The Undead. The First Seven Days (2 page)

He is still standing there, with his arms hanging limp at his sides.

I have a creeping sense that he can see me through the net curtain, but then he turns and stumbles away.

I see more of them running past doors that have been left open when the house’s occupiers came out to see what was going on and met their grisly ends; leaving their loved ones unprotected.
  More lights come on as people are roused from their slumber, before being set upon. There is screaming, shouting and confusion everywhere.
  A middle-aged woman, wearing a short nightshirt, comes running out of her front door with her arms in the air; she is screaming for help. She can see someone in the street a few doors up and she runs straight to him, grabbing at his arm to spin him round and scream in his face.
  The man lunges straight at her, devouring her face in a frenzy of biting. One of the attackers comes lumbering out of her door and joins in and then more are upon her.

I am rooted to the spot.

The phone is in my hand and I am dialling 999 again and again, but each time I just get the engaged tone.
   I watch as the deranged assailants bend over her. I can see that they don’t use their hands to hold her, it’s just the sheer frenzied nature of the attack, they push ever forward with their heads driving into her body and face. Their mass of body weight prevents her from getting away. They are biting any part of her body they can get at; like wild animals tearing at a fresh carcass.
  Then, as quickly as they first descended upon her, they all depart. She is left lying on her side, facing towards me, arms and legs splayed out and blood all over her face and body.
  I keep watching. I can’t take my eyes away.

Minutes pass, then she starts to twitch; like an electric current has been passed through her body. She convulses – her arms and legs jerking up and down and she suddenly sits up, her head lolling down onto her chest, as if her neck is broken.
  She slowly gets to her feet, in an awkward movement, and not using her hands or arms to support her. She stands with arms hanging limp at her sides, swaying from side to side. Another attacker is running towards her. I wait, expecting her to be attacked again, but this one runs straight past her, paying her no attention. He is moving with purpose, as if he knows where he is going. As he passes her, she twitches and follows in his wake. It looks like she is mimicking his jerky running as she takes off after him.

I move over and switch the television off, so that the illumination doesn’t attract their attention.

My mind is racing… what have I just witnessed? It looks so different in real life – but even the TV is showing what is really happening. My brain struggles to cope with it all. People are being killed but they get back up a few minutes after their death. I think of all the zombie films I have ever seen, but the thought of using the word
zombie
seems far-fetched; fictional. What I have just seen is played out in every zombie film… but this was real.
  The undead are here.

I can’t think straight.

There is no way of contacting my family. They don’t live close by and there is no way I am going out into the street. Then I think of the young couple downstairs… do they know what’s happening? I want to go down and warn them. I would not have to go outside, our front doors are both internal and the outside door is always locked.
  I slip my trainers on; I’m wearing old jeans and a tee-shirt. I stand behind my front door and listen, but I hear nothing.
  I open the door and peer out, moving slowly and listening for the slightest noise.
  Putting my front door on the latch, so I don’t get locked out, I move down the narrow flight of stairs. The hallway is in darkness, but the main front door is frosted glass, which lets the light from the street lamps through. Their front door is at the bottom, on the right. No doorbells on the inside doors, as the main front door has an intercom system for both of our flats.
  I bang on the wooden door and the sudden thumps are startling in the quiet. I get no response and so I bang again, this time calling out: ‘Simon? It’s me… from upstairs!’
  I bang again and call louder, but there are no noises from within.

The door has a
Yale
lock, so there is no keyhole to look through.

I try once more, banging louder and calling out again.
    I try to think of when I last saw them, but I can’t put my thoughts in order. After a few minutes, I give up and lean my forehead against their door, trying to work out what I should do next.
  A noise to my left and I quickly look to the front door.

