The Undead. The First Seven Days (11 page)

The fucking handbrake! The fucking stupid handbrake!

I claw away, trying to find it. Then my hands grip the end, and I push the little button in and feel it drop. The car shoots forward, scraping along the side of the armoured van. The undead is dragged along for a few metres. His massive upper body holds him in the car, then he drops out and is gone.
  I keep my hand pressed down, hoping to hell that I don’t crash into something. I try to raise my head, but I can’t stretch high enough, so I wait a few seconds and then pull my hand away. The car splutters, and the engine dies, then it stops. I twist round quickly and look out. I am inches away from a bench, aiming straight at the building line on the right.
  I pull myself into the driver’s seat, dragging the axe from underneath me and pushing it into the passenger side. My stomach muscles are in agony, and my thighs are burning. My chest heaves as I try to suck in air. I twist the key off and back on, putting my foot down on the clutch, and I look in the rear view mirror, The undead is already up and running at me, only a few metres away.
  The bench is trapping me from going forward. I push the gear stick into reverse and thrust the accelerator down. My left hand is on the top of the passenger seat as I twist my torso in order to see out of the back. The car gathers speed as the undead runs at me and we collide with a massive bang. His huge frame comes to a sudden stop against the momentum of the vehicle, and then he is thrown backwards, as I slam the brakes on.
  Fear, adrenalin and rage are within me, and I am out of the car with my axe held in both hands. He is already sitting up, trying to stand. He struggles to get to his feet and then falls back down; his right leg buckles underneath him.
 
His knee joint must be smashed
.

I step forward, before he can get back up, and swing the axe at his head, cleaving his skull, driving down inches into his brain and splitting his cranium open. Grey matter spills out.
  I pull the axe back and he slumps over to the side, I raise the axe above my head and drive the blade into his neck, severing the spinal column. The axe drives through the flesh, and his head comes away. I kick it hard, and it shoots off a few feet. I feel sudden pain in my toes from kicking the heavy head.
  ‘Cunt! You fucking cunt! That fucking hurt.’
  I’m hopping on one foot, spinning round.

An undead male comes staggering at me from the left, and another one behind him. They are just a few paces away and I lift the axe up and step backwards. The speed they are moving at is really fast. I am moving quickly backwards as I slam the axe into the first. I aim for his head but miss and strike his neck, splitting it open and sending him away from me; blood pouring out of the new wound.
  No time to get in position, The next one is here, and I swing the axe backwards and use the blunt end to crush his skull. He goes down from the blow, and I hit down at him, pulverising his head. The other one is still down. A gaping slash in his neck, and he is twitching, but not getting up.

There are more coming, following the path that I just took. The noise and action must be drawing them. I get back into the car and drive on, squinting through the fractured and filthy windscreen.
  Ahead of me is the narrow, older part of the High Street. A large metal drop barrier is used during the evenings to stop vehicles going in, making it pedestrian only. There are numerous cafes with outside seating, and shiny metallic seats complete with small round black tables, desperately trying to bring a European feel to the area. At night the cafes shut, and the bars put their outside seating in place. Some of the nicer venues have those external heaters – tall, stainless steel gas burners – a constant reminder that we live in a cold part of the world.

The barrier is down, and I have to turn right. As I go round the corner, I see a horde of undead ahead of me, gathering in the gloomy dark. There is less street lighting down there and not as many illuminated shop fronts.
  The road is blocked, and there is no way I can get through them. Their mass is just too great. The
Micra
would get a few, but then I would be engulfed and trapped.
  They are a few hundred metres away.

I twist round in the street and can see I am still being chased by a few of them: at least five or six. I can’t go back. I must go forward.
  The only way now is through the precinct, but the barrier is down.

Out of the car, axe in hand - and I start running into the precinct, keeping to the middle of the road. The shops and cafes are all closed, and doors and windows are barred and bolted; secured against a weekly invasion of drunken youths.
  I keep running.

To my right is one of the bars. The seating area looks like a riot has taken place with chairs and tables thrown all over the place. The shiny chairs show darker stains from the events of last night.
  The bar has a large, open frontage and the doors are pushed back. No way of quickly securing them.
  Glancing back, I see that the small group of undead chasing me have reached the barrier. One of them runs into it and bends over double - his upper body folding over the metal bar - and his legs spin over as he sprawls out.
  Then the massive horde are pouring round the corner. More of them run into the barrier, pushed forward by the relentless surge.
  ‘Oh, shit! Oh, shit!’
  I’m off running, flat out, with the axe in my right hand.

I can run faster than them, but they can keep going for longer… and they won’t stop. They are undead, and they don’t have to worry about beats per minute, pulling muscles or the cardio vascular system getting enough oxygen.
  ‘Fuck it!’ I shout loudly.
  More of them ahead of me.

They are some distance away, but they have seen me and are already running.
  I slow down and glance back. My sprinting has stretched the gap from the horde, but they keep coming. Desperately looking around, I see a double wooden door off to my right - tall and narrow with one half slightly open.
  I scurry over and push through, slamming the door behind me. There are bolts at the top and bottom, and I ram these home.
  Within seconds, the doors thump as the horde reaches my point of entry. The doors are thick and strong, but old.
  There are two strong metal hooks on the inside of either door, and on the floor is a metal bar. I lift this and place it into the hooks - the bar fits perfectly.
  Thumps, bangs and scrapes come from the other side of the doors, but they hold fast.

