Part One is Here

David – Thursday: Plague Day

He landed on top of the zombie. Its legs caved and it tumbled from the tree. David slammed into the branch, slipped off and felt gravity take hold once more. He scrabbled and scrambled as his brain howled and somehow, by some miracle, caught hold of the branch.

His body slipped off and his shoulder wrenched as his arms took all his weight. He held on though. He couldn’t let go, he couldn’t fall down there. He wrapped a leg over the branch and pulled himself up until he lay belly down on the wood. It was sticking into him in all sorts of places but the pain was negligible compared to the panic that had him in its grasp.

He panted and pushed his forehead into the branch, willing the sharpness of the sticks to bring him back to himself. He didn’t really know what that meant anymore. He didn’t know who he was to be brought back to. But he chewed on his lips and felt the roughness of the bark beneath his skin and slowly but surely his breathing slowed.

Then he noticed the growls. They were low, like a dog with its hackles up, and they sounded vaguely silly. Like humans pretending to be dogs. He opened his eyes and peered around the trunk. The zombie he’d knocked off was buried beneath a pile of his companions. In the moment in which he looked down, one of them stood, a severed arm gripped triumphantly in its fist.

David swallowed and closed his eyes again. Was peace too much to ask for? He opened them and watched as the horde scattered, leaving behind blood-covered bones and a stain on the grass. He should have felt somehow better that the one who’d tried to kill him was dead. He might have, too, but some of those who’d finished feasting on their companion turned their eyes upward.

They didn’t see him to start with, their deep-sunk eyes roving through the branches. Then one pair settled on him and the owner of them staggered to the tree and began to climb. He watched, fascinated despite himself. The thing had the coordination of a three year old, but it moved on memory, hands jerky as they gripped and pulled.

And it climbed, far faster than he wanted. It was beneath him soon enough, clawed hands reaching for him. He kicked it and got a lucky strike. One of the hands shattered, fingers dropping off as the rotting flesh beneath gave way.

David nodded, satisfied. It would go away now, like a wounded wild animal. Only it didn’t. It was balanced precariously on a branch, but still it reached for him. It wouldn’t give up, would it? Because it wasn’t a wild animal. It was a human. He would have to do something, actually make the choice to do something.

The zombie wobbled back and forth but maintained its place on the branch. If it landed on the floor, would it suffer the same fate as its comrade? There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath and gripped the branch as hard as he could. Then he slipped his feet off and hung, well within reach of the zombie.

His heart sat just behind his tongue, trying to choke him. The hands reached for him, one whole and the other bearing stumps dripping blood. He kicked at them and then at its head. His foot slammed into its face and it slipped and lost its footing. He watched it tumble down through the branches, fierce grin on his face.

It wasn’t a grin he’d have recognised. It probably wasn’t a smile he’d have ever worn before his days alone. But things had changed. It was a grin that showed the cracks.

The zombie landed with a thud and flailed around like a beached whale. Just as he’d hoped, the others closed in and fell on it, biting and chewing and tearing. His grin widened. He could stay up here as long as he needed. Perhaps if he was silent they wouldn’t even know he was here. He could stay here and be peaceful and quiet.

He climbed up to his original branch and tucked himself with his back against the trunk. He squirmed until he felt something close to safe and waited. They would leave. They knew they couldn’t get him now and they wouldn’t want to risk being eaten by their mates.

Then he heard a growl and the fantasy vanished.

Another was trying to get up the tree and now he had to make a decision. They didn’t seem to move all that fast, even when they were attacking. He’d seen Dawn of the Dead but he’d seen 28 Days Later too. The question was, were these the fast or the slow zombies?

Assuming they were slow, he could probably outrun them. He could definitely outrun them. But where was he running to? Being out here meant more trees and open spaces and nowhere to hide. The roofs of the tall apartment buildings poked through the trees to the south. They were the nearest. He’d get to one and lock himself in. Then he’d have some peace.

He could knock this zombie on the floor and run while his friends ate him. His stomach turned over and his hands shook. He was going to do this. He was actually going to do this. He wished he’d said something to Amber. Just sorry would have been enough.

He clambered down a branch, biting his lip. The zombie below was clumsier than the previous two and taking its sweet time climbing up. David found a handy branch the right size to swing on and prepared himself. He was going to do it, he was really going to do it.

What was he doing?

Sweat broke out across his forehead as he tried to scramble back up to safety. He grabbed the branch above and hauled, but it snapped and he swayed. He grabbed the trunk and clung on, breathing like an fitting asthmatic. How could he be so stupid, he couldn’t do this, it was suicide.

A hand wrapped around his leg and he shouted in surprise. The clumsy one had got close enough to snag him. He lashed out and succeeded in dislodging its hand. Then he slithered lower and booted it in the chest and before he had time to think, he dropped lower still. The zombie hit the grass and they swarmed.

David scrambled down the last two branches and hit the ground. He froze, staring with wide eyes at the bundle of zombies. The sound reminded him of the one time he’d had to have dinner with Amber’s aged parents. They slurped and slobbered through bad false teeth. This sounded like that.

One of the creatures raised its head, as if it smelled something, then turned slowly to face him. David took one look into its dark eyes and ran.

He raced across the grass. They watched him, but made only cursory efforts to follow. He was going too fast, his feet blurring beneath him. His grin found its way back to his face and he sped up. He hit the road and found a new turn of speed.

‘Wooooooooooooooo, come on you bastards.’

He was flying. They’d never catch him. Most of them weren’t even fast enough to turn and see him before he was past them. He raced out the gate and even had enough time to reflect on how crazy it was being able to run straight across Marylebone without getting taken out by taxis.

Laughter streamed out behind him like a tail and they could grab at it all they wanted, they’d never take him. He ran into the huge semicircle at the top of Portland Place and straight up to the front door of the first flat on the left. He grabbed the door handle and yanked.

Nothing.

He stared blankly at the set of buzzers beside the door, mouth moving. He almost pressed one. Then he pictured Steph, pouting at him from the bed. She would be one of them by now. Her lips would be pale and cracked and her gorgeous dark eyes would be sunken and red. She had buzzers. How would she get out of her flats? Would a zombie remember the release button?

He started to laugh and heard a shuffling sound. It was close enough that he could see the lines and cracks in its face. He covered his mouth, shaking his head. He couldn’t let it catch him, it would tear him apart. It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

The thing took a step and the smell hit his nostrils, freeing him from the loop. He was fast. He was the wind. He set off, escaped the black gate at the bottom of the steps and shoulder-charged the zombie. It tumbled back and landed on its arse and his laughter pealed around Portland Place as he ran.