I can spot a silhouette through the glass; an indistinct shadow moving across it. I hold my breath and stay still, staring at the door.
  Seconds pass with no movement. I start to edge away, towards the bottom of the stairs, moving slowly; in case my movement is seen from outside.
  I creep backwards and my heels hit the first step. I wait, just for a second, then a figure slams into the glass from the outside. The loud noise makes me jump as I try to move up the stairs backwards, but I stumble and lose my footing, sliding down the couple of steps I have just gone up. My feet thump down and I yelp loudly as my bottom hits the step.
  The figure slams onto the glass again and I hear a crack as the glass splinters, but stays intact.
  I’m now running up the stairs, turning at the top and heading to my door. As I go into my flat, I hear glass smashing and the noise of someone falling through. I slam my front door shut and put the feeble safety chain on. No deadbolts, no peephole…

I walk backwards, away from the door, listening to the thumps and bangs coming from the hallway.
 I am whimpering and breathing hard, blind panic within me, there is no other way out. I’m trapped.
  I run into my bedroom and over to the wardrobe, open the doors and then stand still. I have no idea why I opened the wardrobe.
  A loud bang at my front door and I yell out.

I run back to the door and can see that it’s still shut and locked. Bangs and scrapes come from the other side, accompanied by weird, groaning noises.
  I bang my hand against the door and shout “FUCK OFF,” which just causes more groans and bangs.
  I move up the small hallway and into the kitchen, taking a large knife from the drawer, then I go back to the front door and shout loudly: ‘THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY AND… I’VE GOT A KNIFE.’
  My voice sounds hoarse, panicked and stupid.
  I can feel a tingling vibration coming from the wooden door and frame.
  I run into the lounge and look out of the window, pulling my net curtains aside and leaning out. I look down to the front of the house and see them stumbling quickly towards the main door; there are more in the street heading my way.

The old man in pyjamas is crossing the road, blood all over his face and down his front. He passes under the street light and I see that his nose is gone, bitten off by the fat man a few minutes ago, it is now just a bloody mess in the middle of his face.
  There are more across the street all moving towards my house. I shout out again: ‘HELP… SOMEONE PLEASE HELP,’ which just makes them stumble faster.
  I look across the road and see them coming out of front doors, arms hanging down by their sides. Every one of them is covered in blood. They have horrific injuries: faces torn and shredded, ears missing - men, women and children savaged while they slept, bitten all over their bodies and now they stumble across the street with the blood glistening on their pale skin.
  I see children staggering with them, young children and older ones. They exhibit the same jerky movements and their arms hang loosely down.
  There is one man crawling on his side across the road, using his hands to drag himself along; his legs extended uselessly behind him. A bloody slick is left in his wake as each jerky movement causes more of his insides to spill out.

I’m yelling and screaming; waving my knife at them and threatening to stab and slash them open.

The more I yell, the more they respond - but I’m too panicked to take this in.
   Some of them have stopped on the path beneath me and are staring up at me, just a few feet away.
  I grab a coffee mug from the low table behind me, go back to the window and pull my arm back, causing the cold remains of my coffee to splash in my face. I then launch the mug hard at old
pyjama man
. Good shot, straight in the face and he gets knocked back and falls down.
  I turn round and look for something else to throw… the remote control – when hurled it hits a man on the shoulder, but it’s too light and he doesn’t even flinch.
  I grab things from the lounge and throw them, anything within reach: books, DVD cases, even an empty vase gets launched hard and hits a woman on the head; shattering into fragments; she goes down.
  I watch in horror as more of them walk over the vase’s broken glass; the shards lacerating their feet, but they don’t stop moving.
  There are bangs from the front door.

