The Undead Possession Series: Book 4: Legion, page 5
“Jesus Christ,” said Tim. “I’ve seen a lot of devastation in my time, but nothing beats this. It’s like being on another planet.”
“I think it’d be fair to say we are on another planet,” said Terry. “One where Mother Nature did a runner a long time ago. If she ever existed. Look!”
He pointed to two dogs that had inadvertently crossed paths. Both were Labradors, yet their hunger and desperation betrayed their normally gentle nature. They went at each other like starving wolves, rolling around the ground, getting covered in blood, shit, and dried-out lumps of flesh that stuck to their fur like leeches. Terry picked up a large stone and threw it at them. It missed, but they ran off, barking, perhaps suspecting another, larger creature was heading their way.
On telephone poles and dead street lamps sat large birds of prey scanning the area like CCTV cameras, seeing everything, missing nothing. Tim was glad vultures didn’t live in England.
“So, where are our targets, then?” he asked.
On their way up the stairs, they had all expected to be greeted by an army of zombies scurrying around looking for food, but strangely enough, there were none. The only sounds were the gulls and distant dogs barking.
“I guess they’re looking elsewhere for food,” chipped in Gary. “They’ve gotta eat something. Maybe they’ve already wiped out most of the dog and cat population. If I was one of them, I’d head to the zoo. Plenty of food in there, if they’re still alive. Which I doubt.”
Tim looked at Gary. What the hell was he talking about—the zoo? But then, the more he thought about it, the more Gary seemed to be actually talking sense for once. It was true—they did have to eat—so where would they most likely find a new source? If there were no humans about anymore and few zombies, the animal world would be the most likely, like returning to their original, primitive nature when man lived in caves and hunted with sticks. Maybe, just maybe, if they could hold out long enough, those new zombies might cause their own downfall—starvation.
But, as if to prove him wrong, a familiar snarling sound came from around the corner at the top of the street. Dogs scampered, their tails between their legs. They looked around for the origin of the noise, guns drawn, but nothing came.
“The fuck is it?” growled Terry.
Tim shrugged. More snarling and yapping came, but in the stillness of the streets, it was impossible to determine its source. Then, like some giant bird of prey, Tim saw it. It had been sitting on top of a building, watching them, and as soon as Tim glanced upwards, the thing launched itself from the roof.
Its arms and legs splayed wide as though parachuting, it came at them at an incredible speed, all the time its jaws snapping, eyes wide and red. They just had time to jump out of the way before it landed on them, but the thing, instead of crashing onto the concrete and exploding, landed on all fours like a cat. Tim was so stunned at how the creature had managed to land safely from such a height he failed to react in time. It leapt onto Gary, bringing him down and going into an immediate frenzy as it tried to tear open his throat. It was Gary’s screaming that brought them both out of their shock.
Terry wrapped an arm around its neck and tried to pull it off, while Tim kicked it as hard as he could in the chest. The snapping of its ribcage did nothing to stop the thing.
“Shoot the fucker!” cried Terry, both arms now pulling back and keeping its head away from Gary’s throat.
Tim was about to do so, but the idea of the gunshot attracting more seemed a very real possibility. Instead, he smashed it in the back of the head with the butt of his revolver. He hit it with considerable force, but even so, he didn’t expect the zombie’s head to cave in so easily; its dead brain now visible through the thick wall of its skull.
But still it ignored them.
Its hunger must have been so intense, refusing to even acknowledge the other two behind it, kicking and punching at it, its focus solely on tearing into Gary’s face. Chris had insisted they be brought back alive, so Tim resisted the urge to shoot it directly in the brain, but instead, he took a step back with the revolver in both hands and swung at it as hard as he could. If the fucker’s head came off…tough.
But it didn’t.
The creature was knocked on its side, temporarily stunned, which gave Terry enough time to straddle it, put its arms behind its back, and handcuff it with a zip tie. He stood up, panting heavily, then helped a still whimpering Gary to his feet.
