Surviving the Fall: How England Died (29 page)

The man shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere.” He went to stand up, but wobbled and fell back again onto the couch.

“Maybe he’s right dad, even if he is a prick,” said the lad. His face was red from crying, but he’d finished with the tears now. He had a shaved head too, and a white T-shirt. Looked like a mini version of his dad.

“You can’t look after him, with your head like,” said Chris. “What happens if the next person to come in here isn’t as nice as me?”

The man let out a snort. “This is a fucking joke.”

“Dad?”

The man shook his head and hugged his son. “Go up and grab your bag, Nate. Put your coat on and pack your warm things. Not too much though.”

The lad ran up stairs.

Chris smiled and held out his hand, “I’m Chris.”

The man took it. With a very strong grip. He was a big bastard alright. He squeezed hard and Chris felt his knuckles rub against each other.

“I ought to fuckin brain you.” The man shook his head, “and I will do when I’m better. But you’re right, we have to get out of here.”

“That’s right,” said Chris grimacing through the pain in his squeezed hand. “Maybe it’s one of them things, you know, twist of fate and that.”

The man gave one final squeeze, “I’m Terry.” He let go of Chris’s hand. “Now help me get me stuff.”

Chris helped Terry up the stairs and stood by the door whilst Terry packed a small rucksack.

They went downstairs and Terry locked up the house. They got on the bike.

Chris revved it hard. The engine sang in high pitched complaint.

“Careful, dickhead!” shouted Terry.

“Sorry mate,” said Chris. He eased the engine gently and they rode out into the alleyway.

Chapter 7

“Come on girl, sit yourself down here.”

Nan motioned for Amy to sit on the couch. Amy was shaking, her skin pale. Her eyes wide open.

She looked at Nan, “What’s going on?” Her voice shook. She was on the brink of tears.

Nan rested her hand on Amy’s. “It’s the zombie apocalypse, dear. I’d best go get you a cup of tea.”

Nan went in to the kitchen and began making the cuppa for Amy. Poor girl, obviously terrified.

Amy shouted in from the lounge, “What do you mean zombie apocalypse?”

“It’s the virus, it’s everywhere now. My Chris tells me it’s zombies. You know, like on the films. Do you take sugar dear?”

“Erm, one please. Chris told you? Where is Chris? Is he ok? I saw him this morning.”

“He doesn’t look too good does he?” Nan brought in the cuppa and placed it on the table in front of Amy. “He told me was mugged. I don’t believe him though. I think he’s been messing around with that Simeon again.”

“He told me he was mugged too. Is he ok?”

“I hope so. He went out. I got a call from him an hour or so ago, said he was on his way home and I that wasn’t to open the door to anyone. Glad I made an exception for you though.” She smiled at Amy as she eased herself onto the couch.

“Now, what happened to you then?”

Amy held her head in her hands. “We were going to go to Formby, our uncle has a caravan there.”

“Oh, very nice.”

“Yeah, my sister thought it would be safe there, and we wouldn’t get this virus.” Amy shook her head as if fighting with her thoughts. “I thought this virus was like a bad flu or something? Zombies aren’t real are they?”

“I’m not really sure dear. It seems that everything is possible these days, what with these icomputers and phone-pads.” She took a sip on her tea. It was a good brew. “So what happened then? How come you aren’t on your way to Formby?”

“Cheryl went out to get some stuff, food and that, about and hour and a half ago. I got worried,  shop is only round the corner. So I went out to see if I could find her. Phones had stopped working.” The cup in Amy’s hand started to shake.

Nan guided the cup onto the table. “And then what happened?”

“I had just left the flat. That’s when I saw Mrs Williamson. She was moaning, covered in blood, I thought she was ill, but when I tried to help her, she tried to bite me.” Amy burst into tears. “Does that mean she’s a zombie?”

Nan hugged Amy, “There, there, dear, there there.”

Amy spoke into Nan’s neck, her voice muffled, “So I ran away, I couldn't get back to my flat without having to go past Mrs Williamson, so I thought I’d try Chris’, I mean, your flat.”

Nan continued to hug Amy. Poor girl.

Chris raced the bike down the alley. If there was one thing he could do, he could ride. He’d never been able to own a bike as fast as this, of course, but he’d stolen a few.

