The Restless Dead: A Zombie Novel (8 page)

12 A SON’S DUTY SUCKS

A hand appears out of nowhere and rams a screwdriver into the corpse’s one good eye. The skeleton spasms. At first Mustafa thinks he’s hallucinating as he's dying. Then the weight on his gonads falls away and leaves him writhing on the deck, choking with the dry heaves.

“Is it deid?” Kenny asks.

Mustafa can hear him talking, but he can’t answer him. He’s too busy trying to get a breath. His guts felt like they were tied in knots.

“You okay, mate?”

What a moron. “Do...I...look...okay?”

Cupping his jewels doesn’t help much, but eventually his lungs start working again.

He spits. “Thanks, Kenny.” Gormless saved his life.

“It’s nothing. The bastard needed a hole in his brain to be dead for good.” He flashes a brief smile as he pulls the screwdriver out of the socket. “Nifty, eh?”

He sat up, still a bit wobbly. Kenny seems chuffed with himself because he’s blushing. Probably didn’t realise he had it in him. What’s happening in this city is making men out of them both.

When they reached the house, Mustafa lifted his shaking hand to the door handle. It turned. He pushed it open, half-expecting some mutant bastard to jump at him, cling to his back, and try to chew on his brain.

A sudden motion charging him freezes the blood in his chest until he realises it’s their pet Jack Russell, Jock making a break for the open door. He doesn’t try to stop the dog’s escape, unlike humans dogs weren’t being hunted by those flesh eating fuckers. They were playing it smart: roaming in packs. So far, they'd stayed away from humans. Dogs were smart.

“Come on, Kenny.” 

The phone table was lying upended on the floor. As he walked down the hallway towards the living room, with every step he’s aware that he could be attacked at any moment. Be bitten, or worse: have his body opened up like a tin of Spam.

With music from The Exorcist playing in his head, slowly, he opens the living room door, braced for what he’ll find.

At first look, the room appeared to be unoccupied. The curtains were drawn and the coal fire was burning, the light reflecting off wall photos, a cuckoo clock, and the ornamental Samurai sword his father got as a gift that took pride of place in a frame above the mantelpiece.

Flickering light from the dying embers dappled the room, reminding him of the fun his family used to have whenever there were power cuts. They’d make toast and pancakes on the fire and entertain themselves with shadow puppets.

He was so caught up in the memory that he jumped when his father moved. He hadn’t seen him there, sitting in his favourite chair, wrapped in a tartan blanket.

“Dad, is it really you?”

He had to ask. The ability to speak and understand speech is one way of telling if someone has become infected, according to Kenny, the zombie expert. He’s currently standing in the hall, waiting to hear if it’s all clear to come in.

His father eyes him like he’s a complete imbecile. “Of course it's me. Who else would I be, Amitabh Bachchan?”

Mustafa relaxed at the mention of his dad’s favourite Bollywood star. Everything’s okay, after all, so he should just stay here with his family. See this through until the city goes back to some semblance of normality, instead of fucking Zombieland.

Scott and Emma would be okay by themselves. Heck, they might even be holed up in her sister’s house right now and not even have bothered going to the castle. Who could blame them if they’d found a good place to hole up in until things went back to normal?

He bent down and wrapped his dad in a bear hug, which feels weird because he can’t remember the last time he hugged his old man.

His father’s booming voice filled the room. “The power's been off for six hours. Those damn power companies take all our money and leave us to freeze. This would never happen in Pakistan.”

In spite of what he’d witnessed, that comment makes Mustafa grin. Quite a lot of things would never happen in Pakistan. Everything his dad doesn’t like about Scotland, in fact.

His dad continues. “Your mother has taken to her bedroom. You know how she is.” His eyes moved to Kenny’s form in the shadows. “And who is this you have with you, son?”

Kenny moved out of the shadows and came into view. The screwdriver is sticking out of his back pocket. “Hello, Mr. Akhtar. It’s Kenny.”

“Yes, Kenny. Nice to see you, boy.” There's genuine affection in his voice, which is surprising because he once referred to Kenny as a “four-eyed imbecile.” And that was on one of his more pleasant days. His dad has always thought his son should only hang out with “good Muslim boys.” Little did he know his Muslim friends were the ones rebelling. His former best pal, Assad was never out of lap dancing bars. Mustafa took his Muslim beliefs more seriously.

“Where’s Azra?” Mustafa asked his father.

