into leaves and branches, grabbing the tree and sliding down until she came to rest on a large solid branch. Rough bark splintered her hands and sharp twigs scratched her face. Wasting no time, she swung down and dropped onto the soft ground below.

“I’m over!” she called back to Evan, sprinting to the funeral home. Evan grabbed Father Thomas’ arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Stop crying and move.”

“I can’t, it’s too
...” whined the Father before Evan punched him. Father Thomas tasted blood in his mouth as he recoiled.

“I don’t give a shit!” shouted Evan advancing on him
. Evan grabbed the Father and punched him again. He rolled over toward the edge of the roof and Evan kicked him in the back.

“Do it or stay here and die. Now jump to that tree just like
Amane did. That’s our way out of here. I’ll be right behind you.” Evan picked the snivelling Father up and shoved him forward.

Father Thomas stood on the edge of the roof staring at the tree before him. He launched himself forward, arms flapping at branches before he crashed through the tree, his weight breaking everything in his path. He fell short of any substantial branch and ended up on the ground not
having slowed his fall at all. As he landed, his broken arm shot blinding pain to his brain and he passed out.

Evan watched him fall and could not summon up any sympathy. This man was responsible for the death of Joe and Lily
: probably Karyn too. Evan wiped his sweaty brow and ran off the roof. Barring a few minor scratches, he got down with relative ease and dropped onto the ground beside the unconscious Father. He took hold of the Father’s chubby legs and began pulling him to the driveway. Through the gravel, he ploughed a lone furrow with the Father. A few zombies out on the road, on the other side of the gates, watched, but most were drawn to the burning vicarage and paid little attention.

* * * *

George slammed the kitchen door behind him. He grabbed a table leg and pulled the big wooden table over the floor, propping it against the door. He wasn’t sure how many zombies had gone after Nathaniel and how many were following him. Opening drawers and cupboards, he finally found a large knife and clutched it to his chest.

Into the lounge he went
, and he spied their bags still lying in the middle of the room where they’d left them. The funeral home had lost its homely feel and George felt the quietness around him. The little house was morbid and unwelcoming. The family photos on the wall all seemed to be staring at him as if questioning why he was intruding into their home.

Slinging one of the bags onto his back, he ventured into the dim corridor, unsure of what to do next. If ravenous zombies didn’t burst through the kitchen door in a minute, then surely Nathaniel
would. What of Evan, Amane, Lily, and Joe? Were they dead like his mother? Why had Nathaniel shot at her? Was she really a zombie? His bottom lip trembled and tears began to fall as he remembered her. He only got told off when he was naughty. When he was good, mum always gave him a kiss and a hug. Lucy too. He sighed and felt very alone.

George decided he would go home and
try to call the police. His father had taught him how to make the call. He would just stay at home until Joe came back. He went to the front door but it was locked, and so he tried another door just off to the side. It pushed open easily and he stared out into the dark garage. The only light came in through the door behind him and it illuminated a long black car, sleek and shiny. George stepped into the bare garage with trepidation. He held the knife out in front of him as he walked and felt along the wall for a light switch. His fingers scraped along smooth, clean walls. A loud bang from within the house made him jump as he realised the kitchen door had given way.

Blindly he carried on along to the garage door and put his hand on the handle. Pensively
, he gripped it ready to open it, but suddenly he heard gravel crunching underfoot outside. Stones scattered and chinked off the metal door. He held the knife out and stood his ground, ready to defend himself from his unseen attackers.

* * *
*

Amane
tried the front door to the funeral home but it was locked shut and she couldn’t force it. She jogged to the garage door hoping it wasn’t locked too. Their luck had to change sometime. Turning the handle, the garage door lifted up and flew back with the faintest creak. A figure charged at her from the darkness and she shrieked.

“George!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Amane!” George dropped the knife and hugged her as she swept him up into her arms.

“Oh
, George, we were so worried about you. Are you okay?”

Amane
examined him as she put him back down but saw no injuries. Hearing noises behind him, George didn’t answer. A zombie stumbled into the garage from the house, a thin, naked man with scars and stitching covering his body. The sunlight appeared to dazzle it momentarily, giving them just enough time to move.

“Into the car, quick!
” said Amane. Thankfully, it was unlocked and they bolted inside the hearse, locking the doors. The zombie threw itself against the side, pressing against the glass where George sat looking back in wonder. The stitches in the man’s chest were coming loose, exposing his gruesome internal organs.

“
Amane, we need to go now,” George whispered, wishing he hadn’t dropped the knife outside. He dropped the backpack at his feet and Amane searched desperately for the keys. They were not in the ignition or on the dashboard. She dropped the sun visor down expecting them to drop into her lap but nothing fell. She felt her fingers around in the foot-well and they brushed over a lone black key.

“Thank
, God,” she sighed, relieved, putting the key into the ignition. The hearse purred into life instantly and she put it into drive.

“George, listen, Evan is out there with Father Thomas. They’re coming with us.”
Amane pulled out onto the driveway slowly whilst the jigsaw man loped along behind. Another zombie appeared through the doorway into the beaming sunlight.

“
What about Lily? And Joe?” asked George.

“I’m sorry
, no. They didn’t make it.”

“But the fat man did?” George didn’t burst out in tears or scream. He was finished with crying. He clenched his fists and stared straight ahead.

“I’m sorry, George. Joe saved us. If it wasn’t for him, we’d be dead. I wish things were different but...” There was nothing more she could offer him. She knew that there were no words she could offer in consolation. Amane pulled the car over by Evan who was waiting on the side of the drive with the Father. He pulled open the back door and bundled the Father in.

“Hurry!” said
Amane, watching the zombies in her rear view mirror grow closer. Evan jumped in the other side and Amane pulled the car away, showering the zombies behind with a flurry of gravel and stones.

“Evan, the gate’s shut!” cried
Amane.

“Just floor it!” shouted Evan.
Amane sped up and crashed into the iron gates. They flew open and the hearse careened through, pulling the smashed gates off their hinges and flattening the zombies ahead of it like mere bugs. Brains splattered onto the sidewalk as the wheels ran over diseased, deceased, fragile skulls.

“I’m sorry, George,” began
Amane, but she couldn’t continue her sentence as the cumbersome hearse struggled to swerve around the truck they had crashed into previously. More zombies appeared on the road around them and bounced off the sides as Amane heaved the wheel with difficulty from side to side. Every time one bounced off the bonnet, she cringed.

“Where to, Evan?” she said
, trying to keep the car on the road. Navigating zombies was easier than the abandoned vehicles and she frequently hit other cars, ruining their car’s polished sleek bodywork.