Diaries of the Damned (24 page)

Tracey understood that they needed to get off the streets. Her back ached, and her ankles had started to swell. She could feel them straining against the side of the trainers she wore.

They emerged from the alleyway onto a deserted road. Once again, all of the cars sat neatly in their spaces. They made quick progress through the once busy street. Tracey only stopped once to rest, but got moving quickly thereafter, when she looked through the window of the car she had chosen to lean against and saw two blood soaked children’s seats strapped into the back seat, including a baby carrier. The windows were broken, and the jagged tips stained with dark crimson highlights. A child’s stuffed toy, a pudgy faced doll, lay by her feet. It too was covered in a scab of dried blood. Tears burned her eyes and throat as she forced them back.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Tracey asked. The street was still empty, and the houses loomed large over them. They were old buildings. Most had four floors, with the majority being divided into two-story apartments.

“It’s too close to the road. Plus look at all the damage,” Alan pointed to the open doors, broken windows, and blood stained brickwork. “Who knows what is waiting inside? I want to get away from the road, a few streets in. If we can find a place that looks untouched, we’ll stop there.” He stopped as they came to a fork in the road. Opposite them was a small park, and in the center of it, a small children’s playground. It was fenced off and gated to allow the youngsters freedom to roam, and had acted as a perfect containment area. Seven zombies had somehow been corralled into the area, and the gate was not only locked but blocked shut by the wooden boards of a park bench, which had been ripped apart for that very purpose. The metal frame of the bench still sat in its concrete fittings, naked and alone. At the sight of the two figures entering the street, the zombies, who had been docile until that point, became as agitated as a tank of piranhas at feeding time.

“We need to get off the street,” Alan called, as he ran his eyes over the houses. He didn’t want to be that close to the road, but if they could move through a house, and into the street that ran behind, then they should be out of the way of any large groups that may happen to come through. He watched
The Walking Dead
. He understood how things worked.

When Tracey gave no answer, Alan spun around, and was surprised to see that street behind him was empty. “Tracey,” He called out, further enraging the locked up crowd. Alan looked in their direction, his heart in his throat, and gave a startled cry wh
en he saw Tracey walking toward them. He ran after her, but she turned around and told him to stop.

“Trust me,” s
he called back. With every sinew in his body set on edge, an electric buzz covering his skin at the thought of his unborn child being in danger, Alan waited. He forced himself to stand still, even to retreat.

Seeing her husband listen to her request, Tracey turned back to the zombies. Their eyes were set on her, but once again, they
stared at her stomach, a look of intent in their eyes. Something about it suppressed their hunger... all but one of them.

One, a large, heavyset man with a long beard, gelled to a fine point by blood, paid the rounded belly no notice. He snarled, and clawed at the air. It was almost comical to see such a large man, easily close to six-feet-six tall, struggling to overcome a three foot high fence.

Tracey stood opposite the group, unsure of what her next action was to be. Her initial intention was lost, wiped from her mind by the fear that now held her still. She watched as the group slowly began to regain their aggressive nature. The snarls started, like those of a cornered dog: a gentle warning, followed by a bark and ultimately…a bite. By the time all seven zombies were snapping and swiping at the air, Tracey was back at the house.

“What was that?” Alan asked the moment they had shut the tall front door. They had tried six houses before finding one that was unlocked. A body greeted them the moment they stepped into the living room, the only room that sprung from the small square hallway, which led directly onto the staircase. The owners of the house, a husband, wife and presumably an adult child – or
lodger – had suspended themselves from the oak beams that were to be found in all of the properties on the road. Their faces were purple, their bodies already starting to bloat.

“Keep moving. I want us to head out the back and find another place out there. We will be hidden from the road but close enough to r
un for help if it comes through,” Alan spoke, whispering in case anything else lurked in the shadows of the house. The curtains were drawn. The final act of a respectable family, hiding the shame of suicide, even when convinced that it was their last available option. The electric wheelchair in the corner of the room told Alan a little more about their lives, and ultimately, their decision.

