David – Thursday: Plague Day
Peace and quiet was all he wanted. He could still be in his empty London, lulled to sleep by the lapping of the Thames while reciting the alphabet to ensure he didn’t forget it. Being brought back was bad enough, but being brought back to this was evil, pure and simple. What had he ever done? He’d done nothing. He was innocent.
The two receptionists were closing in, hands stretched out towards him. They would have been pretty not long ago. One had long black hair and her skin was darker than the rest, a sort of coffee colour with too much milk in. He shifted uncomfortably as he imagined them naked and not zombies.
He giggled and slapped himself around the face. That was going too far. They were dead and rotting and would never be pretty again. He could imagine all he wanted, but they were about to eat him. For some reason though, the fear that had driven him here from Regent’s Park had evaporated. It was all a bit funny now.
Their uniforms were funny, still so neat and prim, but collecting a dusting of dead and flaking skin on the upper half. They looked like they’d just walked through an ash cloud. He could have had both at the same time. He’d never had two women at the same time. He never would now, he reflected morosely, not now he was barmy. He giggled again.
One of the receptionist’s clawed hands closed around his wrist and the paralysis broke. He roared and yanked his hand free, then drove his fist straight into her face. The nose broke and warm, watery blood gushed over his fingers. He vomited into his mouth and swallowed it down, the bile burning as it returned to his stomach.
The zombie staggered away and he turned to the other, lashing out and catching her on the side of the head. She too took a few steps back, but came straight forward again. He raced off down the corridor and found the fire extinguisher. David hefted it in one hand, the grin back again.
He drew a mental picture of himself, half-Joker, half-Superman and turned to the zombies. In the seconds it took them to reach him, he realised how easy life was without fear. Then he caught a whiff of their stench and the fear crept up his spine like a midnight spider. The one with the broken nose came first and he almost ran.
The blood ran down her face and her yellow teeth showed through a dull pink. The blood soaked the front of her uniform and as she growled at him, it sprayed from her mouth. He jumped to one side and swung the extinguisher as hard as he could. The zombie hadn’t moved and it struck her head bang-on.
Her skull exploded. All he saw of it was her face, squashed together for a moment, then flying outward, one eye coming straight at him. It hit him on the chin and bounced to the floor and he followed it with sick. Her teeth were scattered among the blood and fragments of skull. Bits of brain matter dripped into it from the remains of her skull. Her body tottered and dropped.
He backed away, frantically scrubbing his chin with his sleeve. The smell was a hundred times worse, like standing directly above a blocked drain and he gagged. The other zombie was entirely unbothered and bent down beside the corpse. He’d been able to handle everything else, but when her long black hair dragged in the blood and she used one clawed hand to scoop what was left in the skull and cram it into her mouth, he whimpered and ran.
He raced down the corridor to a glass fire door. Through that and down the stairs inside, he arrived in the basement, which was either a great idea or the worst he’d ever had. Actually, coming to the hotel was probably the worst, but this might follow a close second.
It was dimly lit and quiet and he rested against the wall. He couldn’t get the image out of his head, of her pale tongue licking the soft grey matter. He slid down and covered his head with his hands. Did he really deserve this? All he’d done was cheat on his wife and lie to the person he was cheating with. Millions of people did it every day. So where were they? Why was he the only one stuck in London surrounded by the grossest zombies known to man?
Perhaps there were others. He didn’t know for sure he was the only one still alive. If there were others, they’d be hiding the same as him, so of course they’d be difficult to find. Maybe some of them would be women. He thought about Steph. Maybe she was still alive.
His heart leapt. How hadn’t he thought of this before? Maybe there were lots of people still alive, all hiding in their basements and ducked down below their windows. He could bang on doors until someone opened one. There was no way he was the only one deserving of this, no way at all.
He had to get out of the hotel. He had to find Steph. She was still alive, she had to be and she’d sort everything. And a blow job would put so much right.
He returned to the stairs and crept up them and out the fire door. He was walking with purpose now and had his breath back. His head thumped and his stomach rumbled but he could do this.
