Zombies! Read online

  It continued to thrash around in the water while I desperately tried to grab hold of it properly and immobilise the flailing arms. Grabbing the body around the chest I was startled to come into contact with what felt like a couple of enormous slimy breasts.

  “Oh, Jeez. Sorry” I exclaimed in surprise, letting go so as not to make what had to be a woman panic even more.

  Losing my grip on her she swung around to face me, her hair partially concealing her features. At the same moment I felt solid ground under my feet and realised that we could both stand up on a submerged sandbank. Using all my strength I put my hands under her armpits and pulled the woman upright, trying to help her stand on her own two feet.

  “Are you okay?” I asked moments before all thoughts were swept from my mind. It wasn’t a woman. It was a man, who by rights really ought to have been dead; his chest had been cracked open and broken ribs were whitely visible as the flesh appeared to have been eaten away. Out of his chest cavity flapped his lungs, obviously the slimy red/green matter I had felt. I retched at the sight, heaving part of my earlier snack into the water to inadvertently feed the fish I knew were happily re-populating the Thames.

  Stepping backwards, I collapsed in shaky confusion and fear. The creature lunged, landing on top of me and dragging us both underwater. As we disappeared under the murky surface my mind remained numb, wondering how in God’s name this man could possibly still be alive? And, before you ask, in my panic I did also wonder why the fucker was trying to kill me; I’m only human after all.

  I felt his hands grabbing at my clothing, working his way towards my neck and I suddenly snapped back to the present. Thrashing wildly in panic, my frenzied actions caused the man to lose his grip for a moment; in spite of this his face, mouth open and teeth snapping in the water, remaining right in front of mine - his eyes were strangely void of emotion in spite of his determined and rabid efforts to get at me. I grabbed his ears with both hands and pushed hard to force the snapping teeth away from me but he kept on coming, his claw-like hands scraping at my chest through my thin summer t-shirt. I was panicking by now, my previous exertions to rescue him combined with my fear left me with little oxygen to remain safely underwater.

  My lungs screamed at me to breathe and just as a greyish darkness began to descend on me I was suddenly lifted bodily out of the water by large hands. The apparition had vanished and now I sucked in lungfuls of air. As I gasped greedily for oxygen my desperation gradually eased. Looking around me quickly I saw that the man I had tried to rescue was now floating a few yards off on his back, his lungs acting as a flotation vest. For a moment I watched him drift away towards the middle of the river, his limbs thrashing wildly all the while; tuning back towards the shore I realised someone was speaking to me.

  “You alright?” The voice came from a giant of a man standing next to me, his iron grip still around my arm. He wore a security uniform and was probably the biggest bloke I’ve ever met. His big, confident grin made me smile in response despite my near death experience.

  “Uh, yeah, I think so. Thanks.” I replied, coughing the last dregs of the Thames water from my lungs. At the back of my mind I knew I was going to need a shedfull of antibiotics to deal with whatever crap I had just swallowed, particularly if the state of the other bloke was anything to go by.

  Becky waded through the muddy water before throwing her arms around my neck so tightly I was afraid that on top of nearly drowning she was about to strangle me. She gave me a long kiss that spoke reams of concern and terror.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said, trying to placate her. Feeling her grip lessen I turned to the security guard and offered my hand. “Thanks, man,” I said with feeling. “Where did you come from?”

  “You ran right past me. I was in the security office. I was picking up some paper from the floor when I heard you go by.” As my brain tried to sort itself out I struggled with his thick Nigerian accent, finding it hard to comprehend for the moment; none of that mattered, he had just saved my life and for that I would be eternally grateful.

  “My name’s Emile,” I said. “What’s yours?”

  “Pius,” he replied. I had lived in Nigeria when I was young and many of my local friends had names depicting virtues and religious beliefs, something I had always appreciated. I believed, and still do, that a name really does influence a person’s behaviour through life.

  I indicated the body floating away from us.

  “Is he, was he, dead or alive, do you think?” I asked, still confused by what had happened. “’Cos I couldn’t say for sure what the hell is going on.”

  “Both, I think,” Pius replied.

  “Did you see what he did? How could he have still been alive? All his guts…” my voice trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

  “I have no idea,” he began. Recollecting the look of suppressed horror on his face I can see that the word ‘zombies’ was front and centre in his mind. In recent years there had been many reports of zombies in Western Africa, and in particular Nigeria, especially since the Ebola outbreak - rumours ran riot of some people dying of the terrible disease and then coming back to life. Instead he chose not to voice his own fears. “I’ve seen and heard many strange things all night and again this morning. That is the third body I’ve seen in the river so far. I have called the police many times but they do not come. Now I cannot get through to them at all.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” I replied. As I stood there, waist-deep in water, apart from the sound of sirens to the west I suddenly realised just how quiet London actually was on this clear, beautiful summer’s morning.

  *

  3 - Unanswered Questions

  Together we walked, or to be more precise I hobbled and they walked back to the bright yellow fibreglass security hut and Pius opened the door.

