Infection Z (Book 4), page 2
part #4 of Infection Z Series
Hayden backed up to the kitchen door. His heart pounded. Too many of them. Way too many of them.
The Capri-Suns out of reach.
No way of getting to them.
He had to go.
He had to leave.
He had to get away.
Now.
He lowered the handle of the kitchen door. Slammed it shut. Ran out into the hallway.
First thing he noticed was just how dark it was.
Then just how smelly it was.
And then he noticed the emaciated zombies at the bottom of the stairs.
They just stood there at first. Stood there, as if they were sleeping. Like they’d given up all hope of finding a meal; of finding fresh meat.
When they saw Hayden, he swore their eyes illuminated.
He scooted back.
Ran in the direction of the kitchen.
The kitchen door caved in.
Zombies piled out of it, filled the corridor, trapped him.
He looked either side. More zombies coming down the stairs. Fuck, what was this? Some kind of zombie congregation?
He looked around the hallway as the zombies grew in number.
The lounge door.
Only option.
Only choice.
He grabbed it. Turned the handle.
Stuck.
“Fuck.”
He felt the cold bodies of the zombies closing in. Tried the handle again. Still so tight, like it hadn’t been turned in months. Something behind it, too. Something blocking his entrance.
He kept on turning it.
Turning and turning as the zombies closed in.
Turning, pushing, doing everything he could to get inside.
He swung the hammer at the neck of the first zombie to approach from the left. Heard its spine crack, watched the zombie shake like it was having some kind of seizure.
Then he squared up to the door.
Pulled back the hammer.
Bashed it in, blow after blow after blow.
He watched the wood split away. Saw an armchair pressed up to the door. Fuck. Someone was in there. Or someone had been in there. The wealthy. Using their frigging expensive furniture to survive. If only they knew their acquisitions couldn’t solve everything.
Hayden swung at another zombie. A girl, much younger than him. He tried not to see her as a girl. Tried to distance himself as the heavy head of the hammer shattered the bones in her neck. You couldn’t get attached. You just couldn’t. Not to the dead. Not to the living. Not anymore.
You just had to survive.
He smashed the door in some more. A large hole formed in the wood. He reached through it. Struggled to grab the handle, to turn whatever shitty lock was stopping his entrance.
Couldn’t reach it.
Couldn’t twist his arm enough.
He looked at the gathering zombies. Looked at them surrounding him. Snarling. Blood and flesh drooling from their utterly inhuman mouths.
He didn’t have long.
Seconds, if he was lucky.
So he turned to the opening.
Threw himself into it.
Landed face first on the armchair.
He felt the wood from the smashed door scratch his belly, splinter his arms. But even worse, he felt the pressure on his feet. Felt the pulling.
Felt the teeth sinking into his Timberlands.
He kicked back. Kicked back as hard as he could. Twisted, turned, shook like some kind of feral animal.
Because that’s what he was. That’s what he had to be to survive.
The humane didn’t survive.
The diplomats rotted.
Democracy festered in a pit of filth.
He kicked again.
Swung free of the zombies.
Turned over, smacked the hammer right on the back of the neck of the final culprit.
And then he rolled off the armchair.
Ran over to the window.
“Sorry about this.”
He pulled back his hammer.
Whacked it at the glass.
Smashed it on first contact.
He climbed out the window just as the first few zombies forced themselves into the lounge, no care at all for the way the wood tore up their bodies, no care about anything but meat. Human meat.
Hayden ran down the street, past stray zombies, back towards the hill.
When he glanced at the house, he swore he saw someone in the upstairs bedroom window.
A child.
A skinny, starving child with tears rolling down his cheeks.
The child stared at Hayden.
Lifted a hand to the glass.
Then his little neck exploded and blood covered the window.
“No!”
Hayden closed his eyes.
Eased his thoughts.
When he looked back at the house, the little boy was gone.
There was no blood on the window.
Chapter Three
Hayden kept as quiet as he could as he approached the churchyard.
It was a nice spot just outside a small town. One of those proper traditional churches—all grey brick and moss. The graveyard wasn’t bustling, either, but there was a sense that the headstones were gradually filling the land. Hayden thought about the concerns they must’ve had at the church. The worries about what to do when it just got too full.
At least they didn’t have to worry about that anymore.
He twirled a daisy between his fingers as he perched outside the churchyard. He waited for a sound. Or a smell. Or sight of someone. He’d seen a couple of people around this spot a few days back. They had guns, and one of them fired at a headstone. He didn’t want to mix with people like that. They were the last kind he wanted to deal with.
Not that he wanted to deal with anyone at all.
Better to just stay alone.
That way, he couldn’t let anyone down.
He started to stand. The rain had eased, but the clouds were still thick. Soon, night would fall. Not as soon as it did in winter. Hayden thought he was looking forward to the longer days. Increased visibility, less time to worry about what he couldn’t see. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Spend long enough in the darkness and it becomes your friend. Your greatest ally.
