The Zombie Evolution (5 page)

4.

Like slow approaching ants, the carpark gradually filled from every angle. It appeared as though everyone else in the town had either been eaten or had escaped by now, so we were the only ones left for the zombies to feast upon. The dinner bell we had ringed by making such a big fucking noise drew attention from each and every brain-hungry undead fuck in a couple mile radius. It was like a paddling pool being filled with a hose; slow, gradual, but consistent. Surely enough, after a few minutes passed, the carpark was eventually filled corner to corner with zombies, every single one of which wanted one thing; Us.

“Shit just got real”

              Lance said, grabbing his hammer back from Jon.

“Fuck fuckidy fuck”

              Said Jon.

“Fuck fuck fuckidy fuck fuck fucking shit fuck”

The six boys paced the living room and hallway, attempting to conjure up any memories of zombie movies where the protagonists managed to escape a scenario such as this one. All I could think of was the scenes where people got torn to shreds and stood zero chance and making it out alive, which really wasn’t helping me at all. I also remembered someone saying I looked like one of the zombies in Shaun of the Dead, so could already envision the physical element of my looming fate. I didn’t want that, it wasn’t a good look.

Accepting that we were most likely going to have to get into some pretty extensive somatic experiences, we began arming ourselves with whatever seemed like it was going to help us live. We were happy riding this one out, waiting for help, but we all knew it was only a matter of time before the downstairs undead army made their way up to us, so sitting on the roof just meant we were sitting duck pancakes, facing either a 30 odd foot jump down or being mauled by our hungry party guests.

“Lads”

Carl broke the unspoken time we had spent scurrying and getting weapons ready.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Y’know…for what happened before. I just, wanted to protect Stacey”

Jon, being the man he is, was the first to turn to Carl with an understanding smile, placing a hand firmly onto his shoulder to indicate his reassurance and acceptance of the apology.

“I couldn’t stop her getting bitten, but I still wanted to help her. I couldn’t….I can’t….”

Derek and I patted him on the back, and Phil caught his eye, proceeding to nod. We didn’t know Carl well, but we had grown accustomed to him over the past few days and liked him a lot. Before his earlier outburst, he seemed kind and funny. He seemed to have a good, strong business mind, but despite his career maturity he could still joke and was very easy to chat with. He was also extremely interesting, providing an endless array of stories about his global escapades and extravagant adventures.

“We know, mate. We know”

Phil reassured him, verbally emphasizing the hand still patting his back.

Carl and Stacey had been together since he was 17, so most of his stories had involved Stacey in one way or another. Although I was concerned that she may be infected, and that there may not be an opportunity to make any new stories as a couple, I felt, or maybe hoped, that what Carl said earlier emulated a sense of truth; maybe it’s
not
like the movies and a bite
isn’t
the end. It’s been a while now, and he was absolutely right; she seemed fine…

Acknowledging Carl’s apology, we continued getting ready before heading into the living room to discuss the plan. We had been busy for half an hour or so, trying to ignore the noise the zombies were making with both their accumulative moans plus their persistent attempts to tear down our barricades, hurtling clumps of furniture behind them as they covered more and more ground. I had found a belt, in which I cut to slits on either side and slid in plastic ice lolly making trays in as holsters. I put in a kitchen knife on either side, taping foam around the top of both holsters to hold the knives steady and hopefully reduce the risk of self-infliction. Stacey quite understandably hadn’t been helping; she was hurt so we thought nothing of her resting in the living room and not getting involved. But knowing she needed weapons too if we were going to brave the zombies I walked into the living room to give her the belt. My weaponry concoction was fucking cool as shit, so I was reluctant to give it away, but knew she’d be able to use it well, plus probably wasn’t strong enough with her injury to hurl around a golf club or cricket bat.

The living room was starting to look as cataclysmic as the outside world; there were clear signs of our earlier struggle, picture frames and crockery smashed all over the place and the coffee table crumbled to the floor after Jon and Carl wrestled on it. The curtains were still just about closed, which seemed pointless as every zombie fucker in Fleet now clearly knew where we were, but with a thin line of sunlight creeping through the central gaps to give a sullied drug den feel to the room. It had transitioned from a homely, well decorated living room as it was only a few days ago, to a dark, hot, derelict box filled with old food, splattered with blood and sweat. As I walked in to give Stacey her knife belt I noticed her standing in the far corner facing the wall.

“Stacey?”

She didn’t answer.

“Stacey? Are you ok?”

Again, I received no reply.

I warily made my way towards her, carefully moving bits of furniture out of my path. Standing 2ft from her I leant forward slowly and cautiously, fighting for a clear vision through the rays of light shooting through the cracks between the dusty, grey curtains.

“Stacey…?”

She was subtly swaying side to side during the entirety of my approach, yet the latter call of her name seemed to be the one that wasn’t unnoticed. Her head raised ever so slightly, causing a painful sounding series of cracks from her neck, like someone squeezing bubble wrap. Her feet shuffled matching the momentum of her sway, turning gradually yet maintaining the stiffness of her initial stature. It took a good 15 seconds to get all the way around, which may sound quick, but for a person to face one direction from another it’s an eternity. I still couldn’t quite make her out, only her shape silhouetted by the darkness of the room’s corner. I winced back as my heart dropped. Stacey took a step forward, followed by another, then a third to bring herself into the light protruding from the slit of the curtain. The sun ray crept up her body, revealing more and more blood from her bite wound, and as it edged up past her torso and neck, my worst fear materialised as the light eventually exposed her face; Her once soft, delicate beauty had been replaced with green, decrepit skin. Her eyes, once big, blue and glistening, were now completely white and soulless. They looked dry, the looked lifeless, and they were looking straight through me.

