The Undead. The First Seven Days (17 page)

They are moving so slow, but I can wait. I
will
wait for them. The wait just increases the blind fury within me.

Dave is saying something, but I can’t hear him, and the blood is pounding through my skull.
  ‘What?’
  ‘Keep your space. Don’t get drawn in, keep moving. Strike and move. Keep a firm grip on your weapon, aim for the head or neck!’
  I stare at him and nod.
  ‘Right.’

Here they are, pouring round the barrier, coming to me, coming to bite me, coming to eat me. I wait for more of them to get round, then I stop the horn and start revving the engine; foot pushed all the way down. The engine roars. The engine is a warrior too and it wants the blood. It wants to hurt and maim them. It’s shouting at me: “Let me go, Howie - let me at them”.

I put my seat belt on and see Dave doing the same. He looks at me, then back at them. He motions forward his hand and says one word: ‘NOW.’

I lift the clutch up, and the engine surges ahead, it powers forward, and I change the gears, gaining speed. We cannot be stopped. Nothing will stop us. We are coming for them, coming to end them.
  The last few seconds before impact seems like slow motion. I see the undead coming forward, spittle and drool hanging from their mouths, dried and crusty blood all over them. Their red, staring eyes; limp arms, hanging down.
  I notice a picture that has been stuck on the front of the radio. A young boy smiling, blond hair and white teeth. I remember my family, my sweet loving family. A powerful surge of rage burns through me.
  At the last second, time seems to speed up, and we smash through the first rows of undead, slamming into bodies. The speed sends them flying off to the left and right, and their heads get pulverised as they lean forward with their teeth barred. The van bursts them apart, driving us deeper into the crowd.
  The van then bounces as we go over bodies, crushing them under the wheels: we destroy many in our path. Then metallic thumps and bangs from the front as they are crushed. Some go spinning off into other undead, knocking them over. I keep my foot pressed down as we plough into the thickest part of the crowd. The front of the van slams them against the barrier, and we stop with a massive crash, jolting us both forward, against our seat belts.
  The impact is immense, and it causes pain to my chest and neck. I look ahead and see bodies of undead squashed between the van and the barrier; pressed like fruit. I had no idea that the human body could be compressed so much.

We are at least one metre from the barrier, and there must be twenty undead squished in front of us.
  Dave is out of the door. I rip my seatbelt off and burst out too, the axe in my hands. There is devastation all around us.

A large, thick, gory wake behind the van, and bodies scattered everywhere. But there are more on their feet, coming towards me.

Oh, yes, come on my beauties, come to Howie
.

As the first one lunges, I remember Dave’s words, ‘…strike and move. Aim for the head or neck…’
  I slam the sharp side of the axe into a face, cleaving the skull. I step away and strike again, bringing the axe down over my head, like splitting logs, but instead of a log, I split skulls, bursting them apart - almost cutting heads in half.

I keep moving.

They are slow, and I am fast.

I am death, and I have come for you.
  I dart forward and whip the axe at them, heaving away, cracking skulls and destroying them. The axe isn’t sharp and will not slice into their jugular’s, but it has weight, it has anger and fury behind it, and a thirst for revenge - the power compensates for the lack of cutting power. Instead of cutting them, I gouge them open, hacking the flesh apart as the axe is forced through them. More are coming now. I want them to come. I want all of them to come. There are no thoughts now, no rational thinking; just strike and move – move and strike.
  I keep going, and the rage that I had before is nothing compared to what it’s like now. It was cold and seething, murderous and ready to plot and plan, and this is unleashed, berserk, abandoned fury let loose; encouraged and allowed to explode.
  I twist the axe round and start using the blunt end; swinging out to the left and right, aiming for the side of their heads.

A good impact and they go straight over with a crushed skull. A lesser impact sends them spinning off. If they are not killed outright, they get up and come back. Good, I want them to come back - I want them to suffer.

I have drawn them on towards the rear of the van. Dave is nearby, and I get a fleeting glance of him whirling and spinning. The bloody stainless steel glints as it’s ripped through the air. There are so many bodies on the floor, but not enough, never enough.
  I keep on attacking them, moving backwards to draw them on, then darting forward and taking one out.

My hands and arms are covered in blood: they’re slick and wet, and my grip is failing. I can feel the shaft sliding under my hands. I clench the axe handle and step forward. A massive overhead heave and I miss the head and hit the shoulder, forcing the axe down into the collarbone; almost severing the shoulder. I pull the weapon back, but the axe-head is loose, rattling on the end of the shaft. I move back and throw the thing at the nearest undead. The force drives him back into more undead.
  ‘Eyes on,’ Dave shouts from my left.
  I look over and see that he has taken the massive cleaver from the van. He bends down and sends it spinning across the ground at me, aiming for a body lying a few feet away.
  I race forward and pick it up, staring at the shiny, massive blade.
  ‘Grip it with both hands, like a sword,’ he shouts, then turns and starts back into his group.
  I take his instructions and grip the large handle with both hands.

Looking at the undead still massing and coming on, I move forward and slash at the closest one. The blade slices through his face like butter; effort hardly needed, but I drive too hard, and the blade cuts down into his chest.
  I pull back and remember Dave going for their throats. I look to the next one and push the blade at the neck; the jugular opens and hot blood pours out. I keep going, dancing round them, stabbing and thrusting. I lack the finesse that Dave has, but sheer, blind, psychotic rage spurs me on.
  I move backwards. The building line is just behind me, and I look round and see a DIY shop just a few doors up.

Oh, yes. Fucking yes
.
  I run up, but the doors are locked.