He was the wind. Straight ahead was a hotel, huge and imposing and unlocked. Beside the door stood a zombie in a top hat and tails, with a fine red jacket on. The hotel doorman was still at his post and if anyone noticed the cracked skin and coke-addict eyes, they didn’t mention it.

David ran straight at him, still laughing. The impact took the air from his lungs, but it sent the doorman flying. He smacked into the glass-fronted door hard enough to send cracks through it.

The doorman swayed his head to and fro and put his hands on the floor. David should have gone past, but he was intrigued by what had happened and stayed, staring at the zombie. When the doorman rose, he left behind half of his insides. His skin had broken and crumbled and come away from his back. His innards stayed behind on the crumbled skin. But still he rose.

David grabbed him by the arm and swung him round, sending strings of lung and intestines flying across the steps of the Cavendish Hotel. He released him and the doorman flew down the steps and landed in a heap at the bottom. Without his stuffing, his body crumpled and folded. The head landed atop the mess, the eyes still staring up at him.

David’s laughter dried up in his throat. It was still alive. How was it still alive? It didn’t matter, he was the wind. He pushed through the door and stepped into the huge entry hall of the hotel. The ceiling was miles above and massive golden and glass chandeliers hung from it, highlighting the red and white colour scheme. The carpets were the sort you only found in hotels.

The reception desk was tucked neatly into one corner of the reception area and sat behind it were two female zombies. David wasn’t sure female was relevant, save the fact they wore dresses and had long hair that was falling out in large wet clumps. They saw him as he came in and both spread their translucent lips into horrible impressions of smiles.

David ran straight past the desk, forgoing check-in just this once and headed for the stairs. He would find a room and relax. Maybe have a sleep. He thought about sleeping with the creatures walking and creeping around and shook his head. Not a chance. Maybe just a rest.

He arrived on the first floor and went to the door and stared blankly at the card slot beside the handle. He needed a card to get in. He needed a card. He groaned and put his head in his hands. He was getting the strongest feeling of deja vu when he heard a noise and turned. The zombie receptionists had left their posts and taken a personal interest.

Next Installment Monday 13th October

Part One is here

Alex – Friday: 6 Days to Plague Day

They stood before St Paul’s, buffeted this way and that by eager tourists and business men with their heads down and game faces on. London felt overwhelming after the peace of Yorkshire. Everywhere felt overwhelming at the moment. Even the train had been stressful.

Luke had dragged him out of bed and dumped him on the floor late yesterday afternoon. Following a brief announcement that they were on their way back to London, he vanished to book tickets leaving Alex to wake up and get ready to leave. He wasn’t ready to go anywhere. He still only half-believed he had hands and every time he used them they jarred and felt alien.

The sun was out, returned after a weekend away, and he rocked his head back to soak up the rays. He kept going back in his mind to that moment on the train when he’d seen his stumps. Not knowing why they were like that was almost worse than seeing it happen. The complete lack of mental preparation had caught him like a punch in the stomach and he was still struggling to draw breath two days later.

He wondered if this was how you felt when someone you loved got killed, in a road accident or something. The shock of it impacting as much as the event itself. His entire world had spun away like nothing mattered anymore and realising his hands meant that much to him only made him extra-paranoid. He didn’t want to use them in case something happened.

Luke had done it to keep him in line and on the train, but he’d done so much more than that. Alex glanced to his left. Did he know what he’d done? Would he care if he did? The man, or whatever he was, was a conundrum. He was evil, if such a thing existed, yet he was striving to save the world. The two things didn’t gel, in any way.

And Luke didn’t quite gel either. Most of the time he was this grinning man who delighted in screwing with other people. But every now and then Alex caught him looking pensive, or being polite and nice when he didn’t need to be and he couldn’t help wondering which of the two Lukes was nearer the truth.

Now though, his face showed only the evil Luke. His teeth were clamped together, the pressure pulling the skin on his face tight and showing off the pulsing vein in his temple. He hadn’t said much about why they were here, only that it was one of his own kind who was after him. Apparently, it wasn’t very surprising.

Alex was happy to stay clear of what was going on. Given the choice he’d be far away. He still hadn’t managed to contact Lisa and he was sure she’d think he’d run away. Threatened with a baby, she’d think he’d done a runner. Maybe she’d visited the lab and found it empty. Or maybe she’d given up on him. He couldn’t blame her, not with how little he’d been around recently.

‘Have you got any money?’

‘Huh, what?’

Luke gave him a look. ‘I said, have you got any money?’

‘Uh, not on me, but in the bank I guess.’

‘Get some, please. We need two tickets for St Paul’s and they’re tight bastards in there. And I need something to eat as well.’

‘Why do you need it now? How did you pay for our train tickets and everything?’

‘I have outstanding skills of persuasion. But one doesn’t fleece the church, not unless you want a whole world of trouble. Don’t get me wrong, it’s tempting to thumb my nose at him, but it’s not going to get me back home any quicker.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Money, now.’

With a sniff, Alex walked across to the cashpoint in front of the supermarket and took out a hundred pounds. There was no doubt he wasn’t getting it back, but he didn’t think saying that to Luke would make much of a difference.

A few minutes later they strolled into the cavernous confines of St Paul’s Cathedral. He’d never been in here. It was one of those London landmarks that had vaguely appealed but was never worth the cost. It was, in truth, pretty impressive. The floor was a wonderful pattern of black and white, like a chess board that had gone out of control. The columns were huge and majestic and covered in stunning carvings. The roof seemed ridiculously far away and his neck ached within five minutes of being inside.

He tried to relax and enjoy the place, but Luke fidgeted like a bored school boy and it ruined any enjoyment he might have got from the experience.

In fact, Luke wasn’t just fidgeting, he looked really uncomfortable. He kept scratching parts of himself and looking this way and that. Alex heaved a sigh and grabbed his arm.

‘What is it?’

‘He can see me here. I just don’t like being watched, that’s all.’

‘Who can see you?’

‘Who do you think?’

Alex chuckled and shook his head. Luke was many strange and amazing things, but the part of the story that was clearly not true was the part where he was an angel. That was like saying God sent him here to do holy works. Next he’d be claiming the bible was true.