A shadow of fear crossed over his father’s eyes. “Your sister attacked me, bit me, can you believe that?” He holds out his arm. It’s not bleeding, but deep teeth marks are clearly visible. “Now I have a splitting headache.”

“Headache,” Kenny asks, coming closer. “How bad?”

“Like my brain is dying, son.”

Mustafa feels as though that dead freak’s hand is clamping his balls again, squeezing the life out of him. “Where is Azra now, Dad?”

His dad's eyes were wary. “I locked her in her room. She won’t be getting out until she stops behaving like a bloody animal.”

Kenny glanced at Mustafa and spoke to him in a low voice. “That’s not good news, mate. She’s infected.”

He doesn’t want to believe it, but the energy’s draining out of his old man, right before their eyes. He falls back in his chair. Mustafa had always thought of his dad as being this fearless giant, but slouched back in that chair, he looked sickly and broken.

“Dad.” Mustafa sat on the arm of the couch, and reaching across the small gap, took his father’s hand. It’s cold and clammy. “Is she sick?”

His dad’s jaw slackened. “Who?”

“Azra.”

“Who’s Azra?”

“My sister. Your daughter.”

He scowls. “Don't get impudent with me, boy. Now go and fetch your brothers.”

Mustafa’s eyes narrowed. How could he fetch his brother when he was miles away in Pakistan? And why did his dad say brothers when he only had the one?

Kenny’s stood in the doorway again, fiddling with those bloody specs. “His mind is turning to mush.”

Mustafa examined his father closer. His face was as grey as ash from the coal fire. “Dad, you’re not well.”

“Are you going to fetch your brothers or not?”

The tone of his father’s voice would usually have him scurrying off to comply with his wishes, but on this occasion, he can’t.

“You only have two sons, Dad.”

“How can you say that, Amir, after all your mother and I have done for you?”

“I'm not Amir, I'm Mustafa.”

There's no recognition in his father’s eyes, just a vacant stare.

Mustafa doesn’t want to think about the bite. But he knows he has to ask.

“Why did Azra bite you, dad? Is she sick?”

His dad’s jaw slackened. “Who?”

Mustafa turned to Kenny. “I need to get my mother down here.” He knew his dad had the dementia they mentioned on the news that Scott was telling him about. It came after the bite and at the onset of the fever before people ‘died’ only to rise again Voodoo style, driven to feast on the living.

Kenny said, “You know there's nothing we can do, man.”

Murder him? Is that what he’s suggesting?

Mustafa wants to punch Kenny so hard that the frames of those ridiculous National Health specs would start birling round his trophy-sized ears.

Kenny must have seen the rage in Mustafa’s eyes because he took a few steps back. “I’m sorry, Muzz, but we have to do this. He’s no your dad any more. At least, he won’t be for much longer.”

Mustafa glances over at his old man who’s babbling away to someone only he can see. From the moment Mustafa saw the bite mark, he knew his father was a goner. “First I have to go upstairs to find my mother. She’ll want to say goodbye to him.”

He headed for the stairs.

“Wait,” Kenny called him back. “You need a weapon.” He offered him the screwdriver from his back pocket.

“No thanks.” Mustafa felt queasy at the thought of needing a weapon to use on his mother, to stab her in the eye like Kenny did to the undead corpse outside. He could never do that, not to his mother.

“What if she's a dead bastard? You have to protect yourself.”

“Aye, I do, but not a screwdriver.” His eyes come to rest on the ornamental Samurai sword on the wall. He hoped it was as sharp as it looked.

He lifted it off the nails it was resting on whilst Kenny peered over his shoulder. The weight of the sword felt comfortable in his hands. Running a finger down the blade, he gauged the quality of the sharp edge.

A thump from behind him makes him jump and he nicked his fingertip. He whipped round. The armchair was on its side, and his father lay motionless on the floor.

“Dad?” Mustafa got down on his knees and listened to his father’s chest. He wasn't breathing.

“Dad!” He wanted to wail with grief, but he knew what would happen next. His own dad would get up and try to eat him.

Kenny was behind him, “Is he dead?”

“We were talking to him a minute ago. He can’t be...” He can’t bring himself to say the word dead.

Kenny lifted his dad’s arm and felt for a pulse. Then he shook his head as he pressed two fingers to the old man’s neck. “Nothing. He’s gone but not for long.”

Tears stung Mustafa’s eyes. He hadn't cried since he was a little boy.

