Dead Eyes: A Tale From The Zombie Plague (3 page)

In many ways, I had never been happier. Even before the zombies came, this was what I wanted. Deep down. I hid this dream from my grandfather, he wouldn’t have responded well. He wanted a simple life for me, free from anything remotely dangerous. He hated me joining the cub scouts. Who knows what he would have said if he could see me now. Pun unintended.

Being in the great outdoors with Libby, it was heaven. Everything I could have wanted, I had. Thoughts of romance were starting to form in my mind. I had no idea if she felt the same. How could she not? We were alone, trapped together almost.

In the end it didn’t matter. We were together for three months. And then it was over. Libby and me had an argument, a huge argument, over what to do about some other survivors we met. When I went to bed, I was sure she would be there in the morning. I was wrong.

A few days after she left, my eyesight started playing up. I guess the first stage could be described as night blindness. Soon as the sun set, so did my eyesight.  Whatever the cause was, I knew it was getting worse and that there was no cure. The curse of the family XY chromosomes continues.

So I was alone in a world where the dead have come back to life just to feed on the living, and soon I would be blind.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the dead, I will see no evil. Which would be great, if the dead weren’t coming to eat me.

In summary. I was fucked.

CHAPTER TWO

I was about a mile away from the motorway when I stopped running. I was pretty sure that I had lost the Daisy half a mile earlier. Even so, stopping to check wasn’t worth the risk. You had to be certain. The shrieks had stopped long ago, but I had continued running anyway. When I finally stopped, my heart was pounding heavily in my chest. The adrenaline still fired through my veins, filling me with that nervous electricity. Like I could take on anything. These periods were always dangerous. Filled with this energy, risks you wouldn’t normally take, you started taking. I gave myself a minute to calm down before assessing the situation.

My escape from the motorway had taken me into some dense woodland. I had lost all track of the route I had planned, or where I was for that matter. I looked around for any landmarks, something to give me an idea of where I was. My watch beeped with the change of the hour, another warning that the sun would be setting soon. Time to find someplace to stay for the night. Supermarket or no supermarket, I would have to find shelter soon.

I decided to keep heading west away from the motorway. I knew that my target destination was in that direction and, after a quick look at my map, that the forest ended before it reached the supermarket. My only concern was becoming disoriented amongst the trees. With the sun setting, I guessed that the forest would get dark quicker than outside. The last thing I needed.

Despite my fears, there was a sense of peace in the forest. No zombies around, no trace of humanity. If I had more time to set up a camp, it would have been a nice place to rest for a while. My eye problems quickly put paid to that little fantasy.

As I continued through the forest, my mind turned to the future, as it often did during these quiet solitary moments. What would I do when I turned blind? I had no one around me, no family to spend my days abusing, and no group of survivors to look after me. No Libby. I considered the limited options I had. Make my way to one of the huge refugee camps that are rumoured to exist close to the south coast. Libby and me had seen survivors making pilgrimage in that direction, towards the promise of sanctuary. I never trusted the idea. After all, we had been abandoned completely by the government. Who was running these camps and why should I put my life in their hands? And if a zombie outbreak started there, wouldn’t it spread faster than anywhere else? Maybe they would have a medical team, a doctor who could help prevent my blindness. Gene therapy or something similar, anything to postpone or prevent the coming darkness. Darkness. Maybe I was being overdramatic, but it filled me with a sense of poetic doom. That this was going to happen to me, like my father and his father and seemingly everyone else on the paternal side of my family. No matter how poetic, going blind alone was not a possibility.

There was a second option. That eighth bullet. The idea made me shudder once again. Deep down, I knew I couldn’t do it. That the fear would freeze my finger on the trigger, my arm going stiff and rigid when the time came to place the barrel against my temple. Did this count as cowardice? I hoped not.

Whatever happened, I couldn’t become a zombie. I had to be better than that. To not let the infection that had torn my world apart claim me as its final victim. Well, the final victim in my own personal story. I had to be better. I would not feel the hunger.

