The Undead. The First Seven Days (62 page)

Lives full of regret and remorse, dreams unaccomplished and hopes taken away, all for something they played no part in and had no concept of.

This living nightmare is a thing of movies and stories; too far fetched to have ever been taken seriously.

Soft living in safe places had made most people unfamiliar with the struggles of life that many of their fellow humans suffer.
  War, disease and poverty had never really affected any of these people on the flat roof but now the conditions they survive under are so extreme they feel sorry for themselves and nearly all of them point the finger of blame elsewhere.

The government… fanatics… crazy people - did this.

Why weren’t more control measures put in place?

Why didn’t someone do something and stop this?

The need to blame someone almost overwhelms some of them and they fail to realise the time for blame has gone, there is no structure left and no authorities to call up or email and demand answers.

There will not be any parliamentary enquiry or difficult questions raised at the next session of Prime Minister’s questions. This has happened and the only thing that matters is survival. Those clinging onto their past lives and waiting for the horror to end are living in denial and will quickly perish, simply for not facing reality and taking the necessary steps for survival.

Food, water, warmth and security - nothing else matters now and any hope that life will soon return to normal is false.

Tucker grows into his role of welfare and supplies co-ordinator and ambles round the various sweaty bodies distributing bottles of water and urging them to drink and stave off any risk of dehydration.

Jamie Reese periodically sweeps the area through the scope of the sniper rifle, taking his time to drop undead latecomers that appear staggering towards the building. The suppressor on the rifle gives a polite cough and causes no reaction from those scattered about.
  Simon Blowers and Alex ‘Cookey’ Cooke spent a short time chatting and verbally abusing one another, before falling into silence and drifting off into sleep.
  Nicholas Hewitt chain-smokes cigarettes, while lying on his back, staring at the stars.

Darren Smith leans against the edge of the look-out hole in the Saxon Armoured Personnel Carrier, slowly circling round to check the perimeter.

Curtis Graves sleeps a few inches away on the top of the vehicle.

Roland McKinney sits closest to the group of survivors they found in the services, he plays marbles quietly with the young child whose mother sleeps fitfully nearby, her hand resting on the car seat, within which her baby sleeps.

Finally, out in the wide car park which stretches round the front, sides and rear of the services - two men stand and stare at the smoking remains of the fuel station they blew up, just a few hours before.
  ‘That’s got to beat the exploding cow,’ Howie says.
  ‘It does, Mr Howie,’ Dave replies.
  ‘Have you ever taken out a fuel station before then?’ Howie asks and Dave stops to ponder the question.
  ‘Not a fuel station, no,’ Dave answers.
  ‘You say that, like you’ve done something similar,’ Howie asks.
  ‘A refinery.’
  ‘No way! You blew up a refinery?’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘Bloody hell, bet that was big.’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘How did you do that?’

Again, Dave ponders the question and looks at Howie, before finally answering. ‘It’s not that hard really, there are pressured gas and oil pipes everywhere and this one didn’t have decent fail safes and safety measures that most should have, so a few explosives and the rest went naturally.’
  ‘I bet that was a big bang.’
  ‘Yes, we were told afterwards, that it was seen from space.’
  ‘No way… that must have been massive, how did they know where to look?’
  ‘Who?’
  ‘The astronauts?’
  ‘What astronauts?’
  ‘The ones in space that saw the explosion.’
  ‘It was an imaging satellite.’
  ‘Oh, well that’s still impressive.’