Alex snorted and made his way beneath the massive dome, peering up with his mouth open. He tended to dismiss religion wherever possible but there was no denying they built great buildings. Luke came past him fast and put his hand around his arm. He tugged him towards the back of the church.

It was pleasantly quiet and soon they found a darkened corner in the North Transept with no one in sight. Luke stopped and squared him up so he faced the brick wall.

‘What do you see?’

‘A wall. Maybe some scratched graffiti, although I’m sure that couldn’t be there, not if God’s watching.’

Luke smiled, a rare genuine grin that made Alex itchy.

‘You really don’t believe at all, do you?’

‘There’s just so many reasons to think it’s all a crock. It’s about control, always has been. Why expect your peasants to be scared of you? It’s far more convincing to create something for them to be scared of, something that happens after they die. You don’t have to prove anything and you get obedience without all the pesky hangings and executions.’

‘I’m glad you’ve got it all sorted out. It makes my life considerably simpler.’

Luke was still smiling and Alex opened his mouth to ask what he meant when the wall before him shimmered. It wobbled, like something made the bricks soft and malleable. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. The shimmering was getting worse and Luke put a hand in his back and shoved. Alex put his hands out to stop himself from colliding with the wall, but instead of hitting it, he went straight through.

He was in absolute darkness and it smelled of age and dust. He scuffed a foot along the floor and felt stones and sand shifting around. Luke’s voice hissed in the black.

‘This is nothing to do with God. There’s no way he made it possible for that wall to become transparent. Nor was any magic involved of any sort. In fact, the knowledge of the hollow walls here has only remained secret through pure coincidence. Which makes perfect sense, what with the human race being in no way curious, or eager to explain the stories they’re told.’

Alex opened his mouth and closed it again. There were things in this world that were inexplicable; being shown the future and having your hands temporarily removed high among them. But that didn’t mean God existed. And that wall could have been created in any number of ways. He bit his lip.

Luke brushed past him and he jumped.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Hsst, keep your voice down. Sound travels in here. We’re going this way.’

‘I can’t see anything. Which way is this way?’

‘That’s unfortunate. Maybe you’ll have to trust to the will of God that you choose the right direction. You could walk around in here for days before you starved.’

His voice grew faint and Alex hurried to keep in range. When he stopped talking, he focused instead on the soft tread of his shoes and the occasional click they made as they struck smooth stone. It was silent in here and the darkness showed no signs of abating. How had this place remained a secret?

But then, this was a church building and they were renowned for keeping things secret. No one would mess around with St Paul’s without the church allowing them and he couldn’t see that happening. So in actual fact, it was easy to imagine no one knowing about this. Only Luke did and that was frustrating, if only because it was harder to explain away.

His thoughts were derailed as he noticed Luke’s back before him and the dark grey of the walls to either side. Light was coming from somewhere and he heaved a sigh of relief. Luke stopped, raised a hand, and crouched down. Alex followed suit and shuffled after him as he moved further forward.

The light grew brighter until the corridor was lit by flickering oranges and yellows. The scene over Luke’s shoulder was extraordinary and very unlikely. Not impossible but unlikely.

The tunnel came out right at the top of a cavern that must have been as deep, as St Paul’s was tall. Directly beneath the exit was a small platform and a set of horribly steep steps descending into the cavern. The walls were rock, smooth in some places and ragged in others.

The bottom of the cavern was flat, artificially so, and the centre was home to a church. It was, he realised, a miniature version of St Paul’s, all the way from the steps leading onto the cavern floor up to the enormous basilica. It was miniature only in that it wasn’t as large as the one they were beneath. But it was a good-sized church nonetheless.

Unlikely, not impossible. The trucks Luke had mentioned seeing in Yorkshire were all parked at one end of the cavern, the fire light flickering off the plain grey armour. The light itself came from a series of torches fixed around the walls and a huge fire that sat at the far end of the cavern, near the tunnel mouth through which he assumed the trucks had gained access. The cave was empty of people.

Luke gave him a look. ‘This is the power of the church. Not some pathetic hold over peasants who want to be dominated anyway. This.’

He shook his open hand at the vista hundreds of feet below.

‘But why? What’s the point in all this?’

‘I could tell you things about power centres and St Paul’s being built where it is for very deliberate reasons. I could mention how every ceremony and moment of true belief that happens above is channeled down into here and used. But you wouldn’t buy it, so what’s the point?’

He was right, it would be rubbish, but he wanted to know anyway. Luke was already creeping out of the tunnel and lowering himself onto the platform below.

‘We aren’t going down there, you’re bloody mad.’

Luke put his finger to his lips and pointed to the trucks. ‘The stuff you created is in there so unless you have a better plan, going down there is exactly what we’re going to do.’

Alex hissed and rubbed his face. He followed Luke down onto the platform. They both froze as the sound of chanting rose up to them. Alex crouched, clinging to the rough wall as he got a brief glimpse over the edge. His stomach lurched and he went dizzy. The chanting grew louder and the front of the church opened.

Men emerged, wearing long simple robes of pale grey. One wore white and stood out from the monotony of his comrades. Behind them came soldiers, all wearing various shades of grey and all chanting. Near the back, two men held between them a figure, stripped to the waist and struggling. Her cries reached them up on the platform and Alex’s blood ran cold.

Next Installment Thursday 9th October

Part One is Here

Krystal – Thursday: Plague Day

She landed first on her hand and then her face and couldn’t decide which hurt the most.

‘James? James?’

He was silent. He must have knocked himself out when he fell. She tugged her hand free of his. His skin was cold and it hadn’t been a moment ago. She got to her hands and knees and felt around until she touched his face. That was cold too.

His skin was dry and what felt like flakes of skin attached themselves to her fingers. She wiped them on her jeans, swallowing. He hadn’t looked like he had a skin condition. He’d looked fresh-faced and smooth.

‘James?’

Still no response. She pushed him a few times but he didn’t move. It felt like she was pushing a lump of wood. She trailed her hands over him back to his face and held her hand under his nose. She’d done this more than once with people she’d called friends and sometimes she felt something and sometimes she didn’t. There was no reason to think she wouldn’t, but…

Nothing. Not a breath. What the hell had just happened? He’d been fine, chatting away and then… she sniffed. The smell was stronger now, mold and something worse. She remembered the police cars crashing, the way they went from driving normally along to being completely out of control with no warning. This must have happened to them.

