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The world is dead.
The army of walking corpses have conquered all before them and only small pockets of humanity remain.
As the cities slowly crumble, the survivors are facing their first winter in the new order while an immense horde of festering un-dead surrounds their walls, threatening their continued safety.
While Steve and Marcus struggle to keep their small band alive, a new threat looms over the horizon; a danger that no one could have perceived, and more devastating than the 'dead plague'.
Chapter 1
Stu saw the flash of
light from the bomb and so did the others. Even the immense crowd of
dead that swarmed and surrounded their vehicles stopped to gaze up at
the dazzling white light and the fiery ball that rose up on the
horizon. They were mesmerised by it, and every one of them seemed to
forget about the five living people inside the two Range Rovers that
they were so desperate to get at just moments before.
Stu reached for his
radio. "Jim, you seeing what I'm seeing?"
Jim's voice came through
in his earpiece, gravelly and little more than a whisper. "Yeah,
someone dropped a goddamn atom bomb," he said slowly, stating
the obvious.
"No, Jim," Stu
replied, "apart from the bomb, look around you."
Stu nodded to Hussein at
his side and gestured to the sea of bodies that now stood motionless
around them.
"They're too busy
watching the pretty lights, Jim. If we try to move the vehicles, we
might grab their attention again, so we need to debus and make a run
for it."
Jim's voice was more
animated now. "Fuck, you serious, man?"
"Just a few seconds
ago, we couldn’t move because there were so many of them. We still
won't be able to move now unless we go on foot. It's either that, or
we die here once they’ve had enough of watching the giant pretty
mushroom."
They were trapped in a
street with the dead converging on all sides. Despite the power of
the engines, the two off-road vehicles were bogged down due to the
sheer number of bodies pressing against them. Their wheels lost
traction in the organic swamp below, as putrefied flesh and bone
churned up under the tyres. They became stuck in an ocean of gaunt
dead faces with no possibility of escape.
The two Range Rovers had
taken a beating for twenty minutes as the horde pressed in and
assaulted the vehicles. Their endless attacks rocked the machines
from side to side, tossing the occupants around like survivors of a
shipwreck, clinging to a raft on a rough sea. Skeletal faces and
emaciated, withered hands pounded at the windows, their howls and
moans rising to a crescendo, attracting more dead to the scene by the
minute.
Stu and the others
believed that they were finished and would not be able to hold out
for much longer. The vehicles were going nowhere and they did not
have the ammunition to fight their way out of their predicament. They
watched in horror as the windows were cracked and the doors slowly
buckled and splintered. It was only a matter of moments before they
would shatter the glass, leaving them defenceless against the
thousands of flesh-hungry creatures.
Then, the bright white
light appeared, bathing the whole area and making everything look as
though they were in an old sepia photograph. As Stu and the others
shielded their eyes from the intense glow, the mass of reanimated
bodies around them stopped. They turned and stared up into the sky,
completely forgetting their lust for living flesh.
The area had fallen into
stillness and silence.
"It's now or never,
Jim," Stu informed him. "We need to move before they get
bored of looking at the bomb and realise we're still sitting here
like a pair of giant lunch boxes."
"Roger that."
Jim's voice sounded less than sure of the decision, but he obviously
realised that Stu was right. "Where do we go?"
Stu looked around him.
Thousands of grey, black, and brown, grotesque statues surrounded
them, their faces turned up to the sky. He had no idea of where to
go. He searched desperately, looking for even the slightest glimmer
of hope to head for.
The street was lined with
buildings, shops, businesses, and even bars. He looked past Hussein
then back to his right. He saw an area where the dead were less
densely packed. Beyond them, he saw the large leaded and colourful
windows of a pub. Above the door, he read the name, 'The Nelson',
a building named in honour of the 'Hero of Trafalgar', Admiral
Lord Nelson.
"Get out on the
right, slowly and quietly, and head for the 'Nelson' pub," he
instructed calmly over the radio.
Cringing to himself and
praying that the doors would not creak and groan as they opened, Stu
grasped the handle. He turned to Hussein and nodded, placing his
forefinger against his lips, instructing his friend to remain silent.
The locking mechanism clicked quietly and he began to push the door
outwards.
An emaciated and
misshapen figure was standing close by, only allowing him to open the
door a foot or so. With his assault vest and weapons, he would not be
able to squeeze through without becoming snagged or making a noise.
He winced and began gently, and very slowly, pushing the door a
little further.
