Zombiekill (3 page)

“I told you to look out for each other, didn’t I?
Didn’t I
? Have I taught you nothing?”

Kyler stormed away to the house, and Charlie curled up into a ball, tears pouring from her eyes for her dead mother and the life that awaited her now.

CHAPTER 1

“Look, Schafer, I appreciate what you’re saying, but this is my house. If I hadn’t taken you in, where would you be right now? I’m not trying to score points. I’m just saying that you need to listen to me. I’ve got it right so far, and I’m right on this one. Leave it be. We’re good here, and there’s no need to go upsetting the apple cart.”

Schafer looked at his wife Magda for a clue as to whether he should push it or not. She could read these situations better than him and pick up on things that he missed. Schafer could analyze a chessboard and work out potential moves well in advance of them being played out. He loved the game and its ruthlessness and the paradox between its structure and freedom. He would play games with his friends whenever time allowed and often saw similarities in reality to the game. This was another occasion when Jeremy was playing to win. He had all the pieces lined up and knew Schafer couldn’t afford to risk pushing forward. They were locked in a battle of wills, and as much as Schafer was enjoying it, he had to bring himself back from the edge sometimes. Magda always knew when he should cool it or go for broke and push his Queen forward. He looked at her now for reassurance: should he push on and go in for the kill or keep his advantage for another time and stay back?

The look on Magda’s face was telling him not to go there. If he tried to argue further it could make things worse. There was enough tension in the house already without him adding to it.

“Okay, okay,” said Schafer scratching his unkempt gray beard, “let’s do it your way. You’re right. Of course, we are your guests. I’d just like for you to think about the future and how long it’s realistic for us to stay here. That’s all I was trying to suggest. But it’s okay. No problem, Jeremy, no problem at all.”

Schafer offered his hand, and Jeremy shook it. The two men had an uneasy friendship; one based more out of necessity than real respect. They got on with each other because they simply had to. There was no other choice given the circumstances. Both knew it, and both tried to maintain a cool distance from the other. There was no hatred between them but always that distance. It was safer that way. They had learned not to get too close to people. It was easier than when they left.

Schafer walked across the cold linoleum to Magda. “Okay. Let’s go chat with Rilla. She’ll want to know.”

Magda was an ample woman, large framed with a pudgy face and thick arms. She had begun to lose a little weight given the restriction on how much food there was available now, and her clothes were starting to look a little loose around her waist. They weren’t hanging off her yet, but Schafer knew his wife was going to need a whole new wardrobe if they were still here next winter.

“Ja, okay. Nat
ü
rlich.”

Schafer winced when she spoke. Her English was not as good as his, and he knew how much it pissed off Jeremy when they spoke in their own tongue. He turned around to face Jeremy.

“I’m sorry, my wife…”

“It’s fine. You go talk to Rilla. I should be helping Lyn out in the garden anyway.”

Schafer could tell that Jeremy was trying to hide his annoyance. Had they not already been arguing then, Magda’s German may have led to another ‘discussion’ about the respect for other people’s wishes, but as it was Jeremy let it slide, and disappeared quickly out of the sitting room. He said nothing when he left and made little noise when he walked. He was a tall, slim man matching his tall, slim wife, and Schafer still didn’t feel at ease in his presence. They were just too different in their backgrounds, their attitudes, and culture. The only thing they had in common was the need to protect their families. Both of them had done well up to today, and together they could say they were survivors.

Schafer pressed his flannel shirt down, trying to get the creases out of the collar. He still tried to keep a good appearance despite the conditions. Washing was a rarity and, of course, they had no clothes of their own. Having to borrow clothes made Schafer feel uncomfortable, and wearing Jeremy’s shirts meant Schafer always felt a little uneasy around him. Even the way they dressed was different. Schafer chose red checks and stripes, whilst Jeremy was dressed as usual in dark clothes. Today he wore a black shirt tucked into dark jeans, and keeping tabs on him was like watching a shadow dance in the dark.

