The Undead. The First Seven Days (50 page)

  There are two sets of stairs between each floor and she is at the next landing door very quickly; crouching behind the door and listening, then raising herself up slowly to peer through the glass pane and out into the corridor.
  The view is exactly the same as her floor, carpeted corridor with four apartments, two on each side and a large picture window at the end. She creeps out, until she is through the doorway and gently closes the door behind her. She repeats the actions from her floor, moving from door to door. Each apartment is quiet and the silence only serves to add to the tension and fear she is feeling. She moves stealthily back to the stairwell and climbs up to the 16
th
floor.

By the 19
th
floor, she is more nonchalant and the knife is held down at her side, rather than up and ready. She still tries the handle’s but her movements become less stealthy and covert and she spends less time at each door.
  By the 20
th
floor, the knife is in her back pocket, and she walks normally down the corridor and knocks loudly at each door, before trying the door handle; not bothering to listen this time.

  Thinking that there is clearly no one there - the whole block must be empty - she makes her way back down the corridor and into the stairwell.

  Up the stairs and onto the 21
st
floor. Again she knocks and tries each door handle – but there is no sign of life.
  ‘Where is everyone?’ She mutters and goes back into the stairwell and climbs further up, her thigh muscles still aching from the two hours of exercise.

  Feeling hot, thirsty and sweating she reaches the 21
st
floor and pushes the door open, before stepping into the corridor.

  Thinking of a cold drink and another cold shower, she reaches the first door and her fist freezes in mid-air as she goes to knock, The door is wide open. Her heart starts beating faster and her breath catches in her throat as she looks down at the bloodstains beneath her feet. She looks back down the corridor to the stairwell door and curses herself for not noticing the red, smeared footprints on the light-coloured carpet. Deep red, dried blood smears are all over the high gloss white wooden stairwell door. She slowly follows the bloody footprints on the carpet and looks towards the end of the corridor. Her heart skips a beat as she sees the man that is facing her. He has drool coming from his mouth and his eyes are all bloodshot, like he has a serious disease. His skin is drawn and tight against his face, and Sarah can see that his normally dark black skin has gone shades paler, almost grey.

  The man rocks gently as he stares at her and his head rolls about, seemingly uncontrolled. He is dressed in just white shorts and a once white vest top that is now heavily stained from blood and saliva.

  The man groans and starts to shuffle slowly towards her; his movements are slow and jerky as he moves. He slowly spasms and twitches, flicks his arms out and causes his head to jerk quickly to one side.

  Terrified, Sarah stands still, watching the man shuffling towards her. Then she comes to and darts forward into the open doorway with a squeal; slamming the door behind her and running into the lounge area.

  The apartment has the same layout as hers, but with different furniture and décor, which makes it feel surreal.
  She pulls the knife from her pocket and turns back to face the door, turning away from the old, zombie woman; shuffling on thick, carpet slippers into the lounge. Saliva dribbles from her old and puckered mouth and coats the front of her nightgown. She inches towards Sarah, the bloodshot eyes staring at the tender skin of Sarah’s bare neck.
  Sarah’s heart is pounding and the blood rushes through her temples, deafening her senses. She waits for the sound of the man against the door and tightens the grip on the knife handle, but a sudden noise behind her causes her to spin around. She screams as she sees the old woman; a massive, ragged gash in her neck. She lunges at Sarah, with her lips pulled back.

  Sarah yells and jumps backwards, at the same time as thrusting the knife forward, plunging the sharp blade directly into the old woman’s chest. The zombie is knocked back, but then continues forward again.
  Sarah backs away, staring at the knife handle embedded in the woman’s chest.

  She is trapped in the short corridor between the lounge and the front door and, within a couple of steps, her back is pressing against the door.

  The old woman keeps coming, each small shuffling step bringing her closer and closer to Sarah who stares in horror at the skin that is torn away from the open neck wound.

  Sarah waits until the old woman is two or three steps away and lunges forward again, grabbing the knife handle and pulling it free. She stabs, plunging the knife back into the zombie woman’s chest but gets no reaction.

  The woman is pushing against Sarah and has again pulled her lips back to reveal worn down, old, yellowing teeth.

  Sarah stabs furiously, in blind panic and then uses her hands to drive the woman away.