The steel delicately made
contact with the figure's back. Stu held his breath and gingerly
began to press the door further still. He could feel the weight of
the creature against it as he increased the gap between the door and
the frame. The figure on the other side of the glass did not turn at
the sudden pressure from behind. It merely shuffled its feet forward
a little, its eyes glued to the heavens.
Stu breathed a silent
sigh of relief.
He clutched his pistol in
one hand, letting his rifle hang by his side, attached to the sling.
At such close quarters, with so many of the dead surrounding them,
the pistol would be much easier to wield. With the other hand, he
gripped the doorframe as he carefully stepped out into the street,
his toes touching the floor first, and then rolling on to the ball of
his foot, and then his heel to avoid making any noise.
He stood still for a
moment and looked around him. The natural light of the day was fading
fast, but it was replaced by the artificial glow of the nuclear bomb
that exploded in the far distance.
He could see Jim and the
others doing the same, slowly emerging from the death traps that the
two vehicles had become. Surrounding him, the dead stood motionless.
He had never been so close to them without being attacked, and now a
morbid curiosity caused him to hesitate as he studied the hundreds of
rotting corpses that refused to remain dead.
Their stench was enough
to make him want to hold his breath until he was far away from them.
The air was thick with insects of all kinds, as they buzzed and
crawled from one body to the next, nesting and feeding in the rotting
flesh. Their clothing hung from their bodies, filthy, torn, and
shredded. Trousers were frayed and shirts ripped to shreds and
hanging open as they slowly dissolved into nothing. Some had lost
their shoes, exposing their rotting feet, and the flesh slowly
eroding from their bones as they continued to shuffle and scrape
along the hard roads and pavements. A number of the dead were even
naked, either having reanimated that way, or the clothing had been
torn from them over the months.
There were all manner of
injuries amongst them, but it was hard to guess what caused many of
their deaths. Most of the bodies were missing a limb, or eye, even
jawbones. Many looked to have exploded from within due to the
build-up of gasses as the internal organs decayed. Cavernous holes
where the abdomen used to be were framed by grey white ribs jutting
outwards. Some still had the remains of their innards hanging from
their stomach; green and blue, fetid intestines that swayed like
pendulums between their legs as they walked.
The one thing that most
of them had in common, Stu noticed, was that they were all drying
out. They had gone through the stages where the body breaks down and
the fluids and bacteria eat and putrefy the flesh. Now many of them
were turning to parched husks, their extremities were brittle and
easily damaged. Many had missing fingers and hands.
All of them stood,
transfixed on the horizon and the glowing sky in the distance. The
street was on a hill, and standing close to the top of the rise it
was easy to see over the hundreds of rooftops of the town and view
the giant geyser of smoke, ash and fire that stood proudly on the
distant skyline.
Stu turned to Hussein and
motioned for him to follow. Treading carefully, he and the others
navigated their way through the decaying statues that stood
motionless all around them.
Stan had his eyes almost
shut. His face was screwed into a grimace; terror gripped him like a
mechanical claw that refused to let go. He was scared of looking at
the figures around him for fear of making eye contact and alerting
them to their escape. He hunched his shoulders high in an attempt to
make himself as narrow as possible, so as not to brush against any of
the dead as he passed.
He regretted volunteering
for the mission. He knew that he was not cut out for it and that
Kieran, his much tougher and stronger friend, could handle it
emotionally and physically. Just inches ahead of him, Stan stared at
the broad shoulders of Kieran as he slowly made his way through. He
wished he could be more like him, smart and cool under pressure.
'Fearless,' Stan thought.
They were almost there.
Just a few more metres and they would be in the doorway of the pub.
Stan fought against the urge to sprint the last few paces. His legs
threatened to take on a mind of their own and began driving forward
as fast as they could. He battled with his nerves and instincts,
forcing his feet to continue moving at their slow and deliberate
pace.
Jim reached the doorway
first, closely followed by Stu. Without making any sudden movements,
they pressed themselves up close to the building. Jim slowly reached
to his left and grabbed hold of the handle to the door. Stu watched
Jim's hand, sweat pouring down his forehead as the suspense and
anticipation clawed at him.
‘Will the door open?
If it doesn’t, we're well and truly in the shit,' Stu
thought to himself.
He turned and looked back
at the progress of Hussein and Kieran. Both of them were now at the
curb, and Stan was closely tucked in behind the bulk of his friend
like a child seeking protection from the shadow of its father.
