I Dream of Zombies (10 page)

Marla tutted. “Surely they must know it’s not the fucking flu by now!”

“Yeah, but they’re still mentioning it as a virus, which I guess it is.”
He put the laptop down on the side table and leaned back on the sofa. “I couldn’t get out of London. I was stuck in traffic and then this guy from the army told me it was best if I turned back.”

“Really?” asked Ellen, sitting down in the armchair opposite. “That must have been weird and scary, I guess.”

“That wasn’t the worst of it...”

“What was?”
enquired Marla, her voice lowering in pitch.

“Okay, where to start,” said Tommy,
leaning forward and rubbing his hands together nervously. “You know, you really don’t want to hear this.”

“We do,” Ellen
answered hastily. “What happened?”

“Mmm. Well. I was stuck in traffic and I saw this man running down the road. I was looking in my rear-view mirror at the time. I saw him and then I saw a woman running along behind him. Everything was normal, except for the traffic not moving. Then I realised there was another man chasing them, and he was one of them.”

“One of what?” asked Ellen.

“The dead-lookers in the supermarket?” asked Marla.

Tommy nodded. “Never seen anything like it in my life, even in a war zone, and then I realised the couple were quite old. Anyway, I opened my car door and they got in.”

“Good,” said Ellen. “That’s a really cool thing you did. You saved their lives.”

“Yeah, I should be expecting good karma then, no?” joked Tommy, but his face was serious. He didn’t feel like laughing. “Right, then the freak came running up to the car and just slammed his face against my door window. No shitting you. There was blood all over the glass. Worse thing was his face – there wasn’t much left of it for me to call him human. He didn’t run properly either, I noticed. It sort of rocked from side to side, kind of stumbling like, so the two old folk had a chance to get away from it.”

“Oh my God,” gasped Ellen, raising her hand to her mouth. “
Just like the guy in the supermarket.”

“The couple told me they knew him. He was their neighbour. Apparently, he had been bitten by a woman in the street and they took him to the hospital. The woman ran off. They couldn’t work out why, but the guy shone his torch in her face and he wondered if that was it. So then the guy comes back from hospital and he’s okay for a while, but then he gets this raging fever and he can’t sleep. T
he old guy who I gave a lift to, he went home to his wife. Next day he hears a racket from next door, and he goes out to see what the fuss is. She goes too. He hears these groans – doesn’t sound right, so he knocks on the door. The neighbour answers, but the old man said he was no longer his neighbour. He showed no recognition and then basically attacked them. They ran. They said the neighbour, or thing or freak or whatever, wasn’t fast and they outran it. But later it appeared again. They reckoned it could smell them... you know, tracked them by scent.”

Marla shivered and leaned back against Ellen’s legs. “So this guy gets bit one day and turns
into some kind of monster the next. That means the infection is passed by biting, and each person becomes aggressive and bites someone else. But it couldn’t have been passed that way in the beginning – someone would have had to have it first, so how did it start?” she asked.

“That’s scary if people are changed by a bit
e,” said Ellen. “It could spread really quickly.”

“Which it is,” Tommy reminded them. “Murders went up again last night. You know, there are police, mounted police and soldiers out on the streets all over London. The city has been sealed off
completely. We’re being quarantined because the virus is here. There are no cases anywhere outside London.”

“Yet,” said Marla. “If it takes
twenty-four hours for someone to change, that must mean they look normal for that time.”

“That guy had a fever though,” Ellen pointed out.

Marla raised herself and sat on the sofa. “That’s true, but maybe the fever goes at a different rate in different people.”

“Whatever... we’re stuck,” said Tommy, grimacing.
“I’ve been checking everything I can find on the net, and they’re grounding all flights in and out of the UK too, so it can’t spread, because there are cases in Europe.”

“What did you say about evacuations?” asked Ellen. “That’s the positive thing we should be focusing on.”

“They said there would be announcements about it,” Tommy replied. “But I’ve seen nothing so far. Just rumours. No proper statement from the government. They want people to stay in their homes though, because they don’t know how many people have the virus. They’re not even saying that it’s passed by biting or that the murders are linked to the virus. It’s crazy. All the newspapers are coming out with theories.”

“W
hat do the rumours say?” asked Marla.

“All sorts. Nothing concrete.”

“Where will they evacuate us to?” asked Ellen.

“Good
question,” said Marla. “The Isle of Wight? That’s an island!”

“That mightn’t be a bad
idea,” agreed Tommy, “but all this is conjecture. I’m going to make breakfast. I can’t think anymore and I’m starving. Want some?”

The girls nodded and Tommy got up.