Nate sat squashed in between Chris and his dad. Both Nate and Terry held tight around Chris’ waist. Terry had a strong grip. Chris hoped he’d forgive him for hitting him on the head. He was a big bastard alright.

“Turn left here mate”, shouted Terry, “You’ll get to the alley behind Smithston Street. Long one that, takes us onto the main A-road. Short ride to Bootle from there.”

Chris nodded and took a tight right.

“Careful nobhead! You trying to shake us off?” shouted Terry.

“Sorry mate. Just trying to be quick.”

Chris turned onto the next alley and revved hard, the motorcycle took off under them.

A man emerged from a backyard just ahead. Chris swerved delicately as the man tried to grab them.

Buggers are everywhere, thought Chris. But a hell of a lot less than on the main road.

Which was where they turned to next.

The A-road was a trunk road that would lead directly to Bootle. He knew it well.

He stopped at a junction.

“Last main road I was on was the dock,” said Chris. “Nightmare mate. Cars crashing everywhere, zombies all over the place.”

“So?” said Terry.

“Just warning you,” said Chris. “Hold on tight. Things may get a bit mad, like.”

As if on cue, an explosion rocked the air and a thick plume of smoke rose a hundred yards down the road.

“See what you mean,” said Terry. “Hold on Nate, you got that? Hold on tight.”

“Yeah don’t worry Dad.”

“Everyone ready?” said Chris.

He revved the bike, hit the clutch and speeded onto the road. 

Thirty miles an hour, forty, fifty, sixty miles an hour in seconds. Chris expertly banked the bike left and right to avoid traffic, panicked people, burning cars, stumbling zombies. Nate and Terry tightened their grip around his waist.

He kicked down through the gears as they approached traffic lights at a crossroads. Even though the lights were green, Chris didn’t trust that anyone would be paying attention to the lights, so he pulled to a stop.

Just as well.

A fire engine zoomed across their road. It was on fire, screams coming from the cab. A few seconds, a rush of speed, a red blur, heat. The truck’s horn honked, its siren fired intermittently.

It ignored a curve in the road and ploughed straight into a shop front at full speed.

It exploded.

“Cool,” said Nate.

“It’s not cool,” said Terry. “People died there lad.”

“Sorry dad.”

Chris kicked the bike into gear and they were on their way again.

He took a turn off the main road into smaller and smaller branch roads until he was on the street leading to his tower block.

He pulled into the car park. Two cars were on fire. Several zombies wandered around the car park, bumping into vehicles, moaning.

One looked at Chris and let out a moan. It walked directly towards them. The others followed suit.

“Wait til they get a bit closer,” said Chris. “Then we’ll leg it round them. They’re slow as fuck. We should be alright.”

They got off the bike and waited. When the now grouped zombies were about ten yards away, Chris, Terry and Nate ran in a wide circle round the zombies towards the high rise.

A group of lads ran out of the high rise. They wore tracksuits, baseball caps, balaclavas. Two had motorcycle helmets on. They carried various weapons; bats, knives, spades. They stopped.

“Are youse zombies?” shouted the one at the front with a balaclava on.

Terry grabbed Nate and pulled him close.

Chris held up his hands, “No mate, it’s me Chris, from the fourteenth floor, you alright Benno?”

Benno pulled up his balaclava. “It’s just Chris.”

The gang, satisfied, ran into the car park. They shouted immediately on seeing the zombies following Chris, and they dived into them, swinging their weapons.

“Not bad for a bunch of scallies,” said Terry.

They got to the lifts. “Hope the power is still on.”

It was. The lift opened and a young couple froze, fear on their faces on seeing Chris and the others.

“It’s alright,” said Chris, “We’re not zombies.”

They said nothing. The man put a protective arm around the woman, and they squeezed past Chris, Terry and Nate, keeping their distance. Once a few feet away, they burst into a run.

The three got in the lift and went to the fourteenth floor.

The door opened. A zombie was half way down the corridor, an old woman in a white dress, splattered with blood. It limped towards the lift, moaning softly, its breathing rasping and laboured. It had a large hole in its chest.

Chris ran forward and hit the zombie hard on the head with his baseball bat. It fell, its blood decorating the wall. Chris hit it again, and a third time. The skull shattered and brain tissue hung out, stuck with pieces of skull. It was dead, again.

“See were you get your practice for hitting people on the head,” said Terry.

