Read No Zombies Please We Are British Online

Authors: Alex Laybourne

Tags: #Zombies

No Zombies Please We Are British (7 page)

BOOK: No Zombies Please We Are British
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“Hurry, through the window,” he called to the woman, who was watching proceedings from the presumed safety of the footwell between the seats.

“I can’t,” she stammered.

“Now!” Jack yelled, and she moved.

More of the undead were on him, and with the woman moving behind him, crawling over the seat, Jack had minimal room to work with. He stabbed out, but his aim was poor. One creature took the iron through the chest, and two others through the throat. While it slowed them down, it also sent them falling forward, closing the gap between themselves and Jack.

Jumping backwards onto the seat, avoiding the falling trio, Jack stabbed downwards and ended them. He looked around just as the woman disappeared out of the window.

Following her, Jack was almost safe when something clamped down on his wrist. Jack fell forward, his body pulled from beneath him. The fire iron fell from his hands and out of the window. He turned as a snarling, blue-haired elderly woman fell on him. He managed to get his arms up in time, but her weight was considerable, and she was relentless in her endeavours to chew his face off.

Her breath stank of death, and in itself was a potent weapon in neutralizing her prey. Gagging, but not prepared to go out that way, Jack focused himself. His hands were on her shoulders, and he could feel the wounds on her back. The cold, gooey flesh, the jelly-like consistency of the exposed meat beneath. Digging his fingers deep inside the wounds, he tore into her, scooping chunks of decaying meat from her back.

His efforts went unnoticed by the old woman, whose thrashing head was coming dangerously close to making contact with Jack’s head.

Straining, Jack couldn’t help but roar as he tried to push the woman away, while kicking his legs to fight off the groping hands of the remaining death-walkers, having conquered the barrier that Jack had created.

Jack’s strength was waning. He felt the rush of air as the woman’s teeth snapped open and shut. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

When it came, it was deafening. Blood sprayed everywhere as the bullet tore through the old woman’s head. Her skull exploded like a melon meeting firecrackers. Clumps of brain and shards of bone rained down onto Jack.

Jack felt hands grab him and haul him from the window. He felt glass rake over his flesh, drawing blood, which seemed to set the undead commuters into overdrive.

He looked and saw the hollowed-out head of the old woman, crushed under the rush of death-walkers.

His ears were ringing; no other sound came through. Jack’s body was limp, his legs barely able to support him. Hands grabbed him, and he struck out, wild and terrified.

Whoever was holding him was prepared for the assault for they evaded his wide, clubbing blows with ease. The hands returned, grabbing at him. They overpowered him, pulling on his arms. He moved backwards, dragged away from the bus that proceeded to vomit death-walkers.

The hands pulling Jack continued to manhandle him, pushing and shoving him this way and that, away from the bus, and away from the dead. A dead figure fell to the floor, a blood-bubbling gash carved into the side of its head, just above the temple.

They reached a building and Jack was pushed inside. He fell to the floor, his ears still ringing with the sound of gunfire. The rest was starting to come back to him, but it was muffled and distant. He looked around, but his vision was failing him. Everything went black. He heard the muffled shouts and screams. He felt the splatter of blood hit him, but then the darkness took hold.

 

Chapter 7

 

Jack was back home, back in his flat. He heard the screams from his bedroom. He went to jump out of bed, but couldn’t. He was tied down. Held immobile by barbed wire bonds, the twisted knots of metal dug into his flesh, burrowing deeper with each jerked movement. Blood ran from his wounds and stained the white bed sheets.

He called out, and the screaming stopped. The door to his room opened and Tania appeared. Anna was in her arms, but she was not the sweet, wide-eyed toddler he had known. Now she was a desiccated corpse. A wrinkled husk of the child she had once been. Tania held her tight against her, unwilling to let her go.

“Why didn’t you help us?” she asked, moving forward. “You could have stopped him.”

“Tania, please, I …” Jack was silenced when Tania began to weep.

“No excuses. You said you would protect us. You lied to me. You lied to her, and now she is mad,” Tania said through her sobs.

“Who is mad?” Jack asked.

Tania did not need to give an answer, for the dried-out corpse in her arms turned its head, the skull rotating one-hundred and eighty degrees on the neck. Anna’s leathery skin creaked as it was pulled taut to allow the full rotation of the skull. The eyes opened. The sockets were empty, but that only made the sight even worse.

The Anna-corpse opened its mouth and screamed. A sound akin to fingernails scratching a blackboard. It pierced Jack’s skin and made his head ache. His nose bled and his ears burned. He could feel the blood flowing from them.

He struggled against his bonds, but that only drove the barbs deeper into his flesh.

“You could have saved us,” Tania said once more before the walls of the room rumbled and shook. Cracks appeared, spreading over the walls. Plaster fell away in chunks until the walls collapsed under the weight of the dead. A horde of rotting death-walkers piled into what had once been a small room. The bodies were dripping with putrefaction. Wet clumps of oozing flesh hung from them in loops, like melted cheese.