“Our dad’s sick,” Jason spoke into the phone. “Can you send someone? No. No, not really. He collapsed. He’s had a fever for a couple of days. No, he hasn’t eaten. Could it be this flu thing? Okay… no, I can’t bring him. I can’t drive and he can’t walk. I’ve tried a few cab places and they’re refusing to take him. Okay. When do you think that’ll be? Okay.” The youth hung up and slumped down on the sofa.

“What did they say?” asked his younger brother.

“Not much. I rang the police and ambulance. They say they don’t have any ambulances available and for us to take him to a hospital. But no cab will take him.”

“I don’t get
it.”

“Nor me, Mark.
Makes no sense,” Jason answered, standing up. “I wish Mum was alive. She’d know what to do, ‘cos I don’t.”

“Have you heard from Uncle
Derek and Auntie Sue?”

Jason
shook his head. “Nope, not since last week. They planned to drive up to Scotland and stay with our cousins. We should’ve gone. I wish Dad had agreed. Now we’re stuck.”

“We could
still go.”

Jason
scowled. “We’re quarantined. How can we go?”

“
Okay, okay, but what are we meant to do? Dad’s sick.”

“
I know. Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. I’m stressing out too. I don’t know what’s wrong with Dad. He just lies there, staring at the wall and groaning. It’s so weird. He hasn’t said anything for days. I’m going to check on him and make some food. Hungry?” Jason asked.

“
Sort of. Maybe we could ask one of the neighbours to drive us to the hospital.”

“Could try, i
f we have any left. We’ll see after dinner. Have a look if there’s anything new on the news or internet. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay.” Mark
switched on his computer. YouTube was swamped with new videos that people had uploaded and he daren’t open any after the last ones he’d seen. They were frightening and could not possibly be real. London did not seem the same anymore. It was turning violent and he didn’t understand why. The information on the news websites was the same: London was quarantined; people should stay at home, especially at night; the economy was sinking; and the government was seeking a cure for this ‘virus’, whatever it was.

After a few minutes,
Jason stuck his head into the room. “No change with Dad. Going to make dinner and we can try the neighbours afterwards,” he said. “Bacon, eggs and chips?”

Mark nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He watched his brother disappear from view and returned to perusing the internet.
Just how long was the flu going to last? Movement in the hallway outside the doorway made him look up and he saw his father walking towards the kitchen. Roused by the smell of cooking, he guessed. Putting his laptop aside, he stood up. “Dad, I’m in here!” he called out. “Are you feeling okay now?”

Through the gap between the door and the w
all, Mark saw his father pause. Switching off the television, he strode quickly towards the door to open it wider. “Do you want me to..?” he asked, but went quiet when the man turned towards him. His dad’s arms hung lifeless by his sides and his gait was slow, swaying slightly off-balance, but his face was the most shocking thing.

Mark took
a step backwards. “Dad, you don’t look so good...”As he spoke, grey liquid bubbled out from the corners of his father’s mouth and as the man opened his lips wider, as if to reply, it trickled down his chin. Mark grimaced. His father’s mouth yawned even wider and a low groan escaped his throat, sounding more like the growl of a dog than a human.

“Dad, do you..?
” Mark stopped in mid-sentence. The man in front of him did not seem to be listening. For some reason he felt that his father did not register any of his words at all; he simply stared without focusing, his eyes glazed and bloodshot. There was a vacancy in the man’s expression that chilled the son. It was not him; it really was not him.

Mark bent
over suddenly as his back hit the wall and he spread his arms out against it. His father advanced towards him, his own arms dangling uselessly from drooped shoulders. Mark caught sight of the laceration on the man’s leg, just above the knee, where the ripped material of his trousers hung open. He had not changed his clothes in days, not since the incident in the street with the woman who attacked him. Why hadn’t he changed them?

As Mark continued to stare, he realised the wound had enlarged
and was festering. A rancid smell met his nostrils as he shifted his body along the wall, feeling it with his fingertips. The scent, reminiscent of rotting meat, was overwhelming. As he gazed at the gash from which tiny specks of blood were dripping, he saw a mass of flies; bluebottles feeding amidst crawling, white maggots. The smell was his father’s flesh. Mark felt his stomach heave at the realisation and he summoned all his strength to keep himself from being sick. “Jay!” he screamed, but the man in front of him did not react. He only leaned his head to the side and gazed at him.

Jason
came running into the room, knocking the door wide open. It slammed back. “What is it?” he cried out. “Oh, Dad, you’re up. That’s great – there’s...” Jason’s mouth closed as the man in front of him turned his head. There was a strange sound, like the cracking of bone, as the neck moved and the man fixed his eyes upon his son.