I distracted my mind by looking at the forest around me. The peace truly was amazing. If only I had more time. I looked up through the branches above me, hoping to judge the position of the sun. Something unusual was happening amongst the branches. A strange sort of dust cloud seemed to be floating amongst the trees. It looked like large clumps of pollen, or the seeds from a dandelion dancing on the breeze. Beautiful in its own way.

The edge of the forest appeared ahead of me. I quickened my pace, not willing to waste any more time. I emerged from the woods into the soft amber light of sunset. Time was running out. Soon as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, I would be blind.

I looked around and spotted a small road up ahead. As I approached, I noticed a road sign up ahead. “Franks Industrial Estate - next right.”

I could hardly believe my luck. I had run in exactly the right direction. What were the chances of that? I didn’t like to think of what would have happened if I had not had the Daisy chasing me. Would I have been moving quick enough to get where I was now?

The road wound away from the forest, entering into greenbelt territory around the industrial estate. I could see the big square buildings up ahead, a combination of DIY stores and sofa warehouses. The supermarket was on the far side; I could see its big red sign ahead. “Supa-Sava”. Beyond that, I could see a small town, lingering amongst the hills. Holding an invisible menace. Populated areas were a no go. If you wanted to avoid zombies, you avoid villages, towns and cities. Especially cities.

Getting closer to the estate, I started to wonder if there would be any survivors there. It seemed like the ideal place. Lots of supplies nearby, big sturdy buildings that were easy to fortify. Seemed like a rational place to set up camp. Then I remembered that this was not a rational situation. No one was thinking things through when the dead started walking. It was run or panic. In many ways it was the most irrational that survived. I mean, was it rational of me to just pack my things and go, not trying to seek help or find any familiar faces to stay with? Definitely not. And yet, here I was. Still alive.

I reached the edge of the estate and entered “stealth mode”. I wasn’t going to let my guard drop now, even if it was just survivors and not zombies waiting for me. You can’t trust anyone, especially if you were carrying as many supplies as I was. One of the few advantages of being alone. Not having to split the rations.

The estate was set up with seven huge buildings surrounding a large open car park. There weren’t many vehicles left behind, just one or two resting peacefully in the open. There was no sign of the carnage that had taken hold of the towns and cities I had passed. It all seemed relatively quiet, as if the estate had been forgotten completely. I decided to walk across the centre of the car park, giving myself a good viewpoint of all the different shops around me. If any zombies appeared, I could see where they were coming from and take evasive manoeuvres. I would also be visible to any survivors, should they be hiding somewhere close by. I wasn’t really looking to meet any, despite my sight problems becoming more severe. I wasn’t ready to become dependent on anyone just yet.

The crossing was uneventful. My footsteps seemed to echo around me, filling the silence that filled the area. Reaching out like pulses of sonar that found nothing to report.

I looked towards the DIY store and saw the doors torn open, windows smashed. I guessed that scavengers must have passed through here. I decided that I would take a look in the morning; see if there was anything left worth taking with me. All the other stores seemed unaffected. No one needs a new three-piece suite during the apocalypse.

When I reached the supermarket, I could see yellow paint splashed across the windows. Survivors had been here, left the signal that the place was clear. I wasn’t quite sure why yellow paint had been chosen. Maybe something to do with “Tie A Yellow Ribbon”, although I was sure that was to do with people going missing. Whatever the meaning, the paint seemed to work. I had never entered a marked building to find it not secured. It seemed that a sense of fair play worked amongst survivors when it came to these buildings. Don’t screw over someone else by being careless. Leave the building as you find it.

I ignored the front doors and made my way round the back. The big glass entranceway was vulnerable and there was no sense breaking my way in only to leave an easy access point behind me. The yellow paint agreed, arrows pointing round the side of the building to a door at the back. It was locked, a nearby rock painted yellow hiding the key below it. I looked at the door and saw a date written crudely in paint. “23/07”. I looked at the digital display of my watch. August the second. Survivors had been here recently. The chances of the place being secure increased.

I placed the key in the lock, having to force it inside, something in the keyhole obstructing it at first. I opened the door, smiling as I was greeted by blue tinted fluorescent lighting. It was some sort of security office, dead CCTV monitors filling space against one wall. I stepped inside and bathed for a moment in the light. Sanctuary. It’s strange how much you miss simple things like the glow of a light bulb. I had always thought artificial lighting was beautiful in some ways, the way it glowed defiantly against a night sky.

