Kurt dialled his wife Sarah, the phone was already
engaged. He tried again, engaged.
“For fuck sake, get off the phone!” Kurt shouted to no one in particular, slamming his fist onto the steering wheel.
On the third attempt it rang and he breathed a sigh of relief, on the fourth ring Sarah answered.
“Hi babe, how’s your day going?” she asked.
“Sarah listen, don’t say anything just listen. Are you at home?”
“Yeah, I just got back from Lisa’s. Why?” a hint of fear entered her voice.
“Ok good, I need you to go to the school and get Sam right now. I can’t tell you why because you will think I’m crazy, but do it! Don’t stop to talk to anyone, don’t stop for anything. Get him, get home, and lock the doors. I will be home in twenty minutes,” Kurt told her breathlessly.
“Babe you’re scaring me, I …”
“Right now Sarah!” he shouted, interrupting her. “Please baby, I love you, please trust me and remember, do not stop for anything, no matter how bizarre.”
“Ok, I’m leaving right now, I love you too.” She hung up.
Kurt felt momentary relief, but the reality of the situation came flooding back. The cemetery, the dead rising,
it was insanity! However, it was happening, he had seen it, he
had fought it! Sudden realisation dawned of the route that Sarah would likely take, Spencer Road onto Horndean Road, then Adderbury Avenue and onto Victoria Road, which was home to the school. Adderbury Avenue! The old church!
“Oh god no,” he moaned.
The graveyard was centuries old. To his knowledge it had not had a burial for a number of years, since the main Waterlooville cemetery had opened. A horrific question entered his mind; how ‘fresh’ did they need to be to rise from the grave? Surely, there would be nothing left after all this time… but he couldn’t risk it. Redialling Sarah, he swerved round a slow moving Nissan Micra, which flashed its lights and beeped its anger at the manoeuvre. Sarah answered.
“Sarah, go the long way round through Warblington, don’t go via Adderbury Avenue. I’ll explain everything when I get to you. I’ll get hold of my dad,” he instructed.
“Ok Kurt, I will,” she hung up. Sarah was an orphan, a road accident when she was younger had claimed the lives of her parents, but left her unscathed. The Police had been amazed that anything had survived the impact when they looked into the crushed shell
of the car, but there she was. She had suffered a bump on the head and minor bruising, but with no next of kin to speak of, she had been fostered. It was an easy placement, the family had wanted a young girl, and at three years old she was almost angelic in appearance.
Kurt’s
mind raced, almost as fast as the scenery he was passing at breakneck speed. Trees blurred, rain poured, wind howled against the van, causing it to list to the left requiring a correction in the steering. What do I do? He thought. Where do we go? Police! They need to know,
and then h
e
dialled 999. Engaged. Dialled again, and again, and again. Engaged. ‘
They must know. Ok, what next. Food, drink. When did we last go shopping, last Thursday or Friday? How long would it last if they had to stay indoors for a while?
’
“Not long enough,” he answered his own question.
He dialled his dad; the phone rang until it went to voicemail. He tried again, the same result. “Dad it’s me,” Kurt said to the phone’s voicemail. “Phone me as soon as you get this, I need you at our house. It’s a family emergency.” Ringing off, he concentrated on the road ahead, a palpable sense of dread growing inside him.
Angela sat at the reception desk. The computer screen caused a soft, white glow to reflect in her eyes. She entered the late student list onto the database, seventeen names, followed by seventeen mail shots and call backs, to ascertain the reason for the tardiness. Looking up briefly and seeing how the day was getting bleaker by the second, she couldn’t help but smile to herself and commiserate with the poor students. Who would want to get out of bed and come to school on a day like this? She too, was finding it harder as the week wore on. Knowing that in just three days time, she and her husband would be climbing the boarding ramp to the cruise liner, luggage in tow. Two weeks circling the Mediterranean islands, sunshine, drink, and good food with good friends who were joining them. It had been a surprise 30
th
anniversary gift from her family, taking months in the planning to make sure everyone’s holiday schedule lined up. Looking down at her stomach, she knew upon return that the skirt would be a little tighter than usual. Oh well, you only live once she told herself and smiled once again, giving her belly a gentle pat.
Turning her attention back to the screen, she began tapping at the black keyboard, entering Gavin Jacobs’ details. She then scribbled a note of the contact number from his personal information page on the ragged notepad to her side. The phone began ringing; the call display indicated it was an external call, not from within the school building. She picked up the receiver.