Behind him, Stu felt a
warm draft and sensed a change in air pressure as Jim opened the door
to the pub. An overwhelming sense of relief rose up inside him, as he
knew that their escape was now possible.
Hussein was just a metre
away from him now, and Kieran would reach safety immediately after
him.
Stu quickly eyed the dark
interior of the pub from the doorway. Nothing moved. He nodded to Jim
and indicated that they were to move inside. Stu took one last
glance, to check on the progress of the others.
They were so close now.
The blood suddenly froze
in his veins. Just behind and to the left of Stan, no more than an
arm's reach, a figure stared back at him. Stu blinked, clearing his
vision to make sure that he had not been mistaken.
It stood there, glaring
at him with dead and unblinking eyes. In another time and place, Stu
could be forgiven for thinking that maybe it was a grotesque
sculpture, or a street artist pretending to be a statue, but it was
not. It was a reanimated corpse that watched him, unlike the others
still staring up to the sky, completely mesmerised by the sudden
appearance of the atomic cloud and oblivious to the five living men
in close proximity.
Panic flashed through his
mind. In a split second, he considered numerous options. Should he
shoot it, call to the others to run? Maybe he should attempt to kill
it quietly before it alerted the crowd to their presence. Should they
continue silently in the hope that they did not register in the
creature's mind?
Before he could complete
his appreciation of the situation, the body made the decision for
him. It took a staggering step forward, reaching its hand out and
barely missing Stan's back as it lunged. It let out a long and
frustrated sounding moan as it clutched its fingers on thin air and
stumbled after them.
Heads, hundreds of them,
turned silently and stared in the direction of the noise. Their eyes
fell on the creeping men that were attempting to escape their trap.
Stu raised his pistol,
screaming to Hussein, Kieran and Stan at the same time to alert them
that they had been detected.
"Run, fucking run,
they know we're here," he howled at them.
The barrel of his pistol
erupted with a flash of light and a deafening bang in the otherwise
still air, rang out, and echoed through the street. More heads
turned. He fired two more shots in quick succession. The first, hit
the creature in the shoulder as it staggered after Stan and the
others, reaching out for him with its bony fingers. The round hit its
rotting flesh, punching through and blasting out through its back,
but did nothing to deter it or slow it down. The second shot smashed
a hole through its cheek, drilling clear to the other side; the
vacuum caused by the bullet dragged its brains through the hole in
its wake.
The body crumpled to the
floor, as Stu began firing into other faces that lurched towards
them.
Hussein bounded up the
small steps into the doorway, turned, and raising his rifle, began to
pour fire in to the crowd, as they all seemed to come back to life.
The whole area erupted into a crescendo as the weapons fired, men
screamed, and the dead wailed.
Kieran jumped into the
doorway and passed Stu and Hussein. He came to a stop, almost
colliding with Jim; having returned from the darkness inside the
building and checking that the area was clear.
"This way, son,"
Jim said, waving Kieran forward, "keep quiet and move to the
rear door."
Kieran did as he was
told. He began to stalk through the gloom, his shoulders hunched and
his trembling hands gripping his rifle tight. He could vaguely make
out a lighter area in the darkness directly ahead of him. He presumed
it to be the rear of the pub and headed towards it. He could see
nothing in his immediate vicinity. His legs bumped into chairs and
tables, and his feet crunched on broken glass on numerous occasions
as he made his way forward.
At the doorway behind
him, the firing continued. Stan was now inside and all four of them
were trying desperately to barricade the door. Jim was shouting
orders to grab tables and gambling machines, and anything else that
could help stem the tide of rotting flesh that now began to hammer at
the outside.
Kieran heard the sound of
the heavy furniture being dragged and the voices of men shouting out
as they bashed themselves in the darkness.
He reached another
doorway. It was open and led into the lounge area to the rear of the
pub. He peered in, afraid to expose himself before he knew that it
was safe. Nothing stirred in the shadowy room. He stepped forward,
hoping to find the rear doors that would probably lead out onto a
patio area.
Dozens of cold dead faces
stared back at him from beyond the glass, and there were hundreds
more behind them. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood there, packed in
tightly to one another. When they saw Kieran move, they exploded with
excitement. In unison, they began pounding away at the large panes of
glass standing between them and the flesh that they so longingly
desired.
Kieran froze on the spot.