“Told you I was sorry mate.” He motioned for them to follow. “Here’s me Nan’s.”

Chapter 8

“Here he is!” Nan held out her arms and embraced Chris. “Where have you been, I’ve been so worried.”

“Sorry Nan, it’s a bit mad out there.”

“Can we get in out of this corridor?” said Terry.

Nan and Chris moved to the side to let Terry and Nate in.

“Who’s this?” said Nan, looking wary.

“This is Terry, and his son Nate. Helped me get back. Let me, erm, borrow his bike.”

Terry gave Chris a sharp look. “Hello,” he said to Nan, “Thanks for letting us in.”

“Don’t you worry" said Nan.

She led everyone into the lounge.

“Amy!” said Chris.

“Hello Chris,” said Amy, with a sheepish smile.

“What are you doing here?”

“Long story.”

Terry came into the room and smiled at Amy. “Hello,” he said.

Amy smiled back, “Hi.”

Nan took centre stage as everyone settled themselves on the couch and dining table chairs. “Who wants a cup of tea then?” She stared at the blood on Terry’s T-shirt, and the dried blood on his shaved head. “What the bloody hell happened to you lad?”

“You alright?” said Amy, jumping up, “That looks nasty.”

“It is. Ask laughing boy here about it,” he motioned to Chris.

All eyes turned to Chris. He felt himself going red.

“He hit me dad on the head with a baseball bat,” said Nate.

“You did what?” said Nan.

“Chris!” said Amy.

Chris shrugged, not sure what to say or do. No matter how he played the excuses in his head, they didn’t sound right.

He sat on a dining chair in the corner of the room as Nan and Amy crowded round Terry, tending to his wound, cleaning him up.

It was early evening. Chris took out a cigarette, he’d been holding off all day, but he thought he deserved one now.

He wondered if Nan was still going to make that roast.

She did.

They sat round the table, and ate Nan’s delicious roast.

Chris told the story of how they had got here, trying his best to underplay how he had got the bike. But Nate made sure everyone knew what had happened.

“Well,” said Nan, “I’m just glad you are all here in one piece, and Chris didn’t do you any proper harm.”

Terry’s skull wasn’t fractured. He had a massive bump though, and a raging headache. He had gratefully taken Nan’s heavy pain killers she got for her hip operation. They had dulled the pain a little.

“You can’t half be a bloody idiot at times Chris,” said Amy.

“I’ve said I’m sorry! You don’t know what it’s like out there.”

Terry said, “Don’t worry. We’re ok about it. He just owes me big time. Don’t you pal?”

Chris smiled at Terry. No one seemed bothered about his injuries any more, it was all about Terry’s head.

“Well as long as everything is ok.” said Nan “Don’t need any more nonsense going on, what with  what’s going on out there.”

Mention of outside, and everyone stopped talking. Up until then, they’d been having a nice bit of scran, chatting like friends. Everything had seemed alright. But they were far from alright.

“What are we going to do?” said Amy.

“Why don’t we stay here?” said Nan.

Chris shook his head. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” said Amy.

“Yeah, why not?” said Terry.

“You saw Benno and his bunch of scrots downstairs, running round kitted up like a bunch of assassins or something.”

“He’s a baddun that Benno,” said Nan, shaking her head.

“There’s plenty of badduns round here. That’s what I mean. Think about it, no bizzies, no nothing. You think the zombies are bad? Wait til the scallies work out they can do what they like.”

They exchanged nervous glances amongst themselves.

“What do you reckon then?” said Terry.

“I reckon we get out of here. Go to the beach,” said Chris.

“Formby?” said Amy.

“No, further. Reckon we go to Wales. Away from people.”

“Sounds like a nice idea,” said Terry, “but how do we get there? You said it yourself, the roads are proper dangerous. We can’t all get on my bike.”

Chris smiled. All eyes were on him, and he had the answers. “We don’t need to get on your bike, I know something better.”

They spent the night at Nan’s.

Chris offered to give up his room for Terry and Nate, secretly hoping that he would be able to sleep in the lounge with Amy, but they declined.

Instead he listened to Amy and Terry talking and laughing in the lounge, into the early hours.

Chris couldn’t sleep. He was far too wired. What a day. A beating in the morning, a zombie apocalypse by evening.

What the hell would tomorrow bring?

Especially given his plan for getting everyone out of here.