Among the Dead: Part Two: Fear No Evil Read online

  I remembered my smartphone, the one I almost left in my bag. The bag that now belonged to the charismatic General Harrington. My fists instinctually clenched at the mere thought of my sworn enemy. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He wasn’t the problem at that moment. Contacting my family was.

  I emptied out my pockets, pulling out the bullet I had reserved for Harrington’s head and my phone. I held it up and saw it was dead. I didn’t have time to wait for it to hit that crucial five per cent charge for it to work, so I slipped it back into my pocket and thought about my circumstance. It was then that my gaze fell on the house phone sitting on the desk in Alice’s room. I picked it up and pressed it to my ear. I listened for a dial tone. No sound. The phone was connected to the wall, so that must mean the system was down! I had no doubt the television would be the same. I didn’t have time to concern myself with that. I had to push myself forward and move on.

  I placed my hand on my waist and checked for Thundy. He was still there. Gun was still in my waistband. I swished my machete through the air a few times, readying my slaughtering arm. My next steps would be to clear the downstairs of undead and then to find some clues on the Kingsleys whereabouts.

  I prepared myself to go downstairs, bouncing up and down on the spot, psyching myself up to get ready for the conflict. I took a step forward, psychologically prepared to take on the entire population of Willamette if I had too, but I wasn’t physically able. My leg buckled under my weight, my wound clearly getting worse. I winced. Fixing my leg would have to be my first step before I could try to take on a single zombie. I limped towards the bathroom, shut the door, and bolted the lock. I didn’t think the lock could hold off the undead, but old habits die hard. I slumped onto the edge of the bath, not realising how much my leg truly hurt until I had taken all the weight off it in a moment of peace. I could feel it pulsing with each heartbeat. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  I didn’t really know how to go about fixing my leg, but I knew I had to clean it first. I decided to plug the bath and turn on the water all the way up to scorching hot. I let the tub fill up. Not too much, but enough to be able to dip my leg in. I went searching through the bathroom cupboard under the sink. I was looking for an anti-bacterial cleaning agent, but there was nothing except bleach.

  I stared at the bleach for a few moments. A bit uneasy about using it to clean a wound, but I vaguely recalled it being okay as long as it was mixed with water. Or was I remembering that right? Maybe it had said to never mix with water to clean a wound? I sighed and shrugged. I would die if I didn’t treat my leg, so it would have to do. I unscrewed the cap, fumbling with the safety mechanism, before releasing it and pouring it into the bath. The thick, gloopy liquid streamed into the hot bath water, the chemical smell burning my nostrils.

  I hated bleach. Hated everything about it. Screw the lack of colour. Screw the smell. Screw the viscosity of it. I think it linked back to being forced to do housework. Hated housework too. At least I would never have to do that again.

  My focus snapped back to my current situation. I had to get it done as quickly as possible because I had to be prepared at all times. The undead could begin slamming against the door and break through at any moment.

  I made sure the bleach was mixed into the water thoroughly before I continued. Next was the horrible job of removing the glass protruding from my leg. I didn’t want to do it. It would hurt, and then there was the issue of evaluating the damage. It could be irreparable and, as much as my medical skills had advanced since preparing for my journey, I wouldn’t be able to repair the damage. Yet the alternative was to bleed out or die later of infection. I needed to deal with it, so I re-evaluated what was in the cupboard. Bandages, medical tape, the watered down bleach which would have to do instead of hydrogen peroxide, and the white hand towel would have to be used for compression. There was also a pair of scissors on the side which would be useful to free my leg from my clothes.

  I got to work, cutting up the length of my trouser leg until I was slightly above the wound. I then cut around my leg and removed the piece of blood-soaked material covered in mud and filth of unthinkable origins. I threw it to one side, and it slapped against the tiled floor. I stared at my exposed calf. It was red with wet and dried blood. The flesh around the glass was all puckered up around the wound, cut jaggedly by the foreign object. The skin was swollen and purple like a bruise. The blood leaking out was thicker than normal. Had infection set in already? All the more reason to get the filthy piece of glass out of me. What had I been thinking when I left it in there? The flash of being chased by undead came back to me. Oh yeah.