He stared back at them, vaguely registering the noise that they made,
only seeing their grotesque faces, and dead, staring eyes. He did not
even hear the sounds of the pounding feet approaching from behind
him.
"Kieran," Stu
called into the darkness, his voice full of panic. "Where the
fuck are you, Kieran?"
Kieran snapped out of his
shock when he heard his name being screamed. "Here, in the back
room," he replied. "Here, follow my voice."
Stu appeared out of the
gloom, crashing into the doorframe as he bounded into the lounge
area. Jim, Hussein, and Stan were close behind, all of them sweating
and panting.
Kieran turned to them,
the wide windows and countless bodies pressing up against them,
framing his silhouette as he stood with his back to the glass and the
faint light that managed to shine through.
"We're surrounded,
Stu," he said, "we aren't getting out this way."
A loud crash from the
front of the building heralded the arrival of the dead and the
collapse of the hasty barricade. The sound of splintering wood and
the screech of moving furniture as it was pushed aside, assaulted
Stu's nerves. His brain raced, trying to think of a solution.
"Here," Jim
shouted as he pulled open a door that they had not noticed, and
disappeared inside.
The rest of them
followed. A set of stairs led upwards to the first floor of the
building and to the rooms where the landlord and their family would
have lived. Stu pulled the door closed behind him, hoping that none
of the dead had noticed them as they fled.
At the top of the stairs,
they were met by a long landing with doors leading off into numerous
rooms. It was dark and the five of them struggled to see along the
corridor to the far end.
"Where do we go
now?" Jim whispered, close to Stu's ear.
Stu did not answer.
Instead, he began to creep along the passageway, his rifle in one
hand, braced against his shoulder, while his other hand fumbled in
one of the pouches of his assault vest, searching for his small
torch.
A narrow beam of light
penetrated the gloom from behind him, Jim obviously having realised
what Stu needed. The shaft of light illuminated the far end of the
long hallway and the door that stood there, spattered with bloodied
handprints.
"Well, we're not
going in that room," Stu whispered back over his shoulder.
Together they tiptoed
along to the first door. A sudden crash from below echoed up the
narrow staircase. It was followed by the sounds of fists beating
against the door leading to the narrow stairway.
"That door won't
hold for long," Stan whispered, to no one in particular.
Stu and Jim positioned
themselves on either side of the entrance to the closest room. Jim
could see Stu silently counting backwards from three, using the
fingers of his left hand to count down before they charged in through
the door.
Jim nodded, bracing
himself with his rifle locked into his shoulder and his eyes fixed on
the entrance.
"Now," Stu
hissed as he raised his boot and thrust a heavy kick at the wood
around the locking mechanism.
The door swung open,
crashing against the interior wall. Without waiting, he bounded into
the room, his torchlight sweeping the floor and the corners,
searching for any hidden threat.
"Clear," Jim
whispered loudly.
"Everyone, get in
here," Stu said urgently in a low voice.
Hussein, Kieran and Stan
entered the room, quietly closing the door behind them. They were in
a large open space that Stu took to be the master bedroom. At both
ends, tall heavy wardrobes stood against the walls, with a sprawling
king size bed in the centre directly under the window.
Jim moved forward and
peered down at the rear garden of the pub. It was packed, wall to
wall, with shuffling corpses as they all made their way into the
building. More were coming in from the street behind them.
"Well, we aren't
getting out this way, either," Jim grumbled.
They stood, side by side,
at the foot of the bed, staring at the door. Stu could feel his heart
hammering against his ribcage. His palms sweated profusely as he
gripped the rifle tighter in his hands.
Quickly and quietly, he
slipped off the magazine, checked the top rounds and pushed down on
the spring. The spring depressed only slightly, confirming that the
magazine was full, and then he pushed it back into his rifle. His
right index finger pushed against the safety catch, switching it from
'safe' to 'fire.’
In his mind, Stu kept on
reminding himself, 'Save the last round, save the last round.'
He glanced across at Jim.
They shared a moment of eye contact; a faint, almost undetectable
smile creased Jim's face. They both knew that they were about to die.
The echoing footsteps and
long drawn out moans of the creatures as they made their way up the
stairs were like a brass band in Hussein's ears. They were getting
closer. He pictured them stupidly trampling up the steps, many of
them just mindlessly following the body in front. Nevertheless, as
soon as the door was forced open, exposing the living men, every one
of them would suddenly realise why they were there.
Zombie-fabulous!
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