The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle Read online

  “Are you okay now?” he asked, looking sympathetically at his friend. Rob was standing upright again, rubbing his side vigorously.

  “Yeah,” he said, panting, “I will be. Let’s keep going.”

  Scanning the roof of a nearby block of flats, Daniel saw one of the walking dead, standing there, staring right at him. Positioned like a general, wearing a red t-shirt under a black hoodie, overseeing the field of battle, it was as if he was evaluating what had just transpired, perhaps learning from what it had seen. There was no doubt in Daniel’s mind that the thing, bloody drool and all, was certainly paying close attention to their actions. It was unnerving, and heightened Daniel’s fear. It was, perhaps, the most disturbing thing seen so far today. If he tried to kill it, he doubted it could even be hit from where they stood. Should I use a bullet to find out, he wondered. Maybe it was just a fanciful notion; his nerves were already on edge. Anyway, police ammunition was designed for low impact, not to penetrate their targets through and through; after all, these weren’t military rounds. It was quite possible it would lose too much of its power at that distance to ensure a kill. At the same time, the sense of malevolence coming from that rooftop was almost physical, his desire to kill the monster, strong. Finally, he decided it could do him no harm from over there, so what was the point? It wasn’t worth wasting a bullet.

  Throughout the chase it had been intriguing to see these creatures in action. Beyond basic motor skills, how much, if any, could they remember of their normal lives? Did they even retain the ability to think at all coherently? He had definitely seen some evidence of basic learning skills, somewhat like a chimpanzee might mimic a human’s actions. But was there more, really?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter 8

  The Battle Begins

  Janet had finally texted Daniel with the good news that the perfume had driven away the creature that had been hanging around their door. They were now alone; nothing appeared to be aware of Janet or Paul’s presence. So far, so good. Daniel wasn’t surprised that Poison had been effective; it was a scent that always gave him a banging headache. His big concern was that she was talking about having to venture out of the room, away from absolute safety, for her to perform bodily functions, and find some water. He had texted back, suggesting corners could be used for this need, if not for the water. The text back to him would have blistered a lesser phone. All he could do was hope she was careful, and that Paul would turn out to be a suitable protector.

  As for his own plight, things had settled down. As the adrenalin ebbed from his veins, and as the escape from London Bridge paled with time, boredom had settled in. There was nothing fun about following a rail track. On top of that, Daniel’s feet were killing him. He’d worn trainers into the office, but they were designed for comfort, and in no-one’s imagination were they envisaged as suitable for hiking. If he didn’t do something soon, he’d have to stop and rest his feet. Rob was lucky; being more accustomed to dress down mode for his work, he was already wearing heavier duty trainers.

  “Shit,” Daniel swore, flopping down on a box at the side of the route, easing the pain in his feet. Rob looked on, anxious to get moving again. “I’ve got to do something about this, or I’m done.”

  “Sure, I know that pain,” Rob replied, sympathetically. Walking at least three miles since their last encounter with the undead, they had just passed through St Johns, where the line had dipped into a culvert. To their horror, it had been like walking through the Valley of Death, bodies lying everywhere, across the tracks, up the slopes. Most had bullet wounds and a few had deep cuts on their torsos indicating a large cutting blade, maybe a machete.

  “What the hell has gone on here?” Rob wondered aloud. They stepped among the dead, staying alert in case there were survivors. Most had been infected, a few not, but all were casualties of this brutal engagement. Those apparently not infected wore bandanas, perhaps members of a gang that had gone on the offensive. He knew there was significant gang activity in this area, even in the good times. Feeling exposed now, they ran between hiding spots, fearing being mistaken for the walking dead. In his anxiety, Daniel had forgotten the pain in his feet.

  “We’ve got to get off the tracks for now, I suspect we’re sitting ducks, way too exposed,” Daniel whispered, as they arrived at a bridge passing over the tracks. Its old Victorian, dirty-yellow bricks were a welcome cover to their movement. At the other end of the tunnel, judging by the height of the trees, the land appeared to slope away and downwards. “Let’s spread out, Rob. Go to the other side of the track; I’ve got a funny feeling about what’s at the end of this tunnel, looks like a great place for an ambush.” Without a word, Rob jumped the tracks and landed against the opposite wall, his rifle aimed forwards, ready.

  Slowly they inched their way into the shade under the bridge, each covering the other diagonally across the tracks, maximising their field of fire. Suddenly a shout was heard, in a strong south London accent, warning them that there were guns trained on them.

  “We’re not infected!” Rob shouted.

  “A Yank! Wot you doin’ ‘ere?” was the reply, bemused but still aggressive.

  “Getting out of London!” was his shouted reply. After a moment’s silence there was some rustling in the undergrowth, the sound of voices, and someone swearing. Next moment the report of gunfire sounded, and a bullet whizzed by Rob’s head. He returned fire. The source of the shot had been out of Daniel’s vision, so he was unable to see what his friend was shooting at. There was a muffled scream, and a man fell out of the nearby scrub and lay still.