  I wrapped the towel around my hand and gripped the glass. I would have to pull it out smoothly to avoid breaking any off inside me. I gritted my teeth, gripped the glass, and pulled slowly. It was strange seeing fresh blood flowing. I’d seen so much of the undead’s coagulated blood that I had forgotten how blood was supposed to look.

  The pain was excruciating. It hurt even more than when the shard had pierced me. My eyes welled up with tears and I ground my teeth as I pulled it out further. Blood began to flow more freely. The glass was coming out swiftly while cutting further into me. My vision began to go dark. I forced my eyes to stay open. I couldn’t pass out. Not then.

  With one last tug, I removed the glass from my leg. I blacked out momentarily before everything came spinning back and I pulled myself back from the edge of unconsciousness. I had to finish it while I could. I left the glass where it lay and threw my leg into the bath. Big mistake! The pain intensified! The bleach-laden water filled my wound, burning. I howled through gritted teeth in the most inhuman way imaginable. The pain didn’t get better. I swished my leg around to make sure the water cleaned my entire wound. Water lapped up over the side and onto the floor. I was making a mess, but the wound would be clean at least.

  I pulled my leg out of the bath and dried it with the towel, wiping away the fresh and old blood. I cleaned up most of the water, too. I made sure to gently rub the area around the wound. I didn’t want to hurt myself any more than I had to. It may have been the placebo effect but, even though it still hurt, it felt much better.

  When I was sure that the wound was as clean and dry as it could be, I wrapped my leg tightly with the bandage, compressing it as I did so. Next, I wrapped it with many layers of the cream coloured medical tape. It held the bandage in place and added more compression to the wound. I was fairly certain the wound would be okay … hopefully. I knew I had antibiotics in my saddlebags, which I needed to get to. It would stop my wound from getting worse. If it wasn’t too late anyway.

  I stood up, leg still tender but pressure could be applied to it now. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I was extremely pale, sickly so, except for the blood caked all over the rest of me. My military clothes were a mess, and one trouser leg was missing. Stubble had started to grow back. I wanted to deal with that sooner than later, but it wasn’t the time. I didn’t feel safe having my fresh bandage as exposed as it was because it could get dirty so easily. I didn’t have a change of clothes anywhere in Essex. But Alice had stuff that I could wrap around it. Exotic items such as scarves.

  I left Alice’s room, a multi-coloured scarf now covering my recently bandaged leg wound. It added to my madman appearance, yet I looked so damn fashionable. If only looks could kill. I was stood where I had been an hour earlier, psyching myself up again. The irony that I could have charged my phone in that time was not lost on me. Before it got too dark, I had to make a move. I patted Thundy’s head and twirled my machete one more time before taking a step down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 7

  I hadn’t even made it to the bottom step before the undead were on me. I descended the steps as carefully and quietly as I could for the element of surprise, but the ageing stairs were having none of it. I made it about halfway and spotted many undead before they were aware of me. They were rooted to the spot, swaying as if unable to maintain their bala
nce, oblivious to my presence as I moved.

  That all changed when my foot hit one particular stair. Whether the wood was warped or if it was as simple as the Universe hating me, the loudest creak sounded and elongated as the full weight of my foot pressed on it. My breath caught in my throat as several heads swivelled to look at me. Death howls and snarls emitted from the shambling corpses as they charged, the stimulus immediately setting them into action. Each was trying to climb over the other to get to me. But I had the advantage. It was as good as over for them since I had the high ground. The narrowness of the stairs combined with my position meant that only one zombie could come at me at a time. Much better than having to fight them all at once.

  The first zombie reached me. I slammed my machete into its head before kicking it aside. All this happened in the time it took another zombie to clamber over its fallen comrade’s body to get at me. I repeated the pattern. Adrenaline flowed through me as I lifted my machete again. I was beginning to recognise the moment adrenaline entered my body, creating the essential chemical reaction I needed to survive. I craved it.

