I Dream of Zombies (Book 2): Haven (9 page)

“But I am having a good time, Robert.
You can talk to me about anything. And I’m a great listener.”

“Just like your dad.”

“Just like him,” she replied, smiling again.

“Thanks. I can sort of see that. You have a kind face.”

Ellen laughed. “Of course that does mean you’ll have to listen to all my crap too!”

R
obert grinned broadly. “We have a deal. Does that mean I haven’t put you off meeting me again?”

“No, I’d be happy to.”

“Great! How do you fancy some chocolate cake? I could do with the biggest slice they’ve got,” he said, standing.

“Definitely! Those are m
y two favourite words.”

Friday, 28

After changing into the blue pyjama bottoms and vests they
had been given, Ellen and Marla walked into the adjoining room where Doctor Grice was waiting. The sleep study room was painted white and all of the sheets matched, but the curtains hanging either side of the single window were black. Two beds were arranged against one wall, surrounded by machines, and there were four chairs and a small table. At the other end of the room was a window through which a small office could be seen, containing a couple of desks and chairs, some computer equipment and filing cabinets.

Marla gazed through at the rows of books on the white-painted shelves. A green
, plastic frog with a huge red grin sat on one desk, endangering the serious air of professionalism. “Is that yours?” she asked, pointing at it with a smirk.

Doctor Grice raised his eyebrows. “No, it’s my son’s. Well,
Ellen and Marla, I am pleased that you agreed to this.”

“It was
n’t our idea,” Marla replied. “After seeing the therapist and mentioning the dreams, he kind of insisted on it. If you can get rid of these nightmares though, it’ll be worth being a guinea pig.”

The doctor
coughed. “That isn’t an expression we use here – guinea pig. Here we…”

“I think it sounds fun,” Ellen
cut in, nudging her sister. “I’d like to know more about our dreams and why we have them.”

“
Good. This is where we will study you while you sleep. Two nurses will be here at all times, along with me.”

As if on cue, a brown-haired woman wearing blue overalls walked into the room. “Hello,
my name is Rita. It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be helping Doctor Grice.”

“Hi,” Ellen replied,
struck by the nurse’s piercing blue eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Ellen.”

The nurse nodded and smiled.

“I’m Marla, her sister. Hi.”

“Y
ou both experience the same nightmare?” asked Rita.

Ellen and Marla nodded.

“It’s untypical,” Rita continued. “Have you participated in a sleep study before?”

“No,” the sisters replied in unison and Ellen
giggled. At that moment a young man in his mid-twenties walked in and closed the door behind him. He was wearing similar, pale blue overalls, so Marla presumed him to be the second nurse. “Hello,” he said, his eyes glinting as he spoke. His face was friendly and open, she thought.

“Sit down,” said Doctor Grice and everyone chose a chair while he leaned against the nearest bed. “The investigation into your sleep is called polysomnography, which you’ve probably never heard of before and will have problems pronouncing,” he began with an earnest smile. “This study will
enable us to decide on the best treatment for you.”

“So you think the nightmares can
definitely be cured?” asked Ellen.

“We will try,” he continued. “Many cases are curable, so we hope to, yes. During polysomnography, we will place a series of electrodes on the surface of your skin and bands
around areas of your body. This is painless, so there is no need to worry. While you sleep, we will monitor the signals from the electrodes. It’s as easy as all that. Rita, would you care to show them?”

“
Yes, doctor,” the nurse replied, standing. She opened a drawer and removed some items before showing them to the girls. “He is referring to these. This one is an electrode and this one is a band. They will be attached to those machines by your beds. Owen, here, can explain the tests,” she added, turning to the male nurse.

Owen grinned, showing deep dimples. “Okay, excuse the big words, but
this is what we’ll be doing: EEG – that’s electro-encephalography, which will monitor your brain waves; EMG – electromyography – to check your muscle tone; and ECG – electrocardiography – for monitoring your heart.”

“Wow,” said Ellen. “That’s a lot of tests.”

