Zombies vs The Living Dead (An Evacuation Story #1) (6 page)

“Three
and McGuffrey” he said to himself. “They've got to have
run.” But could McGuffrey have left the home? These creatures,
these zombies, they seemed unable to even open a door. Didn't that
mean that if they were inside then they wouldn't be able to get out?
Or, if McGuffrey had followed one into the home, then couldn't he
just as easily have followed someone out of it? George hoped so.
“Where's left?” he muttered. “The bedrooms.”
He hadn't checked the residents' rooms.

He
went back to the main area of the building and, one by one, checked
each bedroom. He found only one more resident. Mr Grayson. He was
dead, but not murdered by the undead. He'd taken a razor blade and
sliced thick gashes along the inside of his wrists.

George
checked the last three rooms along that corridor but they were empty.
“Then the others have run” he said, and this time he said
it with certainty. “You were the last.” he said to
himself, pulling the door to Mr Grayson's room closed as he passed
it. “Just me and Mrs O'Leary left. And we'll be leaving soon as
I've got my breath back.”

How
though? He wasn't leaving her alone up here whilst he went down to
the village to get the car. What if he couldn't get back up? A chair,
that was the answer. He'd get her into a wheelchair. It was downhill
to the village. Perhaps he could find two chairs. He'd look, just as
soon as he'd rested. His heart was pounding harder, his mouth was dry
and he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. He took a
moment to lean up against the wall. All he could hear was the
pounding of blood in his ears. He felt nauseous. It was shock, he was
reasonably sure of that. He just needed to get back to Mrs O'Leary's
room, then he could rest. Just a few hours rest and then they could
leave.

At
first he didn't notice the pain. Something was tugging at his arm. He
pulled it back and saw the blood. And as he turned a dagger of
burning ice shot up his arm and into his skull. He twisted, tried to
jump back, but he was slow, and McGuffrey was fast. Its mouth snapped
towards George's face.

He
pushed at the zombie, but it was like pushing a brick wall, there was
no give. He swung a punch at the former manager's face. It was a weak
blow, but even if he'd had his full strength it wouldn't have been
enough to knock the zombie down. It just turned its head slightly,
snarled again and lunged.

George
snarled back. He grappled with the thing, getting the spear between
himself and McGuffrey. Their faces barely inches apart, George
pushed, and managed to get the spear between him and the zombie.

With
one hand pushing at McGuffrey, keeping its snapping teeth away from
his face, he gripped the spear more tightly with the other.
Underhand, he brought the spear up with all the force he could
muster. The tip of the blade entered the creatures head just behind
its jaw, tearing through skin and flesh to pierce through its tongue.
George could see the tip of the spear through the creatures open
mouth. He gritted his teeth and pulled the Assegai out, then plunged
it upwards once more. It went in at a slightly different angle,
tearing through the hole he'd just made and up into the roof of
McGuffrey's mouth. He tore the spear out and stabbed up at the
creature again. The jaw bone cracked and the skin tore as the spear
went through the mouth and up a further four inches into its skull.
The creatures hand spasmed as George twisted the spear free. He
thrust it upward one last time. Grunting with the effort he dug it in
further, twisting the blade until the creature stopped moving.

He
let go of the spear and the body sagged to the ground. George
breathed out slowly, bent and retrieved the Assegai. As he
straightened he looked down at his hand. The skin was torn where his
knuckles had met McGuffrey's teeth. He pulled the sleeve up on his
arm and looked at his forearm. There was a trickle of blood running
down from a semi-circular bite mark to the bandage on his palm. None
of the wounds were deep, nor were they severe, but he knew they
didn't have to be. According to report after report he'd watched on
the television, even the merest scratch was enough for infection.
Sometimes it took minutes, sometimes it took hours but according to
everything he'd seen once you were infected it was only a matter of
time.

“I
got bit, Mary,” he said as he closed the door to her room
behind him.

“Oh,
George!” And his heart broke at the sound of his name coming
from her lips for the first time.