Kenny set a hand on Mustafa’s shoulder. “Sorry, mate, but you’ve got to cut off his head.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Muzz, he’s been bitten. You know what he’ll do next.”

True. Mustafa dragged himself up off his knees, and with hot tears burning his eyes, he stood over his dad’s body and recited a prayer. Then he leaned down and used the knuckles of his fingers to close his father’s eyes.

He had no idea how long he stood over the body before Kenny’s words jarred him back into the reality of the present. “Mustafa, we need to get on with things. Your dad was a proud man. He wouldn’t have wanted to end up being one of those...things.”

“I know.” He raised the sword. It felt like a dead weight above his father's head, but he hesitated to strike, gritted his teeth. In spite of what that body will become, it was still his father lying there. How could he even consider what he was about to do?

He brought his arm and the sword back down.

“I can't do it, Kenny. I just cannae.”

“I’ll do it,” Kenny said and he pulled the screwdriver out of his back pocket.

Mustafa almost accepted the offer. Almost handed the sword over to Kenny, but he pulled it back at the last moment.

His kin, his duty.

“No.” He raised the sword again, and with an agonising cry that came from deep inside his heart, he brought the sword down with all his strength. The blade sunk into the man’s neck and stops at bone. He had to haul it out again, start over. Through the blur of tears, he raised the sword and swung it. The second time was easier.

Again, the blade sliced human meat, in a different place this time, and struck bone again. Who knew it was so damn hard to cut off someone’s head? “Allah give me strength.”

As the sword arcs up again, his father moved.

Mustafa froze.

Gross gargling noises came from his father’s throat.

“It’s happening,” Kenny shouted. “Hurry up.”

“No. He’s alive.”

“He’s not, Muzz. Quit fucking around and kill him.”

With a sickly growl, his dad rolled over and sprung to his feet. His head lolled over to his shoulder like Sadako in Ring, the damage done, but not enough. The tongue flicked out between his dad’s teeth. Slobber ran down his jaw. White eyeballs homed in on Mustafa, hands raised like claws and grabbing for him.

This time Mustafa didn’t hesitate. He slammed the sword down on the top of his father’s head, splitting the skull like firewood. The body collapsed. Mustafa withdrew the bloody sword and fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands. “I’m sorry, Dad.” He turned to Kenny who backed away. “What have I done? What have I done?

“What you had to,” Kenny told him. “You did what you had to do, Muzz.”

Seeing his dad’s brains oozing onto the carpet paralyses Mustafa, wanted to sprint out the door and never look back, but he knew he couldn’t leave because more work needs to be done: kill his sister and probably his mother too.

13 FAMILY MATTERS...ONLY SO MUCH

At his sister’s bedroom door, he heard her moving about inside, feet shuffling, raspy breathing. His father had screwed a latch to the door and padlocked it. As Kenny stood guard, Mustafa fetched a hammer to break open the lock.

The crack of steel against steel should’ve woken the dead and he expected his mum to call out from the next room or come running. But she doesn’t do either. Something has happened to her. But, he can’t think about that now.

He beat the lock until it broke, then tossed the hammer to Kenny. “Wish me luck.”

He toed the door open, sword held back and ready to swing. A she-devil with crazy eyes and wild hair darts from the dark doorway and springs at Kenny. He ducked to one side. Missing its mark, he slammed into the wall.

It’s not until Mustafa sees her dazed face, as she pulled herself up and launched herself at Kenny again, that he recognised Azra.

“Get her off,” Kenny shrieked, voice high-pitched.

For a moment, he stood there gawking at his wee sister. He knew what was happening, but he still finds it hard to believe that Azra, who’s five-foot small in her stocking soles and who blushes every time one of his pals comes into the shop, is now trying to take a chunk out of Kenny’s face. He’s dropped the hammer so he has both hands to fend her off.

“Can’t...hold her off... much longer.”

His pal’s panicked pleas drag him out of his stupor, and he rushed towards her, sword in hand. “Azra,” Mustafa called, hoping to draw her attention away from Kenny. She’s too close to him to safely swing the sword without slicing his pal.

“Azra.”

No answer.

Is the apparition even capable of understanding speech?

He poked her in the back with the sword.

She turned her head clear round like the little girl Regan in The Exorcist, only uglier, and a green slimy vomit shot out her mouth as she hissed at him.

Kenny found his screwdriver and rammed it into her chest and pushed her off him. She backed up to the wall, spitting and eyeing them both hungrily.

“Azzy.”