“That’s not all,” Owen continued. “We will be recording thoracoabdominal movements. To explain, those are movements in your chest and abdomen. And we’ll be monitoring your oronasal airflow, which is basically how the air is flowing into your mouth and nose. Another test is pulse oximetry to measure your heart rate and oxygen levels in your blood. Lastly, we’ll be recording your breathing and, if you do it, snoring, along with any other behaviour during the night, on video.”

“Ha, this will be proof you snore, Marla,” teased Ellen, giggling.

Marla stared back at her straight-faced. “I do not.”

The two nurses
were clearly amused. “Most people have no idea they snore,” stated Rita, “until their partners tell them usually, but, again, it is curable.”

Doctor Grice stood up
. “Shall we start? It is 1 a.m., so I’m hoping you’re feeling tired. We won’t disturb you in the morning, but let you wake naturally. If you’d like to get into bed, Rita will fix you up with the electrodes and bands.”

Ellen stood up and walked to the nearest bed while Marla took the one by the window. Once they were relaxed, Rita place
d the electrodes on their faces, scalps and above their lips. Then she put bands around their chests and tummies. Finally, she placed sensors on their legs and attached an oxygen sensor to the index finger of their right hands. “Good girls,” she announced, “we’re ready. Just sleep how you would normally, and adjust the sheets as you wish. Try to forget we are here.”

The two nurses
then left the room, followed by Doctor Grice who turned off the light. The three of them walked into the corridor and entered the adjoining room full of monitoring equipment via another door. Ellen turned her head and looked at them through the window. “This is so bizarre, Marl.”

“You’re telling me. These electro things are itching like crazy.”

“How are we meant to sleep with all this attached? I feel like Frankenstein.”

“I’ve no idea,” Marla replied, “but they’re filming us, so no rude jokes!”

Ellen giggled. “As if! You’re the one with the dirty mind!”

“Night, little sis,
I’m going to roll over the other way and try to get comfortable.”

“Okay, night
, and please try not to snore like a trombone.”

“Ellen!”

Saturday, 29

“Where’s Marla?” asked Ellen, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed.

“She woke earlier,” explained Rita. “How are you feeling
, honey?”

“
Not bad.”

“Let me take all these contraptions off you.” Rita began to
remove the various electrodes and bands.

“Were you here all night?”
Ellen asked, to which the nurse responded, “I get to sleep soon though.”

“Wow, you must be tired.”

Rita smiled in response. “There, all done. I’ll lead you into the other room to get dressed. Follow me.”

Ellen
looked through the glass separation and spotted Owen, who nodded, but there was no sign of the doctor. As she changed behind a curtain in the other room, she listened to Rita humming to herself. Once ready, she stepped out.

“
Alright,” said Rita, “you can go now. Doctor Grice will want to take a look at the results before speaking to you. Owen was monitoring you all night, so I imagine he’s very tired too. Do you feel as if you slept well?”

“Kind of,” Ellen replied, “but it’s been
so long time since I felt really refreshed that I’ve forgotten.” She hesitated. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

Rita shook her head. “No,
though it didn’t look as if you were sleeping very well to me, but Doctor Grice will fill you in. I’m not meant to comment.”

“
Okay, well, it was nice to meet you, Rita.”

“
You, too,” replied the nurse. She watched Ellen wander off down the corridor and continued to stare long after she had disappeared from view.

Week 9

Sunday, 30

“Hey!”

Marla
turned around to see Jakob standing right behind her, holding a tray bearing an assortment of food and a steaming cup. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked.

“No,” replied Ellen with a huge smile.

Tommy raised his eyebrows and said, “Hello,” in monotone while Billy glanced from one man to the other as he munched on his cereal.

“How are you finding it here?” Jakob enquired
once he was seated.

“I like it,” said Ellen cheerfully.

“It’s okay, though a bit on the boring side. I used to be a mechanic,” Tommy answered.

“You could probably do that here,” Marla suggested.

“I guess.”

“
Would you prefer taking your chances out there?” asked Jakob.

Tommy p
layed with his food, looking irritated. “No, but I like doing something with a purpose to it.” He put down his cutlery and swigged the remains of his coffee. “Well, I’m outa here, so I’ll catch you girls – and you, Billy – later.” With that he rose from the table, picked up his tray and began to walk across the cafeteria.