I am in a small area, with just a flight of wooden stairs that heads upward. The lighting is low and the carpet is dark coloured. The walls are red; giving the stairwell a soft glow.
  As my breathing recovers, the sweat starts pours off me, and I use my left hand to mop my face. I have never done this much running.
  I start climbing the stairs slowly. The still dripping axe is raised and ready.

There is a small desk at the top of the stairs on the diminutive landing, with a single, empty chair behind it.
  To the left is another set of double doors. They look heavy, like fire doors, but are painted black.
  I try to use my foot to push one half of the door open a little; the axe ready to hit out at anything that appears, but the door is too heavy. I push harder and have to step forward as I do so. Then the door yields and slowly opens.
  The sound of disco music drifts out, getting louder as I push open the door. I pause for a second, then I keep pushing, trying to peer through as the gap widens.
  Slowly, I get a view of the inside as I step in; the door resting against my shoulder. I look about, taking it all in, totally stunned.

The room is much bigger than I expected. The inside is dark with chairs and tables in small groups. There is a bar running down the right side, discreet back lighting, glass shelves - no beer taps or optics. Lining the shelves are spirit bottles with old-fashioned metal pouring spouts stuck in the top.
  There are small, orange ceiling lights above the seating area.
  Ahead is a catwalk with a stage behind it. There are two long metal poles running floor to ceiling on the catwalk, and the back of the stage has a dark red, velvet curtain. The catwalk comes out into the middle of the room, and the seating is arranged round it; there are fixed seats running around the edge of the catwalk.
  The disco music is beating on; like retro porn music. There are flashing red lights around the stage, and fixed spotlights shining down onto the metal poles.
  This is amazing, but the most stunning thing is the undead on the stage.
  An adult female wearing just a thong! Some kind of collar is round her neck with a chain running behind her, through the curtains.
  She has seen me and is straining, The collar keeps jerking her back every time she tries to move forward but her massive, fake breasts remain motionless, despite her frantic lunges.
  ‘What the fuck…?’
  I step in and close the door. I am not that close, but I can see that the collar is thick; almost the size of her neck. The chain looks thick too. I’ve never been to a lap dancing place or a strip club before. I didn’t even know this was here.
  It looks expensive and the seats all look new and very plush. On my left and at the back of the club there is a raised booth with a fixed microphone on a stand, facing out into the main area.
  There is a man lying still and slumped, with his back against the wall of the booth. I edge towards him with the axe raised. He doesn’t look
undead
; he just looks dead - like a normal dead person.
  As I get closer, I see that he is wearing a dark suit with a white shirt underneath. He looks very smart.
  A knife is buried into his chest to the hilt. The black handle doesn’t look big, only a few inches long. There is a small blood stain on the front of his white shirt. One knee is raised up and the other leg is extended out. I kick the extended foot, but there is no reaction. I kick again, harder - still no reaction.
  I lean forward slowly and use the axe to nudge him on the shoulder. He slumps over onto his side; the knife is stuck in his chest. I gently put my fingers to his neck; no pulse. I lift one of his eyelids… his eyes are lifeless, but at least the white surrounding the iris is still white. I can’t see any other injury on him, and his skin feels very cold. He must have been dead for a while.
  It seems strange seeing a dead body. I’ve never seen one before. I’ve seen plenty of
undead
, and even killed a few of them. I chopped a blokes head off just a few minutes ago, but this is different. A proper dead body – a murder victim.
  How senseless is that? The whole world is collapsing. The undead have risen, and someone still has time to commit a murder.
  The thought brings me back to my senses. What if the killer is still here?

I spin around, half expecting someone to be standing behind me with a knife aimed at my back.
  Someone put that undead stripper into the neck collar or… maybe she was in it before she became an undead.
  I move away from the dead man and walk towards the bar. Leaning my chest on the bar top, I can see behind - all is clear.
  There is no sign of disturbance in the club. All the tables and chairs are tidy, and the bar top is clear and clean.
  This all started late on Friday night, so this place would have been open. Why is it so clean and tidy?
  As I look about, my eyes come back to the undead stripper. She is stretched over to the side of the stage now, facing me. I walk over and round the edge of the catwalk, and she follows me, turning as I walk. I go round to the far side and walk closer. She looks no more than early twenties, and I can’t see any injury on her. It might be on her back, but she keeps facing me. She has long, dark hair falling on her shoulders, and her body is very slim, making her breasts look even larger.
  I edge closer, watching her. She strains forward, and I can see the collar digging into the skin on her neck. She is making faint noises. I guess she would be groaning, if her throat wasn’t so compressed.
  Her slim arms hang limply at her sides, and her eyes are red and bloodshot, but I can’t really see them properly in the dim lighting. She is still wearing make-up around her eyes; heavy, black mascara.
  She is standing higher than me on the catwalk, and the chain extending off the ground behind her is taught against her pull.
  She looks almost normal.

The disco music, the lights… and I can’t keep my eyes from resting on her breasts. They are huge and look really hard.
  I’ve never touched a fake boob before. I wonder what they feel like… my arm extends slowly up, reaching out closer and closer. She is watching me intently; drool hanging down from her mouth.

A massive pair of fake breasts ready to be touched
.
  My fingertips are inches away. I move closer, until I am almost touching her. As my fingers connect with the cold, dead skin, two things happen at the same time. First, she lashes out with her arms in a desperate lunge to grab at me and, at the same time, a door in the corner of the room opens, flooding the area with bright, white light - and a man steps into the room, pulling his flies up.
  I jump backwards, and we stare at each other, as I slowly drop my arm down to my side. My face burns with shame at being caught trying to grope an undead tit.