“What the
..?” gasped Jason, staggering backwards and dropping the glass he had been holding. It smashed to smithereens on the wooden table.

Mark
glided slowly along the wall as his father’s attention turned away from him. He willed his brother to look at him, but the lad’s focus was firmly rooted on the person in front of him; the man who smelt like death.

“Dad?” mumbled
Jason. “What happened to you? Why is your leg like that?” he asked, waiting for an answer. All he received in return was a deep groan as his parent gazed upon him and stumbled forwards heavily.

Mark
crept further along until he passed the level point with his father, which made the man turn his head slowly and fix his bloodshot eyes upon him, the expression glazed. It was as if he were dead and seeing nothing, thought Mark. Was he in some kind of trance? For some reason he felt afraid, as though his father was not who he should be, but something different. He wanted to take a step, but instinct held him back, warning him this person was now dangerous.

As he paused, his father swung
his body around and shifted his way. For a few seconds, Mark froze, not knowing what to do. This was his dad, so why did he feel so afraid? The guy was only ill. Instinctively, his hand rose towards the silver cross around his neck, which his mother had given him on his seventh birthday. Though he was not a believer, he gripped it, wishing she was still here and with him now; a silent prayer for strength. With a sigh, he finally stepped away from the wall. “Dad?” he muttered, but as he spoke, the man raised both of his arms and gripped him around the shoulders. “Dad, don’t... that hurts,” he gasped.

His
father’s mouth opened slowly and greyish-coloured bile dribbled out. It stank, like rotting fish and flesh, and something else. Mark swallowed down the nausea fast rising in his throat. Dry retching, he kept his mouth closed as he tried to push his father back with both hands. He ducked his face away as the man’s swept closer to his own. For a second he thought his dad was going to embrace him, but then his teeth made a swipe for his neck before his mouth clamped shut again; all the time, the eyes held no expression. Again, Mark pushed back with all his might, but he was jammed against the wall and there was nowhere to go. “Dad!” he yelled, but his cries fell on deaf ears. His father was not listening. Instead, he opened his mouth wide and tried to bite Mark’s shoulder.

Mark
kicked out at the man’s knee and the force shoved him back an inch, but his grip did not lessen. The kick seemed to shake Jason out of his reverie though, and he grabbed the laptop off the sofa. Moving swiftly, he slammed it against his father’s back. Scared that a hit to the head might kill him, he did not attempt it. The man groaned loudly and the bones in his neck clicked one by one as he turned his head to focus his eyes on whatever had attacked him. A bitter wail cut through the air. Jason stepped backwards, shocked by the vacant look on his father’s face. The grey skin seemed unnatural and the teeth were bared like an animal in defensive mode. Jason clobbered him with the laptop again.

Feeling the strong grip on his shoulders loosen,
Mark pushed his foe with all his might. It was instinctive and he did not think about the fact that his brother was standing immediately behind him. His father staggered backwards and tripped, taking Jason with him. The youth’s head hit the sofa as he fell, dropping the laptop, which landed with a loud crack. Mark crossed his hands over his head in panic, trying to catch his breath. On the floor the two people he loved most in the world writhed around, struggling to stand, but he froze.

Mark
watched helplessly as Jason struggled to get up as the thing that used to be their father seized his foot with two hands and tugged. His brother gazed up at him and shouted, but Mark heard nothing. He saw Jason’s mouth drop open and his expression change to fear, and then to dread and to horror, but he was stuck. A scream rang out, slicing the silence, leaving it raw and ragged. The room seemed to blanket itself in black, carrying Mark far away from it, wrapping him up, swallowing him... but then it spat him out. He was still in the room, standing motionless, gripping the laptop and staring down as his father ate the innards of his beloved brother. Dizziness rocked his mind and nausea flooded his throat. Seconds passed.

Slowly and quietly
, Mark put one foot behind the other, back towards the door, not daring to breathe out, but he could not have, even if he had wanted to. His breath was stuck. Everything was stuck. The room slid and rocked as the floor seemed to rise to the ceiling and revolve, like some grim funfair ride that would never end. In the distance the window looked far away, disappearing almost amid the deep red blood that covered everything. He was swimming in it – his brother’s blood – and he was drowning.

Mark
backed out of the room and ran down the hallway towards the front door. Not once did he stop or turn around. Opening it, he sprinted out into the stark sunlight and carried on running. The street was empty, as if everything had been sucked out of it. He moved in a vacuum. The steady pumping of blood rang in his ears and everything was coloured red.