UniteDead Kingdom. Stuart Irving Irving
coward but also the girl for being such a noisy, reactive, clumsy dolt. Just what the hell made her think racing away from him gave her a fighting chance? Maybe it was the same instinct that now led him to be under a window having left her to be slowly ripped apart. He put his head in his hands, frustrated and disgusted all at once, but relieved that he no longer carried the burden of a noisy cretin in a quiet, lethal world. Now crouching at the window he forced himself to watch her being slowly digested and her burbling twitching come to a stop.
Zan realised he had to learn a lesson from this. He vowed to never let anyone come under his wing again. This wasn't a stupid fucking movie, there is no place for heroism, he thought. It’s just pure hour-to-hour survival - no second tries, no forgiveness from his foes. And just because someone was young and a moron was no reason to endanger myself to save them. Maybe this thing had been stopped in its tracks somewhere in the world. Maybe Jack’s Swiss lab has made a breakthrough and a vaccine is being rushed to where it's needed most. He shook his head at his own naïvety. Oh yes, and maybe Jack, Colin and my Dad will deliver the miracle cure on a giant hot air balloon, whilst singing ‘Staying Alive’ by The Bee Gees. He shut his eyes - he wanted to fight his cynicism but it was easier not to. It won’t always have to be this way, but what choice do I have? He would get to the coast; find a boat, head to France or Denmark and on to Switzerland. Everything and everyone else was a temporary and possibly fatal distraction.
Later, after blocking the doorway with a large wardrobe and checking once more no undead were in the vicinity outside, he got on the single bed in an upstairs room. It looked like a teenage boy’s bedroom, with posters of hypercars and glamour models. He idly mused about what happened to the boy, there were no signs of a struggle. With a quick realisation he got up and checked the wardrobe, but it was empty. Sighing, Zan sank into the bed and let the dark sleep envelop him.
He woke with a start, panicking. Where am I? Looking around frantically, his location came back to him. It was deathly silent. He approached the window, half expecting to see a rock-concert sized undead army amassed, waiting patiently downstairs for him so they could carry out his punishment for abandoning the girl. I can’t think that way. I’m spending too much time battling these hostile thoughts. I must learn to ignore them. He looked outside; no zombies. It was an empty and rubbish-strewn wasteland, the street filled with discarded bags, torn clothes, opened suitcases, trolleys, bikes, cars and corpses. Across the street
[Molly]
the yelping girl had been stripped to the bone. His lips curled in disgust and sadness. Zan started to feel overcome with despair and his head fell to his chest. What about her family, what would they say to him right now? He shook his head. No, no, stop it! She hadn’t been a person; she was a burden that’s been lifted. He shut his eyes and felt the dark loneliness grew inside him. It was time to leave this place.
Trudging along the middle of the road he was a couple of kilometres out of Maidstone and on his way to the next town when he saw movement far away on the horizon. Grabbing binoculars out of his rucksack he could see an abandoned road block and a very sturdy-looking armoured personnel carrier. The movement looked like a brawl between some soldiers and humans or maybe zombies. Hell, the soldiers could also be zombies. It wasn’t clear from the sheer distance away, electronic zoom or not. He peered carefully at one of the soldiers as he grappled with another guy and increased the zoom to max. He recognised his insignia. Hmmm, he thought, it’s tempting to go over there but in practice it’s just more potential danger. The alternative was to avoid them altogether and traverse across wheat fields for a dozen klicks at least. Then it was another twenty-five klicks to the coast and the Channel Bridge. Maintaining stealth, it could take him a further two to three days travel.
There were no zombies around so he stopped to take a quick inventory. He learned right from the start that agility was the best defence against the undead so he carried only a rucksack on his back and his laser-sighted cross-bow (zombie kills - three) strung over his shoulder. He had to be sparing about the crossbow bolts and again counted fourteen left. It was the best range weapon he had, and used it to incapacitate a soldier to steal his hand-gun and
[left him there to die he was still]
to stop a feral Alsatian. He felt bad about the dog, first time he’d killed an animal bigger than a goldfish. It was a relief that dogs themselves didn’t become undead.
In his front pocket he had an old laser-sighted handgun with three bullets and a broken laser. Which made it just a fucking handgun. It was noisy so he only used in emergencies (zombie kills - three). He had large serrated kitchen knife in a side pocket (zombie kills - nineteen). Also, in the backpack he had one small knife, fork and spoon and a tin-opener. Zan refused to eat with his fingers; he
[was still alive you walked away you knew you knew YOU KNEW]
wasn’t an animal, at least not yet. A claw hammer (again, multi-purpose, but didn’t kill the undead easily, so Zan stopped trying), water, maps, a small towel, underwear and binoculars. He did find two assault rifles in an abandoned army van but no bullets and very little point carrying either. Luckily logic prevailed there but it felt at the time like he was walking away from a treasure trove. He no longer carried cash or identification. It took him a fortnight of terrifying hand to mouth survival before he threw his wallet away, no longer of any use. That felt strangest of all; like the end of modern civilisation.
He sighed wearily, stretched his legs and said a silent affirmation, pumping his fists by his side. He was dimly aware his actions and trains of thought were becoming more erratic of late; as he checked the ammo in the handgun for the tenth time - still only three unnervingly small bullets. That was his get-out-clause if he was cornered; there was no way he was letting himself be eaten alive. He walked towards the roadside fence and climbed over and carried on into the field. Two for the zombies and one for me he thought over and over again, as he strode through the long, swaying grass.
Chapter 10: Just Meeting Some Friends Outside London
A few minutes later Zan was walking through bright, yellow, soon-to-be-wasted rapeseed fields. He reached the top of a slope and looked back to see the distant skyline of Canary Wharf. The Capital Tower, with its unmistakable spiral top, rose majestically into the air, dwarfing the nearby Canary Wharf Tower. Smoke was billowing from it and multiple other locations across the city. The fires would probably rage for months, fuelled by gas cylinders and back-up generators left to rot before eventually exploding. And if Jack was right, if a fraction of one per cent of people survived, post-apocalyptic London - without the bustling energy of its hard-working inhabitants - was never, ever going to be the same again. Zan could imagine it slowly decaying for decades, centuries even. That it might never fully recover at all hit him with a sudden bleak weight. He started to reflect on the past. What a blessed life I led without appreciating it. First the extreme-sports life of a trader, then the quiet fulfilment of a high-school teacher.
“Gone forever.” he said quietly and continued walking.
Then he heard a distant scream and paused mid-stride.
“No, not again.” he said, staring straight ahead. He strode faster through the long yellow grass as another faint scream sounded in the distance. If I keep my guard up and my distance from others I’m less likely to get into trouble. That’s all I have to remember to survive.
After walking another kilometre through the fields he could feel the hackles rise up the back of his neck as he sensed something behind him. He snapped his head round. His heart quickened when he saw an armoured personal carrier moving through the crops directly towards him, half a kilometre away and closing fast. It seemed certain it was the one he saw earlier. It looked even more ominous speeding towards him.
I’ll never outrun it and I left my rocket-propelled grenade launcher in the flat so I’m going to have to deal with it and whatever the occupants want. How should I greet them? Zan quickly raced through his options. Should I drop my weapons and face them unarmed? Then I’m at their mercy. They’d clearly won the battle I saw so they’re prepared to be violent. Shall I hold the gun up to show I mean business? That might provoke them to shoot me from distance with the vehicle for cover. Oh shit! They’re definitely headed straight for