“Man, that thing nearly ate me! Why’d you take so long? Shit!” he exclaimed.
“Well, if you’d gotten out of the damn thing’s way in time, it wouldn’t have happened!” said Terry. “You keep from drinking all fucking day, you might still have half your senses intact.”
Gary snorted and kicked the zombie, but as soon as he’d withdrawn his foot, the creature, instead of remaining motionless, suddenly swivelled around onto its stomach and pushed itself to its feet. It charged Gary once more by jumping into the air and wrapping its legs around Gary’s neck, sending them both crashing again. Then, it jumped back, and its snapping jaws lunged at Gary’s face. Tim and Terry kicked and punched it repeatedly in the head, but it might as well have been little slaps they were giving it. Gary pushed its head away, trying to keep its mouth as far from his flesh as possible, yet he was already struggling. Tim did the only thing he could think of—he unloaded half a magazine of the sub-machine gun into its leg, disintegrating it immediately, sending bone and flesh flying everywhere and covering Gary.
Again, stunned, the creature stopped its attack against Gary and turned to Tim. It tried to push itself up, but with its hands tied and only one leg, all it could do was stumble and fall.
“Shall we try again?” asked Tim and kicked it off Gary.
When Tim bent over to help Gary to his feet, he couldn’t help chuckling. As did Terry. Gary’s face was covered in bone fragments, muscle tissue, and blood. He looked like he was about to start crying or screaming at any moment.
“Come on, Gary, get up. Lay there any longer with all that crap on your face, you might start getting visits from the rat population. Not to mention a hungry dog here and there.”
Gary was whimpering and making strange sounds, but as soon as Tim said that, he began to frantically wipe the mess off his face and jumped up. “That’s the second fucking time I’ve eaten zombie shit! Bastards! Dirty, fucking bastards!” he cried, kicking the zombie on the ground furiously.
“That’s enough. C’mon, let’s get this to Chris before Gary kicks it to death.”
Tim and Terry dragged it to its feet and hauled it away. But they’d only gotten a few yards when more yapping, growling sounds came from high above them.
“Oh, shit,” said Terry. “I think we attracted more of its friends.”
From the rooftops, Tim counted at least a dozen of them hopping across the roofs, edging closer, yet not quite as eager to jump as their friend it seemed. Tim had no doubt they would at some point; all it took was one of them to do so, and the others would follow suit, like young birds leaving the family nest for the first time.
“I suggest we get this fucker to the bunker right now,” he said, holding it tightly in a headlock. He started to drag it away, never taking his eyes off the things above. Terry grabbed it by the arm and began dragging it too.
“Hey, Gary, you gonna help or…?” But when he turned around, Gary was already running toward the bunker. “Christ. Fucking lot of help you are.”
They dragged the zombie to the bunker’s door where Gary was already holding it open. But before they could all bundle in, the zombies jumped. All of them landed just like the one they were carrying—on all fours without the slightest mishap—then stood straight. Slowly, they edged toward them, slavering and drooling, their bodies hugely emaciated and many with great holes in them where either the flesh had simply fallen off or had been torn off. Some were missing parts of their bodies completely—the bottom half of their faces, chunks of flesh dangling from arms or legs like flaps. The furthest zombie at the back had had its stomach ripped open, the intestines falling out and touching the ground so that it kept tripping over them.
Then, as if by some telepathic coordination they all charged—some bounding, others scurrying, others gliding—arms outstretched, mouths wide, ready to tear into them.
“Get in! Get in!” screamed Tim. They rushed to the door as the zombies came flying at them at impossible speeds, snarling and howling. The one in their arms writhed and struggled, encouraged once again by its fellow creatures, almost causing Tim to fall himself. Terry let go of it, turned to face them, and unleashed his sub-machine gun on them. The one he hit exploded in a mass of flesh and bone as though a bomb had gone off, yet still they continued. They were within grabbing distance when Terry’s gun made an ominous clicking sound and stopped firing bullets.