The fog. It was in here and got James. So why was she still standing? Her next thought was for Ed and she stumbled to her feet. Where was the door? Why had they shut it on the way in? She saw a thin line of light where it came in beneath and with a sigh of relief took a step towards it. That was when his hand wrapped around her ankle.

She screamed and kicked out and succeeded only in falling over. His grip was even tighter than when he’d held her hand and she felt panic bubble up, sweat breaking over her brow and her heart thudding in her chest. She ground her teeth together and took a deep breath. Panic was something that happened when you had something to lose.

She lashed out with her other foot, slamming it again and again into his wrist. She’d never been so grateful for her Doc Marten boots. They were the only item of clothing she had that was actually worth anything. For that matter they were the only thing she’d ever paid for.

His wrist gave way, the skin cracking beneath the blows and her foot ploughed into the softness beneath. She kept kicking and although the fingers stayed tight around her ankle, she pulled free and pushed herself on her arse across the floor. She scrambled up, staring into the darkness of the room, trying to imagine where he’d be.

She reached the door handle and yanked on it, shoving hard. The door stayed resolutely closed. She whimpered, a sound she’d not heard from herself in a long time and pushed again. Still nothing. She stopped moving, listening. He made plenty of noise, scraping and sliding as he got to his feet. He growled and she imagined him taking slow steps towards her.

She pulled her knife from her pocket. It was pathetic, a penknife with a blade about the size of her pinky, but it was better than nothing. She pulled the blade out and waited. A patch of darkness moved and she put her hands out. He stumbled into them and she screamed and shoved. It was like shoving a building and he kept coming.

His hands closed on her shoulders and she felt his breath close to her face. She put her hands where she thought his face was and felt slobber on her palms. She shrieked and pulled them away, then put them back a bit higher. His nose was soft beneath her palm and she pushed.

He tightened his grip and hauled her away from the door. Krystal kept her hands where they were, the knife still gripped tight. She lifted her right hand away until the tip of the blade pressed against the back of her left hand. She moved it until it rested between her fingers and then she guided it until it sat over what she hoped was his eye.

The manoeuvre seemed to take for ever and throughout it he dragged her forward, bulling his head at her and trying to push through her hands. She grimaced and pushed the penknife. She felt the moment it entered his eye and he whined, like a dog being beaten. She pushed further and hot liquid poured out and down her arms.

She gagged and spat and gagged again but kept pushing. Then he froze. She liked to think she knew the exact moment it pierced his brain, but the truth was she knew nothing except the feel of his fingers digging into her shoulders and the hot tang of his breath that made her stomach churn.

She shoved him in the chest and he dropped like chopped wood, thumping to the floor. Her arms hung by her sides as she took deep breaths, chest heaving. She turned around and found the door. She turned the handle and pulled it open. She could see herself, frantically pushing at a pull door and despite what had just happened, the blood rose to her cheeks as she blushed.

The light spilled into the room and she turned to look at James. It wasn’t James. It had, perhaps, once been called that, but it wasn’t any more. His hair was already falling out, leaving behind a scalp that resembled cold porridge. His eyes looked like one of her friend’s after a particularly bad winter. And he smelled, of meat left out in the sun for far too long.

She needed the knife. The handle poked from his eye socket like a flag and she screwed up her face. She needed it. She took one slow step and another until she stood over the corpse. She’d seen a few horror movies in her time, though nothing as bad as what she’d seen on the street, but she knew he wasn’t going to rear up for one last attack. The way he’d stiffened when she got the blade into his brain had been as final as it gets.

At least she knew how to kill them. She blinked, hand hovering above his head. She knew how to kill them. What the hell was going on? When had she been able to kill anything? And what were they? She knew the answer to that. Zombies were cool. At least, they were until you were shut in a cupboard with one. Then they were just smelly.

 She looked at her hands, wondering at the cold. The blood that caked them was cooling down and becoming sticky. She heaved and bent over, trying her hardest to keep her five cups of tea down. Once the urge to regurge was gone, she reached out again and wrapped her hand around the knife.

It took some tugging, but eventually it came free with a sucking noise normally reserved for freeing your boot from deep mud. That thought took her back to camping with mum and dad. It was an early memory, one of the few not ruined by what came after. She remembered fires and lying on the beach and walking through woods and laughing.

She scrubbed her eyes with one hand and then pictured herself with blood smeared across her face. Considering the state of her hands, it probably wasn’t the worst that could happen. She carried the knife with her thumb and first finger out of the room and straight across to the toilet.

As it clattered into the sink, the shakes set in and she grabbed the edge as her knees gave way. After a few minutes of hyperventilating on the bathroom floor, she pulled herself up and blasted the hot water on full, scrubbing her hands until they hurt.

The clean knife went in her back pocket and she finally looked at herself in the mirror. The blood was scrubbed off, but she looked different anyway. Older and far more scared. Fear was something that had become so common place she thought she’d conquered it. Turns out there are different kinds of fear.

A ball coalesced in her stomach, heavy and painful as another type of fear she’d never had assailed her. Where was Ed? She ran to the lift and hammered the button. Had he switched the lifts off as well? There were like, a million stairs in this place. She stopped hammering and let out a long breath once she heard the whir that signalled the lift’s approach and listened. The building was eerily quiet. No air con, no hum of lights, no voices.

The ride up was long and fidgety and she kept touching the knife in her pocket and remembering the sound as it came out of the zombie’s eye. She’d done plenty she wasn’t proud of in the last three years, and few things she was. She’d had to defend herself a bunch of times and sometimes she’d succeeded. Other times she’d ended up bruised and bloody and penniless, but that was how it worked.

But she’d never used the knife. It had been there, but any time she’d been tempted to reach for it, she’d imagined the person she was fighting having something far larger stashed away and the moment she brought it out, they had an excuse. Now she’d not only used it, but she’d killed someone she’d been chatting to only a few minutes earlier.

Her shoulders hunched and she wondered whether she shouldn’t have just stayed in the bathroom. Then the doors slid open and she groaned. Across the room she saw Ed, backed against the window, hands before him like they’d make any difference. The floor was covered in corpses, stiff and cold like James. The air con hadn’t made any difference.

She dashed across, weaving between the corpses and grabbed him by the shoulder. He flinched and shoved her away.

‘They just all fell over. One minute she was talking about her son and the next she just fell over. They’re so cold.’

‘Yeah, not for long. C’mon.’

Ed finally looked at her through eyes that struggled to remain still, flicking this way and that.