They descended on the bed, swarming around Tania, who was holding her daughter’s mummified corpse above her head, so she could see the feast as it began.

Jack screamed. He thrashed on the bed, and the barbed wire cut so deep into his skin that it disappeared from view.

Jack woke with the scream stuck in his throat, a hand clamped over his lips making sure it stayed stuck. Panicked, he jumped to his feet, shaken by the dream and the suffocating feeling of being woken up by someone smothering him.

“Quiet, quiet, it’s alright. We are safe here,” a voice whispered in his ears.

The words were muffled, but audible, the ringing from the gunshot faded to almost nothing.

Jack looked around. He was inside what looked to be a butcher shop. Raw meat lay inside the cabinets, juicy red steaks, and plump chicken breasts. Racks of lamb complete with chefs’ hats on the end of each bone. Sausage links lay curled like pythons, and all manner of breaded pieces were stacked neatly. Had it not been for the undead pounding at the locked door, and the decapitated body lying to his right, Jack would have thought he was merely out buying dinner.

“Who …?” he asked, looking around. His eyes fell on the man who clearly owned the place.

“No time for that. Keep quiet. They will leave,” he said in hushed tones. He had a thick London accent, which couldn’t be tamed even by the low volume.

Jack did as he was told and sat down on the floor. He was next to the dirty-blonde woman he had rescued. She was covered in blood, and sat with her head back against the wall, her eyes closed. She was beautiful. Not in the seeing a girl and thinking she is cute kind of way, but in the out of everybody’s league, should only exist in movies and dreams kind of stunning. Her long hair, while thick with grime, still managed to flow over her shoulders. She had a wonderful olive complexion and her features were soft and delicate. Her slender build showed off her ample chest, which stretched the wording of her shirt. Her jeans hugged her legs, and even through the material, Jack could see they were strong and slender.

“My name is Alessa,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Jack asked, thrown by her sudden communication.

“Me, my name, it’s Alessa.” She smiled and her hazel eyes shone. “In the bus, you told me your name. Jack, right?”

“Yes, yes, Jack, that’s me,” he stumbled over his words, feeling more foolish with each syllable he stuttered.

Alessa giggled. “Thank you for saving me,” she added. Leaning forward, she kissed Jack on the cheek. It was a friendly gesture, a simple demonstration of thanks. Yet it sent a surge of electricity down Jack’s spine.

“You are not from around here, are you?” Jack asked, noting the incredibly sexy accent that she spoke with.

“No, I am from Italy. Rome. I am here to travel, and see the rest of Europe.” She stopped smiling.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” Jack spoke softly, not sure what else to say.

“Me too, for us all.” The smile returned, a fleeting glimpse of it at least, but it was enough for Jack.

The congregation of the undead disappeared from the window in a sudden mass retreat. The screams that rang out a few moments later explained why. They were distracted by an easy kill.

“They won’t be back, not if we keep quiet.” The man turned around from the door where he had been keeping watch. He held a blood-stained meat cleaver in one hand and a gore-encrusted ball hammer in the other.

The two weapons, coupled with the butcher’s bloody apron, certainly created an imposing first impression.

“You are a crazy son of a bitch. Lucky too,” the man said as he laid his weapons down on the counter.

“You saved me?” Jack stared at the man.

“I couldn’t let you die. Not after what you did to save her.” He looked at Alessa.

“You’re the only one who thought that way,” Jack added, surprised at the level of scorn in his words.

“You can’t blame them. People are scared. You’ve seen what is out there. Not everybody has been able to adjust as quickly as you and me,” he said.

“I don’t know if I have adjusted to anything,” Jack answered him, running his fingers through his hair as he let out a long sigh.

“I saw you out there. You might not know it yet, but you’ve adjusted. You are a survivor.” The butcher cleaned his hands on his apron, adding another layer of black blood smears. “The name is Steve Musgrove.”

Jack shook the hand that was extended to him. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Jack, and this is Alessa.” Jack tried not to wince as Steve’s frying-pan-sized hand clamped over his own. His grip was like a vice.

“You two look hungry. How about we go out back and have some food. As you can see, I’ve got more than enough, and it is only going to spoil.”

Steve led the pair into the back of his butcher shop, through the preparation area. The odour of blood was strong. A coppery scent that lingered on every breath, but Jack found he was no longer repulsed by it. He had smelled enough blood in the previous forty-eight hours for his palate to have become accustomed to it.

They went upstairs into a small living area. An open plan room with a living room, dining room, and kitchen all rolled into one. To the rear were two doors. One leading to a bedroom and the other a bathroom.

“Make yourselves at home,” Steve offered to them, ushering them over to the sofa, while he made his way to the kitchen. “Sorry about the mess.”

Jack said nothing, but he wondered if the man knew the redundancy of the sentence given their situation.

