The next chapter is over 8000 words so rather than put up all in
one go I've split it into two sections; Pt 6.1 goes up now and I am
trying to get the second part up by the end of the week. The chapter
follows Phillip and his recount of the days building up to the end. For
those of you coming to this for the first time I recommend going to the index and start from the beginning.
As for the rest you read below for more.
2: Phillip
To be honest I was never one for
news. Occasionally I'd catch some on the telly and switch over or
accidentally find myself staring at the front page of the Guardian and
think about how I would like to set it on fire, that sort of shit. It is
going to sound selfish, because it is, but I just never had time for
anything that didn't directly affect me. Caryn always told me that
everything that happened, in some small way or another had impact on my
life. I almost wanted to agree but instead I would always reply that she
listened to Everclear, and Everclear were gay.
I'm not a complete
ignoramus, it is just that I like to keep my world small that way it is
easier to deal with. Here and now is important and learning lessons from
the past is a close second; but ramifications of socio-political
events? I leave that to the fucking hippies and the politicians.
I
completely missed the blackout, I was so fucking drunk that the entire
day was a blur of passing out, drinking and more passing out. It was my
day off so I figured I might as well just go for it and so the next day
when I went to work it was all a bit of a surprise to me.
I still
went to work though. Not that I could do anything as the shop was
closed, my boss at the hospital with her husband and youngest child. So
instead I called my girlfriend, Caryn, she was in a state as her parents
had been in a car accident. I rushed over there as best I could
considering my state. It was weird, as I made my way up the hill to
Seven Dials I tried to figure out why the fuck I was doing this and it
dawned on me that I loved this girl. Not in a ‘she’ll do’ sort of way
but in a ‘Not sure I could live without her’ way. I might not give two
shits about her parents and their state but I knew that it mattered to
her so as a result it mattered to me. Okay, maybe not enough to stay
sober (it was a free day off after all) but I was there.
None of it really made sense to me anyway, and not just me it didn’t seem that anyone knew what was going on.
In fact, it was a while before things fell into place, and when they did it was fucked up.
It was three weeks later, I was doing my usual thing, sitting around in
the off-license I worked in and wishing that my shift was over so I
could go and get drunk, when this gimmer walked into the shop. I groaned
inwardly, she always came up to the counter and asked for Martini, the
sweet one. I would then go 'the red one?' She would smile and nod
'that's the one dear'.
I hate being called dear. On top of that, I
had been serving her for almost three years and almost every time I'd
referred to Martini Rosso as Martini Rosso, or Martini Red. Yet the
fucking idiot hadn't once asked for it by its actual name. Instead, she
would always call it ‘the sweet one’ like she didn’t know what it was
despite coming in every day and drinking an entire bottle of it. I can’t
stand alcoholics that live in denial. It was one of my pet hates, that
and when you ask people if they would like a bag and they reply 'if
you've got one', why would I ask if I didn’t? That drives me fucking
nuts.
As the old dear walked towards me, I reached for the remote
and turned up the music. I was hungover, but didn't care, as long as
having to listen to Sepultura distressed her.
She smiled at me as if it was the most radiant day. I know it is wrong but I wished her death right there and then.
“Hello dear.” She beamed, the gin blossoms on her nose gleamed and the
dark purple veins the bridge crept up all the way to her brow. I hated
that look, despised it as a sign of weakness.
“Hello.” I managed to smile.
“Could I get a Martini,” she asked, “the sweet one?”
I pointed at the Martini Extra Dry that stood level with her booze-ridden nose and asked:
“This one?”
She shook her head gently, she looked more perturbed by this. It was
easy to tell that below that seemingly oblivious exterior, she knew that
I must know which one she was referring to.
“No dear.” She said. “The sweet one.”
Did I mention I hate being called ‘Dear’?
“What about this Perlino?” I asked. “It says on the bottle that it's sweet.”
She frowned.
“No, no, I want the sweet Martini dear.”