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’ll wake up soon.’

The little amount of blood that had managed to remain in his face fled and he took her outstretched hand. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Went to turn off the air con. Getting a bit cold in here.’

‘How do you know how to do that?’

‘I don’t. Took James with me.’

‘Where’s James? Who’s James?’

‘James is a zombie. Well, he was. Now he’s down an eye on the floor of the electrics office.’

Ed’s eyes settled on her, brow creasing. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Tell you later, c’mon.’

She was trying to keep her voice calm and quiet. She’d seen the ambulance people do it when they came to take someone away. They always talked to her and anyone else around, always with the same questions.

‘Did they have anyone, anyone we should call? Did you know they were struggling?’

And she’d always notice the calm quiet voices and somehow she’d answer the questions with a straight face, like they weren’t the stupidest questions in the world. She was using that voice now talking to Ed and he was responding just like she’d always done.

‘Yeah, course.’

He let her lead him across the room, weaving between the bodies. They could wake up. At any moment she could put her foot down and feel a hand around her ankle. She had to stop herself running across the room, if only so Ed didn’t lose the plot entirely. She kept seeing things from the corners of her eyes, movement that made her jerk to one side, only to see nothing but corpses.

They reached the lift without Ed freaking out further at the presence of lots of dead bodies and stepped in. They both sighed and she pressed the button. The doors were most of the way closed when an arm slipped through. Ed screamed and threw himself back, banging off the opposite wall. She grinned, waiting for the door to close and snap off the offending limb.

Instead, they pinged and reopened and she stared at the faces of those with whom they’d shared their day, every one staring at her with sunken eyes and teeth bared.

Next Installment Monday 6th October

Part One is Here

Bayleigh – Thursday: Plague Day

The woman leapt at her. Bayleigh screamed, the same sound she’d made when Ali had fallen, and threw herself back. Her feet caught on a corpse and she collapsed. Her bum landed on something soft which she realised, with gorge rising, was a dead body. She rolled off, squirming and shaking only to have a claw grab her arm and yank.

The zombie pulled her onto her other side, sending a stabbing pain through her shoulder. Their gazes met and she saw eyes that reflected no life or light. They sucked in the light around them and turned it to darkness. Bayleigh was transfixed. It lasted only a moment before she realised the creature wasn’t trying to pull her toward it, but was using her to pull itself.

It slid across the floor and bared its teeth again. The smell that emanated from its mouth made her stomach heave and her eyes water.

‘Bayleigh get out of there.’

Layla’s useful advice only partially permeated her consciousness. Most of her mind was occupied with trying to work out what had happened to the woman who’s face now hovered only a few feet from her own. The skin was pasty and putty-like, except where it was flaking off in thick chunks. Her eyes were sunken, as though the skin had just given up and let the weight of them drag it into her skull.

Bayleigh wasn’t sure what had happened, but she didn’t think she could call it a she anymore. There was nothing feminine about it. There was nothing human about it either. It was alien, its movements jerky and almost as though something else was controlling it with one of those little boxes you got with remote controlled cars.

Her thinking came to an abrupt end when it raised its head and brought it down toward her knee. She realised at the last second it intended to bite her and with a shriek she yanked her leg out the way. The creature’s head fell between her legs and she felt the heat of it through her jeans. She shuffled back on her bum until she bumped into another corpse. She imagined its arms lifting from the floor and wrapping around her waist and she yelped and stood.

The thing got up almost as quick and came at her again.

‘Hit it in the head.’ This time Layla’s words cut through.

‘What?’

‘It’s a zombie, hit it in the head.’

‘There’s no such thing as zombies.’

‘Fine, it’s a plague-ridden ex-human with the need to eat you, hit it in the head.’

‘With what?’

She caught the creature’s arms as it tried to grab her and they were locked in a struggle. It wasn’t strong, not enough to overpower her, but her arms shook and her shoulder ached and she had no idea how long she could last. It didn’t look like this thing was likely to run out of stamina any time soon.

Layla came into view, creeping in a wide circle around the creature. She brandished a huge triangle of metal. Bayleigh got a glimpse of the picture and realised it was a ‘men working’ sign, one of the ones with the red outline and the picture that looked like a guy trying to put up an umbrella. It was big and Layla struggled to carry it, swaying side to side as she came closer.

Bayleigh kept her hands wrapped right around the thing’s arms. It struggled more and more, but she clung on as though her life depended on it. She had a flash of making sandwiches and trying to decide what the optimum amount of mustard to put with ham was and giggled. Layla stopped, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

The sight of her, street sign in hand and look of utter confusion on her face made Bayleigh laugh even harder. The creature shoved her arms wide and came at her with snapping teeth and the laughter died in her throat. The force of the attack put her back on her bum and suddenly she felt the hot breath of the creature on her face and felt something wet strike her chin.

She screamed and struggled and kicked and flailed. One hand slammed into the woman’s face and her cheek burst open. Blood like salad dressing streamed onto her face and chest and she vomited into her mouth. She coughed, eyes watering and with a strength she didn’t know she had, threw the creature to one side.

It landed beside her and they lay, staring one another in the face. Bayleigh hawked and spat a mouthful of bile and half-digested lunch in its face. It screamed, a sound like sandpaper tearing. That was the moment Layla appeared behind it and brought one tip of the street sign down on its head.

Layla grimaced at the wet, rough sound as it dug straight through the thing’s skull and deep into its brain. She let go, took a step back, then had to jump to avoid the sign as it toppled over. The thing went with it so its open eyes stared up at the sky and its limp, lifeless arms flopped onto its belly.

Layla turned away and threw up, the sound loud in the sudden silence of the street. Bayleigh panted, staring up at the blue sky above, wondering when she was going to wake up. Then Layla screamed and as the sky didn’t become the white of her bedroom ceiling, she decided waking up was unlikely to happen.

She rubbed her elbows as she sat and looked around. Another of the creatures was sitting up. She almost used the word zombie, but refused on the grounds that to do so would be to admit they were real. Until she actually saw one eating brains, she wasn’t going to entertain the notion.

A sound made her turn her head. The dead woman, road sign still in place was twitching and Bayleigh shoved herself back, muttering obscenities. As she got further away, she realised the reason it was twitching was another person, looking as equally dead the first, gnawing at its face. Its teeth were sunk into the woman’s cheek and Bayleigh couldn’t help herself.