“Leave it, Terry! Get in the fucking bunker.”
Terry turned and bolted, just as one grabbed the back of his jacket. The thing slipped and fell, causing others to fall on top of it. As soon as Terry was inside, Gary slammed the door shut and bolted it.
“Shit, that was close. Too close,” said Terry, panting. “You see how fast those fuckers run? And tell me how it’s possible for them to jump from so high up and not break a bone or anything? Those creatures are so brittle you punch one and a chunk of its body falls off.”
“I don’t know,” replied Tim. “To me it doesn’t seem at all feasible, but we all saw it. We know that zombie bitch did something to them. Maybe they’re fragile in some ways, but not in others. Either way, anyone goes out there alone, no matter how many guns they’re carrying, I don’t think they stand much of a chance.”
“What do you mean that zombie bitch did something? Did I miss something?” asked Gary.
“Gary, you don’t want to know. Let’s get this one to Chris. I think we better stock up on more ammo before going out again too.”
“No way, man. I ain’t going out there again. Nope.”
“Shut up and move.” Tim shoved Gary toward the stairs.
* * *
The survivors gasped and shrank back when they dragged the creature to the holding area, leaving a slimy red trail behind it. Even then, it still tried to bite them, and they had to be careful to keep its head away from their bodies. They found Chris and Agatha talking in hushed whispers together in the makeshift prison. When Chris looked up and saw them, Tim was mildly surprised to see his face bright red and a strange look in his eyes. Tim would have said he looked embarrassed under other circumstances. Agatha immediately jumped back and out of the way.
“My God. That was quick,” said Chris. “Over there, chain it to the wall.”
Terry and Tim dragged the still-struggling zombie to the wall where several thick chains were bolted. Not bothering to cut the zip ties, they tightly placed the handcuffs to it and stepped back. It pulled and writhed, tried to push itself to its feet, but could only crash back down again. Finally, it gave up, its bright red eyes intense and wide.
“So, how did it go?” asked Chris. “And what happened to its leg? I’m surprised it was still alive—surely, the others would have killed and eaten it?”
“As it happens,” said Tim, “I shot the damn thing’s leg off. Most of it is still on Gary’s face.”
Chris looked at Gary, who was already pouring himself a glass of wine over by the corner, then to the full-breed, then back at Tim. Confusion was etched onto his face. “I don’t understand. You had a problem with him? He could have died. I said we need them alive.”
Tim scoffed. “Terry, you tell him. I need a drink.”
After he’d finished, Chris looked concerned. “My God, they’re developing faster than I expected. If they can jump from that far up, it might even be dangerous using the helicopter. So, the quicker we get more of them here, the better.”
Tim took the hint. He finished the beer he’d been drinking and prepared to return outside. If blowing the zombies legs off didn’t kill them, he figured he’d make life easier for them all and just shoot their arms off, first. The others could occupy themselves feeding on the leftovers while they escaped. Maybe shoot their legs off at the same time…there was an idea. They could then just drag the things like sacks of potatoes. But just as he was about to tell them his idea, Jean came running over. First, she hugged and kissed Terry, then turned to Chris and whispered in his ear. Tim caught something about Jackie.
When she’d finished, Chris turned to them. The blood had drained from his face, and he looked dangerously unstable.
Chapter Nine
When Chris entered Jackie’s room, she was awake, albeit still weak. Her eyes were only half-open, but it was a start. He rushed to her side and sat beside her, clutching her hand in his.
“Jackie, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
At first, she didn’t answer him. She looked at him as though he was a stranger. Her skin was extremely pale, and wrinkles covered her taut face. To Chris, she looked like someone in the latter stages of some advanced, deadly illness. Her hair, which had always been her pride and joy, was now withering and sparse. It clung to her face and the pillow like a dying weed. Her hand was cold and shook mildly like an elderly person’s. And she reeked of old sweat.