Howie looks back towards the services building and wipes the sweat from his forehead.
  ‘That’s a lot of bodies,’ he says.
  ‘It is, Mr Howie,’
  ‘Must be the biggest amount we’ve killed yet.’
  ‘Salisbury was a lot,’ Dave replies.
  ‘True, maybe about even then - mind you, if we add the rats too, then this is the biggest yet.’
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘Those rats didn’t last long, did they?’
  ‘No, Mr Howie.’
  ‘Why did they start dying off and the zombies that came for us were much weaker than we’ve known before? Most of them were dropping from one shot. Do you know mate, it felt like they were coming for us, like it was for us specifically - like we were targeted.’
  ‘Could be, we have killed a lot of them.’
  ‘Do you think that’s it, that we’ve angered them somehow with the amount we’ve killed?’
  ‘Could be, it’s basic strategy to take out your strongest enemy.’
  ‘Is that what we are now, an enemy? Bloody hell, we’re just trying to survive.’
  ‘Not really, Mr Howie - those people are trying to survive.’ Dave points up towards the top of the services roof.
  ‘So what? Because we’ve attacked a few of them - they’re going for us now?’
  ‘It’s a bit more than a few, Mr Howie.’
  ‘True, yeah, maybe we have pissed them off, we have killed a shit load of ‘em.’ Howie laughs.
  ‘I think that’s most likely.’ Dave nods, giving one of his rare smiles.
  ‘Been bloody good fun though. It seems that every half hour something happens and we just react… normally.’
  ‘By killing them.’ Dave answers.
  ‘Yeah, by killing them, by killing all of them, that’s a normal reaction isn’t it?’ Howie says, still laughing.
  ‘I don’t think so, Mr Howie - I think most people have run away and hidden.’
  ‘Well, we don’t really have that option do we, mate?’
  ‘No.’
  ‘London will be far worse, especially if they are targeting us, there could hundreds of thousands or even millions. Bloody hell, when you think of it like that, it’s quite scary.’
  ‘Only
quite
scary?’ Dave asks.
  ‘Well, maybe a little bit more than quite scary, but nowhere near full terror. I’m not scared of these fuckers, I hate them.’ Howie’s voice hardens and his face takes on a determined look.
  ‘Fear is healthy, it keeps you alive.’ Dave offers.
  ‘Yeah, I guess so, but I still fucking hate them. No, hate isn’t strong enough. It’s more than hate but I don’t know what to call it…. I wonder what it’s like,’ Howie continues after a few seconds of silence.
  ‘What?’ Dave asks.
  ‘Do they have any memories or thought processes? Do they know what’s happening to them? Maybe they’re trapped inside the body, like when you hear about people going through surgical procedures and being awake the whole time. Maybe they are like that, aware and conscious, but just not in control.’
  ‘So, who is controlling them?’
  ‘Whatever the virus or infection is. It’s a horrible thought, being aware of what you are doing and not being able to stop it. It can’t be that, surely they would give some sign.’
  ‘You said one of them spoke your name on the plains, that night.’
  ‘I forgot about that, none of these did it though, so I must have been mistaken. Nah, they ain’t aware of anything. Nasty fuckers, but that change last night is still worrying. It’s good if they get weaker, it’ll make them easier to kill, but not so good if they all start chasing us about during the day, too.
  ‘No.’ Dave agrees.
  ‘Bloody hell, it’s hot already. I’ve never known it to be so hot and humid.’ Howie moans as he wipes yet more sweat from his forehead.
  ‘It is unusual.’
  ‘I’ve got a headache coming, I only get them before a storm though, but that sky is as clear as anything. We’d better get back on the road. No doubt something else will happen before we get a mile though.’

Howie and Dave walk slowly back towards the services building, stepping over the many bodies of zombie people and zombie rats. Towards the front, the bodies are packed so deep they have no choice but to step on them and their boots sink into the soft, torn flesh; coating their feet in sticky gore.
  They climb the ladder and reach the roof. Most of the people are already awake from the oppressive heat. Tom, the manager in charge of the services building, approaches them as they walk across the roof.
  ‘Going to be another hot one then?’ Tom says.
  ‘Scorcher, feels oppressive though, like a storm is coming,’ Howie answers.
  ‘Could be, it might break the heat a little,’ Tom says.
  ‘I don’t know if that’s a good thing, it might give them some refreshment too.’ Howie says.
  ‘So, I guess you lot will be off soon then?’ Tom asks.