She rolled in the other direction and vomited, spraying the pavement beneath her with lunch and the better part of breakfast. Then she hauled herself to her feet. Layla had frozen and stood, knees together and blood-spattered hands held out before her.

‘Lay, we have to get out of here.’

Her friend looked at her with wide, wild eyes. ‘And go where? They’re everywhere, where do we go?’

Bayleigh cast around and her eyes settled on a boutique furniture shop a little way down the road. ‘There’ll be beds and stuff in there. We just have to find a room we can barricade and—’

‘Then what? What the hell do we do then?’

‘I dunno. Wait for the police or the army or whatever I guess.’

‘You guess? They’re bloody zombies, Bay, you can’t just guess.’

She was so entranced by Layla’s screaming, hands flailing about like, well, like she was being attacked by a zombie, that she missed the person getting slowly to his feet behind her. It was only when the man’s hand landed on Layla’s shoulder that Bayleigh realised what was happening and threw herself forward.

Layla jerked and spasmed and shoved the creature so hard it tumbled over another body and lay kicking its legs into the air. In that second, Bayleigh grabbed her arm and tugged her away. They dashed along the street, letting out little shrieks every time another of the bodies stirred. They were all waking up. She wouldn’t let herself think what that meant for Ali.

They reached the door of the shop and dived in. The pastel hues of the walls and floor felt as incongruous as the five-years out of date pop music playing through the speakers, even more so when they spotted the bodies lying between the beautifully organised displays. She pulled Layla along until they reached the wide staircase and dashed up it.

There were beds up here, a small selection in outrageously-priced sheets. In one corner were the bathrooms and in a second some kitchen designs. But the fourth corner caught her eye and with something approaching glee she raced across. Garden wear. Only two racks of it, but those two racks held a wonderful selection of pointy objects.

She pulled a pair of shears off the high shelf while Layla took a garden fork. She brandished them before her, mouth curling up at the corners. They nipped around the back of the stand into the space there and hunkered down, facing one another.

‘Tell me again what they are.’

Layla managed a smile. ‘They’re zombies. They want to eat you. It might just be your brains or it might be all of you. I don’t think it matters all that much.’

‘Can we agree, just between the two of us, that zombies don’t exist?’

‘Not sure that’s much of an option, i—’

‘It is. It’s absolutely an option and it’s the one I’m choosing.’

Layla raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Never had you down for a wimp.’

‘A wimp?’

‘Yeah, I mean, not willing to accept the truth and that.’

‘How can I accept the truth when it’s impossible?’

‘You mean impossible like some mysterious guy selling you some roses and your dad dying the next day?’

Bayleigh flushed and stared at her hands. Her knuckles were white around the shears and she relaxed them only through a supreme effort. ‘That was a coincidence.’

‘Yeah, absolutely. Same way every person in London dying and then strangely coming alive again and acting exactly like something that doesn’t actually exist.’

‘Yeah, fine alright, whatever. It doesn’t matter, really, though does it?’

‘It matters because if they’re zombies you have to hit them in the head. You have to hurt their brains.’

‘Hurt their brains? Like, play them Take That really loud?’

‘Oi, leave it out. I mean stick a street sign through it, something like that.’

‘Oh. Oh, hey, thanks.’

Layla shrugged and mimed putting her fingers down her throat. ‘It was pretty good wasn’t it? Kill my first zombie then chunder everywhere. Real hero me.’

‘You saved my life, so that counts as heroic in my book.’

‘Yeah?’ She grinned and blushed. Bayleigh patted her on the shoulder and turned to look around the edge of the display. One of the zombies, dammit she had to call them that now, was pottering around in the floral patterns, but she couldn’t see any more on their feet.

She turned back to Layla and screamed as a pale grey hand appeared behind her friend and grabbed her shoulder. Layla screamed as well as she was yanked backwards and buried beneath the zombie as it fell on top of her.

Next Installment Thursday 2nd October

Part One is Here

Luke – Friday: 6 Days to Plague Day

It was shitty up here. The rain had come in early this morning and joined with the mountains to form a barrier of grey. Luke had never felt so out of touch or so isolated. There were many things he hated. He had a list, somewhere, but not many of them compared to being in this crappy, nothing town, surrounded by people too simple to care if they lived or died.

The ground was soft underfoot and he kept meeting huge patches of heather and bramble that sent him off on one pointless diversion after another. It should be simple. The map made it look very simple, but he was deciding maps were something he should have had a hand in. They were so deliciously deceptive and annoying.

He’d thrown his away a few miles back. His nose was taking him where he needed to go. He was discovering he had some other advantages not shared by the people here. His sense of smell seemed to be considerably better than most. He’d realised when he got confused about how the army expected to keep a secret base up here when you could smell the oil and refuse miles away.

Alex hadn’t been able to smell it. To give him his due, he hadn’t been able to do much of anything. He was still recovering from the loss of his hands, which was a good thing. The more shaken up he was by it, the less likely he was to run away, or cause some other problem Luke could do without.

He crested a hill and looked down into the valley. It was, in a vaguely annoying way, quite pretty here. The heather glowed pink when the right light hit it and the rolling hills and crags were pleasant enough. Seeing it from a helicopter or maybe in a vision, would be alright. Being here was another story.

In the bottom of the valley sprawled the base and he settled himself against a rock, nodding contentedly. Who needed maps? He examined it, focusing until he could pick out the details. His eyesight seemed to be better as well.

It was a walled base and the wall was made of dark stone and covered in moss. It had been here a while and the barbed wire along the top was black with rust. The front gate looked a little newer. It bore recent evidence of attempts to clean it up and as it opened now, it rolled smoothly on oiled runners.

Within, two long low buildings met in a right angle and at the end of one stood a taller building bearing a tower. Beyond them were a variety of vehicles, including troop carriers and camouflaged jeeps. It all looked entirely innocent and peaceful.

Luke watched for a while. He had no plan yet. In fact, he had no idea whatsoever of how he intended to get the formula and the test tube back. His initial thought had been to send Alex in to complain. It would, in all likelihood, fail, but would at the least be amusing. But his recent concerns regarding his possibly impending mortality had put paid to that. Anything that drew attention to him was a bad idea.

He needed to get in quietly and subtly and without giving away even a hint of what he was doing there. He could steal a uniform and go undercover. That was tempting. So tempting that he set off over the brow of the hill toward the base. He was scrambling down the slope when he heard the thwump of helicopter rotors. He dashed back up to a rock he’d passed a minute earlier and crouched beside it.

