None of them had anything to say about this. Kurt had seen bodies in various states of putrefaction streaming from the cemetery in Portsmouth. The only correlation, it seemed that the risen dead had appeared at the same time, worldwide. This affirmed the belief that the catastrophe at the Hadron Collider was the key. A sudden crack from outside made them all jump a little, Sarah spilling hot tea onto her hand with a hiss of pain. It was accompanied by the sound of a smashing glass from upstairs in the bathroom, causing Kurt to leap to his feet.
“Are you ok up there?” he rushed to the stairs, yelling.
“Yeah we are ok Dad. A glass just slipped out of Braiden’s hand and broke. We will clean it up,” Sam shouted down.
Kurt knew that it had been the blast of a shotgun, the noise unmistakeable. And it was close, too close. He realised that time was running short and sitting at the table drinking tea was wasting it even faster. They washed the mugs and Kurt took them upstairs to be filled. He noticed how Braiden was pale and shivering, as he passed the cups into the trembling hands.
“We must get everything we can upstairs now. Start moving the light stuff and me and the boys will grab the bulky things,” Kurt told the women. “Sam and Braiden, can you come and help me. Leave the water running.” They came downstairs quickly, eager to help.
“If you could help Mum and Gloria, carry all the heavy stuff upstairs, the rest of the pipe, tools, barbecue, dining chairs and table, then we will see about the rest. The table top is held down by four wing nuts, undo them and lift it off. That heavy, solid top may come in handy. I’m going to block the back door.”
They hurried to their tasks, the urgency of the situation impressing upon them with more distant screams from outside. Kurt went to the back door, taking in the available materials that he passed. Devising a plan, he took his saw and tape measure and cut two sections of four by two the height of the door. Using his drill and screwdriver, he attached these against the frame and overlapping the door itself, the idea was that it would stop the door from bursting inwards if the lock gave under pressure. He looked at the frosted glass for a moment, knowing how weak it was; he grabbed some pieces of plywood that had been left over after his roof had been repaired three months ago. He cut and fixed these to the four by two, which covered the glass to a height just above his stomach. One final piece would seal the final gap at the top and at least buy them a little time to complete their plan. He cut the section, the smell of fresh sawdust heavy in the air and the floor powdered in it. Carrying the piece over to the door, he reached down and took out two screws. Looking up, he was just in time to see a shadow crash into the glass, cracking it. He instinctively stepped back in shock, his feet slipping on the dust and sliding out from under him. He hit the floor hard, screws flying across the kitchen.
“Kurt, are you ok?” Sarah called down.
The zombie hit the glass, full force for a second time, shattering the pane inwards. Shards of safety glass scattered on the floor, reflecting the light like a thousand diamonds where they came to rest. He heard running footsteps as the figure loomed in through the opening. It was a fresh cadaver, only recently turned, the signs of decomposition not yet evident. The only visible injury was his cheek, ripped and flapping from the mouth, showing the teeth within, snapping. Sarah and the others were behind Kurt as he climbed to his feet, careful to avoid the glass fragments and not slip on the dust again. He grabbed the hammer and swung it, but the door frame and the awkwardness of the angle meant he just managed a glancing hit to the skull, shredding the forehead but not delivering a killing blow. Kurt was panicking now. Unable to kill this zombie, he watched the middle piece of ply straining, where its weight bore down.
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Sarah yelled. Kurt ducked and moved to the right. Sarah had picked up a piece of the four by two and, rushing forward, thrust the end into the zombies face like a spear. It didn’t pierce like a spear, it crushed the nose flat and caused it to lose balance and stagger out of the doorway, finally dropping to the concrete path. Kurt wasted no time. He picked up the ply and lifted it into place. An arm snaked through the window, grabbing Kurt by the front of his t-shirt.
“DAD!” Sam screamed.