“Good morning, Andrews Community School, how may I help?” answered Angela, as she had done countless times over the past seven years of service.
“Hi, it’s Lucy Bartholomew’s Mum. I wrote a letter to her PE teacher asking if she could be excused from lesson today as she has been suffering with a bad ankle. I’ve just found it on the kitchen side, so she must have forgotten to put it in her bag. Shall I bring it in, or can I speak to them quickly?” inquired the caller.
A cold gust of wind accompanied the opening of the automatic sliding entrance doors, papers rustled, and a memo Angela had just printed, blew onto the floor behind her before she could catch it. An unpleasant odour caught her unaware, causing her to wrinkle her nose. In her peripheral vision, she noticed a couple were approaching.
“No, don’t go to the trouble of bringing it in, I’ll transfer you to Mr Chambers number. He may be with a class, but leave a voicemail and he will pick it up during break time.”
“Oh thank you so much for your help,” said the grateful parent.
“Happy to help,” Angela replied. She then dialled extension 522, and hung up the phone when she was certain it had gone through. Turning on the swivel office chair, she looked up from the desk to greet the couple. As the doors hissed open again, blowing the fetid air towards her, it was immediately clear the source of the stench was the creatures entering the reception. Very little remained of clothing, the figures were skeletal and half mummified. Dried, desiccated flesh flaked from the shrunken frames of the two, who were now reaching over the desk toward her. The skin at the shoulders crumpled and split after years of peaceful rest and inactivity, the noise reminiscent of a crisp packet being pressed. Eyes widening in disbelief, she was too terrified to scream. Angela kicked backwards with all her strength, the chair rolled with sufficient force to hit the filing cabinet behind her. Her head snapped back violently, striking the metal. Her vision swam and stars burst forth behind her eyes. Momentarily dazed, she felt behind her head gingerly, expecting blood, but only finding a growing egg shaped lump. Relief passed through her briefly, until movement in front of her caught her attention. The two mummies had been joined by several more, and the macabre group had begun to make their way to the open section between the wall and the desk. Turning, and using the filing cabinet for support, Angela stood as a wave of giddiness threatening to make her collapse to the floor. Taking tentative steps toward the back office, she reached for the door handle, fully aware of the proximity of the horrors that were only a few feet away.
The door opening, made Janice look up from the desk. Seeing the dishevelled state of her colleague and the shocking whiteness of her face, made Janice stand and hurry to Angela’s aid. She slammed the door shut and fumbled for the lock, fingers shaking.
“Angela, whatever is the matter?” Janice questioned, as the bolt on the lock slid home, and eye contact was made between the two women. The sheer terror in those eyes made Janice’s stomach knot, fingers of ice tracing a pattern up her back.
“I… I… I…,” repeated the receptionist, a glazed look coming over the eyes, followed by a girlish giggle.
At that moment, a face slammed into the small section of glass that ran the full length of the door allowing sight of the outer office. It was nothing of this world, or, of a truly sane mind, Janice thought. She looked frantically about for a means of escape, but to no avail. The room was partitioned, as part of the overall reception, to give some privacy with only the single door with which to come and go. Grateful for the locked door separating them and the monstrosities, which now grew in number to six or more, she grabbed the phone. Unknown to the receptionists, the walls were only thin plasterboard construction. As the figures gathered at the door, the weight of the latecomers forced them to collapse sideways in a mass of white powder and debris.
Dropping the phone, shrieking as more figures stepped through the freshly torn door, over the writhing bodies of the fallen, Janice watched in revulsion as the mummies began feeding on the laughing, gibbering Angela. Flesh tore away in chunks and dried, sharp finger bones raked at her face, creating deep, bloody furrows. One hand caught on her eye socket and entered the cavity, piercing the orb, which immediately leaked down her cheek. Jumping away, Janice beat crazily at the opposite wall, trying to create a means of escape. The wall began to crumble in small patches but it was too late. Janice felt the first grasp of dry, papery fingers and the bites of mouths which had not tasted anything for many years. When all was quiet and still, the group left to roam the polished corridors, seeking food that screamed and struggled. They were joined by two fresher, redder members.
Kurt indicated, slowed then turned right, and pulled to a stop in the grocery store carpark. The rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, and upon turning the engine off, the view from the windscreen began to shimmer and fluctuate with water, blocking from sight the outside world again. Concentrating on the drive had been a focal point for his attention. Now that he was stationary, his mind reeled. Questions flowed and became convoluted, adding to an increasing sense of helplessness and despair. So many people were unaware of what was happening, so many lives at risk of a fate worse than death. Men, women, children, Oh god, the children! Never had he felt so useless and inadequate.