Howie nods in return.
  ‘What about all of you? Are you going to head for the Forts?’ Howie asks.
  ‘Yeah, I think so, well we can’t really stay here now, can we?’ Tom says with a reproachful tone.
  ‘Tom, you weren’t safe here. They would have come eventually, and, like I said before, if not them, then looters would have come,’ Howie answers him.
  ‘Well, we did okay for quite a while before you lot came,’ Tom says.
  ‘Since Friday Tom, you hid since Friday – what’s that? A few days? How long do you think you would have lasted?’
  ‘We had food and drink…’ Tom responds.
  ‘Yeah, and how long before someone else wanted it, or the fuel that we took. This isn’t going to go away. This isn’t a temporary glitch. Everywhere we’ve been it just looks worse and worse. There’s no police, no Army, no government. It’s all gone. This was safe for a few days, but, believe me, after the things I have seen, you wouldn’t have lasted a week here.’
  ‘Yeah, well maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter now, does it? We have no choice.’ Tom says bitterly which adds to the frustration Howie already feels.
  ‘I think they’ve done a sterling job,’ the old man that helped them fight off the hordes of undead during the night stands and speaks, loud enough for them all to hear.
  ‘I saw them last night, how fast they moved and the way they attacked - and those rats. We wouldn’t have stood a chance without these boys. We owe our lives to them.’ The old man stands proud and looks to the group gathered around him.
  ‘They wouldn’t have come, if it wasn’t for them.’ Mark says, still dressed in his business suit but now sporting a bruised face, thanks to the punch he got from Blowers during the evening, for trying to manhandle the old man’s wife out of the way of the ladder.
  ‘Claptrap, utter claptrap and you know it,’ the old man barks at him with a sudden ferocity. ‘You are soft and have no idea what war is like, I’ve served my country and those things are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They would have come and they would have killed every one of us: me, you and the children.’ The old man storms at them. The children’s mother clasps the children to her tightly, at the sudden mention of a threat.
  ‘We need to toughen up and get with it, to survive this thing. Where were you last night Mark when they were attacking? I’ll tell you, you were cowering at the back, while the big boys did the dirty work for you. I’m an old man and I was up here with them.’
  ‘…and very glad we were too,’ Howie interjects. ‘He’s right though; you need to toughen up and get a grip on reality. This is not going away, the quicker you accept it, the greater chance for survival you will have.’ Howie finishes.
  ‘Great speech, well done,’ Mark says, sarcastically, and gives a slow applaud as he gets to his feet.
  ‘It’s the truth, you’ve been holed up here and you’ve done well to survive this long. But this place is a beacon to anyone moving along that road and they will come here to find supplies. They might be nice and it could be a good thing, or they might not and they could take what they want -
anything
they want.’ Howie says, his voice rising.
  ‘Oh… so the heroes come and rescue us from the bad men, destroy our safety and then piss off, to leave us to rot, thanks very much. Thanks for nothing.’ Marks retorts with a condescending sneer.
  ‘Now, you stop that, do you hear me,’ the old man shouts at Mark. ‘These boys risked their lives last night. That man jumped off this roof to fight them,’ he points at Dave. ‘This man fought through all of them to get to that machine gun,’ the old man points to Howie. ‘If they hadn’t risked their lives and fought so bravely, while you cowered at the back, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation - because we would all be dead, or worse - we would be one of those things.’
  ‘Oh, piss off, old man. Did it remind you of your service days?’ Mark shouts and the old man lashes out and punches him hard to the same side of the face that Blowers had struck him the night before.

Mark falls back, but stays on his feet - he rubs his head and steps towards the old man with an angry look on his face.

Then stops as eight, armed, teenage lads and Dave, all step forward at the same time. Mark stops and looks around him.
  ‘They won’t be here to protect you, all the time, you old bastard,’ Mark shouts with venom.

Dave lunges forward, drawing a handgun from his waistband and slams the hard metal into Mark’s face. He drops to the floor.