“We don't do a sweet Martini.” I said, I know I was being cruel, but I just couldn't help myself.
“Yes you do.” She responded, getting a little frustrated, it might have
been my imagination but her already red complexion seemed to deepen a
little.
“The only ones we've got are extra dry and red.” I said, relishing the exchange a little too much.
“That's the one.” She said, smiling.
The smile was a classic, I swear that the government must hand it out
to anyone who is eligible for a pension. It is sort of a benevolent
expression, and marks you as a fucking idiot. It says in bold neon: 'I
talk to fairies'.
“Sorry, which one?” I asked.
“The second one.” She said.
“What's its name?”
“The second one.” She reiterated.
“Yes.” I smiled, she couldn't fucking say it. Martini Rosso, Red
Martini, either would have sufficed. “And what is it called?”
“Oh I'm no good with names.” She showed me that same smile.
I said nothing and just stared at her. I wanted her to just say the
name to break through her bullshit and just say those two words. She was
shaking slightly as she reiterated:
“Yes, Martini, the sweet one.”
I wondered if I told her to shove the bottle of Rosso up her arse, if she would go 'yes that's the one'.
“Is that the red one?” I asked innocently.
“That's the one.” She said brightly.
I wanted her to be hit by a bus.
I got her the bottle and scanned it through, and took her money as she
received the bottle she asked me a question that totally threw me off.
“Have you had anyone taken ill recently?”
I just frowned and hoped she understood that that meant 'we've done our interaction bit, now fuck off, and leave me alone'.
“They say it's to do with the blackout and all the deaths.” She said, trying to extend the conversation.
I hoped she would shut up, if I continued to frown.
This wasn't enough to dissuade her and she started to witter on about
how hospitals were too clean and that there were super bugs that could
resist bleach, blah, blah, blah. It was like she was so lonely that it
didn't matter that the person in front of her openly hated her she just
needed to talk to me. I hoped as the drone carried on that I would never
end up like her.
It was depressing to hear her talk about
airbourne diseases and ‘coughs and sneezes’, the more she talked, the
more the noise seemed to build up inside my head to the point where I
couldn’t take it anymore:
“Look, I don't care.” I said with a sickly sweet smile. “Now take your martini and toddle off.”
It was her turn to frown.
“Well I never.” She commented and walked out.
I was doing a twelve hour shift in the shop because my manager was ill
and that meant that I really didn’t give a fuck if some old boozed-up
bat was offended. The reason for that was that my boss was ill, my boss
is never ill.
Her husband had said over the phone that it was pretty nasty and their youngest son was suffering from the same thing.
I hadn't worried about it too much, and just said as long as they paid
me over time, I didn't mind doing the hours. Although I had agreed to
the overtime before Denny came round last night and we drank wine.
I
served customers for few more hours, got enough time to call Caryn. She
was busy at work, so she only had enough time to remind me that I was
supposed to be meeting her that night and going back to her place to
have dinner with Denny, and a couple of her friends. I cringed, it was
one of those couple things, 'twenty something' couple things that I
didn't feel old enough to join in with just yet. If I was going to be
honest about it, which I rarely was, I still found it hard to believe it
was legal for me to vote let alone drink in America without being
refused. As much as I cared about Caryn I didn’t like the idea of
getting old of growing boring and thinking things that my parents
(wherever they may be) find fascinating to be important. I say, fuck
that.
Then Sam showed up, late as usual. She gave me a dopey grin
and said 'Hey'. As was customary, she had a cigarette before putting her
till on. She was one of the two people I was working with that night,
nice kid but terrible time keeper.
I put up with it because she was
a good worker, and for a Friday it was really slow. The off-license was
situated in the center of town, so the trade we got was generally only
that of passersby but in large volumes. We only had a few regulars, of
those only one had been in that day.