He shuddered when he realized that already,
after but a day or two, he was neither fazed by death, nor could he feel the loss and grief, which hung in the air like smog.

“I can’t go on any more, Alan. I need to stop.” Tracey held her belly in both hands, cradling it as she planned to cradle the child when it arrived.

Alan looked at his wife and saw how exhausted she was. Her skin was clammy, her face drawn, eyes sunken. It looked as though she had aged a decade or two in the few hours they had been away from their marital home.

“Ok
ay, we can rest up her for a few minutes, but we really need to find a new place to stay before it gets dark.” Alan comforted her.

While Tracey rested in the kitchen, having no desire to sit in the living room with the rotting chandeliers, Alan checked the rest of the house. He was gone a long time. Tracey was beginning to get worried, but just before she stood up and went to look for him, Alan returned.

“The house is empty. We’re safe for now. So why don’t I go and see if I can’t rustle up something to eat?” Alan clapped his hands together, his demeanor somewhat changed since his departure.

“Why? I thought you wanted to move somewhere else. What changed?” Tracey asked, skeptical of her husband, who at times could be as stubborn as they come.

“Nothing,” Alan answered quickly, turning his back on Tracey so she would not see the fear in his eyes.

“Alan, tell me the truth. I can tell when you are lying.” Tracey rose
, but sat back down as a cramp seized her lower back rendering her temporarily immobile.

“Fine, we’re trapped here. I was up on the top floor. I looked out of the window and all I saw w
as them...the zombies. Not a whole city, but hundreds, and they are moving together, like a wave. If we move now and run into them, we wouldn’t stand a chance.” Alan watched the words sink in as Tracey’s face went through a number of expressions before settling on one that he guessed to be defiance.

“Fine, we wait here. We’re safe and warm. We can wait them out.” She rose and hugged Alan tight.

“I hope you’re right,” Alan whispered.

“How far away are they?” Tracey felt the sudden compulsion to ask. She felt Alan stiffen against her, and knew the answer before she whispered it to her.

“They’re here.”

The first few zombies moved past the window. The shadows were long, twisted images; misrepresentations of their true form. They soon disappeared, however; replaced by the mass as it swept down the street. Car alarms sounded and startled the herd. A strangely unified growl filled the air as they all turned in search of what made the noise. With their attention diverted, the group’s momentum was lost and their progress stalled, leaving the house surrounded.

“If they are here, can’t we go out through the back?” Tracey asked, ensuring that she kept her voice to little more than a gentle exhalation.

“I won’t risk it,
” Alan answered.

A scream rang out from outside. It was joined by several others a few moments later. Everything fell silent not long after, as the group descended. Their growls and sheer number overrode the sounds of death, and for that, Tracey was grateful.

“I’m going to check the window. Stay here,” Alan whispered to his wife. His hands rested on the curve of her stomach, and for one moment, he felt the baby push toward his hands. It wasn’t a kick. It seemed as if his child was reaching out to him for comfort.

“No! They will see you.” Tracey had felt it too, and the tears came in a flood. Much like the zombies, they could not be stopped.

“It’s okay, honey. There is a hole in the blinds. I can look through without them ever knowing,” Alan whispered as he stepped away, walking backward, waiting for Tracey’s approval, or continued resistance.

He bumped into the leg of the older man who hung from the ceiling. It made him jump, but somehow he stifled the gasp that leapt into his throat. That was until the corpse began to struggle and snatch at him. Cold, dead hands settled on his head and grabbed at his hair.

Alan could not help but shout. He unlocked his knees and sunk to the ground, before jumping out of the way. He ripped several large chunks of hair from his head, and could feel small rivulets of blood flow from the wounds on his scalp. Terror soon overrode the pain however, for all three figures had come to life. They growled, scratched and kicked at the air, and while the rope that cut into the flesh chocked their cries to an extent. Alan´s gasp had been more than enough to alert the herd that waited outside. They pressed against the house, and the main front window began to creak. They hammered against the door, which shook and splintered in its frame. They house began to shake from their frenzied advance.