They must have entered the main entrance in droves, gathered in the communal hallway and are now headed up the stairs.
  I run back to my front door… it is still closed and locked – and I look for items to barricade it, but my hallway is small, with no furniture.
  Running into my bedroom, I grab the contents from my bedside drawers and carry it all back, putting it behind the front door, but it’s only from three small drawers and looks feeble.
  I next go into the lounge and push the flat screen television off the solid, wooden cabinet. I start to drag the cabinet towards the door, but the DVD player and satellite receiver box are still in the cabinet and are plugged in; the cabinet refuses to budge, the wires taut and holding. I open the glass doors and yank them out, forcing the leads to break. These are thrown to the side and the cabinet is dragged to the front door; the bedside drawers go on top of it.
  Back to the lounge and the low table is added to my barricade. I keep going and drag or carry whatever I can find. It’s not great, but it will slow them down… the hallway is small and it doesn’t take much to fill it up. I add my double mattress onto the pile.
  I go back to the lounge window, look out and my stomach drops at what I see.
  Beneath me is a large crowd of the undead, they can’t get into the front door as the hallway is crammed but they are still trying to move forward, pressing into each other with groans and weird animal noises emanating from them.
  There must be at least twenty of them, crowding towards the front of the building, with more coming across from the street.

I look round and see the DVD player on the floor. I pick it up, raise it high and then I throw it into the middle of the crowd as hard as I can. It smashes into the head of one of them, amid the heart of the throng. I can’t tell if it was a man or woman, but I see it go down and their space is quickly filled as they all push forward again.
  Then I do the same again with the satellite receiver box, smashing it down into the middle of the crowd. I don’t wait to see the damage, but instead I run around the flat, grabbing anything small enough to throw.
  In the kitchen, I see the kettle. It is an electric, stainless steel one; nice and heavy. I grab it and start back to the lounge, stopping after a few steps to turn back to the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water and switch it on, but, in my haste, the kettle is over filled and water spills out from the top.
  I then grab everything I can: pans, plates, cups, bowls, the sugar and coffee pots and the bread bin. They are all carried into the lounge and dumped by the window and I scurry back for more missiles.

The kitchen fills with steam and I realise that I didn’t put the lid back on the kettle and it keeps boiling away.
 I grab at the kettle, but the hot water splashes onto my hands, scalding me, and I almost drop the kettle.
  Back at the window, I look down at the crowd.  I am only one floor up from the ground and I slowly pour the hot water down onto the mass, watching as the water hits faces and bare skin. Small clouds of steam rise up.
  This has absolutely no effect, other than washing some of the blood from them.

Boiling hot water, straight onto them, and no effect…
maybe it cools by a few degrees as it falls?

In desperation, I raise the kettle above my head and throw it down, as hard as I can. I hear a loud whack as it strikes one on the top of the head and I see the body drop out of view.

Yeah, that’s better, much better.
Blunt trauma beats hot water
.
  I take a heavy, ceramic pot from the pile and throw it down hard. It strikes a shoulder and the impact is enough to make the body stumble. The press of bodies causes it to lose its footing and it’s gone from view; trampled on as the space is quickly filled.
  A frying pan is next and I launch it down; it hits one on the head but bounces off, no damage.
  I grab items quickly and take my shots; it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. I have never been in a fight, never caused physical injury to another person before in my life but I am doing so now. I’m slamming full cans of beer down, cups and mugs and watching as they impact on the heads of the undead beneath me.
  Some shots are good, the toaster was great, nice and heavy and straight onto the bald head of a man - he goes straight down but, again, the space is filled.
  Groans and noises come from them as they are struck, not the noise a person normally makes when they are hurt, but a reaction, nonetheless.
  I keep going, fury and anger within me and I yell abuse as I throw my missiles into them. My yelling causes them to look up and I get some good face shots in.
  Within minutes, my pile is diminished and I am breathing hard from the exertion. The front of the house is littered with household objects and I can see some bodies lying about, but there is still a large crowd of them and they are all pushing forward.
  There are more loud bangs coming from my front door, sporadic and not aimed, but determined, and it won’t take long before the door is forced by the sheer press of bodies; the barricade will slow them down, but only for a short time.
  My bedroom looks out over the front, at the back there is the kitchen and bathroom.  The bathroom window is too small to climb through, so I go into the kitchen; the window is above the sink and I climb up, looking down.
  Shit! There are more of them, all round the building.
   I search for anything left to throw.