  The old woman zombie falls to the floor, from the power of the blows, and Sarah yanks the blade free and staggers back to the door.
  The elderly zombie slowly sits up and starts bending forward to stand.
  ‘Oh… fuck off,’ Sarah cries out and, without thinking, pushes the door handle down and pulls the door open.

  The zombie man is standing in front of her, and Sarah screams again and lashes out with the knife, slashing him across the face. His skin peels apart like dried fruit and blood seeps down into his mouth, turning the saliva pink.

  Sarah feels the old woman against the back of her leg and spins round, to see the woman crawling towards her.

  She stamps down on the zombie woman’s head and drives her face hard into the floor, feeling the crunch as the nose is broken and teeth are knocked out.

  The zombie man staggers in; spitting bloody drool and Sarah stabs out hard and fast, puckering his chest and abdomen. She moves backwards, but gets stuck by the old woman’s body.

  In desperation, she raises the knife high in both hands and drives it into the skull of the zombie man, as he lunges forward for the bite. The blade forces through the skull into the brain and the force of the blow drives the zombie down onto the floor. Whimpering and full of panic, Sarah jumps over his body and dashes out into the corridor. She screams loudly as she sees another zombie man coming out of the next apartment, shuffling towards her.
  Sarah backs away down the corridor, the knife still embedded in the zombie man’s head. She backs down to the stairwell door and turns to run away, suddenly seeing another ravaged and bloodied face staring at her through the glass pane from the stairwell.
  ‘FUCKING HELL!’ Sarah moves away from the door.

  Turning round, she sees the old woman zombie crawling out of the apartment doorway into the corridor. The other zombie man advances slowly and Sarah hears the door being pushed open, behind her.

  With a yell, she slams her body into the door, sending the zombie behind it flying backwards. She spins round, trapped again and desperately trying to think of a way out.
  She looks down at the wall and the bright red plastic case of the fire hose and instantly starts tugging at the large door to open it up.

  The door stays shut and Sarah loses valuable seconds, fumbling to open the clasp.

  The stairwell door starts to open and Sarah kicks out hard, slamming the plate glass into the face of the zombie man. Blood spurts out from his broken nose, coating the glass pane. Sarah pulls at the hose and the heavy metal head, yanking it free of the reel; the large, red, metal head has arrows depicting: ON and OFF.

  Sarah fumbles with the tap head and twists it the wrong way, in her panic. The door swings open and the zombie lunges into the corridor. Sarah swings the heavy metal hose-head, and batters him across the face forcing him to spin into the wall behind him. She twists at the tap head and hears as water surges through the hose, sending it rigid - but no water comes out. She pulls the lever and gets thrown backwards onto the floor by the sudden release of the water shooting out of the end. The hose dances and bangs against the walls, forcing gallons of water out into the corridor; soaking everything. Sarah is drenched within seconds, and has to fight against the powerful spray to take hold of the metal head. She picks it up and turns it back towards the stairwell door; straight at the zombie man. The powerful jet of water knocks him back through the door and into the stairwell. The door swings closed, causing the water to spray back and soak Sarah again. She spins round on her backside and directs the jet at the next zombie man, again hitting him from close range at centre mass and knocking him clean off his feet and down onto the floor.
  The old zombie woman has crawled close to her victim, and Sarah forces the jet of water directly into her face. The woman’s skin is pummelled and forced back, as she gargles and chokes on the water, but she keeps crawling forward and Sarah leans over with the hose, so that it is right in front of her and the jets force the zombie woman’s head back - as the water is pumped down her throat.

  Finally, the old woman dies again as her lungs fill with water and her stomach lining expands from the sudden fluid intake.
  Sarah gets to her feet and switches the lever off; the sudden loss of pressure causing the hose to drop down a few inches, as she turns back to the stairwell door.

  Sarah marches forward and kicks the door open to see the zombie man just getting to his feet; balancing on the edge of the top step.
  ‘Fuck you,’ Sarah shouts and pulls the lever back.

  The powerful surge of water takes the zombie clean off his feet and down onto the next level. Sarah pulls the hose through and slowly steps down the stairs, her feet squelching in the sodden carpet. Sarah directs the hose at the zombie, spraying it across the short landing and down the next flight of stairs; a look of grim determination on her face.
  The hose extends far enough for Sarah to jet the zombie out of the next door and into the corridor of the 20
th
floor and she rushes forward, spraying it further down the corridor; buying herself time to run back to her own apartment, tears streaming down her already soaked face.