Schafer pulled on his beard thoughtfully. “Magda, please, remember we talked about this. Jeremy doesn’t like us speaking Deutsch.”

“Aber, ich-”

“Nein.
No
.” Schafer took his wife’s hand, noticing her fingers were thinner and that her wedding ring fitted a little loosely now. The pale band of skin underneath it was beginning to show, but getting a wedding ring resized would prove extremely difficult. “It’s not easy for you. I know this is awkward, but with me and Rilla helping, you can do it.”

“Okay, okay. Yes, I will try. I find also it is…schmerzlich. I mean it is not easy for me. I don’t like this American.”

Schafer squeezed his wife’s hand. Her eyes met his, and he wished he had been able to convince Jeremy that staying was not a viable long-term solution. Jeremy’s house was large enough for them all to sleep comfortably in their own rooms, and safety wasn’t an issue. The house was well built, the windows and doors were always locked, and the retaining wall around the back garden meant they had a barrier between them and the corpses which was practically insurmountable. Jeremy had turned the whole garden into a vegetable patch before Schafer had even arrived with his family, and it looked like they were settled in for the long haul. Schafer was worried though, worried a lot.

“You don’t have to like him. But we do have to get along. Come, let’s see Rilla. If we’re going to live with him and his family any longer, then we need to understand them, to work with them, and make this happen. We need to do it for Rilla.” Schafer led his wife through the house, past the closed windows and blinds, and up to the guest room that had become their daughter’s room. Pushing open the door, Schafer found his daughter lying on the bed reading a book. He looked around the room, impressed at how tidy it was. Everything was neatly folded or correctly stored, the books lying neatly on the dresser. For a seventeen-year-old girl, she was impeccable.

“Rilla, are you okay?”

As Schafer entered the room, Magda went straight to their daughter and sat down beside her on the bed. The duvet cover crumpled immediately, and there was a popping sound as one of the springs in the mattress went.

“Ja, obwohl ich bin gelangweilt. Mein buch ist nich sehr gut. Es ist eine dumme Zombie-Roman. Was haben Sie sprechen mit Jeremy uber?”

“English please, Rilla. We need to help your Mother. You know how Jeremy doesn’t like it when-”

“Okay, fine.
In English
.” Rilla rolled her eyes and put her book on her pillow. “Jeremy doesn’t like anything.”

Schafer smiled. His daughter’s brown eyes sparkled when she got angry. She reminded him a great deal of his own mother. It wasn’t just the physical similarities, but the personality that was starting to shine through now that she was getting older; turning from a child into her own woman. Rilla was strong but smart with it. She knew when to pick a fight and when to stay quiet. That was something she had learned from her own mother.

“Maybe not. But he saved our lives, and we are in his home, so we have to respect that. I cannot make him do anything.”

Rilla hugged her mother and then shrugged. “So what? We live here forever? Wait until we run out of food?”

“Jeremy thinks he can grow enough food for all of us. He said Lyn has got a lot of vegetables growing, and until they are ready we have enough tins of food and supplies to last.”

“You think he’s telling the truth?” Rilla looked at her mother. “Do
you
think so?”

Magda nodded. Her face was sad. “Ja. He tells truth.”

“He’s not trying to trick us, Rilla. You have to understand that he’s been through as much as we have. What he’s made here with Lyn and Victoria is a good thing, and I can understand he would not want that compromised.” Schafer went over to the window and parted the curtains. He wanted to see them. He needed to see them, to be reminded that they weren’t gone, that the dead were still all around them. He needed to remind himself why he had agreed to stay here. “All he wants to do is protect his family. You can understand that, can’t you? I’m not saying I agree with him, but I can see his point of view. It’s far safer to stay behind these walls than to go out there.”