Was this really Zombies? How was it possible? The dead are dead, simple, thought Kurt. Rationality had no effect on the things that were roaming around, killing people and then eating them. The power of his mind would be insufficient to force them to crawl back into the grave. The Government would be organising a response, all Kurt had to do was keep safe until they got the situation under control. What could he do to warn people? People would laugh in his face if he told them, or if not that, then at least they would regard him with suspicion and mistrust. A drunk or druggie, possibly dangerous, he could see it now. But he had the video… No! That would take far too long to show everyone he came into contact with. How long was it, four, maybe five minutes? He had no way of getting it to a news station, and any that he did, would seek corroboration before acting upon it. Realisation dawned; Facebook! At least friends would see it, and they could make up their own minds, he simply didn’t have time to sway the opinions of so many people. If they then shared the footage, it may go viral and save untold lives. Or, it might just get ignored. It was something though, limited, but proactive at least. Logging in on his phone, the updates went crazy, notifications were pinging in by the second. His wall was filled with video feeds containing blow by blow footage of attacks and the ongoing spread of the outbreak. A lot of disbelief was present in the comments accompanying the attached videos. As more weight was added to the argument, people were being convinced. It was out there.
It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Kurt laid his head back and sighed, running his hand from his forehead and down his face, as if he could pull some of the visions out of his mind. Climbing out of the van, he looked around cautiously, scanning as far as he could for anything out of the ordinary. Cars drove past, people walked with umbrellas opened, going on some errand or other. The temptation to run over and try and warn them was almost overwhelming, but he knew he had more pressing matters. He quickly opened the back door and reached inside, moving chisels and bolsters until he felt the handle of his black claw hammer. Looking around a second time, he slipped the tool into his belt and pulled his blue work jumper down to conceal it.
Walking towards the red fronted grocery shop with its advertised offers of cheap bread and chocolate bars in the glass windows, his phone began ringing. Looking at the screen, he was overjoyed to see “Dad” displayed. Answering the phone, he put the handset to his ear and pressed his shoulder to it, holding it in place so he could take hold of a trolley. The entrance doors sighed open, allowing him entry.
“What’s up Kurt? Who’s been hurt?” asked his dad, with audible concern in his voice.
“No one has been hurt, Dad, it’s not that kind of emergency. I just need you to get to us right now. Where are you?”
“Lavant, stuck in traffic heading into Chichester. I will be on my way as soon as it clears. I’m still not sure why though,” was his confused reply.
Kurt groaned inwardly, he was seven miles away and on the most awful roads to try and navigate at the best of times. The traffic was already a strong indication that all was not well, the road never usually backed up through Lavant village. If he were to turn around and make his way via Harting, the journey would be more than double. Indecision paralysed Kurt for a moment, causing him to block the aisle he was moving down, bringing a disapproving glance from an elderly lady. Almost knocking a row of cans onto the floor, she had to step round him, scowling.
“Sorry,” Kurt whispered, by way of apology, and moved to the side of the aisle.
“Can you see anything that might be blocking the road, people maybe?” Kurt could hear grunting and clothing moving, as his dad tried to get a better view of the road ahead.
“No, nothing as far as I can see, but I can only see up to the corner where it curves round towards St Nicholas Road though,” he explained.
“Do me a favour, quickly open your window and see if you can hear anything, sirens or such,” again, Kurt heard the faint whirr of an electric window being opened, followed by a sigh of the wind entering the car.
“No sirens, but I thought I heard screaming. What’s going on Kurt?” Now Dad’s tone had hardened, he wasn’t the kind of man who liked to play games.
“Dad, I want you to leave your car and head to us over the fields, go through Ashling and Funtington. Do not take the roads. I will try to get over and meet you in the van when I’ve got Sarah and Sam home.”
His dad laughed with the absurdity of the request. “Don’t be soft boy, why would I leave my car, here in the middle of nowhere, and then get covered in filth by scurrying over fields like a fox?”
A valid question, so Kurt decided to try the truth. “Things have been attacking people, hurting them bad. It’s like a virus and once you’ve been hurt, you will hurt people too. Dad, I think they are dead things, I’ve seen them…” Kurt waited, expecting what the response would be, and not being surprised when it came.