He saw the sun slowly setting and prayed for dark.
When darkness finally did arrive and still no sign of anybody—or anything—around the churchyard, he stepped inside. He ignored the silhouettes he thought he saw in the corners of his eyes. Had to adjust. Had to accept them for what they were—tricks, nothing more. The fantasies of a lonely mind. The projections of a messed up imagination.
He ignored them. Because there was no smell. There were no flies.
He was alone.
He had to be alone.
He walked over to the unmarked headstone right at the back of the graveyard. Somewhere above, an owl hooted, like the most stereotypical graveyard movie scene imaginable. The moon was bright behind the clouds. A little too bright for comfort.
But he was okay. He was okay because he was alone.
Alone with her.
Alone with Sarah.
He put the daisy by the side of the headstone. “Hello, Sarah.” He wasn’t sure why exactly he used this place as Sarah’s grave. But since she’d fallen to her death over the Holyhead cliffside, after having no opportunity to stick around and commemorate her after the cliffside became infested by undead, he’d taken comfort in having somewhere to visit her. Just some place where he could stop by. Show he cared.
He was a long way from home. A long way from anyone.
But having Sarah here—having something to remember Sarah by—that made a difference.
It made him feel like he had someone to care for.
It made him feel less alone.
Slightly.
“Saw him again today,” Hayden muttered. He looked around at the thick trees surrounding the graveyard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about what he’d seen. The boy in the window. Wasn’t sure he wanted to let it all out. Not again.
But somehow, he found himself shaking.
Found the words spilling out.
“It’s… it’s like he’s punishing me.” He smiled. Shook his head. “What am I saying? Not ‘him’ exactly. But my mind. It’s like my mind’s punishing me. For what I did.”
He stroked the top of the headstone. Felt his arms tingling as the memory replayed in his mind, over and over and over.
The house.
The scream.
The look on the boy’s face as Hayden ran from the window…
No.
No more.
Forget.
“It’s… it’s like no matter what I do, no matter where I go, I’ll always remember. And maybe that’s right. Maybe it’s the way it should be. Because I know what I did. I—I have to live with what I did. I just can’t…”
He refocused on the headstone. Perfect silence in the graveyard. The headstone saying nothing.
He smiled again. “What am I doing talking to the headstone of someone I don’t even know?”
He said those words, but he knew exactly why. His memories constantly reminded him why.
He’d let Sarah die.
Let Newbie die.
Let…
“No!” he said, the tingling sensations building inside his skull. “That’s not how it was. I didn’t leave anyone.”
You left them.
“Okay maybe I left them but—”
Aren’t fit to lead anybody, nobody at all.
“I don’t want to lead anyone. I don’t—”
You let the little boy die watched him bleed watched him—
“NO!”
Hayden heard his shout echo around the churchyard. He heard shuffling in the hedgerows. When he looked over, he didn’t see a thing. No movement. No sound. No smells.
Just him.
Just him and his thoughts all over again.
He listened to his racing heart. Looked down. The daisy he’d brought along with him was crushed. Crushed under the force of his fingers. All because of the memories.
The memories of what he’d done.
Of what he’d become.
“I’m sorry,” he said, soon realising how ridiculous apologising to a headstone actually was.
He thought back. Thought back to Sarah. One of the last things she’d said to him.
“Go back to Riversford. Or keep on looking for some kind of safe haven. You do whatever you have to do. Just stay yourself. ’Cause yourself is fucking amazing, Hayden McCall.”
Well, he had gone back to Riversford. One of the first journeys he’d made after leaving Sarah. He’d gone back and hadn’t found a soul. No Martha. No nothing.
So he’d started surviving for himself. Started taking time on the road. Seeing sights. Looting. Taking food. Water. The lot.
Then… the boy happened.
He cast that thought aside once more. Remembered what Sarah said. About finding some kind of safe haven. To keep on being himself.
“I’m trying,” Hayden said, fists tensed. “I’m—I’m really trying.”
He heard voices over to the right.
Heard footsteps approaching.
He froze. Someone was here. Someone would find him. And he couldn’t just walk away if they found him. He’d need to explain himself. He’d need to tell them who he was.
He’d have to get to know them.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t get to know anyone.
Because when he got to know people, bad things happened.
He crouched behind the headstone. Then, when he was sure the voices eased off, he moved to another headstone, moved between all of them until he reached the graveyard gates.
And then he saw torchlight shine right over him.
He stopped. Felt himself in the light, like an animal on a country lane staring at an approaching car.
“Do you see him?”
Those words.
Those fucking words.
He listened to the footsteps pick up. Heart racing. Mind spinning.
“Hey! You okay over there?”
He wanted to turn around. He wanted to respond. To tell them who he was. To learn about them. To speak with them about… about anything.