Sam sorted out her till and
got behind the counter and I started making a stock list. Trevor or goat
boy, as I called the third guy who didn't have a till, was due in
twenty minutes and would have to go and get everything we needed to fill
up the shelves and fridges. I made idle chat with Sam as she only had
one customer. I started to get this weird vibe now that my hangover was
finally starting to die down. Something bad was going to kick off and I
wasn’t sure what. There was something in the air like the way that it
becomes really humid on a hot day just before it starts to rain. I
looked at Sam but she didn’t seem to feel the same way.
Trevor
arrived, and took over with the stock list while Sam and I served the
few customers that there were. I was starting to feel really uneasy by
that point, it was a Friday night and the customers were so infrequent
that it would have taken some kind of major event in a town nearby (like
Lewes bonfire night) and there were none that I could think of.
After about half an hour I sent Sam to help doing the stocking up, the
shop was dead and there was no point having two people serving.
“Maybe there's something going on in London.” Trevor suggested as he
hefted a cardboard box full of soft drinks to one of the fridges.
“Everyone has gone there, or stayed in London to be there.”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, could be that everyone has been abducted by aliens.” Sam laughed, bringing me some spirits to put out.
I could see Trevor grinning.
“Well I hope they get you first.” He shouted out.
“They look for the more intelligent members of each race, so there's a good chance.” Sam rebuked.
“If that is the case then why is it only red necks seem to get abducted?” Trevor shot back.
We had a few more customers, but it was just too quiet for a Friday
night. I started to feeling worse by 9:30 when we still hadn't had our
busy period.
“You know what.” I said, as Sam and Trevor
finished stocking up everything. “I don't like this at all. I've got
this feeling like something is going to go wrong. Like tonight is the
night we get robbed.”
There was no reply to that. I'd never been in
the shop when there had been an armed assault. I didn't want there to
be a first time.
We carried on doing bits and bobs. By half past ten, business had ground to a halt and we stood around waiting to close up.
I'd told myself that I wasn't going to drink today. That had been at
one o'clock this afternoon, now I craved a nice bottle of Bourbon.
Sam invited me to the pub after work and I said that would be cool. She
was a good kid, bright and easy going, although the pot probably didn’t
help. I must admit that I was fond of her but not in that way.
Trevor was well up for a few pints too. He was a pretty awesome guy,
could hold his drink with the best of us and he never complained about
being the victim of the occasional game of ‘cock-in-pint’. I'd spent
some fucking great times in the pub with him. It was only a shame that
he felt the need to drink fucking Strongbow.
The end of the night
finally arrived, this was good but at the same time I could feel this
knot in my shoulders, like something was still wrong. I couldn't think
why, I would've have blamed the hangover, but I didn't have one anymore.
As we locked up, I could sense the uneasiness in my co-workers and was
almost relieved that I wasn’t going crazy. The streets were dead, which
was unheard of on a Friday night in Brighton. We were off the main
street where the big clubs were. It was possible to see the lights from
the garish towny-fests down by the sea. Yet, there wasn't the usual
noise. It was getting close to kick out time for pubs and yet I couldn't
see enough pissed twats walking around, talking shit and generally
being dick heads.
“Where do you fancy going?” Trevor asked, he sounded a little jittery. The eeriness getting to him as it was to me.
I locked the door; I'd bought a bottle of Jim Beam to quench my thirst.
I slung that into one of my back pockets, they were so deep that you
couldn't even see the bottle.
“Fancy going to the Victory?” Sam asked. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other impatiently.
Then, from just up the road emerged two piss heads, stumbling all over the place; they barely looked like they could stand.
I had no doubt they were going to ask if we were still open. The
shutters were down, and I was looking forward to answering 'what do you
think?' A little light relief was what I needed. I imagined I could then
go on into one of my rants about the fucking customers once we got to
the pub and we could trade a few stories. I remembered the old lady from
earlier and made a mental note to mention her once we got to the pub.
Then Trevor saw them and started chuckling:
“Look here come Brains of Britain.” Still snickering he added: “How did they get from the park bench to here?”