  “Come in and sit down,” he instructed me. Still feeling weak from my encounter I did as he ordered, grateful to take the weight off my injured leg - the cut was beginning to ache and throb like a real bastard. I began shivering involuntarily as the rush of adrenaline wore off and my body was suddenly feeling sore, cold and stiff.

  I put my injured foot up against the edge of the desk and gritted my teeth as I pulled my sock down to inspect the damage. Although the sock dragged off a slice of skin, all in all it didn’t seem to be as bad as it felt and I sighed with relief.

  “I have a first aid kit,” Pius said, lifting a green box off the wall. Opening it he pulled out some cotton wool and some iodine tincture. “I am going to clean the wound and dress it. I do not know what is in the river water,” he said peering closely. “Your wound does not look too bad. I think your sock protected you from the worst.”

  I noticed Becky looking away, clearly upset by the blood trickling freely down my ankle. Pius was adept at applying a field dressing and he soon had the wound cleaned and bandaged. My shakes had almost gone completely and were being replaced by a ravenous hunger. I inspected his handiwork.

  “That looks really good. Thanks very much for that. You’ve probably saved me from horrible infection.” I thought for a moment. “I don’t get it. I did Biology at Uni and I know that bloke should have been well and truly dead. Hell, a blind man on a galloping horse could see that thing should have been dead and way stiller than it was.”

  “I want to go home, Emile,” Becky said. “I don’t like what we’re seeing. I mean, I can’t explain it, nor can either of you. It’s like something out of a horror film, and I think it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, babe. Perhaps if we could get something to eat I could think more clearly. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  “How can you think about food at a time like this?” Becky asked, incredulous.

  “Because I’m a bloke and we need food when we need food. I really am pretty damn hungry.”

  “There is a Nando’s on the other side of the railway arch,” Pius suggested. “If they are open you could get something there.”
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  “Do you wanna come?” I asked the big man. I reckon I owed him at least that for saving my life.

  “You can leave your bikes here if you would like,” Pius suggested. The thought of Piri Piri chicken made my stomach grumble in anticipation. The big man shook his head. “Thank you for the offer of breakfast, my friend, but I am unable to leave here just yet as my shift is not over. When it is I have to get home to my family.”

  We said our goodbyes and leaving Pius behind to finish his shift Becky and I walked off in the direction of the chicken joint, my injury reduced to a small throbbing sensation. Approaching the main junction I became aware of a strange noise filling the air. It was as if waves were smashing on a rocky shoreline but it had a different, heavier quality to it. The air began to vibrate to a low thrumming as the noise intensified. It was like standing outside a football stadium listening to the crowd go wild as a goal was scored.

  “What is that noise?” Becky asked, looking all around trying to identify its source. The sound seemed to come from everywhere.

  After a moment I realised that no traffic had passed over the bridge in a while. Normally this was a busy junction most hours of the day or night, but right now I only saw a couple of cars on the other side to us. As I watched those same drivers who had been waiting patiently at the lights one moment, suddenly took fright in the next and screeched away like the devil was chasing them, leaving behind copious clouds of tyre smoke, the traffic lights still on red. Their faces registered abject terror. A shiver slithered down my spine.

  “Shit, what the hell have they just seen?” I asked out loud, my nerves jangling again.

  “I don’t like this,” Becky replied. “Not one bit.”

  “Me neither, babe. Come on then, let’s get back to Pius’ hut. Now,” I insisted, my tone suddenly desperate. I wasn’t sure why I made the gut-felt decision to backtrack, perhaps it was Pius’ apparently unshakable demeanour or something else, but I’m glad I did make that choice - for as long as he lasted he was a very good man to have by your side in the Apocalypse.

  *

  4 - Questions Answered

  Becky looked at me and I could see the beginnings of real fear etched on her features - I knew she agreed with my decision to get back to the security hut because I struggled to keep up with her as she tore back to what we perceived as safety. My girl was never normally one to do as she was told - or maybe it was just with me, I don’t know. Whatever it was I loved that trait in her; give me a woman with spunk any day - it’s a weakness in me. After a few moments we collapsed gratefully against the yellow security hut. Pius was already standing outside; he, too, had heard the strange noise. Using the MI6 building’s solid wall for cover, we peered around the corner and waited to see whatever it was making the sounds. I confess that at this point I needed to use a bathroom more urgently than I wanted Piri Piri Chicken - in fact my demand for food had mysteriously vanished. Strange how quickly your body reacts to external stimuli.

  The sound began to differentiate itself and now we could hear footsteps, hundreds of them. A siren sounded in the distance, its blitz quality giving me goose bumps. I heard heavy metal clunks coming from the security agency’s gates as their deadbolts slammed into place. A humming began to emanate from the fencing above us and I realised in an instant that the metal bars had been electrified. I sincerely wished we were inside those gates - at that very moment I had never in my life felt so vulnerable.

  “Holy crap,” I muttered, tapping Pius on the shoulder and indicating the fencing. He nodded pragmatically, clearly understanding what had just happened.

  “I think we may have to get out of here,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I think you might be right,” I replied and Becky nodded her head in vehement agreement, clinging tight onto my arm.