“I've
got to go. Got to get out of here. Away from you. I don't know how
long I've got...” he began, not looking at her.

“Oh,
George!” she said again, tears welling up as the enormity of
the situation sank in.

“But
look. I can't leave you here. Not like this. Someone might come, they
might,” he tried to
imbue
the words with all the confidence he didn’t feel “but in
that bed, you're not going to stand a chance. I've brought you a
chair. It was Mrs
Lyndon's”
he added. They'd always envied that chair, an expensive model with an
electric motor bought by her son. Mr
s
Lyndon
hadn't needed one, she, at least in their opinion, had
only used it so as to constantly remind the rest of the inmates of
how successful her bank manager son was.

“I
got these pills from the pharmacy. There's enough if you wanted...”

“Now,
George, that would be a mortal sin. And I think that there's been
enough of those recently, don't you?”

“And
this is the food. All I had. It's enough for a few days. Well. That's
it” he said placing the bag on the foot of the bed “Come
on. Shift yourself up. Sit forward, and we'll swing your legs out
first.” George said bruskly, wanting it to be done, and done
quickly.

“Now
wait a moment” she said.

“Now,
come on, Mary, there's no time” he cried plaintively.

“I
know, but I’m not going to die in this.” She lifted the
hem of the soiled night gown. “My dress, my good one. And my
hat.”

He
hesitated. He had no idea how much time he had. But the look in her
eye, that same look that had terrified thousands of school children
over the years brooked no argument.

He
went to the small closet and took out the solitary ancient dress-bag
that smelt faintly of mothballs. It was the one she wore to funerals,
the one she wore when she had visitors and the same one she'd worn at
their own personal Christmas, eating the cake he'd brought and
sharing out the chocolates her grandson had left.

“Now,
you'll have to help me, George,” she said, “but you'll
keep your eyes closed.”

“Of
course Mary” he said, smiling. He helped her get dressed and
then helped her out of the bed and into the wheelchair.

“Alright
now, George” she said, firmly.

“Alright,
Mary” he replied. They looked at one another for a moment.
There was so much that they wanted to say, but now there was no time
for it.

”Goodbye
George” she said softly.

“Goodbye,
Mary.” He hesitated a moment. More than anything else he wanted
to kiss her, but knew that he might infect her if he did. He turned
and walked to the door.

“You
know, George, I will see you again” she said.

“I
hope not, Mary. Goodbye. Good Luck” and he walked through the
door, and back into the corridor.

He
picked up the Assegai from where he'd left it leaning against the
wall and headed towards the exit. He wasn't certain that the last two
remaining residents had fled, but there wasn't time to check
properly. He had no more time. He had no idea where he should go,
just that he should go far enough away that after it happened he
wouldn't go back to the home.

He
found his feet taking him up the road towards the cliffs. There was a
bench there, overlooking the spit where the U-boat had become stuck
during the war. It was a good place, where he'd passed the days when
he wasn't working in the electrical shop. He'd take food, a flask and
a book and he'd sat for hours, regardless of the weather, doing
nothing but looking, reading and thinking, but mostly remembering.

There
were a couple of fields between him and the bench, owned by a farmer
who didn't want anyone using them as a short cut. Especially not
George, as had been vocally pointed out to him during a particularly
unpleasant conference with McGuffrey last August bank holiday. He'd
have to walk down towards the village, then, and take the gate to the
footpath half-way up the hill, and...

He
laughed. What did any of that matter now? He twisted his Assegai
between the strands of barbed wire and tugged it free. Then, humming
as he went, he pushed his way through the hedge and walked across the
dark damp
earth, ready for a crop that would never now be
planted.

By
the time he had reached the bench it was two hours since he'd been
bitten. His time was running out. He sat down, carefully placed the
Assegai by his side and looked out to sea. It was calm. Inland he
could already seem plumes of smoke from where fires had taken hold.
He thought he heard a scream in the distance, but he couldn't be
sure. All he could see was the tranquil blue of the ocean. He
concentrated on the sound of waves crashing against rocks. George
smiled and closed his eyes.

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