Their movements became more pronounced, one of them seemed to have seen us and was making a beeline in our direction.
“They better not ask for any money-
“Philip, don't be like that,” Sam interrupted, already fishing for some
loose change. “Just because they're homeless doesn't mean they aren't
human.”
How true, I scowled, all the more reason not to give them any change, fucking losers.
As they got within meters of us, I noticed what they were wearing.
Suits, the sort you wore to events, or if you were going to work
somewhere important.
I thought it strange that a pair of bums would
wear stuff like that. I wondered if maybe they had gone for job
interviews or something.
Trevor greeted them, as the first one
groggily approached us. He wasn't laughing any more, we were used to
tramps coming up to us and hassling us for money for 'a train journey
home' or to get 'a bowl of soup'. It was routine to give them the polite
version of 'fuck off' which just involved saying 'I haven't any spare
at the moment'.
The first street guy reached out towards Trev, he
in turn put a defensive arm out towards the tramp. The second wasn't far
behind, and had also made more of an effort to move towards us. I
wondered why they were dressed the way they were given that they seemed
to have dressed up and dressed down at the same time. Most homeless
would have just worn casual, sloppy clothes and never bothered to have
them covered in the same amount of shit as these two. In fact, if they
had been to a charity store it would have cost them no more than a quid,
and they would come out looking a ton better.
I was close enough
to the smell them and I almost gagged, they stank to high heaven, worse
than any skag head I'd been close to before.
The guy gripped
Trevor's arm and started to lean forward. It was then that I realised
that things didn't add up, neither drunk had said anything, not even
grumbled anything unintelligible. To my horror, I also saw that that the
second homeless guy was missing most of the left side of his face.
Trevor had time to say 'What the fuck' before the first drunkard opened
his mouth and sank his teeth into my co-worker's forearm. The second
urchin lunged forward and caught Trevor's shoulder and bit him solidly
in just above his collar bone.
Trev opened his mouth really wide then started screaming like I'd never heard a person do so before.
In that second, I knew what I had to do. I knew who the drunks really
were, even though my head was telling me it was impossible, I knew what I
had to do.
I took two steps forward and grabbed the zombie biting
my mate's neck and threw it to the floor; a chunk of Trevor’s neck
coming with it. I could hear both of my friends screaming as I
repeatedly stamped on the creatures skull, my boot caving in its soft
skull. Believe me it was one of the most satisfying things I've ever
done.
I turned to the second assailant who Trevor had shoved it
away from him and he was now on the floor grasping at his throat. The
undead cunt had turned towards me. Reaching out for me like I'd be its
next meal, I kicked at its leg and heard the knee cap go. When it tried
to put pressure on its left leg and there was no support, it collapsed
to the ground. Ignoring the shattered bone it tried to grab my baggy
trouser leg. I skirted around its grasping hands. 'Not today fuck face' I
thought, and then really enjoyed breaking the motherfucker's head.
Breathless, I turned to Sam and Trevor. She was crouched over him, the
sleeve of her shirt in strips as she attempted to do something for his
neck and arm.
He just kept coughing up blood. Hacking and sputtering words.
He was dying, and when he died, he would try and kill us. I pushed Sam
away, I saw her about to say something but I cut her off:
“Sam, whatever it is, just don't.” I warned.
I looked around, I could see more 'drunks' walking towards us, and from
three of the main streets, there were people running away from them. I
looked down at Trevor who had stopped moving, his hand had started to
slide from the wound on his throat. I looked at Sam as she backed away
towards the shop.
“Sam, I know it looks like I just killed
two people.” I said, keeping an eye on the undead. There were at least a
hundred coming towards us from the train station, and were less than
400 meters away. “You have to understand I had to. We are seriously
fucked if we don't start moving right now.”
She looked at me; it wasn't hard to understand why she looked shit scared.