  There were so many undead in the house. I counted at least five in my peripheral, not including the four I killed in my bloodlust. It didn’t matter, though. I felt I could keep it up forever.

  “You’re never gonna win!” I snarled as I kicked another bloodied corpse aside and pulled my machete from the front of its cranium while watching it tumble down the stairs. Almost as if they were responding to my taunt, a hand grabbed my ankle. I looked down to see a zombie had reached between the wooden bannister supports to grab me. It yanked at me hungrily and tried to pull itself between the supports, ignorant of physical limitations. As its face pressed against the wooden supports, the soft, rotten flesh began to slide away the harder it pushed. It was like watching a man’s foreskin peel back. A disgusting, rotting, gory foreskin. The once-human face had split down the middle and peeled away to reveal a red gory and blackened mass of sinew below, but it still couldn’t reach me.

  I kicked another zombie backwards, down the stairs without killing it but used the excess time to swing my machete down onto the undead man’s wrist. A clean slice. The zombie fell backwards and onto its backside. I ignored that the hand was still gripping my ankle and pushed forward with my attack, killing yet another zombie rushing up the stairs. That zombie was replaced by another and that one by another. Their ascent was getting slower and slower due to the corpses they had to climb over.

  My arm ached and breathing grew heavy. It was exhausting. I may’ve been fit, but it was tiring work, and it was making me worse.

  “How. Many. More. Are. There?” I could barely catch my breath, yet I continued swinging my machete, slaying more and more undead. The tide of undead seemed to be slowing. I couldn’t see many more of the creatures downstairs, but that didn’t mean more of them weren’t waiting outside.

  The flow of undead lessened even more, and I moved forward. I quickly clambered over the corpses in case there was any undead faking their death in the pile of re-dead. I paddled through the blood in the hallway, forgetting it was even there. But I wasn’t so distanced that I didn’t notice the blood splash up over my military boots, and I grimaced. I moved onwards. The front door was a mess. Splintered wood was exposed from under the paintwork. When the undead had finally busted the door down, it had been the woodwork that gave way first, as opposed to the lock.

  I closed the door over as best as I could and pushed a small table in front of it. The table wouldn’t stop anything. The door would open with the slightest bit of pressure, but it obscured the undead’s view of me. I was aware that there were probably more in other rooms again, but I would deal with that when it came to it. For now, I had to look for clues as to where Alice and the rest of the Kingsleys had gone.

  I moved into the front room, still clear of the undead, pulled the curtains to one side, and peeked out of the front window. There were zombies milling around nearby. None attempting to enter the house. I had an eerie sense of déjà vu as I looked out of the window. It felt like it had happened such a long time ago. I think it was a dream at some time or another, but I couldn’t remember.

  I continued to look around outside, my focus was the cars on the drive and not my chances of survival when I leave. As far as I could tell, all the family cars were there. Then again, I couldn’t remember how many cars they had. I knew the parents had a car and so did Alice, plus a spare car they were planning to sell. Or did both parents have a car each and not just one between them? Did they still own the work van as well? Did they get around to selling the spare car? I couldn’t remember. So all of the cars were there, or a couple were missing. That would hinder my search.

  I let the curtain fall back across the window and left the front room to re-explore the downstairs. I splashed my way through the thickening blood, stepping over the corpses. I made my way into the kitchen, spotting the corpse I had left there earlier, and noticed a fresh trail of blood leading to the side dining room. I must’ve left the door open.

  I silently crept to the open dining room and spotted the zombie. Unfortunately, the zombie spotted me first and was on me in a second. I barely had time to bring up my arm in defence before it charged into me. I managed to shove the zombie away, its gnashing jaws reflexively biting down as my arm got close to it.

  The undead don’t breathe. They’re dead. But the impact of my shove pushed out whatever foetid air was still in its lungs, into my face. Its rotten stench filled my nostrils and lungs. Luckily, I had no food in me to sick out, but the heaving motion still came forward. I was retching, and my body convulsed as it tried to reject the death while I tried to keep the zombie at arm’s length. With my other hand, I fumbled with my machete, trying to bring it up to attack. But every time I shifted my weight to bring the machete up, the zombie would gain an inch on me. A killing blow would be unlikely, and a major wound would do very little to something already dead.