“What do we do?” Tracey screamed. All need for quiet was long past.

“Run…out the back. That group was smaller. Maybe they haven’t gotten into the side street yet.

The pair sped through the house, leaving the three dangling zombies behind them. If felt as though the temperature had dropped even further as they left the house and entered the deep garden. The property was well kept, and they both saw the gate at the far end, which would lead them to the street. Unlike their previous two accommodations, it was not an alley that ran behind the house, but another, albeit smaller, road. Houses lined the street in semi-detached pairs. Finding shelter in one of those was their best bet, and it was that incentive which Alan used to power him forward.

They opened the gate as they heard the shattering of glass coming from the house behind them. The herd had found their entry point.

“Go! Stay against the wall. Move left, alright? When I saw them, they were coming from this direction.” Alan pointed to the right, as if his words needed an explanation.

Tracey merely nodded, and moved in the direction Alan shoved her. The street was far from empty, but the smaller group that Alan had seen was still some way off.

“Move! Move now!” Alan urged as they fled down the street. One of the houses had thick black smoke coming from inside, and the smell of the flames was unmistakable.

“Where are we going?” Tracey screamed as the herd began to close ground.

“We need to put some distance between us all. If they see what house we enter, we are doomed.” Alan was by her side and held her hand. A double-sided action, for it allowed him to comfort her while simultaneously forcing her along at a pace quicker than she would have been
able to maintain alone. “Lean on me. It’s fine. I can take it,” he spoke as he felt Tracey begin to struggle.

They reached the end of the street with the gap between them and their pursuers lengthened. The large herd still had, for the most part, their attentions drawn to the house, car alarms and second group of survivors their presence had spooked out of hiding.

“Here! Down here,” Alan called. They turned onto the dissecting road and moved back toward the busy road they had tried so hard to avoid. Moving as quickly as possible, Alan chanced a look over his shoulder at the very same moment three large zombies appeared from behind a white panel van. Their mechanics overalls were stained with grease…and blood. One was missing his left arm. The other two had multiple bite wounds to their neck and shoulders. All were missing fingers and had clearly put up a good fight.

One of the men reached out and grabbed Alan with a hand as large as a shovel. The power in the grip made light work of the multiple layers, which at that moment only served to limit Alan’s mobility.

Tracey screamed, and the three looked at her, but none made a move. Alan gave a cry as hungry mouths closed in on him. Their rancid breath had a meaty stink to it, and it made him gag.

Tracey cried, but her fear held her immobile. She could hear the groups coming up behind them, and could do nothing to help Alan. The three zombies engulfed Alan, until one by one, their heads exploded in a mist of blood and brain globules. The blood splat
ter painted the side of the van, adding a splash of color to its finish.

More shots rang out, and the sound of an engine - a heavy, powerful engine - made the street shake. Tracey’s legs buckled. She fell to the ground hard, landing on her side. She grabbed her belly and hoped that her death would be swift.

The last thing she remembered before everything went black were voices – several voices; frantic shouts…orders, follow by the sensation of being lifted from the ground.

Chapter 18 – Smarter than the Average Corpse

“It turned out that there was an army group following the large herd. They were trying to lead them into an area they had picked out, to try to kill them all in one fell swoop. They saw the commotion by the house, and followed up,” Tracey told the group, her tale almost told.

“If they hadn’t taken those shots when they did, I wouldn’t have made it. Those things had me good,” Alan confirmed. His eyes took on a distant, hazy look as he recalled the events in his mind.

“Well, thank God they managed to save you. That baby is going to need a Daddy,” Monique spoke, drawing a look from everybody.

“I wish I knew how we are going to handle all of this.” Alan answered, his answer encompassing everything, from life and the baby to the unknown that lay ahead for all of them.