“You're going to call me a fucking nutter but what we are dealing with are Zombies. We have to move.”
“Zombies?” She managed to say, disbelievingly, the fear was being
replaced by utter confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The biggest group so far appeared just left of the clock tower outside
our shop, it would be easy to outrun them, but I knew that there was
bound to be more of them.
“Look down the road.” I said, pointing at the shuffling corpses. “That is fucking real, we need to move.”
She stared at the throng; I don't want to think about what crossed her
mind. For me it was easy, there were things trying to kill me. Creatures
that belonged in a Romero production, but that wasn't the important
bit, the priority was that they wanted to kill me and I didn't want that
to happen. For Sam it was swallowing the (sur)reality of the situation.
She looked at me, shaking her head, as if that was going to make all
this shit disappear. From the corner of my eye I could see Trevor's body
jerk like it had had an electric current passed through it.
'Just like in the films' I marveled, momentarily before concentrating on Sam.
“Do you know anyone close by?” I asked. “Otherwise we are going to have a hard time-
We heard screaming, it was coming from multiple places, a fucking
veritable surround sound of pain. The mob was getting really close.
“My brother's place is about five minutes from here.” She said.
“We'll go there.” I said, glancing at Trevor who was now sitting up.
I pulled Sam away with me hoping she wouldn't look back and pull one of
the ultimate clichés (the scene where they think that the zombie is
still alive and go back to check on them).
We started running; I
took my bottle of Jim Beam out of my back pocket and carried it in my
hand, hoping that if I died I'd at least get a drink before I did so.
Sam led the way pumping her legs with all her might. As we passed by the
crowd around the clock tower, the nearest zombie made a clumsy lunge
for Sam. She made a high pitched sound and skipped away from it. Its
fingers grazed the denim on my thigh as I planted my hand on its skull
and shoved it to the floor.
“Whatever you do,” I wheezed,
years of smoking had taken its toll on any athleticism I might have had.
“Don't stop running.”
She renewed her effort and we cleared the main road into the main shopping area.
There were more shouts and screams; I could hear more sounds of
violence as I ran behind the teenager. She was being spurred on by the
madness that surrounded us.
After we had run past a group of
undead, who were heading in the direction of the main commercial square,
we cut down past the shopping mall's car park and west along a small
park and it looked like we were home free.
I didn't count on almost
bumping into a group of them coming through a small pedestrian walk way
between the residential areas, blocking off our advance.
I looked
behind us, the bunch we had avoided were heading in our direction.
Almost as if they had brains, they had started fanning out to make it
hard, maybe impossible, to get through them. I unscrewed the cap on my
bottle, the plastic seal making a satisfying crack. I backed away from
the zombies in front of us and tried to move down to the sea. That
street was blocked by maybe three dozen, widely spread bastards.
“Sam.” I drew her attention away from the 'situation'. “Can we go down-
“'Ere wots goin' on?” I looked up, and to my left, there was a man
standing in the doorway of one of the Bed and Breakfasts.
“Mate, you want to get inside right away.” I said firmly.
“What the fuck is goin on ere?” He repeated. “It’s not a gang wor is it?”
The man started walking down the steps, the zombies were getting
closer. I wondered if the man might be mad. Yes, maybe it was a gang
war, but would you step straight into one?
“Look.” He said
to the approaching drones. “I ain't got no problem with you peepole, my
kid's sick. We need to take 'im to an 'ospital.”
With one eye on
the crowds, slowly backing away towards the street down to the sea and
Sam doing the same, I took a swig of Jim Beam. The man beckoned to his
wife, who appeared out of the darkened doorway. She was holding an
infant to her chest.
“I don't know you.” I said to the man. “I don't want to, but get back in the house now. This isn't a fight.”
I looked wildly up at the other houses; there were lights on in most of
them. I noted that there were quite a few with faces gawping out at us.
I felt the blood rushing through my temples. What did these onlookers think this was, Friday night entertainment?