  I did notice that the frail creature would’ve probably been considered elderly when it was still alive. Hard to tell underneath the rot that had set in. That gave me an idea, though. I pushed my attack forward, which would leave me open briefly. I just hoped it wouldn’t be enough for the creature to grasp me.

  I leaned forward, causing the zombie to begin toppling. At that moment, I lifted my foot and slammed the heel of my boot into the side of the zombie’s leg. It buckled inwards. Bone snapped and burst out of the rotten skin. Gore-covered bone was now exposed, snapped like wood. The zombie collapsed. That didn’t stop it from coming, but it did give me a moment of respite to collect myself. I expelled the putrid air from my lungs and then pounced on the zombie. I stomped my boot into its chest to pin it down. Ribs cracked and snapped under the force of the impact. It laid there, trying to grab me and pull its mouth to the flesh of my leg. But I was stronger. I kept the zombie where it was and stared it in the face. I felt disgust and hatred for the creature in front of me. I no longer felt the sadness and remorse about the life it once had. I didn’t even see it as human anymore.

  I felt a sneer cross my face. Its empty eyes stared back at me. There was no hate. No fear. No sadness. Just an endless hunger.

  “Fuck you,” I snarled at the creature still reaching for me. I placed my machete against the side of its head, much like a golfer would a golf club against a ball. I braced myself and let loose a full swing of my blade towards its head, arching it high like driver wedge. It crashed into the zombie’s temple, splitting bone and destroying blackened grey matter. I had completely smashed the left side of its face. Eye socket crumpled under the blow. With that, it stopped moving. Stopped trying to eat me. Its one remaining eye still stared at me, just as empty as it had been moments earlier. Nothing human about the undead creatures, and I truly understood it at that moment.

  I wiped my machete clean on the zombie’s torn clothing before turning away. Awareness of my surroundings finally returned from the tunnelled vision of the fight. I calmed down, breathed more steadil
y, and focussed my mind on the present. I really needed to find clues to Alice’s whereabouts.

  CHAPTER 8

  I quickly opened and closed drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. I was looking for something. Anything.

  The Kingsleys had clearly made a move out of there. Sharp knives and other potential weapons were missing. Most of the food had been taken from the cupboards. Half a loaf of uncut bread was all that remained. I grabbed at it, took huge, hungry bites from it, not bothering to cut it into a manageable size. Didn’t even care about the growing patches of mould. I was starving and couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. I swallowed the dry bread, washing it down with a mug of water. There were no clean glasses about. They were either dirty on the side or dirty in the dishwasher. A mug was all that was available. That probably meant they had to leave in a hurry. No time to clean up and leave the house presentable for their return. If they thought they would return.

  I looked in the side room, which was used as storage. A couple of suitcases were missing. They had clearly packed some stuff but not all of it. Perhaps they’d been cut short? Had they been planning to leave for a while but had to push ahead with their plans sooner than anticipated? The question still remained, where did they go?

  I carried on opening cupboards. Footwear was missing also, specifically hiking boots. Smart thinking. I almost bypassed the last cupboard since it was just the keys cupboard. But I stopped to take a look. All the keys were there except Mark’s keys. They were his work and leisure keys, yet his car was outside. That didn’t help at all! I sighed in frustration. They were probably somewhere else in the house, and I’d just missed them. I hadn’t been looking for them at the time. I had always liked his keys, mainly because it had the coolest key fob I’d ever seen. They were on a wooden buoy keychain. He said it was because he went sailing a lot and it was in case his keys ever fell overboard. I smiled. It was a nifty idea. Something simple, yet effective. I remembered seeing his boat at the docks, too. Nice little thing, but big enough to sail long distance if he wanted. I had never been on his boat, but I would have liked to. A boat would’ve been useful nowadays, I think. A boat … a boat would have …