“It sounds like you handled everything just fine,” Paul commented. He had been silent until that moment as he hurriedly finished his notes, and read the questions he had scribbled in the margin, as was his way.

“Thanks, but I didn’t do anything more than the rest of you. Besides, Tracey saved us a few times along the way.” Alan gave her a look. They were both young, and still had the look of a school child with a crush whenever they looked at one another. It was something that could not fail to moisten the soul of anybody lucky enough to witness them together.

“Yes, that is something new to the puzzle,” Paul mused. He spoke to himself, or so they all thought, for he appeared engrossed in his own scribblings. “It certainly lends credence to the theory that it was an agent of some kind rather than a natural occurrence.” He raised his eyes and looked at the group, who sat gathered around him as if he was their minister, and they his flock in search of salvation.

“There is somet
hing else going on here, though,” Alan offered. “I haven’t heard all of your stories, but I’ve read a lot of zombie books, and watched a lot of movies, but until two weeks ago I didn’t believe zombies existed, either. They shouldn’t care about a pregnant woman.” Alan stopped talking, hoping that someone could shed some light on the matter.

“The professor I was with told me he believed it to be a biological agent or something like that. He thinks the flu was an attack of some sort. The zombies are a side-effect. It explains a
lot: the short half-life of the infection. If you think about it, it makes sense then that people retain parts of their humanity. What if the bite doesn’t actually kill them, but mutates them?” Leon mused aloud.

“I could buy that if those things were bitten once and carried on walking. But we saw them get ripped in half, shot, stabbed, you name it. People did it to ‘em, all but shove a firecracker up their backside and light it up.” Robert took his turn to speak. How could they keep
coming if they weren’t dead?” he asked Leon directly.

“I don’t know. Maybe they are dead, bu
t the infection does something…it keeps them alive, somehow. In their brains,” Leon threw it out there, but nobody dared to argue with it, because it was the closest thing they had to an answer, and worst of all, made a modicum of sense.

“So what we are saying is tha
t these things are still alive…on some level.” Paul scribbled again, without looking down at the paper. He knew instinctively where he was and when to turn to a fresh page.

“The
n that means we could cure them,” Jessica spoke up with a hopeful tone. “Maybe this could be cured.” She pushed, eager to hear more, but unsure as to what she could contribute.

“Well, if we theorize along that line, I would say maybe. Those too badly injured would die, those that have not sustained enough nutrition would also probably die. Then there is disease. I mean, these people are, let’s be honest here, eating raw flesh.” Leon paused, a final hypothesis floating in his mind. “If they were still alive, and if they could be cured, then I think the cure would kill them.” He sat back and ran his hands over his face, grating his thumb and forefinger against the thick stubble that adorned his face.

“But it would stop it from spreading. We could beat it,” Jessica pushed, “if they are alive.”

“Oh, they are alive, kid. I’m sure of it,” a new and aged voice spoke up
, “and I’ll tell you one thing. They are evolving… learning.” The voice spoke again, but nobody saw where it came from.

“I don’t understand,
” Tracey spoke, and jumped when the man appeared above the seat in front of her.

He had a flock of unruly white hair and a mass of white stubble that covered the lower half of his face like a moss.

“If you put a rat in a maze and electrocute the walls, after a while, he will learn. So do those creatures. If you watch them long enough, you will see if for yourself, like I did,” he continued. “Brian Crawshank.” He extended his hand to Tracey, who shook it without hesitation.

“How do you know?” Paul asked, finding himself excited by the prospect of another tale. He no longer thought about the book he had planned to write, the tales of the survivors. Writing about the cause of the zombies themselves was far more interesting.

“I know because I saw it with my own eyes. Holed up in my own home the whole time, I saw them change…grow.” He nodded his head as he spoke, as if his words needed an additional emphasis.

Paul felt his heart rate increase, and anybody who looked at him would have surely noticed the way his eyes lit up. He squeezed his pen and tried hard to k
eep the smile out of his voice. “Do tell.”