Schafer peered through the pale yellow curtains at the streets below. There were at least two dozen of them that he could see. A few of the corpses were motionless, sitting or lying on the ground, but he knew that was just laziness. As soon as something or someone got their attention, they would jump up. The others bumbled around, crashing into vehicles and walls as if they were drunk. It was just an illusion. These people were neither drunk, nor as harmless as they appeared. Yet nor were they alive anymore. Their teeth could rip a man apart in seconds. A single bite from their diseased dead bodies would mean death to the recipient. Schafer had seen too many people fooled into thinking they could get past them—just run past the zombies with ease. It was an easy mistake to make; one that had been made too many times early on. It wasn’t taken seriously enough, and when it was, it was too late. A lot of people had died, and Schafer recognized they were more than indebted to Jeremy for making sure he and his family was alive too.

They had arrived from Germany for their annual vacation several months ago now. Schafer knew it was the last time they would all get away as a family. Rilla was already complaining about being away from her friends for so long, and she was likely to go off to university in a year. Schafer knew there was one friend in particular, a boy called Franz, whom Rilla was going to miss the most. His daughter was growing up, and there was nothing he could do about that. The flight to Washington had been uneventful, and the few days they had spent there acclimatizing to the time zone and looking around the museums had been happy. Magda especially loved museums and cities, and it was she who had pushed for them to go to Washington, a city they had never visited before. Unfortunately, they were never likely to visit it again. A million corpses now filled the streets of the capital city, and the museums were populated by the dead. If there were any survivors left, they would not stand a chance. Schafer knew they had been lucky. If they had not left when they had, there was a very good chance they would be dead now too.

Schafer remembered catching the flight to Portland and hearing the first stories then. He had a text from a colleague back in
Nürnberg
about some trouble in Berlin: rioting, fighting, and people being attacked in the street. It sounded strange. There was no political motivation for it; no terrorist outrage. It felt surreal standing in the quiet airport reading about the problems back home. Being on vacation, Schafer usually avoided the news and liked to forget the world’s problems, but they were catching up. Whilst waiting to board the flight, he overheard two men talking about some sort of incident in Boston, a gang war that had somehow got out of hand. A lot of people had died. There were reports that one of the gangs had attacked a hotel, but he missed the details. It sounded too far-fetched to be true, and he ignored the rest of the conversation, preferring to think about the huge trout he was going to catch the next day up at Peterborough.

After picking up the rental car at Portland airport, they made their way down through Manchester and reached Peterborough just as night was creeping up on them. The motel was basic but perfectly comfortable, and that first night had gone well. Magda and Rilla enjoyed some pasta in the local Italian, and having received no more texts from his colleague, Schafer went to bed forgetting about the whole thing.

The next morning his phone had been alive with messages, all warning him to get back home before it was too late. Trouble was spreading and people were panicking. Whatever had caused the riots to break out in Berlin had spread fast. It wasn’t just in Germany now, but a problem that was growing exponentially. First France, then Spain all reported the same things. People were attacking each other. Checking the news whilst Magda and Rilla went to find coffee, Schafer sat on the end of his bed in the small motel room watching as the news feed told him of problem areas and no-go zones on the Eastern seaboard. All flights to Europe were cancelled. The threat level to the United States had been raised, and a curfew was being imposed in all the major cities and larger urban areas. He heard reports of viruses and infections, of corpses reanimating, and stores being looted for food and bottled water.

When Magda and Rilla returned with coffee and pastries for breakfast, they could not believe what he had to tell them. All three of them sat in their little motel room watching the TV news as horror story after horror story unfolded. They didn’t leave the room at all that day, and only when it grew dark did Schafer venture outside. He found the closest store, bought all the food he could, and returned to the motel knowing the vacation was over. All night the sirens wailed, and the noises and screams they heard were terrifying. Peterborough was supposed to be a quiet town, the perfect place to ‘get away from it all’ for a week of relaxation. Instead, they spent the night locked in their room wondering if they were going to make it through the night.

“It’s just the same as before. We might have escaped that motel room, but all we’ve done is trade one prison for another.” Rilla lay back on the bed and folded her hands under her head. “We should’ve stayed in Germany. We should’ve—”