He entered the corridor in which he’d left the zombies and paused. The sound of eating, wet and crunchy reached him and his hunger fled. He tiptoed until he saw her, bent low over the body of her companion. He crept closer still and she sat up sharply. He gasped and almost dropped the fire extinguisher. She looked at him with dark, sunken eyes and he braced his feet. Then she bent and put her face back in the guts of the other receptionist.
He stared for a moment, waiting for his brain to catch up or do something other than scream. When he decided it was pretty much stuck on a loop, he set his feet apart, raised the extinguisher and brought it down as hard as he could on the back of her head.
Most of her skull mixed and mingled with the guts just beneath it and he ran before he could see any more. He kept running all the way to the exit before he stopped and looked at the extinguisher. It wasn’t a bad weapon, but it was pretty heavy and he didn’t like the idea of lugging it all the way down Regent’s Street.
He looked around the lobby and spotted the umbrella pot. The umbrellas looked too flimsy, but there were two walking sticks in there. One had the thick rubber end and was next to useless, but the other was more of a tapered stick, with a sharpish end and a comfortable handle. He could stab with that, through eyes and mouths and his mind just kept on screaming.
He grabbed it and set off, through the exit and down onto the street. Nothing had changed. The sun was dipping and he’d half expected the zombies to head home once work was over, but still they meandered this way and that.
Within moments of his arrival on the street, those closest to him turned and their growling rose in volume. He set off, running at a pace he thought he could maintain. He put one hand to his chest, reliving for a second the horrible feeling of being stuck in London with pneumonia, barely able to breath and having to rest every five seconds.
Now though, he had energy and he had a reason and it carried him rapidly down Regent’s Street. Oxford Circus was predictably busy and he slowed as he reached it. There had been arguments here and there were gatherings of feasting zombies, pulling apart their comrades. As far as continuation of the species went, these guys weren’t the smartest. Not that they needed to worry, there were hundreds just in this small space. And he had to get through them.
He banged his hand against his forehead as he finally looked at the cars and buses in various states of repair littering the street. Some were ploughed into shop fronts, others against lamp posts. A few were stopped in the street, with no visible signs of damage. With a silent shout of joy, he rushed across to a BMW slewed sideways across the road. The door was open and the keys hung in the ignition.
He jumped in and noted with relief that the engine was switched off. The driver had gotten long enough to get out and run before he or she was zombiefied. Unless they were still alive. Unless they were one of the lucky ones like him.
He turned the key and giggled as the engine roared to life. Every zombie in a twenty feet radius turned to stare at him and he hastily yanked the door shut and checked the windows. He slipped it into first and pulled away. And stalled. He cursed, thumped the wheel and turned the key. The car grumbled and he went cold, then it sparked up again.
He was more careful this time, pulling around the car in front and weaving slowly between the others. He’d gone maybe fifty feet when the first zombie threw itself on the bonnet. He stamped on the brakes and it slid off and landed on the floor in front of the car. With his lips pulled back from his teeth, he put his foot down. It sounded like driving over dead branches, only with damp ground beneath. His stomach turned over.
He accelerated, weaving as carefully as he could without going too slowly. Within a couple of minutes, Piccadilly Circus came into view and he allowed himself a moment of triumph. He was going to make it. The junction was rammed and he took to the pavement, scattering zombies this way and that. It was like being in a Bourne movie. He giggled and put his foot down, screeching back onto the road and stamping on the accelerator before hauling it round a bus.
A woman stood in the middle of the road. Blood streamed from her face and shoulders and without thinking he hauled on the wheel. The car shot sideways, mounted the curb and slammed straight into the base of the Statue of Eros. His head hit the wheel and the world span and began to go black.
He glanced over his shoulder at the woman and saw the tell-tale skin and eyes. She was a zombie. It was just a zombie. The next moment she was swamped by her greedy compatriots.
Davis tried to get his seatbelt off, but his hands were thick and clumsy and the world was still spinning. His arms refused to do what he told them. He stared at the door for what felt like hours until he finally found the locking mechanism. He pushed it and heard the satisfying thunk of the car locking. Then the world went black.
Next Installment Monday 27th October