“Hold up, Tommy,” Ellen
called out. “Fancy a game of cards?”

He turned and smiled. “Sure, y
ou wanna get beat again?”

“Hey, I won last time!”

“That was just beginner’s luck...”

“But we’ve played loads of times,” Ellen
argued, almost running to keep up with Tommy’s stride.

Marla laughed.

“They get on really well,” said Jakob.

She grinned. “Yeah, they do. He saved our skins quite a few times.”

Billy wiped his mouth, pushed back his chair and stood. “It’s time I went too, so I’ll be seeing you, Marla. Bye, Jakob.”

She
nodded. “Bye, Billy.” With a wave, he wandered off in the other direction.

“Have you known him long?” asked Jakob.

“Billy? No, we met on the way here.”

“I meant Tommy.”

“Ah, yes, ages. We were in the army together.”

Jakob smiled. “I thought you were a couple, but...”

“But what?”

“Sylvia said you weren’t.”

Marla’s eyebrow shot up. “You were asking her questions about me?”

Jakob grinned shyly. “And why not?”

“The world has turned to shit and you’re asking people if I’m single?”

“Again, why not?”

Marla rolled her eyes. “Because this,” she said, gesturing to the people around them, “isn’t normal, because normal doesn’t figure anymore.”

“So, you’re saying I can’t talk to you?”

“No, just that you can’t talk to me like
that
. I’m still trying to get my head around the fact that the world has changed and if I step outside this place I’m liable to get eaten by things that used to be living, breathing people, so please don’t flirt with me.”

“Right,” said Jakob, his expression turning more sober. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

“Okay,” she answered, glancing away. Biting her lip, she sighed. “Look, I...”

“It’s fine. I get it,” he replied. “So, what’s your plan for the day?”

“You knew I had a day off? I don’t believe you!”

Jakob
opened his mouth to say something, but Marla was already standing. “See you later,” she told him before striding off towards the exit.

He
looked down at the tray of half-eaten food she’d left behind and the closest tables. No one seemed to have noticed her swift departure. Taking a deep breath, he opened the small, glass pot of blackcurrant jam and turned his attention to the bread roll on his plate.

Billy’s story

Billy wandered out of the cafeteria and down the corridor.
By the elevator, a young boy swung on the hand of a much older man. As the elevator doors opened, the man gave him a piggyback and walked inside. Billy paused, remembering his own father and how he might not have made it this far without his wise words.

***

It began like any other weekday, up at the crack of dawn to get ready for work. Make the same old chicken, bacon and tomato sandwiches rammed with mustard (oh yes), grab my stuff and out the door. I planned to get the Tube to Euston, from where I’d start my shift driving the 7.16 a.m. train to Apsley. Nothing out of the ordinary for me.

On the way to the station my dad calls me from Leeds where he’s visiting my sister. There’s something go
ing down, he says. Being a high-up police officer, he’d heard about it early – an outbreak of a virus that made people dangerous. I’d seen reports on TV about a spate of murders in the capital. I’d also seen people being sick on public transport and just assumed some dodgy flu was going around. Anyway, my dad shocked me by saying he was extending his holiday and staying in Leeds for the time being. It was odd because nothing fazed him normally.

Still,
I went to work not thinking much about it. How could a virus make people dangerous after all?

Next thing I know there are more reports on TV – more murders, more people falling sick and being admitted to hospital, but patients were attacking doctors and nurses. There
was a hostage situation on one ward, then a near riot. London’s going to the dogs, I thought. It was my second home after all, having grown up in Leeds. Perhaps it was getting near the time I went back home.

Then my dad rang again. He’d been hearing some serious
shit and told me to go to his house and – listen up – get his gun! I was like what dude? But nope, my old man wanted me to get his gun. I laughed, but he told me off, like I was eight years old again and he’d caught me nicking. When I got off the phone, I laughed some more.

When the reports on TV got worse, I stopped laughing. I phoned my dad, checked he was okay
, and went straight to his house and collected that Colt AR-15. What a beaut – lightweight, 5.56mm, magazine-fed, semi-automatic with adjustable sights. Lucky for me, he’d actually bothered to teach me how to shoot the damn thing.