Sarah was pulling at the zombie’s arms, trying to break the grip. She caught sight of the face and saw it was Lennie Sullivan; Braiden’s father! Gloria stood there, thinking frantically on how to help this lovely couple. She looked to her left, Braiden was gasping for breath, gulping and wheezing. He was beyond terrified. His eyes widened, he took a breath and let out an almighty scream. Kurt and Sarah had started to use their weight to pull away, Kurt’s t-shirt ready to tear at any moment. Braiden screamed again and ran forward, he picked up the drill that had been dropped and leaned over Sarah and Kurt. He grabbed the bloodied, greasy hair of his once father and their eyes met. The zombie’s focus was distracted from his intended victim. Fear, terror, and hatred coursed through Braiden’s veins at the gaze, he had seen it before when his dad had been alive, and it was hunger! It wanted more than mere suffering now. It wanted to consume him, body and soul. He drove the drill straight into his undead father’s left eye, pressing the trigger. The tool screamed into life, chewing and boring into the skull, splashing red and pulped brain all over Braiden’s hand. The body shivered as if palsied, the iron grip released, causing Kurt and Sarah to fall to the floor. The drill had penetrated the rear of Lennie’s skull and was still spinning furiously, grinding the eye socket, but Braiden wouldn’t let go.
Leaning on his side and reaching for the electrical supply, Kurt switched the plug off at the socket, silencing the drill. Braiden realised that the screaming noise had been coming from his own mouth. Years of pain and sadness venting into the dead face of his hated kin. He pulled the drill free and the corpse slumped down, knocking the crush faced zombie back to the ground and pinning its legs.
Gloria had come forward and pried Braiden’s blood saturated fingers from the drill. She placed it to the ground and took Braiden in her embrace. He hesitated again, but she felt his resolve weaken. Wracking sobs broke forth, and he cried for all that he had lost, and for things he had never had but wanted so badly.
They all stood there for a moment, gathering themselves. Kurt and Sarah brushed at their clothes, flecks of glass and the sawdust falling to the floor. Through the wood covered door, they could hear the grunts and moans of the first zombie as it freed itself from the corpse of Braiden’s father. Braiden’s crying had nearly stopped, and he pulled away from Gloria, breaking the hug aggressively and running upstairs.
“I’ll go to him,” said Sam, heading for the doorway.
The teacher reached out her hand, stilling him, “No Sam, leave him be for a while. He needs time.”
Now that the door was more secure, Sarah took a kitchen towel and wiped the worst of the mess from the drill so that Kurt could continue to strengthen it against the continued battering. He cut several more pieces of timber and fixed these into the brickwork, making it far sturdier. The hollow thuds of the undead commenced, but Kurt was satisfied the wood gave them a good window of safety before it would be breached. Another blow reverberated through it and Kurt slammed his fist against his side of the door, a futile gesture, yet satisfying.
The immediate danger had passed and this left them feeling a little lost, like abandoned children, scared and unsure of what to do. Gloria suggested making something to eat, an activity so normal that it would help to bring them down a little, and calm their racing hearts. Kurt was mindful of the creature at the door, but the timber was solid and he was eager to do something, anything, to take his mind off of the recent attack.
“While we still have time and a cooker, let’s do something nice, how about spaghetti?” Sarah suggested. Appreciative nods and watering mouths confirming the idea was a winner.
“Sam, would you mind getting some more things into the front bedroom for us please?” Kurt indicated all of the shed contents, which included various garden tools and a Flymo lawnmower. The sight of it caused him to burst out laughing, far in excess of the reaction deserved. They looked at him, as if he had gone crazy, so he pointed at it.
“The lawnmower, does anyone fancy popping out and giving the grass a trim?” A loud bang on the reinforced wood came, causing them all to laugh, instead of cowering.
It wasn’t funny, but it helped them. Kurt wiped tears from his cheeks and went out to the fridge. He took out as many ingredients as he could carry, the ground beef, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms and cheese. Sarah had meanwhile oiled a frying pan and had turned the burner ring on. Gloria was filling a pot with water and the boys were ferrying things upstairs, Braiden having left the room and joining Sam. It was all working so well, Kurt was immensely grateful to have Gloria and Braiden there to help them. The meat met the heat with a sizzle, the fragrance of cooking beef causing his stomach to rumble in anticipation. The water was put on to boil and Kurt reached into one of the cupboards and took down various herbs. Sarah mixed in the onion, tomatoes, garlic and herbs before stirring the food.