But then the memories of those he’d lost filled his mind.
Newbie.
Sarah.
The boy.
Clarice…
No, don’t remember Clarice don’t remember—
You stood by and watched them take her head off.
No!
You failed as a leader. You failed as a human being. You failed as a brother.
“Just… just wait there. Don’t move. Don’t… Hey!”
Hayden didn’t stay put.
He couldn’t stay put.
He climbed the fence. Disappeared into the trees. Behind him, he heard the approaching footsteps. The shouts. People like him. Desperate for company. Desperate for some kind of meaning in this world.
But they wouldn’t get it.
Not from him.
Because he couldn’t be around other people.
He couldn’t lead other people.
People died when he made decisions.
So he ran into the night. Ran away from the churchyard. Ran away from Sarah’s memorial.
He came to this town for a reason. A reason that he was still working up the courage to explore.
But now, he had no choice.
Now, he had to run.
Now, he had to find what he’d come here for.
Chapter Four
Hayden’s mind swirled with all kinds of thoughts, all kinds of feelings, as he stood outside the semi-detached house on Westwood Lane.
The moonlight shone down brightly on the little side road in Hindley Green. The weather was cool, but all the running he’d done meant he didn’t feel so bad. The street was quiet. No smell of death in the air. No sound of zombies groaning, staggering towards him.
Just this house.
This house he’d visited the town of Wigan for in the first place.
He walked up the driveway. Walked past the silver Toyota Celica. Dust covered it. Didn’t look like it’d been touched in a long, long time.
Hayden wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing anymore.
He walked up to the front door. Put a hand on the handle. No luck. Another search for a spare key on his hands.
He looked everywhere—under the plant pot, under the car, around the side of the house. No sign.
So Danny was just as much a security nut as he used to be.
Hayden walked around the back of the house. It’d been six years since he’d seen Danny. He called him “cousin,” but that was more a token name cause they’d known each other since they were little kids. They always used to play out together when Hayden lived around Hindley. Always used to ride their bikes together. Smoked their first cigarettes together.
When Hayden moved away from Hindley, he kept up contact with Danny until they both turned about fifteen, sixteen. Not that Danny didn’t try keeping in touch. Hayden’s fault, really. All Hayden’s fault. So many times he’d wanted to call his old mate. So many times he meant to Facebook message him. Just never got around to it. There was always another bill to pay, another mission on GTA to complete, another joint to smoke.
Then the world collapsed and everyone was gone.
The opportunity was gone.
Now was his chance.
He pulled himself over the wooden fence at the back of the house. Found himself glancing side to side, checking no one was looking. It didn’t matter if anyone was, but a sense of lawfulness was inherent. Reactionary. Very hard to shake off.
Seeing nobody, Hayden dropped down into Danny’s garden.
He looked around. Looked at the rope swing that snapped once when Bill Croft was playing with them. Not a big fall, but Bill cracked his head open. Wailed like a baby. Never lived that one down when they got back to school.
Hayden felt his body relaxing as the memories took over.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before snapping out of the nostalgia, realising where he was, why he was here.
He turned to Danny’s house. Looked at the glass doors of the conservatory. He knew Danny still lived here ’cause one of his final Facebook pictures tagged him in this garden.
Hayden walked across the grass. Walked over to the conservatory.
Danny was always so rational. Always so good at dealing with bad situations.
But a zombie apocalypse?
Would Danny be good enough to deal with that?
Hayden wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure anyone was, really.
It was all just luck. It was all just a waiting game.
A pointless waiting game of playing leader until the pretend leader died and then someone else got to play leader… then they died too.
He stopped at the conservatory door.
A slight shiver covered him when he saw it was ajar.
He felt a quiver in his stomach. Saw silhouettes moving in the corners of his eyes. No. They aren’t there. All in your head. All in your imagination.
He pushed the door open. Listened to it creak through the conservatory. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d come back to see his old friend. He didn’t want to meet any new people. He didn’t want to form any kind of bonds. And more than anything, he didn’t want to lead. Because he couldn’t lead. When he led, people died.
So many people, dead because of him.
Better to just float along. Take life one step at a time.
Alone.
But Danny felt different, for some reason. He was an old friend. Him and Hayden understood each other. Understood each other in ways the new world couldn’t change.
Going back to Danny was like going back to his old life. A life free of responsibilities. A life where he didn’t have to prove himself to anybody.
A life he could just enjoy—
He heard something rustling around in the lounge.
Nausea welled up inside Hayden. He closed the conservatory door, turned the lock. Walked over to the back of the conservatory, slowly. Squinted in the darkness. The moonlight shone in through the front window, but it didn’t do much to help him. Just illuminated the dust floating around this room. Lit up the massive television perched on the wall. Revealed old computer magazines. Crime thrillers, like that bullshit McDone series Danny always went on about on social media. Films. Games.