I heard a howl and jerked my head around painfully. Three of the
zombies had seen us and were now running at us. For a second I thought
that maybe they were still human, but one of the runners arms was
hanging by a piece of elasticated skin, the owner carelessly letting the
limb bounce erratically around before snapping off completely.
“Bollocks.” I heard myself say. Drinking some more Jim Beam. It was
then that I spied the door to the couple's B'n'B was still open. These
people were really fucking dumb.
Sam looked at me as if I was going
to solve everything. The nearest member of the Undead would be within
arm’s reach of captain dipshit, who seemed to still be trying to
negotiate with it. I motioned to the door; she understood and broke into
a run pushing past the woman holding the infant.
I went to follow, but the man snapped out of haze of stupidity to grab me.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” I bellowed at the man, shaking my arm free.
He recoiled as if the action had stung him.
I turned and sprinted up the stairs.
“Steve, Steve.” The woman cried. “He's moving.”
“They're fucking thieves.” The man shouted after me.
I ran up the steps, Sam was inside waiting.
I looked over my shoulder, the first zombie grabbed the man, and his wife/girlfriend didn't even seem to notice
“Oi.” He yelled easily pushing the creature away from him, his
expression had changed and I think he appreciated how fucked he really
was.
The wife started saying something; two other runners were getting closer.
“Oh but, Tommy's moving! There, there Tommy. Yes that's it kiss mummy's neck. Ow, OWW, WHAT THE, OW-
Sam slammed the door behind me. I caught one glimpse of the zombies
clasping Steve, his face, angry and confused as they started to bite
him.
Their screams I had the benefit of forgetting.
I looked at Sam; she was sucking air in, close to hyperventilating.
“Why didn't he notice all of them?” I asked, not really to anyone.
“Because, we answered and they didn't.” She said slowly calming down.
I walked past her and to the back of the main hall of the house. There
were no windows. I walked back, taking Sam's hand; I went up to the
first floor. I went into a room that I assumed had been Steve and his
partner’s (the door was wide open). Bundling over the unmade bed I
forced the window open that stood next to it. It looked out on to an
alleyway
“How far is your brother's place?” I asked.
“Only a minute from here, if that, seeing as we are running.” She replied.
I looked into her eyes, she smiled. I gave her a hug, I fucking hate hugging people but it felt appropriate at the time.
“Once we find some people we can trust and a place that we know, we'll
be alright.” I said, pulling away from the embrace, not believing a word
and hoping she would.
We climbed out onto a steal stairwell which
led down to a back alley. We ran along the side of a square, there were
half a dozen living dead walking aimlessly in the park which was the
center of the square, they seemed to sense our presence and shuffled in
our direction.
When we got to the block of flats that Sam's brother
lived at, there was one zombie pawing at the front door. On the other
side of a clear glass pane was an old lady shouting at it:
“What do you want? I'm going to call the police!”
Sam held back, I marched straight up the steps, grabbed the walking
corpse and threw it to the floor and went to town on the fucker's head.
Then I turned to the door.
“Let us in.”
“You, you kil-”
“Let us in.” I cast a gaze at our followers, they were already very close.
“I'm going to call the police.” She said decisively, her chin jutting out defiantely.
“That's great, call them. But first let us in.” I said grinning
manically. “Let us in and I swear I'll turn myself in as soon as the
police show up.”
“Philip.” It was Sam.
“Please, let us in. We know someone in the building. His name is...” I
realised I didn't have a clue what her brother's name was.
“Isaac.” Sam added.
“His name is Isaac. Now, please, let us in.” I begged, I looked over my
shoulder, the Undead were near the bottom of the steps. I could also
see two fast bastards coming down the road faster than the one near us.
“Shit, shit.” I swore under my breath.
“Philip.” Sam repeated.
I flicked back to the entrance, the old woman had disappeared and the zombies were getting closer.
“Philip, I can buzz their apartment.” Sam pointed out.
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