The flat was sparsely decorated, and clearly with the tastes of a single man living alone. Clothes were strewn not in great numbers but enough to know they had been removed and discarded. They would remain there until being gathered for washing. Beer cans stood on the table, and the reading material was limited to some trade catalogues, a few editions of both Playboy and Penthouse, and a newspaper. Jack stared at it, wondering if there would ever be another paper printed. Was this the final edition of something that would now forever be eradicated from the world?

Jack thumbed through the newspaper, avoiding the magazines; it wasn’t right to look at them in the presence of a woman.

Looking up, Jack saw that Alessa was staring at him. She smiled when his eyes met hers, and then turned her head.

Jack smiled, and saw her cheeks flush a delicate shade of red.

“What happened to you? On the bus, I mean,” Jack asked.

“I was travelling to the station. I was visiting an old school friend who lives here. They wanted to drive me, but got sick, so I took the bus. We made a stop and … and this man got on. I was at the back, so couldn’t see, but the driver shouted at him, but he didn’t listen. He got on and just … he attacked the driver. He hit him, and bit him. People started to scream, to try to run, but the man was so strong. He attacked them all. There was so much blood. I didn’t know what to do, so I hid. I hid and the others tried to hide too. They went upstairs, closing the door to keep themselves safe.” She stopped talking, tears in her eyes. She sat still clutching her backpack.

“That’s how all the death-walkers got up there. Someone must have been injured, and turned after they locked the door,” Jack said, finishing building the scene that he had stumbled into.

“Si, I mean, yes.” Alessa wiped her eyes and brushed her hair behind her shoulders. “Is that what they are? Death-walkers?”

Jack smiled. “I have no idea. It’s just what I call them. I thought it had a ring to it, you know.”

Steve appeared carrying a plate filled with steaks. Too many for the three of them, but as he said, it was only going to spoil.

“We’ve got rare, medium and well,” he said, pointing to the three piles of meat on the platter.

For a while, none of them spoke. They simply devoured the meat, blissfully unaware of how they looked, holding the meat in their bare hands taking tearing bites while juices ran down their fingers and over the chins.

It was to Jack’s surprise they polished off the whole plate, and while Steve accounted for a substantial portion of the consumption, it was still an impressive feat.

With their bellies full, they sat back. Conversation was soon needed, for it provided a means to drown out the screams of a dying world.

“I’m sorry.” Steve started the conversation by addressing Alessa.

“What for?” she asked, confused.

“For not coming to you. I was … when it happened, I hid. I didn’t think. I just hid away.” Steve hung his head as he spoke, his shame clear for them to see.

“Nonsense.” Jack stepped in. “You came when we needed you. You saved my life, so there is nothing to feel bad about. Right, Alessa?”

“Si.” She laughed a little. “I mean, yes. You saved us. You are both very brave.”

Jack was watching Alessa talk, and saw her cheeks flush once again, her eyes naturally pulling towards him.

“That’s kind of you to say.” Steve seemed relieved at their acceptance. “What were you doing out there?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“I am trying to get into the city,” Jack told him.

“Why would you do that? My brother is there. It’s even worse than here. Those things are everywhere.” Steve looked directly at Jack.

“I have to. My … there is someone there I need to find.” Jack didn’t understand why he caught his words, or phrased it the way he did. He loved Sarah, she was the reason he was not hiding away in his flat, waiting to be rescued.

“I’m sorry, man, but you won’t make it. The army has the city cordoned off.” Steve fished around in his pockets.

“So they are fighting back, taking control.” Jack heard the optimism in his voice, the hope that things would be over.

Steve pulled out his phone and stared at both Jack and Alessa. “You really have no idea what we are up against.” His words were cold, but weren’t meant to be derogatory. “My brother sent me this, but I’m warning you. Once you see it, you can’t go back.”

He held the phone out, and while both Jack and Alessa reached for it, their hands paused for a moment. Were they really ready?

Jack took it, and before he knew it, Alessa had moved over to the sofa and was sitting beside him. She pressed up close, and even though she reeked of death and bodily fluids, a shiver ran down Jack‘s spine as she brushed against him.

Jack held the phone and pressed play.

The video was shaky, shot from a high-story building and zoomed in to show the ground below, but it was easy enough to make out what was happening. Death-walkers, hundreds of them, maybe even more. They moved along the road like a sweeping plague. People were running for their lives. It was dark, but the lighting of the city showed more than enough. People fell, people were thrown to the lions in order to let others survive. Law and order broke down as panic swept through everything. Those who fell were torn apart, and within three minutes, the video showed the streets flowing with blood. Several of the death-walkers broke away from the pack, moving at a quicker pace. A few even reached something close to a run. They were not going to win any Olympic medals, but for corpses, it was pretty damned impressive. It was also scary as shit, as evidenced by the way Alessa pushed herself even closer to Jack.

BOOK: No Zombies Please We Are British
3.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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