Seconds later, the helicopter hammered over head toward the base. He had about two seconds to register the fact that the dull grey paint bore no insignia or markings, before something left the helicopter, travelling at speed toward the base and trailing a smoke line behind it. Seconds later, it struck the top of the tower and tore it apart.

The explosion was loud enough to make his ears pop and he winced, crouching lower still. A second rocket followed the first and the roof of one of the low buildings collapsed, showering the rest of the base in smoke and debris. A third rocket hit the wall and it crumbled, leaving a man sized hole into the base.

Luke scrambled down the hill. He had his way in now. Whatever the hell was going on, this was too good an opportunity to miss. The helicopter flew low over the base and the sound of automatic gunfire drifted up to him. It was chased by screaming and the gruff sounds of men shouting. Luke smiled. Even when they were being fire at, some people were still concerned about appearing masculine and manly. Of all the sins he’d found it easiest to exploit, that was at the top of the list.

The roar of engines brought him to another stop. A set of trucks were bulling their way down the road. They looked aggressive with massive tires and dark grey paint jobs. And as they pulled to a stop before the base, the men who poured from the back of three of them looked equally business-like.

They approached the hole that had been blown open in the wall and were met with gunfire. Luke was about to set off when he paused. This was a secret base, yet someone knew about it and was now attacking it. What were the chances they were after the same thing as him?

This gave him a choice. He could race down there, fight his way through the hordes, search the base to find what he needed and escape, alone, over open ground. With a helicopter and some outstandingly aggressive looking men chasing him. Or he could change the game plan and see what happened. He clambered a little way back up the slope and settled down next to another of the huge rocks that thrust brutally into the grey sky.

The shooting was constant now as both sides poured bullets through the hole. It didn’t last long. One of the trucks drove up to the wall and reversed across the hole. The sound of the bullets striking the edge of the van was torturous to his ears and he was several hundred feet above them. It appeared to make no different to the grey-uniformed attackers though.

They gathered around the van before two of them slipped beneath it, between the two sets of huge wheels. A few minutes later they emerged. By this time, the gate had opened, spewing more soldiers out into the Yorkshire countryside. They set up barricades over the road and were firing on the invaders from the other direction.

The men in grey were supremely calm and Luke couldn’t help admiring them. They had to be being guided from somewhere, because they acted in unison, with no hesitation or doubt. It was like watching demons harvest. They settled in behind another of the trucks and took turns firing at the men behind the barricade. There was no urgency to their movements but one by one the defenders were picked off.

The van parked before the hole in the wall pulled away and the soldiers behind it were momentarily exposed. The attackers unleashed a rain of gunfire that sent two of them sprawling, blood blossoming from wounds all over their bodies. Luke rubbed his hands together. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to just sit back and watch the chaos.

Through some coincidence, all the firing stopped at the same moment and into the silence came a shout that carried up to where he sat.

‘Retreat, get back.’

Then the wall exploded. It didn’t so much explode as shatter. Whatever charges the men had placed while hiding beneath the van were monstrous. Shards of brick hurtled in every direction and proved successful where the bullets hadn’t. The men running back to their building were caught in the open and received a thousand tiny wounds across their backs and heads.

For some, it was enough to kill and they went flying as the punch of the explosion caught them. Other weren’t hurt badly by the debris, but the explosion itself tossed them across the base. Luke imagined the sounds of bones snapping and people screaming. He had to imagine it because, for a moment, the explosion had done for his hearing. He looked down on a scene covered in white and grey smoke and imagined himself back in the times before, when all the earth looked like this all the time.

Happy days.

The attackers were moving, streaming through the hole in the wall and finishing off the hapless defenders. Within a few minutes the base was quiet and the grey-clad soldiers went through it with impressive efficiency. It took them fifteen minutes, but before long, three of them emerged from the base of the tower carrying files and something in a small box.

Luke knew what it was, even before he noticed that the man carrying it walked as though he were trying to balance a drink on his head. He didn’t stop and the others fell in around him, far more tense now than they had been on entry. He walked through the colossal hole in the wall and straight to one of the trucks.

The one he stopped at wasn’t made for carrying people. It bore a cylinder on its flatbed with a variety of nozzles and pipes veering off. A man climbed down from the cab and fussed around the back of the cylinder. He took the box from the soldier and opened it.

For a brief moment, the soldiers were vulnerable, every eye on the man with the box. If he had ten well-trained soldiers, Luke could have killed every one of them.

The man lifted the test tube from the box and slipped it straight into a hole on the side of the cylinder. Luke imagined he could hear the sighs of relief as the hole sealed and every man down there relaxed. He blinked and stood abruptly, then dropped again, face flushed.

They were about to leave, taking the plague and everything to do with it away. He’d been so engrossed watching them at work he’d let them get this far. Swearing under his breath, he began a sort of sliding run down the side of the valley. He didn’t need to get too close, assuming this power had come with him along with the rest.

The sweat dripped down his back as the first of the trucks pulled away, laden down with soldiers. The blood on their hands clearly didn’t bother them as they chatted quietly and jumped into the trucks.

Luke stood straight up and ran, praying they didn’t see him. He picked up speed, his legs only just keeping up with gravity and he wasn’t able to stop himself before colliding with the wall of the base. He slammed into the rock and swore as his knee collided with the stone.

Gnawing on his lip to block out the pain, he closed his eyes and focused on the final truck as it drove away. He caught the mind of the man in the back and saw the streets of London right at the surface. There were glass buildings and traffic lights and plenty of cars. He focused harder. There had to be something he knew. The movie in the soldier’s head played a little further and panned up to a sign he recognised.

Then the truck drove out of range and Luke slumped down against the wall, fists clenched and head shaking.

Next installment Monday 29th September

Apologies: I missed my posting date yesterday. It’s the first time in well over a year I haven’t posted on a Monday. In case anyone was waiting with baited breath for the next part, apologies 🙂 In my defence, my son is five days old and I was lucky enough to be sneaking out to see Ani Difranco in London, but still, I feel lame. Sorry, folks, and here it is. 

Part One is here

David – Thursday: Plague Day

Soho was just the same as Trafalgar Square. Bodies littered the streets like leaves in autumn. But it was peaceful and the rumble of the soldier’s trucks was gone completely. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything. Was this his world? Had he returned to the place he’d spent the last eleven days? Maybe that was the truth of it. Perhaps all the time he spent wandering the empty streets, the corpses had been there, yet somehow hidden from view.