“You need to remove it. Kill it. Kill me,” she muttered as best she could.
“Kill? What are you talking about?”
“I’m pregnant. With one of those things. Sam made me do it. You need to kill it. Or kill me instead. I don’t care anymore.”
Chris glanced at Jean by his side, then Agatha who stood by the door. He didn’t understand anything. “What are you talking about…pregnant? That’s impossible. You had the operation to avoid it happening again.”
Jackie shook her head. “I told you, Sam did something. She gave one of the zombies a Viagra pill, like I used to use, then he raped me. Whatever Sam has become, she made them like her too. Possessed or something. I can feel it kicking inside me. Hard. It feels like it’s biting me already. Do you think it has teeth yet?” She threw back the blanket and showed them.
Chris gasped. Not only did she appear to be heavily pregnant, but the skin was a horrible, mottled grey colour around her stomach, chest, and thighs. Like that of the zombies—dead and covered in snaking red veins and bruises. Something kicked from inside her, leaving an indentation on the flesh, like some creature trying to poke its way out of its hiding place.
Chris covered her with the blanket again. He thought of the day once more when he had seen Samantha naked and dancing with the half-breeds. She had planned it all along, then—those damn Viagra pills Jackie kept hidden. Or thought they were. The monster she had already given birth to, now this one. She was trying to create some kind of super-race, using the Viagra on the zombies, then purposefully getting herself pregnant and anyone else she could find—even her own mother.
And then he thought of her at the house. He’d blown her arm off, then shot her in the face, but he hadn’t killed her. He’d let her live. And he’d also let her live on that fateful day over two years ago. And now here was the result.
“I’m so sorry, Jackie. I should have stopped her when I had the chance. When we were at the mansion.” He looked at Jean. “You know how to do an abortion?”
She shook her head. “I think she’s too weak for that anyway. The shock could kill her.”
“Do it anyway. I don’t care. I don’t want this thing inside me any longer. Kill it, or I will.”
“Jackie, don’t be silly. You can’t. We’ll figure a way.”
“Just get the fucking thing out of me!” she screamed, making them all jump, then began pounding at her stomach.
Chris grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “Stop it. You’ll give yourself a hemorrhage. We’ll find a way. I promise. Now, you need to rest and get your strength back. I’ll make some soup. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re at a new bunker. We have electricity, running hot water, showers. Enough food to last a year. And no more canned sardines, I promise! Now that we’ve finally made it somewhere hospitable, you can’t give up.”
Jackie smiled thinly. “Can I get a shot of J.D., then? I’ll drown the fucking thing inside me.”
“No, you can’t.”
Then, Jackie’s back arched, and she gritted her teeth, squeezing Chris’s hand so hard it hurt him. She groaned and puffed rapidly, sending spit flying into Chris’s face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s pushing. Get the fucking thing out. Kill it!”
“Shit. Jean, do something, for God’s sake!”
Jean lifted the blanket and looked under. Chris saw her feeling around, then quickly pull her hand away. “Oh, hell,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“I could feel it moving around in there. It’s huge. Abnormally so. Something is very wrong, Chris. We need to do something.”
“Get it out!” screamed Jackie again, and then she went limp. Sweat dripped into her eyes. Her back was soaked, sending up a waft of foul-smelling body odour. When he tentatively lifted the blanket again, he smelt the acrid stench of fresh urine too.
Chris turned and looked at Agatha who was still standing at the door, her expression of extreme concern, and in that moment hated himself again for what they’d done only a few hours earlier. She seemed to catch the look in his eyes and left. He had been about to ask her if she knew anything about medical procedures, but now he didn’t even want to speak to her. It seemed Jean was their only hope.
“Is she having the baby?” he asked.
“No. It was a contraction. I don’t think it will be long, though.”
My God, what do I do? It occurred to him that if the baby was born alive and they killed it, that would be two grandchildren he had either killed or thought about killing. And right now, he wished both of them dead.