I turned to close the door behind me. As I pushed the door closed, I spotted the cause of the blockage in the keyhole. A spare key. Immediately I realised that someone else was in the supermarket. Someone who had locked themselves inside. It was too late in the day for me to leave, I would have to stay.

I made my way into the main area of the supermarket, where the aisles and checkouts were located. As I walked I called out “Hello? Is anyone there?” to try and coax whoever was inside to reveal themselves. I had no intentions to cause any trouble. Just to rest the night and take whatever supplies they could spare. If it came to it, I would fight for a place inside for the night. The service pistol tucked in my trousers would help. A last resort.

My calls went unanswered, my voice moving down the aisles and finding no one. It made me uneasy. If there was a survivor still inside, and I was pretty sure that there was, then why weren’t they answering?

I decided to ignore the aisles for now and head to the back of the store. I could see a large set of double doors ahead, “STAFF ONLY” written across them. As I neared the doors, I heard the crackle of static coming from a radio.

I pushed the doors open slowly, again calling out in hope of response. The doors opened onto a long corridor, with offices and changing rooms on one side, a large staff room on the other. At the far end, double doors labelled “STOCK ROOM”. The radio noise was coming from the staff room so I checked inside there first.

The staff room had been converted into a makeshift campsite, complete with sofas made into bunks, camping stoves for a kitchen, and a table covered in old magazines and playing cards. I spotted two hands had been dealt in the last game. Also on the table, a large green military radio, like one of those early mobile phone models. Chunky plastic and a long, unwieldy aerial.

In the corner of the room, a stack of backpacks sat stuffed with tins of food and tools. No one would have abandoned this camp. Either the survivors left to return later, or something bad had happened and they would never return. It didn’t make sense. I had never met a survivor who didn’t carry all their belongings with them. If you returned to your camp and zombies were there, you would be screwed without your gear. You always took it with you. Always.

Campsite still in place. Door locked from the inside. “The survivors must still be here somewhere.”

I left the staff room and returned to the corridor.  “Hello?” I said, “I’m just here to rest for the night. Not here to steal anything.”

No one answered. I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach. Something was definitely wrong here. Not zombies, they would have revealed themselves by now. I had heard rumours of survivors going…feral. Forgoing their humanity when law and order failed us. In many ways, life now is an honour system. Do unto others, what you would want done unto you. Most survivors obeyed this unwritten rule. Others murdered, pillaged, raped.

I took out the service pistol from my backpack and moved to the other doors. The first I went to was the manager’s office according to the sign. I pushed slowly, trying to be as unthreatening as possible in case anyone was inside, although I suspected otherwise.

The office was empty and had been completely trashed. The desk was overturned, papers and notices on the wall torn and shredded on the floor. Someone had written on the wall, in what I hoped was mud or chocolate but suspected otherwise, was a message to what I presumed to have been the former manager of the supermarket. “I hope they bite your fucking head off Mr Hamble you fucking piece of shit.” When the undead rose around here, someone had their priorities right. 

I moved onto the next room, “CHANGING ROOM”. When I tried the door, it resisted. Something heavy on the other side prevented the door from opening completely. The gap wasn’t big enough for me to stick my head through. If I wanted to see, I would have to push harder.

I tried the door again, this time trying to judge why it wouldn’t give. Was the door jammed or had it been blocked? The front door was locked, was this another attempt at sealing something inside? I stopped for a moment, to consider my next move. I had to check inside. If I didn’t clear the building, I would be awake all night wondering what went on here, and whether I was truly alone. I needed to rest, get a good night’s sleep. The next move was clear to me. Open the door.

I took a step back from the door and prepared to charge it with my left shoulder. I held the pistol ready in my right hand. Just in case.

I charged the door, my shoulder slamming into it hard. The first strike it didn’t budge. Second, it moved back slightly farther. I could hear books and boxes moving on the other side. With the third, the door moved all the way open, boxes and papers scattered inside, revealing the large changing room inside.