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” A young boy ran out from behind another bush, and darted across to the fallen man. “Dad,” he whimpered, kneeling down by the body, holding its head as he sobbed. A little girl slowly stepped out from the bushes, fear and anguish in her eyes, her face smudged with dirt and streaked by tears.

  Daniel and Rob quickly ran over to them, and took the gun from the dead man’s hands. The boy glared up at them, hatred in his eyes, then launched himself at Rob in a blind rage. Feeling a terrible guilt at killing the boy’s father, Rob did nothing to stop the onslaught. It was left to Daniel to haul the child off, throwing him to the ground. Responding to the violence, the little girl ran to the boy and hugged him tightly, preventing any further outburst that might end in more hurt. They were clearly brother and sister.

  Daniel checked on the man, who himself looked no more than early twenties. Such a waste. He had been hit squarely in the chest, and was killed instantly. Maybe it was a blessing for him. Maybe the dead were the lucky ones.

  “What the fuck are we going to do with a couple of kids?” Daniel asked, not really expecting an informed answer from Rob. It was pretty much the last thing either of the men wanted or could handle.

  “We sure as hell can’t leave them here. I wouldn’t give them more than half an hour to live. I wonder if they are local?”

  Daniel turned to the children. “Do you live around here?” he asked, but received no response. “Listen, you have to let me help you. You can’t stay here on your own, you won’t last ten minutes. What are your names?”

  The boy remained silent but the girl spoke. “I’m Penny, and this is my brother, Sam.”

  “Thank you, Penny. I’m Daniel, and this is Rob.” The little girl looked at Daniel, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Rob.

  “It wasn’t Rob’s fault, you know. Your father opened fire on him, and he defended himself.” Neither child responded, nor did Daniel expect them to. How do you communicate with kids, he wondered, especially ones whose father has just died at your hands. Realising he wasn’t getting through to them, he tried a different tack.

  “Where’s your mum?” he asked more gently, squatting before the little girl. “Do you live around here?” She was looking at him, but still unable to speak.

  “Come on, little one.” Daniel urged. “We need to know. We can return you safely home if you do.”

  “We
have no-one!” Sam shouted indignantly. “Mum’s dead, we only ’ad our Dad. And you killed him!” Neither Daniel nor Rob could argue with that. Rob looked stricken, trying to figure out why the bloke had opened fire in the first place. Maybe his finger had accidentally squeezed the trigger. Whatever the cause, it was too late to get into recriminations.

  “Do you have any relatives or friends around here? Is there somewhere we can take you?” Daniel continued.

  “Our house blew up,” Penny responded for her bigger brother, who was just standing there, his fury overwhelming him, making him speechless.

  “When was that?” Daniel asked.

  “This morning. Daddy woke us early, and made us get dressed. We went outside ‘cos the house was burning.”

  Daniel’s face softened, they had been through a lot, and apparently had nowhere to turn for respite. Shit, looks like they were lumbered with them, he thought, at least for now. Still squatting, he looked at the boy this time. “If there is nowhere we can take you, then we have to keep moving, at least, or we’ll attract those things. You don’t want that, do you?” The boy grudgingly shook his head. “I know you can’t stay here and survive. If you come with us, we’ll protect you.” Daniel said, hoping this negotiation would resolve itself soon. Frustrated at hanging around in one place for too long, he was beginning to feel as if a target was being painted on his back, creating an uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades. The child continued to stare at the ground, furious, tears running down his cheeks. “Do it for your sister,” Daniel said, hoping to use the protective instinct in the boy for his sibling, to get him to make the right decision.

  “We can’t leave him here, like this,” Sam said finally, gulping down air, fighting to hold back his misery. At last, a response.

  “We can’t do anything for him,” Daniel replied.

  “I, we’re not going anywhere,” the boy replied, a determined look on his face.

  “Alright, then, we’ll do something for him,” Daniel surrendered. “But we must hurry.” With that, Daniel shrugged off his backpack. Glad of the relief of losing the weight for a while, he helped Sam lay his father on his back, hands placed on his chest. They began to pile the rubble from the tracks around and over his body. Penny looked on in silence, and Rob stayed on guard, trying not to look at his handiwork. When they had finished, Sam held his sister by the hand, and led her to the head of the pile.

  “Do you want to say something, Sam? What was your father’s name?” Daniel asked.

  “His name was Les Carmichael,” Sam replied, and turned to his sister. “Say goodbye to Dad,” he whispered. Another tear fell down her face, and she mumbled something unintelligible. She bent down and placed the small teddy bear she had been holding on top of the mound. After a moment, her brother looked at Rob, and then Daniel.

  “We can go now,” he said. Daniel was amazed at the sudden maturity the lad was now displaying.

  “Before we move from here, I need you each to use this stuff on your skin and clothes. It will stop those things from detecting you so easily.” Daniel handed each child a bottle of the aftershave spray. The kids looked dubious, still suspicious of these two strangers. “Trust me, it works. You didn’t notice we smelled a bit strong when you first came across us?”