He walked into Soho square and found an empty patch of grass. He lay down, brushing away the remnants of the fog that still clung to the ground. It was strange how tenacious it was in some parts of the city but almost gone in others. Perhaps the wind moved through here and had already stolen it.

He lay back, settled his head onto the grass, and stared up at the sky. The blue looked wrong, like someone had painted it on there. The corners of the buildings that towered around the square crept into his vision and he grunted. He needed space.

He climbed to his feet, brushed imaginary dirt off his trousers and jogged out the square. He’d go to Regents Park. It wasn’t far and he could find somewhere to stare at the sky until his eyes watered.

He should be more worried about what was happening. He vaguely remembered the soldiers and the shooting, but his mind was doing an excellent job of blocking it out. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend the whole waking up and running and screaming thing was a dream. He could walk with his eyes turned up to the sky and ignore the bodies and it would be like home.

Soho fell away behind him as he jogged up Regent’s Street, across Oxford Street and past the BBC building. The park lay before him and he clapped his hands together as he ran through the tall black gates. It smelled better here, less rot and more trees. Maybe he’d see some squirrels.

There were bodies. However hard he tried, he couldn’t quite block them out. Runners in jogging pants, sweat still drying on their faces, lay spreadeagled as though they were trying to run despite their deaths. There were cyclists as well, tangled up in the wrecks of their bikes, the blood from scratches out of place amongst the peace of the park. The dogs were dead as well. Everything was dead.

David found an empty patch of green grass. He flung himself down and stared up at the sky. It wasn’t long before it blurred and ran with tears. He wasn’t sure whether it was the brightness or the truth that was doing its best to creep around his barriers and make itself known.

He stared and stared and tried his best to forget. He imagined when he turned his head he’d see the emptiness that had become his life. He screwed his eyes up and rolled onto his side then slowly opened them. Twenty feet away, a woman lay face down on the grass. She was dressed in jogging pants and a crop top and would have been pretty when she was alive.

Through the blades of grass that stood like fence posts before his face, he could see her eyes, peering out through half-open lids. They were red, devil-red, and surrounded by deep rings. She looked like she’d been on a bender and drunk herself to death. But her skin wasn’t flushed. It reminded him of the modelling clay Amber used, a sort of grey-putty that went crumbly if you left it out of the box.

Her skin was already crumbling. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. She was still there. He rolled onto his back and stared up. Tiny wisps of cloud, more optimism than any real threat of rain, scudded across the sky. Scudded was the wrong word. They crept and crawled at a snail’s pace.

He tried to make shapes in the clouds but they remained obstinately clouds and nothing more. He’d never been creative, not really. All the bullshit he wrote in the cards was recycled, ideas pinched from other cards, or famous people or random tweets. Nothing really his own. The clouds seemed to know this and mocked him, shifting slowly as if they were about to reveal the shapes that hid within them, before twisting again into nothing.

He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. When he opened them, she was gone! Laughter rolled up his throat and he giggled, wrapping his hands around his sides. It had all been some horrible fever dream. It wasn’t surprising, living alone did funny things to you. He chuckled and rolled onto his back and the woman fell on top of him.

He screamed, spit catching on his lower lip and dripping down his chin. Her hands felt like ice when they grabbed his neck and twisted and pulled. She bared rotting yellow teeth and lunged. She was going to bite him. It didn’t matter, this was all part of his fever. She’d disappear any second. The smell of rot and mould hit him. She wasn’t about to disappear.

David thrashed around like he was being carted off to the gallows. Her hands lost purchase on his neck as her teeth scraped against his nose. It stung, just a little, before he got his knees between them and shoved her away. She fell beside him and he leapt to his feet. She was up almost as quick, hands outstretched like some movie zombie.

He blinked and the world came back into focus. He remembered the flower seller and the silence and then the blur came back. His mind, so sharp for a brief moment, felt once again like cotton wool. But he knew one important fact. This thing in front of him was a zombie. It was an actual living zombie. And this wasn’t a dream.

She grabbed his arm and he kicked her as hard as he could in the leg. The skin was hard but brittle and broke apart like egg shells. Beneath, the flesh was soft and he moaned as his foot sunk into it. The zombie hissed and swung at him. One clawed hand caught him across the side of the head and the force knocked him on his arse.

She took a step toward him and her leg buckled and spilled her to the grass beside him. Where she landed, her face was turned to his and they stared at one another for a moment. Was there something in those eyes, some semblance of humanity? There really wasn’t.

Her hand landed on his leg and he shook it off and staggered to his feet. He had time for a brief glance around the park. Others were getting to their feet. None had spotted him, not yet, but they would. He made for the nearest tree with low branches and ran.

The branches weren’t as low as he’d hoped and he spent a futile few seconds jumping up and down. Something growled and without looking back he set off again. He found a tree nearer the ground and threw himself up into the branches. David climbed as high as he dared and stopped, arms wrapped around the trunk like it was Steph.

The sudden picture of her in his mind almost made him fall off. He’d blocked her out sometime in the last week and even the image of her was ill-formed. He wrinkled his nose, trying to remember her smell, but nothing came to him. How could he forget her? Amber was still there, every detail of her, and he felt a longing he hadn’t experienced in years. The need to apologise burned suddenly and brought a lump to his throat.

He heard a growl and looked down. Anther zombie, this one a large man wearing a wife-beater t-shirt, prowled around the base of the tree. It paused. It was easier to think of it as an ‘it’. As soon as he started thinking of them as people he’d lose his mind completely. He giggled. What was left of it.

It wasn’t gone completely. He knew he still had something in there, because when the zombie pulled itself up onto the lowest branch, a streak of terror went through him that left him panting and sweating. He blinked, lights flashing before his eyes. His breathing sounded like a steam train and he stared at his hands, focusing on something while he tried to calm down. It wasn’t working.

A hand grabbed his leg and he kicked and kicked. The zombie balanced on a branch beneath him. And it was waiting. They were supposed to be stupid and thoughtless, incapable of something like climbing a tree. He’d watched Dawn of the Dead and though his memories were pretty slight, he knew they weren’t smart enough to do that.

This one was though. It would wait as long as—. It barked and leaped up, grabbing at his leg with both hands. He wasn’t ready and with the same lurching in his gut he got the time his car went into a slide on ice, he lost his grip on the trunk and fell.

Next Installment Thursday 25th September (honest)