Oh fuck.
She’s gone
.

Stacey, or what was Stacey, launched toward me, hands wide and outstretched looking to latch onto my clothes or flesh. Her teeth started rapidly biting the air like a rabid dog or cannibalistic pac-man, slamming the top row so heavily against the bottom that they instantly started chipping and cracking, making them sharper and awkwardly jagged. I knew getting anywhere near her or her jaws was suicide, so acting as quickly as my mind would permit me I took out both knives from my home made belt before slamming each of them through both of her shoulders, piercing all the way through her skin and pinning her back on the wall. My action didn’t stop her biting and clawing at me, but meant she was securely affixed at a safe distance until I could figure out what the fuck to do next.

“Get in here!”

              I roared.   

“Get the fuck in here!
Now
!”

All five gents ran in with panicked expressions, weapons in hand ready for whatever awaited them. Jon, Derek, my brother and Phil instantly backed off after seeing Stacey mounted up like a moving portrait of Hell on Earth. Carl ran in a few seconds behind, rather unfortunately timed as he was now equipped with a chainsaw in his hands which we had found in one of the neighbour’s sheds during our smash and grab session. The chainsaw wasn’t running yet, but one of his hands was firmly grasping the pull chord, ready to start the contraption should the necessitation arise. 

He bolted in the room expecting action, expecting to help Stacey and I, expecting
anything
except what he saw. Running in and instantly scouting Stacey, he stopped in his tracks, seeing his beloved girlfriend covered in blood, writhing around in her monstrous state with two knives through her shoulders holding her in place. Dropping the chainsaw to the ground, he slowly continued to walk toward her, his mouth moving but no words escaping his lips, and his eyes quickly filling with a thick, protruding layer of tears.

“wh…what is this?”

He looked at us for answers, two of us evading his gaze, the other three staring straight at him. He, as did all of us, knew exactly what was happening, but we felt allowing the silence for him to process what he saw was important. Plus it appeared that none of us could stifle up the courage to say anything.

“She was
ok
. She was…she was
fine
? She had a bite. Only a bite! It’s been days since she was bitten. Days! It was only one bite. She was fine! Absolutely fucking fine!”

Carl fell to his knees in front of her, carefully keeping just outside of her grasp. His chin pulled into his chest as the tears took over. He sobbed uncontrollably, liquid pouring from his nose, eyes and mouth, punching the floor with both fists as it clattered down to the carpet. Stacey continued to writhe, biting at Carl and making failed attempt after failed attempt at grabbing him. Carl lifted his head to look through his tears into her eyes, then leant back to scream in agony. His cry conjured up the deepest of emotion in the rest of us, having to palm tears away from our eyes whilst we watched him fall to pieces.

The culminations of his cry lead him to sob inconsolably, wrapping his arms around his body in a clear state of hysterics. The tears soon subsided as he started taking sharp, deep breaths and shaking his head.

“This was your fault”

He pushed back tears as his angst took another turn to anger.   

“This was you.”

He pushed himself to his feet, eluding our attempts at visual contact. On his raise back up to standing, Carl grabbed the handle of the chainsaw with one hand, and the pull chord with the other, before jerking it back for an unsuccessful rumble of the power tool.

“Carl, easy now”

Pleaded Jon, palms raised in a hopeful calming motion.

“Just think about what you’re doing here”

Another pull of the chord, causing a momentary chug, but again to no avail.

“Carl”

The rest of us joined in with the pleading.

“Come on now, we know you’re upset”

Another pull.

“UPSET?”

              He shrieked in retort; with a fourth unsuccessful yank of the chord.

“UPSET?! She was my world, she was my everything, my soulmate. But you know that I’m UPSET?!”

His fifth pull was his final one, releasing a loud petrol induced chugging noise which, accompanied by the fast rotating chain indicated that we were in trouble.

We all backed into the far corner of the room, the opposite to where Stacey was permanently perched, scuffling tightly into a five man ball. Kicking the remains of the coffee table between Carl and ourselves, we picked up every weapon we could and raised them up toward Carl in what appeared to be an ultimately vain attempt in stopping the inevitable massacre.

Why didn’t
I
grab the shitting chainsaw??

We had little confidence on how this was going to go down; having to defend a fast rotating power tool used to cut down trees with chair legs and other such inanimate objects that this bloody saw is going to make warm butter of did not fill us with any self-assurance. Oh. Shit. Maybe it won’t be the zombies that get us after all; it’s going to be crazy distraught vengeful Carl who does the honours of removing our limbs from our bodies. I
really
didn’t see that coming.

With a confident step in our direction, Carl’s deranged exterior discharged a terrifying war-cry, and just as we thought we were about to have a pretty fucked up fight, he turned away and ran down the corridor, across the broken glass and wood from the front of the house, then right out of the small concrete garden toward the steel stair barricades.