  “That was what Daddy noticed first of all,” Penny said, her face clouding over at the memory. “Before we hid.”

  “With this stuff on, we have walked right by them and they haven’t noticed us. All we did was walk slowly, a bit stiff like they do and, with this smell masking our own, it worked like a charm.”

  Not entirely convinced, and still looking for a catch, they acceded to the request and began to spray each other. “Mind your eyes,” Daniel said, watching them, making sure they covered as much of each other as they could. They could deal with allergic rashes later. Finished, they handed back the bottles to Daniel. “Right, let’s go,” he said, returning them to his back pack. Waste not, want not. The mismatched band made their way carefully down the escarpment to the road below.

  Looking left and right, Daniel’s face brightened. “I know where we are,” he said, sounding relieved. “If we go that way,” pointing to the right, “we will reach Lewisham town centre. I can get some trainers there, so we can keep walking. The down side is we don’t know where the people are that did that bit of butchery back there.”

  “We’ll just have to go street by street, at least until we can get to the shops.” Rob looked around, seeing how bleak and empty things looked at the moment. There was a small line of workshops off to the left. They were deserted, no-one around at all. Where was everyone? Four bodies could be seen on the street, and as they approached them, they could see the corpses had been shot using high velocity rounds that had made very big holes in their bodies, and almost removed their heads. It was hard to tell if they had been infected or whether someone had been honing their shooting skills from a distance.

  Both Daniel and Rob looked around, trying to find where the shots could have come from. The only likely place was a tower block almost a mile away. Ducking down and guiding the children, they made sure to keep obstructions between them and that building. They came to the end of the street which opened out onto a car park, beyond which they could see Lewisham train station. There was movement near its entrance. Slinking between the parked cars, the group made it to the main road in one piece and crossed over. Running along the pavement, they turned off onto a tree-lined, newly built road, slowing once more for the sake of the little girl, and to use the trees for cover.

  As they got closer to the shopping area, more slow-moving, walking dead, had gathered, their stench more noticeable now, as if they were decaying while walking. Even a single one fifty feet away could be detected; earlier, their proximity would have to be about six feet for it to be noticeable. At least this might offer them advance warning of their presence and approach.

  The motley group walked through a new trading estate, adjacent to the shopping mall. Nearly at their destination, they had arrived at a small bridge that crossed a wide, concrete-coated, square storm drain, at the bottom of which there was a trickle of water. Walking towards them, on the other side of the bridge was the infected man previously thought of by Daniel as the general. Behind him were approximately thirty undead, slowly making their slovenly way towards the same bridge. Most carried machetes and other large knives; the edges of the blades looked freshly honed and some were dulled by blood. They might explain the cuts on the bodies at the massacre they’d seen earlier.

  “What the fuck?” Rob said, “what do they want?” He couldn’t believe he was asking himself this question; up to now, these people’s actions had been random, no logic or calculation to their movement. These were, it appeared, coming to meet them as an organised party.

  “Oh my God!” Daniel exclaimed, “I knew I should have shot that fucker.”

  “What do you mean?” Rob’s look was quizzical. He had clearly missed that memo.

  “When you had cramp outside London Bridge, I saw that guy on top of a building, watching our escape. I considered killing him, but he was a long way off, and I couldn’t see what harm he could do us. How the fuck he got here, I can’t explain.”

  “Next time you have to consider something, run it by the committee, will ya?”

  The general, his red t-shirt and black hoodie immediately recognisable, halted his cohort and stared back at Daniel’s rag-tag group. Although his features remained in their death rictus, it was clear he was amused by this confrontation; he definitely recognised Daniel. His white eyes gleamed with defiance, and the upcoming victory he’d have over these breathers. His crew were gurgling amongst each other, the noise increasing as they began to feed off their leader’s excitement. Were they telepathic, Danny wondered? There didn’t seem to be any other communication between them.

  “What do you want?” Daniel asked.

  “Are you trying to talk to them?” Rob asked, incredulous.

  “Have
you got a better idea?”

  “Yeah, shoot the fucker.” The children had moved behind Rob and Daniel, frightened by what they were seeing.

  “There’s thirty of them. We might have enough ammo, we might not. Let me talk to them, see what happens.”

  “We know him,” piped a small voice from behind them. Sam had spoken.

  “Really? How?” Danny asked.

  “Our dad used to work for him. I think he owed some money to that man.”

  “Do you know his name?” asked Danny, hopefully.

  “Yes,” he replied, “Jason sumfink.”

  “Jason? Okay, let’s give it a try.” He looked back up and saw that ‘Jason’ was still standing there, waiting. “Jason,” he began, “what do you want?”

  The general, now known to be Jason, looked at him with a little surprise, hearing his own name; clearly a connection had been made. Understandably, it took a moment for the thought process to work; they were dead, after all. Slowly he raised his right arm; Rob and Daniel, thinking he was about to give a command to charge, raised their rifles, ready.