I went home not knowing what to think. The turning point came soon enough.

The crazy reports got crazier, but I carried on going to work. Some of my friends stopped. Tube was still running and buses, though not so frequent. Sod it, I thought. A man’s gotta live.

So, on this day like any other,
I was driving the route down to Apsley with my fellow driver, Andy. Good man. We’d played endless games of pool and shared many a joke over a pint. Well, that was in the good old days before the shit hit the proverbial fan. And hit it that day it did.

Lucky for me, I’d woken up feeling a little
Call Me Paranoid, and packed that Colt and all them bullets in my rucksack, along with those chicken, ham and tomato sandwiches rammed with mustard, and some spare clothes. For some reason, and don’t ask me why, I sorted through my photos and took some of my dad, my sister and my mum, God rest her soul. A few other personal things I chucked in that bag too. Anyone would think I was heading off on a shooting weekend. Hell, I don’t really know why I did it. Maybe someone up there was looking out for me.

Anyhow, on the way to Euston something rattled my
brain. There were so many sick-looking dudes and birds on the Tube that I started getting scared. I saw an argument between a group of guys, and I clocked some woman picking on a man who was far too big for her to pick on, but do it she did. And she had this damn rage in her eyes, man. When I got off at Euston they held the train in the station. No idea why. I didn’t stop to find out. Put it down to a signal fault, as usual, and made my way to the overground station to meet Andy.

This guy on the escalator,
holy fuck – bloodshot eyes and a whopping great gash across one cheek. I thought he might have been bitten by a dog. He waved his arms at me, but I didn’t recognise him and ignored him. Then he started walking up the escalator behind me. That time of the morning it’s pretty quiet apart from us early workers, so it was just me, some woman and him. The woman turns, sees him and darts up the steps past me like a cork out of a bottle. I actually chuckle, thinking, ‘Girl, the man isn’t rabid.’ I laugh. Hell, I actually laughed.

As for
this weird-eyed guy, he just keeps on coming, except he can’t walk straight and he’s a-mumbling something in another language cos I don’t recognise it, but it don’t sound friendly. I assume he’s drunk. A man in a suit going down the other escalator stares. I shrug. Yawn. Glance down and the guy is still coming. He’s wobbling and that big gash on his face gets clearer. It’s definitely a bite and his ear has been ripped off clean, but surely that would hurt, I think. He doesn’t look in pain though.

At that point I’m thinking something’s wrong with this picture
, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’ve never seen anyone looking so fucked in my life and I’m about to ask if he needs any help when he tumbles… backwards. Simply rolls on down to the bottom of the escalator. I’m thinking he’s gonna be so hurt, but the man just gets up. Slow, yeah, but he gets up. I’m at the top by now and I’m off down the corridor. I find myself doubling my pace though I don’t know why. I pass a few other people now and then, but no one looks a mess.

Soon I meet up with Andy. W
e compare last night’s TV and DVD action, get in the cab of the train and we’re off.  We’re calling at all stations. A few passengers get on, all heading to work. At the first stop more get on. In no time at all we’re at Apsley. I wander on to the platform, but the driver I’m meant to change with isn’t there. I watch passengers get on, but notice there are a whole lot who don’t get off and it’s the final destination, which is kind of odd.

Anyhow,
I take a walk towards the office to find out what’s going on with the other driver. I open the door and head inside, looking for Mr Brightley, our boss there. To say he’s pissed off to see me is an understatement. He tries to attack me. Not with any particular object, but with his hands. For some reason he reminds me of the dude on the escalator. Same look, same bloodshot eyes.

And then
, of all things, I think of my dad’s words.

What the hell?
Mr Brightley lunges for my face and tries to bite me. I shout at him, swearing my lungs out and push at him, but the man’s stronger than he looks. Tries to bite me again and he’s growling like a wolf. In the end I grab a chair and hit him with it. I’m not a violent man, but I have to hit him twice. And he’s not staying down, so I’m out of there.

C
losing the door, I’m wondering what the fuck has got into him and I head to the ticket office to find someone. No one’s there: strange. Some passengers are just going through the barriers and getting on the train for free. There are no guards or any staff that I can see.

