The Undead. The First Seven Days (31 page)

  The infection can make the cells replenish some of the organs and parts of the body needed to make it keep working. It learnt how to eat the fat away from the body so that it can have energy, in order to survive and find more hosts. The infection knows that a single host body is not enough; they are weak and too easily overcome.
  So, it has learnt to use the remaining senses to draw these bodies together. The infection forces the host to look for their kind.

  Now the infection has learnt that the smell being given off by the rotting flesh can be used as a scent marker and has diverted energy into the nasal passages and allowed the hosts to smell each other.
  The infection has also quickly learnt that pushing the body too much will destroy it faster, so it draws them together to create a super organism. The infection slows the rate of energy during the day and works to preserve the body and leave some small functions, in order to move towards the prey; knowing it can use the weight of numbers to make up for the lack of pace.
  But at night it can change the host - it can also urge the body on, and make them faster.

  At night it can drive that energy into the muscles and make them work so they can hunt. It learnt to make them hunt as a pack. It forces the host body to use its vocal cords and drive air out, so that it generates a loud roar. The infection resonates through that noise and bids others towards its furore.

  The infection also learnt that the smell of fear is greater at night and the sound it generates only makes the prey more fearful and, therefore, easier to find.
  But this isn’t enough, the infection has consumed many of the bodies and they are already becoming harder to find; the prey has learnt to hide and stay away during the night.
  The infection needs to evolve faster and harness more energy, but these bodies are decaying far too quickly. The infection can slow this rate of decay down and keep these bodies working longer. But that means they will have to move slower, and if they move slower the prey can get away.
  The infection courses through the bodies, examining the cells and the functions.

  The infection realises that all things in these host bodies are controlled by the brain. At first, the infection pushed signals out hard and fast and too close together, desperately whipping at the body to make it move faster and not understanding the massive, yet intensely subtle, levels of cohesion this host body needs, in order to work well. The result was that the body twitched and jerked, going into spasm if the signals were too strong, and was then too hard to control.

  The infection knows it must understand this brain and learn how to control the electrical impulses.

The horde presses tighter and tighter now.

Some of the bodies are crushed and fall to the ground, to be trodden under hundreds of undead feet.  

They twitch and they spasm and the constant jerks thrust the undead first one way, then another, so that rippling waves are seen as they barge into each other. There is no cohesion, just a press of decaying bodies, all being pushed forward with the hunger for flesh.
  In the middle of the horde, one of them moves.

It lifts its head and looks.

The infection has learnt to keep the head still, so it can see. The infection tests the electrical pulses, then it slows them down and stops them. The body goes still and the head drops. The infection sends one concentrated signal and the head lifts again. The infection controls those pulses and the head slowly moves to look first left and then right. Then the infection stops those impulses and the head drops again.  

The infection sends out more defined signals in another direction and gets a reaction, then the infection puts those signals together.
  The undead lifts its head at the same time as it clenches both hands into fists, then it lets them go and makes them do it again.
  The infection has learnt to make only one undead in the middle of many hundreds look forward while making fists… but it’s a start.

In a quiet street, in the south of England, there are flies buzzing around a dead cat that is lying next to a deceased man.

  The cat has been savaged deeply on its back and the blood is still wet and glistening.

  The dead cat looks inert and lifeless, but deep inside, the infection has penetrated each cell and has learnt the functions of this small body.

  The dead cat comes back to a half-life, as the heart starts again and the eyes open; red and bloodshot.
  They are the eyes of the undead.

We are led down through the police station and emerge outside, in the rear yard. Our bags and weapons are with us, primed and ready; Dave told me that he cleaned and oiled them with a gun cleaning kit he took from the rifle bag.

  The old riot van has been brought forward and is facing the metal gates. On the other side there are many hundreds of undead staring in. I was looking for a reaction when we first came out, but they just keep groaning and pressing forward. The ones at the very front are pinned against the gates, and their faces are warped as they are pushed on to the metal bars.

  The police personnel have already loaded the van with some equipment: riot shields and long batons. PC Tom Jenkins has found some old riot armour and a dark blue crash helmet with a plastic visor. He has leg and arm guards on, in addition to the crash helmet; the plastic visor is pushed up away from his face and I can see that he is sweating heavily.

  PC Terri Trixey and Jane Downton, the community support officer, keep looking over at him, tutting and shaking their heads.
  ‘You look like a bloody idiot, Tom,’ says Terri, with a sneer.
  ‘It’s the correct PPE in times of civil unrest, you should have some on too.’
  ‘What’s PPE?’ I ask them.
  ‘Personal Protective Equipment,’ Terri answers and then looks at the massed undead.
  ‘Will those gates hold them? That must be a hell of a weight pushing in.’
  ‘They are built to withstand vehicle impact, they won’t budge, unless we want them to,’ Ted replies as he walks up to stand beside me, looking out at the gates.
  ‘There’s probably a few of our boys in there, I hope to god this lot don’t recognise any of ‘em.’
  I look at the concerned expression on Ted’s face; the old timer must have seen many things in his day, even so, this must be shocking to him - but he doesn’t show it.
  ‘So, we get to one of the unmarked cars, and lead them away from here and that gives you a chance to get out. What are you going to do if we don’t draw them all away?’
  ‘We can force our way through a few, those vans are old but they’ve been well maintained and still have plenty of power.’
  ‘It’s a pity we can’t thin them out a bit though,’ I say to Dave, as he joins us.
  Dave walks over to the police kit that is waiting to be placed in the van and picks up a long black baton; he walks over to the gates and runs the end of the baton along the bars. He examines the gates and the hinges, then takes the baton and starts pushing at the undead through the gaps.