“This isn’t funny, Kurt. I don’t like being taken for a fool.” Anger had entered his father’s voice now, a sure sign Kurt was losing the argument. Desperation began to build, as he frantically thought of a way to convince his Dad to get to safety.
“I wouldn’t make something like this up, look on Facebook,” he said before realising that Dad didn’t have Facebook, think! “No, look on YouTube, the attacks must be getting posted on there every minute. You will see.” There was a pause, then silence. Breathlessly, Kurt waited for a response, any response.
Almost as if he hadn’t heard him, or more likely had chosen to ignore him, Dad said, “The shouts are getting louder. I’m going to look at what’s going on and see if I can help.”
“No Dad, don’t! I promise…” Kurt was nearly in tears now, the past half hour and the knowledge that his father was heading into mortal danger, almost broke him.
“Enough!” John shouted, immediately regretted it, and softened, “I will call you back in ten minutes and let you know what I find out, OK?” The phone went dead as he disconnected.
Kurt tried redialling, was cut off instantly. He tried again, and he was once again sent straight to voicemail as his dad rejected the call.
Still holding the phone to his ear, the tears came, running in rivulets down his cheeks and dripping from the point of his chin. Stubborn bastard! Stubborn stupid bastard! Kurt tried not to picture his father, marching towards the noise, determined to help out any that needed it, totally unprepared for what was likely waiting around the corner. The elderly lady was returning, and at the sight of him in this condition, decided on another route to the checkout. She backtracked, and disappeared out of sight down the next aisle. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed a sleeve across his eyes hard enough to make the skin sting. Kurt tried to switch his mind to his wife and child, who needed him just as much, if not more.
Looking at the shelves, he thought through the best stuff to purchase, bread, fruit, and milk. No, all perishables, and if they are stuck indoors for a while, pointless. Canned goods? Long life stuff, fruit and meats, that sort of thing would keep well. Rice, pasta, beans, powdered milk. The list was growing in his mind, and he was grabbing at the foods, stocking the trolley high, hurrying down the aisle towards the tills. The checkout staff had just finished serving the elderly lady, who still regarded him with a look of mild scorn, as she made her way out through the entrance.
“Hi,” said the girl, smiling and casting a bemused glance at the trolleys contents. She had blonde hair, pretty green eyes and was no more than eighteen years old. She wore purple nail varnish on fingernails that had been bitten to the quick.
Kurt transferred the goods, bit by bit, into the small space that stood to the side of the till. The young girl scanned each item, and placed it into bags, which Kurt then took and put on the floor by his side.
“That’s a hundred and eighty three pounds, forty five pence, please. Having a stock up?” she asked cheerfully, trying to make conversation while the debit card processed.
“Yeah.” Kurt couldn’t summon any more words, the conversation with his dad playing again in his mind. He put the debit card in his pocket and stood there, lost in thought for a few moments.
The girl behind the counter cocked her head quizzically, “Are you ok?” she asked, with a look of genuine concern on her face. She must have noticed the red rimmed eyes and reticence to talk.
“Do you have Facebook?” Kurt asked quietly, face lowered.
“Of course, doesn’t everyone?” she replied, but a note of caution had entered her voice, as if she was worried this wild eyed stranger might ask for her personal details.
“Please look at your feed, load up what food you can and get home to your loved ones. Lock the doors and keep them locked.” Kurt picked up the bags and walked toward the door. The second girl, who had been stocking the drinks shelf to the left of the checkout, made her way to the blonde, curious at what had transpired. Kurt left them checking their phones as the doors slowly shut behind him.
Looking around everything seemed normal, still he paused and listened for noises that didn’t belong. Was that a faint yell, a trick of his hearing or just the wind? Rushing to his vehicle, Kurt unlocked it and opened the sliding door to the side. Heaving the heavy bags up, he laid them onto the floor and slammed the door shut. Looking back, he was happy to see hurried activity inside the store. The young girls had taken his advice and were locking the main doors. Their eyes met, and a look of gratitude flashed between them, a quick smile and then she was gone, down the aisles grabbing food. A small, warm glow flared inside him at making a difference, however small.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, Kurt took out his phone, looked at the blank screen and checked that there was no missed activity. There were no messages. He tried calling his dad; it rang, and rang, and rang. Again, he got the voicemail. Kurt closed his eyes. He saw too much on the screen of his mind and opened them. Starting the engine, he carefully backed out and turned onto the road that led to Andrews Community School. With how fast this was going to hell, he planned to meet Sarah and Sam there and make sure they got home together, as a family.