An undead comes at me. I slash at his neck, and, as he bends forward, I go behind him and use his head to propel him forward into the door, smashing the glass pane. Then I pull him back and drive him forward again. The glass explodes and I pull him away. I kick at the frame and use the cleaver to clear away the shards, then I reach in and unlock the door.

It must be bolted on the inside
.
  I kick at the middle and keep kicking, until the door bursts open. I force my way inside, and the alarm goes off instantly, but it’s a mere distraction to me.
  The shop is a Viking wonderland - it sells heavy, sharp things. Weapons are everywhere. I take a sledgehammer and move back towards the door. The cleaver was good, but it doesn’t satisfy my craving for revenge, and I don’t want to be clinical or precise. I want to hack and destroy.
  The first undead is coming through the door. I take a huge, overhead swing, and the head explodes, driving the body down into the doorway. I step back as another tries to push in. Again, I heave the hammer overhead and watch as the head explodes, like a melon bursting apart. This body goes down too.
  The door is only halfway open, and the two bodies have created a natural barrier. I go back into the shop, perusing weapons. The sledgehammer is good, but it will become very hard work. I select two lump hammers – big, solid, lumps of metal on the end of short handles.
  I go back outside, clambering over the bodies. Undead are massing towards me and, with a hammer in each hand, I slam them in the face, like clapping my hands. The effect is amazing. The cheekbones are driven in, and I swipe away, one skull after another, and the rage builds in me again, now that I am back amongst them. Male. Female. Young. Old. I don’t care, I want them to die, and I want to destroy them. The hammers are good, but they are not killing them quickly enough, just knocking them over or off to the side.
  Back into the DIY shop, and, in the corner, there is a brightly coloured display stand. A huge sign hangs over the top, offering a free demonstration for tree cutting this Saturday. Tree cutting?
  I go over and see a massive chainsaw resting on the display top with a long, fierce looking blade, complete with big teeth. I pick it up and test it; very heavy. There is a switch marked ON/OFF and a long pull cord. I put the switch to ON and pull the cord. The engine roars to life, but the blades remain still.
  There are two handles: at front and at back. A lever is at the front, and I pick the chainsaw up and press the lever. The engine increases in pitch, and the blades spin round.
  There is a pair of safety glasses next to the counter; I put these on and head out of the store.

An undead is at the entrance. I press the lever again and push the end of the blades into his chest. The blades bite instantly, ripping the ribcage apart, and I force the chainsaw forward a few inches and then back out. There is a gaping, ragged wound in him, and he goes down.
  I have to clamber over three bodies now, and, once back out, I can see that more have massed. I move forward with the lever pressed down, keeping the chainsaw at head height, sweeping left and right, cutting through the undead. I drive forward into them, sweeping round in a circle. The magnificent machine powers through them, ripping through bone, tendons, sinews and flesh. The spray-back is immense, and, within seconds, I am covered in bits of body.
  I lean my head back and roar, screaming at them to keep coming, and they do, pouring to their deaths, leaning in for the bite – and, as I slice through their exposed necks, their ugly, distorted heads roll off.
  I can’t stop. This is it. This is the destruction I have craved, and I don’t see them as people now. They are undead. They are not male or female, not adults or children, but they are something else. A new species; like an evil entity sent to consume us, and I will fight them and destroy them.
  The chainsaw doesn’t stop. It keeps hacking and cutting through the crowd. The weight is heavy, and I am sweating, breathing hard, but the exertion is worth it, and the effort is rewarded by the flesh being eaten by the teeth of my spinning blades.

Minutes pass, and, eventually, the chainsaw stops: the fuel spent.
  I move backwards and see what has been done. There are bodies and body parts scattered everywhere. The mess is an awesome sight. Not awesome like in a cool movie. It’s awesome like something you can’t otherwise describe.
  There is a long trail of broken and destroyed, undead bodies leading from the DIY shop back to the
Tesco
van. The other side is the same, where Dave has led them down the other half of the pavement.
  Exhausted, filthy but somehow satisfied, I walk back into the DIY store and take two new, long-handled axes, then go over to the
Tesco
van, ignoring the remaining undead. I climb into the driver’s seat and sit slumped, looking down at the gore coating my clothes.

Dave gets into the passenger side. He looks remarkably clean. Some blood splatter on his hands and arms.
  He takes a pack of wipes out and starts the cleaning process: hands, arms, face and then weapons. There are a couple of undead on both sides. We both reach out and pull our doors shut. I put the van in neutral and switch the keys off, then back on. Surprisingly, the van starts first time. The bodies have cushioned the van from any major damage.
  We sit there with the engine idling over and I take some wipes and go through the cleaning process too.
  ‘Better?’ he asks.
  ‘Much better.’

I reverse the van and drive out of town. I have a deep feeling of tiredness, but the anger hasn’t gone away, and it has not been exhausted. It has been quelled for a short time, driven back down inside me, but it will come back, I know that. This fury will never be stopped.
  We drive in silence to my parents’ house, and I use the shower, while Dave makes food. Then we swap.

We put our clothes into the washing machine, then into the tumble dryer and Dave checks the house, securing every door and window, drawing curtains and dropping blinds.

He comes back into the kitchen: ‘Sleep now?’
  I nod. ‘There are two spare rooms upstairs, so help yourself.’
  He disappears, and I hear his footsteps on the ceiling above me.

A few minutes later, I am in the other spare room, collapsing on the bed, drained and exhausted.

The last thing I remember, before sleep pulls me under, is the light disappearing; the electricity has gone off.

DAY THREE

I am sitting bolt upright in bed, the sweat is pouring off me and I am breathing hard.