  I walk over to join him and, despite what Ted said about the gates being very strong, I feel very nervous being this close.
  ‘Bloody hell, they stink,’ I put my hand over my nose; the putrid stench of rotting meat is disgusting. I can’t help but look at them, the injuries are festering in this heat and their skin looks grey and ashen and is blackening around the bite marks.

  Hundreds of pairs of bloodshot eyes stare back at us, watching every move we make. Drool and saliva hang down from their slack mouths. The closest ones pull their lips back, readying for the bite. Dave is pushing at them with the baton and I watch as he strains and pushes harder.
  ‘Mate, they are jammed in there.’
  He moves up and down, pressing against them at various stages.

  I look round and see an old-fashioned diesel fuel pump in one corner.
  ‘We could burn a few of them.’
  Dave looks at the fuel pump, then at the undead, and then back to the building.
  ‘The station would probably go up too.’
  ‘Yeah… I guess. Any other ideas?’
  He taps at the metal gates again and then looks over to Ted.
  ‘Where is the generator?’
  ‘In that room… why?’ Ted points to an open door, across the yard.
  ‘Have you got a maintenance room?’
  ‘In the same room, but again, why?’
  Dave doesn’t answer but walks off, tapping the baton against the side of his leg. He disappears into the doorway and Ted looks at me.
  ‘Funny bugger your mate, isn’t he?’
  ‘Yeah, but bloody good to have around though - you kind of get used to him.’
  ‘Tom bloody Jenkins! Stop putting shit into that van, just pile it up and let me do the loading,’ Ted bellows out at Tom, much to the amusement of Steven, the other community support officer.
  ‘And you can stop bloody smirking Steven. Now the pair of you, get in there and start bringing the food out.’
  Steven looks down, embarrassed, and Tom starts a smirk. Then they both begin walking back into the building, as Ted shouts after them: ‘And make sure that Old Harry gets a wash, he ain’t coming in this van if he stinks like one of them,’ Ted jerks a thumb at the undead behind him.
  ‘You taking Harry with you, then?’ I ask Ted.
  ‘Yeah… well, we can’t just leave him can we? Mind you, he probably wouldn’t mind - he treats the place like his bloody home anyway.’
  Old Harry is one of the local homeless people, that breaks windows or causes minor damage to get arrested when the weather gets too hot or cold. Since the outbreak, he has been living in his favourite cell, with the door left open - so he can wander around freely.
 
Where the hell has Dave gone
? I wander over to the door and see Dave inside, pulling black electrical
cable from a large reel. He takes the ends and splits the rubber covers back, exposing the bare wires.
  ‘Do you need a hand, mate?’
  ‘Yes, please, Mr Howie.’
  He hands me one of the reels.
  ‘Can you feed that wire out, until it reaches the gates.’
  ‘Okay, but why?’
  He has taken the end to the generator and starts fiddling about with the electrical output socket.

  I shrug and do as I am asked, walking backwards and feeding the wire from the reel as I go. When I reach the gates, I get the idea and start to chuckle.
  ‘Do you want me to cut the wire?’ I shout back to Dave.
  ‘No thanks, Mr Howie.’

  He comes out and walks over with a small set of pliers and some electrical tape. He then cuts the wire and tapes some of the bare wires to the gate. Then he goes back and reels out another length of wire and repeats the action, until there are two thick, black leads taped to the gates; snaking on the ground back into the generator room.

  Ted comes out of the van and follows the wires with his eyes.
  ‘Bloody hell, you’re going to fry ‘em.’
  ‘Don’t touch the gates,’ Dave says as he goes back into the generator room.
  I move back, away from the gates, and see Ted doing the same.

  Tom and Steven come out of the police station, followed by Terri and Jane. They all stare at the wires then at Ted and I.
  ‘What’s that for?’ Asks Terri as Dave shouts ‘READY?’
  ‘Go for it,’ Ted shouts back
  Dave does something inside the room which causes the generator to increase in pitch from the gentle chugging it was doing before.

  I watch the gates in sickening anticipation.
  ‘NOW,’ Dave shouts.
  I see a spark come off the gates and the first load of undead pressed against the bars are convulsing violently.
  ‘STOP!’ Ted shouts and Dave pulls the power, the first row of undead all slide down to the floor and are instantly replaced by the next row.
  ‘Well… it’s good, but it’ll take all bloody day,’ I say to Ted.
  ‘Oh, no, it won’t.’
  He pulls the end of a hose from the wall and walks over the gates: ‘Someone turn the water on, please.’
  Tom and Steven both dart for the tap and squabble about, trying to get there first.

  ‘STOP PISSING ABOUT AND TURN THAT BLOODY TAP ON,’ Ted shouts and shakes his head, then turns back to the undead, muttering under his breath.
  The tap comes on and a jet of water sprays out of the end.
  ‘Turn it on full.’
  The flow increases, until the end of the hose is almost rigid from the force of water.

  Ted aims low and starts flooding the bottom of the gates. There is a slight decline going back into the road and the water pours across the ground, soaking the tarmac under the feet of the undead.

  Dave appears in the doorway and looks at what Ted is doing. He nods and waits for a few minutes, until the ground is soaked, and pools of water are forming.

  Tom and Steven are now standing by Ted, watching him.
  ‘Can I do it please, Ted?’ Tom asks.

  Ted looks at Tom and hands the hose over, shaking his head again. He walks back towards me, rolling his eyes, as Tom starts laughing with glee.
  ‘Here, have a drink, you dirty shits,’ Tom shouts as he starts spraying the water directly at the rows of undead pushing against the gate.