  The footfalls were becoming clearer by the moment, each step differentiated from the next - a little like rain drumming on a conservatory roof. It was accompanied by a low moaning of what registered to me as the sound of a thousand voices. I hopped from one foot to another in pent up fear. The pain I had previously felt in my ankle was completely nullified by the effects of the adrenaline that was once more flooding my body.

  We ducked back as a grey-suited man hurtled past us from the direction of the bridge, a phone held in a death grip in his right hand and his face a mask of terror and blood. He appeared to have a gash across his forehead, while his left sleeve had been ripped off revealing a gored forearm. I called to him but in his blind panic he heard nothing but the rushing of his own blood through his brain. In a flash he was gone, the sounds of his expensively shod feet receding into the distance.

  At last I could see what had terrorised him so completely - and I began to know the same fear that I had seen etched on his face. It’s a funny thing but when you watch zombie or other horror films they might give you a frisson of momentary fear; you may even curl your toes in anticipation of an event. But when you are out on the streets with absolutely no chance of retreating to a place of safety, then that is the moment you feel a fear like nothing you have ever experienced in your life. I imagine a soldier feels it in his first encounter with the enemy and probably during every fight thereafter, as does a policeman when faced with a baying, angry crowd. Most of us civvies are buffered from the reality of brutal and casual violence every day of our lives - if we are lucky. So when I mention fear in this context, stop for a moment and think about bowel liquidising terror. Think of your worst physical fear and keep on multiplying it by a zillion. You still won’t get anywhere near to the terrible situation in which I was caught up at that very moment.

  Hundreds of people appeared from the direction of the bridge, pouring over the intersection like a swarm of voracious creatures, all consuming and terrifying. Mere hundreds became thousands as the whole area to our right filled with Them and began swarming in our direction. When I considered where they had just come from I realised how close Becky and I must have come to running slap bang into this horde as we passed through Victoria. The people hadn’t gone at all, they were just collecting into great hordes, clearly preferring being en-masse. I shivered involuntarily. They weren’t exactly running along, neither were they walking, but their loping gait was still brisk and I suddenly realised that we were in great danger staying where we were.

  As if to prove the point a woman broke from among their ranks, clearly not one of them. Like a person rising from the breaking waves on a beach she launched herself from among them and in our direction. I could tell she had not seen us but she was doing her best to escape the horde - had she been pretending to be one of them? Her right leg was moving at an odd angle, her black, shiny high-heel shoe looking strange in the moment. Her other foot was bare, her tights torn and lower legs covered in blood. The poor woman did her best to make good her escape but was soon overpowered; it was then that we first saw what these deranged creatures wanted from her - what they were capable of. Three or four of them caught her trailing leg and she screamed in excruciating pain as the break in the bone was wrenched in two. Collapsing to the ground, another was on her in a flash and had dug its hand into her stomach, literally tearing her flesh asunder. I didn’t even think that was possible. Her intestines spilled onto the pavement and as the scent of offal filled the air the bloodlust increased the terrible moaning coming from the crowd. That was the last we saw of that poor woman, but it did teach us not to loiter in the presence of what we were slowly beginning to comprehend as zombies.

  The milling crowd completely obstructed our escape to the west by now and each zombie could be seen clearly by us - most of them hadn’t seen us yet and those not gormandising on the unfortunate woman were milling around awaiting some sensory input; most appeared to have blood liberally splattering them, others had open gash wounds, some even with their limbs partially hanging off but seemingly oblivious to the fact.

  It was their faces that were the most unnerving sight to me - they seemed to display every emotion from deadpan throug
h to a fierce, unrelenting fury. All of them had colourless, nacreous eyes, but it wasn’t this fact that disturbed me quite as much as how emotionless the acknowledged windows to their souls were. I remember walking around my local town once and coming face to face with what I reckoned was a bat-shit crazy psychopath - his eyes were just like these, his soulless look saying I could kill you just because I can and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing to me. Scary as fucking hell.

  “They’re fucking zombies!” Becky said.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself, sweetheart,” I agreed. “Let’s get the fuck away from here.”

  “I agree, my friend,” Pius interjected. “I think it will not matter now if my shift is not over.”

  I think Pius, no matter how short a time he may have been in the UK, had certainly picked up the knack of British understatement and was using it for dramatic effect right now.

  “I think it is now,” I concurred. “Something tells me your family wouldn’t be very impressed if this lot catches up with you.”

  “I must get to my family,” Pius said, his self-assured demeanour slipping a little.

  “Where are they?” I asked. We were already making our way eastwards, away from the danger. I was using my bike to ease the pressure on my injured foot.

  “I have a flat in Woolwich,” he replied, panting as he ran with us.

  “Okay, that’s lucky ’cos the only direction we can go right now is towards Waterloo. If there are any trains running you will be able to get one home. You alright with that for a plan, Becky?”

  I still clung to an idea that the problem was not widespread.

  “Yeah, of course,” she replied. “Just stop fucking talking and move faster,” she urged, her pace slowly drawing her ahead of us.

  Suitably admonished Pius and I rushed to catch up with her. Together we ran along the Albert Embankment, staying as close to the buildings and fences as we could to reduce our visual exposure to the deadly crowd behind us.