“Anything else?” asked Sam. Braiden was stood to his left, meeting his gaze for brief moments for the first time.
“Not at the moment. I tell you what, how about you go and keep an eye on the news for me? Let me know if there is anything important that we need to be aware of, ok?” Kurt replied.
“Could I have a drink?” Braiden asked. These were the first words he had spoken since the attack.
“Of course you can mate, you don’t have to ask. Help yourself. We only have tea, coffee or fruit juice, I’m afraid.” Kurt opened the cupboard door that housed the juices and Braiden took out the orange. He washed out two of their dirty teacups and made the drinks. He offered one to Sam, before they both headed into the lounge. The boys turned up the TV volume slightly, muffled words carrying through to those in the kitchen.
Gloria had added the spaghetti, which was softening and sinking into the boiling water. The sauce was cooking beautifully and Kurt took a spoon, picked some out and blew it, before tasting it. It was wonderful. He gave Sarah the remainder that was left on the cutlery, and she savoured it, while still stirring. He leaned in and gave her a kiss, it lingered and they felt so good to be alive. He hugged her from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder and watched as she cooked. Meanwhile, Gloria was taking out plates and cutlery, placing them around the table before returning to the pasta. She withdrew a piece and tested it for texture.
“Nearly ready,” she told them.
Kurt kissed Sarah’s neck and then turned and took the cheese, grating it into a bowl and putting it in the middle of the table. Gloria strained the pasta into the sink. She took tongs and shared the pasta among the plates. It sat there steaming, waiting for its accompaniment. Sarah went to take a dish out only to laugh, remembering that the boys had taken them upstairs and filled them with water. Instead, she just put a placemat down and laid the frying pan straight on top.
“Slumming it tonight,” she said, smiling.
“Dinner!” Kurt yelled out the kitchen door.
The sound of movement was followed by the boys’ headlong rush into the room. Sitting down in a squeal of chair legs on floor and grabbing their cutlery, they must have been famished. Renewed banging and moaning came from the back door. “None for you!” Kurt shouted towards the noise.
They all sat there, happy to have a moment of respite in the chaos of that day. Kurt stood and spooned sauce onto the pasta of each plate then took the cheese and sprinkled some on top of the gorgeous, red sauce. It started to soften and melt, which only caused his stomach to rumble more. The rest helped themselves, Braiden initially reluctant, but hunger winning the day. A calm descended on them, they sat and ate as families have done for a thousand years, the noises of the dead seeming to fade into nothingness. Once the dinner was over, they sat there for a while, content and just happy to be alive. The previous hours had been all survival instinct, taking the time to think too hard would have meant death, or worse than death. The meal had served as a time to quietly reflect and process the horror, not understanding what was happening, merely accepting it.
They all worked to clear the mess away, Braiden seemed quite happy to just be doing the cleaning up, which Kurt found amusing.
“Let’s go and sit down in the lounge, take a load off for a bit,” Kurt suggested.
They followed and seated themselves, sighing as they sank into the upholstery. The softness of the sofa in place of the harder backs of the dining chairs was a welcome relief. Gloria felt like she had died and gone to heaven, the aches and pains now becoming apparent in her aging joints.
The news story had moved on to the Government statement, a junior Minister’s image had replaced that of the scientist. He had a red, fat, sweaty face; Kurt thought it was porcine, which may have just been his mistrust and general dislike of politicians projecting itself. In fact it was probably more than a dislike. He actively hated some of them, the way they smarmed and lied without really lying, the masters of deception.
‘So Minister, the Government has stated that it is mobilising the Army, Navy and Air Force, but wouldn’t commit to a timescale of the response. How can you defend this position with the injury and loss of life already reported?’
the immaculate newsreader asked.
‘Well, I don’t think that is entirely fair Peter. The Government is working as fast as possible to act on a crisis that has caught everyone off guard. I can tell you that we are as prepared, if not more so, than some of our neighbouring countries. We are trying to formulate a Europe -wide reaction force, but at present, our main concern is the defence of our citizens.’