Sarah runs down the stairs and into the corridor of her floor and sprints to her door, lurching through and slamming it behind her. Then she slumps down, sobbing and soaked through. Her mind races at what she had witnessed. When this first happened she suspected that it was a mass breakdown of civil order and general violence; that had happened recently in London and other English cities. Then she spoke to her father who said it was everywhere. Sarah has been running his words through her mind ever since. What did he mean by:
everywhere
?

He couldn’t mean worldwide - surely not the whole world? Zombies and vampires are make believe, something invented for the movies. They can’t exist; something so frequently seen on television can’t just happen… but all the things I have seen must be believed. Zombies have risen up and are roaming the land
.
  Sarah sobbed for a long time, unleashing the pent up misery and isolation of the last few days; crying hard for her family, friends and the people she had seen being taken down. Tears coursed down her cheeks and her body heaved as the sadness poured out of her.
  Eventually, wet through and shivering from shock, she staggers to the bathroom and pulls off her soaking clothes. She uses the thick, cotton towel to dry her body, moving like a robot and without expression. Thinking only of what she just witnessed a few floors above her. Thinking of the decaying bodies that stank of death with greying skin and saliva drooling out of their mouths; the red bloodshot eyes and the horrific injuries on them. She had stabbed that woman again and again but still she kept coming and Sarah replays the action in her head, feeling as the knife bit into the rib bones and jarred her wrist, the suction of the skin as she pulled the knife out, and of the fresh blood spurting from the injuries she had caused.

The thoughts and images become too much and her stomach heaves as she drops down with her head in the toilet bowl, puking up the tiny tuna meal she had forced down.
  She stays there for a long time, retching and sobbing into the toilet.

__________________________________________

We sit in the Saxon with the engine switched off. We only left Salisbury a short time ago and we have already passed through several small villages as we progress our journey through the country roads.
  The first village centre only had a handful of undead in the centre, all of them gathered once again in the heart of the village; shuffling and groaning in the scorching sun.
  ‘They’re not getting much of a tan are they? Considering how long they’ve been out in this heat,’ I say to Dave, who is sitting next to me, staring at the mini horde as we drive past.
  ‘No, Mr Howie,’ he replies.
  ‘You’d think they’d be burnt to buggery by now.’
  ‘Possibly.’
  ‘But then, there’s something in the body isn’t there, that causes the skin to get tanned? I guess dead people just don’t tan very well.’
  ‘Pigs do.’
  ‘What?’
  ‘Pigs can get sunburnt.’
  ‘No way… pigs can’t get a suntan.’
  ‘They can.’
  ‘Well… I always thought that cows explode, if they don’t get milked.’
  ‘Do they?’
  ‘I don’t know - I heard that they did.’
  ‘Oh… I’ve never seen one explode on its own.’
  ‘Well… maybe it’s not true then… hang on… what do you mean… not on its own.’
  ‘Well, I haven’t.’
  ‘So, have you seen a cow explode, then?’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘How did it explode?’
  ‘I blew it up.’
  ‘You blew a cow up?’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘Why? How did you blow a cow up?’
  ‘I put explosives on it and blew it up.’
  ‘You did what?! You can’t go around blowing cows up!’
  ‘I had to.’
  ‘Why? Why on earth did you have to blow the poor cow up?’
  ‘To kill the cow herder.’
  ‘What? You blew a fucking cow up, just to kill a cow herder.’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘That makes no sense, why didn’t you just kill
him
.’
  ‘I did.’
  ‘No… I mean, why didn’t you kill him some other way, like shooting or stabbing or strangulation or something other than blowing him up.’
  ‘It had to look like an accident.’
  ‘A fucking accident! Oh, yeah… ‘cause cows are always exploding where I live… how on earth can you make an exploding cow look like an accident?’
  ‘He was a courier for explosives.’
  ‘Oh, I see. Well… I guess that makes sense then… I think?’
  ‘He carried explosives for the insurgents, so we rigged the cow to blow up and took him out.’
  ‘Oh, where was that then?’
  ‘I can’t say, Mr Howie.’