That’s the name he called her when she was a baby. He used to sit with her on his knee and tell her stories of Scottish heroes who’d fought in the wars against the English. And she’d clap her wee hands together and giggle, her joy tinkling in the air like a wind chime.

Today there was no clapping or giggling from her, just the snarling of a feral beast glaring at him through wild eyes, fuelled by rage and a ravenous hunger for human flesh. She dived for Kenny’s leg, but he kicked her in the head. Chunks of decaying flesh flew through the air and splattered the wall. She landed with a thud on her backside. Half of her face is missing, one eye hanging out, but she rolled over and crawled towards Kenny again, growling like a wild dog. 

All those skinned knees she got as a kid that brought him running to comfort her, couldn’t hold a flamethrower to her injuries now. She wasn’t his sister anymore.

She was one of them.

Mustafa couldn’t stand seeing her this way any longer. He ran the sword through her head, ear to ear. Her body shuddered. He reminded himself he’s not killing his sister and pulled out the sword. The sound reminded him of a coconut his dad got once – he’d sliced it open and it’d been rotten inside.

Kenny gasped at the gush of grey sludgy goo that was once a girl’s brain. “Holy shit, Muzz, she’s definitely dead now.”

What’s done is done. He told himself as he turned away. It is what it is.

He approached his mother’s bedroom door, and with his hand pressing down on the handle, he hoped there was one survivor in his family.

Deep down he has a sinking feeling that goes beyond dread; it’s more like knowing.

Kenny stopped him from opening the door. “You know the chances are your mum is already one of them?” He's holding a hammer he'd picked up from the hall.

He didn’t answer him, he just eased the door open.

The room stunk of road kill that had been left lying on the road all day in sweltering heat.

Mustafa switched on the light before he realised the power was out. He tiptoed across the room to the window and pulled open the curtains to let some light into the room. His mother was lying in bed with the duvet over her as though it was a tent.

She wasn't moving.

He used the sword tip to lift up the duvet. Seeing his mother made him heave. Azra must’ve gotten to her before she'd been locked in her room. His poor mother looked as though she’d been mauled by a pack of hyenas. Part of her nose had been ripped away, and her left cheek was missing, chewed clean off, exposing the row of gnarly molars along her jaw. Panic clutched at his chest. Her eyes wagged in their sockets.

“She’s still alive,” he told Kenny who was standing by with the hammer clutched in both hands, ready to swing it.

He didn’t lift up the duvet that covered her from the chest down, too sickened at the thought of what he’d find.

She stared up at him and made a noise like a wounded animal.

“I’ll prop you up, mum. Get you comfortable.”

Kenny handed him a pillow.

His hand shook as he took it, and he set down his sword. Not wanting to touch her hair, he pushed the pillow under her head. She flew into a screaming rage. Her bony hands spring from under the duvet and grabbed him by the throat.

“No, Mum, no.” He managed to scratch out the words. She pulled him to her gaping hole of a mouth and not for a goodnight kiss. He pulled back. But he couldn't get away. She had him in a vice grip. “Mum, please.”

He managed to keep his head from her teeth, but he knows he can't do it for long. The woman who called him her beautiful son was going to bite him, make him one of those things.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Kenny with his hammer raised. Kenny roared and brought it down on his mum's arm that'd grabbed a hold of him, again and again. There was a crash of bone splitting and her grip fell away.

He managed to get away and grabbing another pillow he held it over her face. Her whole body bucked and she tried to push him away, but she couldn’t. She went still.

Now it was over, he faced Kenny, eyes unable to make contact. “Do you think we still have to…?”

He’s moved his fingers up and down the blade of the sword as he spoke.

‘Aye,” said Kenny. He paused and said: “You don’t want to have to kill her, twice.”

He didn’t see the way Mustafa’s shoulders stiffened because if he had he would have apologised, pronto.  

He throws a haymaker at Kenny. The punch connected and sent him reeling, and he fell against the wall, glasses flying off his face. Mustafa stood over him, jabbed a finger in his face. “Never say anything about killing my mum to anyone. My family was already dead before we got here.”

“Least you had a family,” Kenny muttered, blood from his cut lip dripping down his chin. He wiped off the blood with the back of his hand and looked at the smear. “Muzz, that was a dumb thing to do. Fresh blood attracts zombies, you know.”

If he’d said anything else, Mustafa would have punched him again, if it weren’t for the fact he was too busy hacking off his mother’s head.