I’m thinking how my day just got
real weird when this woman appears out of nowhere and tries to claw my face. I swerve out of trouble, but she comes at me again. Then she lunges full-on, grinding her teeth. She’s growling in the same way as Mr Brightley. Luckily, another passenger pushes her off me and gets out his mobile phone. I ask him to call the police, but then the woman drives her teeth into his neck, gnawing while the guy screams his head off. I try to drag her away, but she has the power of a man. What the fuck?

In that instance three people come through the barrier and there’s something
seriously messed up with them too. I do the only thing I can think of and sprint back to the train. From where I’m running I can see Andy and he’s fighting some bloke. I yell at him to move away, but he’s going at it fisticuffs and doesn’t listen. I shout again, but by the time I get there the guy has bitten Andy’s arm.

I grab
my dad’s gun from my rucksack and whack the biter on the head. He kisses concrete and I grab my stuff. Andy and I race down the platform, but there are more of these sick people coming out of the station entrance, so we do a U-turn back to the safety of our cab. As soon as we’re in, I start the train.

We stop at
every station, picking up passengers and dropping them off as normal. I have no idea what to do. At one point I stop the train and talk to Andy. He has no idea what to do either and he’s not looking too good. Pale as a sheet. I start driving, thinking some passenger is going to go ballistic if I don’t. After a while we hear a screech. Someone pulls a passenger cord and the train stops at the next station. To go any further we’ve got to reset the alarm.

I want to check what
those screams are about, even though my sixth sense is shouting at me that I damn well know. But realism is arguing and I’m seeing horror B movies in my head. I grab my rucksack in case I need Mr C – the Colt to you – and make my way down the platform.

I tell Andy to stay
put, but he’s not too intent on leaving me and he follows. As I pass the carriage windows I peer inside and I don’t even have words. So many passengers look ill. There are people throwing up. Others look pale, like Andy, and that makes me gawp at him, but I stop when he questions it. I feel sorry for him. He’s my mate, so I quit staring. The second carriage people look ill too and some seem to have passed out.

This is some flu, I tell myself. I could laugh now at my own naivety.
It’s the same story the further I walk. I know the alarm was pulled in the sixth carriage, so that’s where I go. When I open the door is when it hits me – I’m no longer in my own reality. I’m in a fucking sci-fi movie.

I’m assuming the woman who screamed is the one who is being eaten alive by four men, oblivious to my presence.
There’s fuck all I can do. She’s a goner, and I need to get Andy and me somewhere safe. Resisting the urge to expel the contents of my stomach, I make my way to reset the alarm. I’m on auto-pilot. All around me these people – except they aren’t, I feel – start noticing me. Between me and the alarm seems the longest journey in the world, and I can hear the ripping of the girl’s flesh above everything.

Andy shouts at me to do something, which gains us the attention of the entire c
arriage of half sick and half I-don’t-even-know-what-they-are people, and they start to get up. The same animal snarls that I heard from Mr Bright Muncher fill the air and the eaters snap their heads around to look at me. I take a quick check of the carriage as I lunge for the alarm and notice only half a dozen people towards the other end resemble the eaters. After deactivating the alarm, I swing Mr C into action and pump a few bullets into these bloody ugly monsters. They keep coming until I happen to hit one in the head. Down he goes. The head is it, I realise.

Andy is staring at me in shock, his jaw hanging
open like a frog on a fly-catching marathon. I try to explain that those things I put down aren’t people. I know it, but he isn’t listening. He steps off the train and runs towards the station entrance. I get off, close the door and wander after him, but at the ticket gate there’s a flock of people – only they’re not anymore and they take him down. There’s fuck all I can do again and I’m choking. Why can’t I fucking do anything? What the hell is going on?

With no other exit, I sprint back to the
driver’s cab and throw my stuff inside. Once in, it takes me a while to calm myself. This shit is real, but it can’t be real. This shit is real, man. But it can’t be. That’s me for a good long time, and then something snaps back into place and I can start the train. I plan to go as far as Apsley and head to the police station. On the way I call my dad to tell him he was right. Also, that I have Mr C and I thank him for saving my bacon.