It’s funny how you feel like there’s very little left to say when you’re in a situation where anything you say will be your last opportunity. Things either feel too trivial to bring up in your last moments, or too grand to possibly be able to do them justice in what little time you have.
This was the case for the couple at the cottage on Sunken Lake. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to provide comfort to each other, on the contrary, they were so in love that to say anything of comfort would mean baring to think about losing each other. As though acknowledging their situation would make it more real. Each in their own silent resignation, but not ignorant. They knew what was inevitably coming.
Eddie held her close, stroking her hair and wrapping his arms around her as tightly and protectively as the limits of their physical forms would allow. He faced his last moments dealing with the guilt and anger of feeling like he should have done more to protect her. The blood-stained fireplace poker at their feet, no longer a sufficient solution for what is facing them, but its new red splashes of color whispers of its past usefulness.
Lisa held their last dying candle in her hands, the dim flickering light providing the only illumination despite it being midday. The only window of the study being boarded up, to add a layer of security. She shivers protecting her small light trying desperately to push the morbid thoughts of what the quickest and least painful way to die could be in their circumstances.
The noise of hundreds of fingers scratching on wood, stone, metal, until bleeding and raw filled the room. It was now so familiar a sound it no longer caused fear or anxiety. It simply was a gnawing reminder of the inevitability of their situation. Once the zombies had found their secluded location on the lake and they had bared themselves in, it had then become a waiting game.
They could wait forever. The couple, however, were limited to their resources of food and water- or their own shelter holding together. All three of which were threatening to give out. Eddie and Lisa had already found themselves retreating in their home to the study on the second floor of their cottage. The rest day by day, room by room had slowly succumbed. The slow trickling persistence of undead fingers eventually splitting wood and pushing one barrier at a time forever forward.
The door to the study- their last door- had already begun to crack and whine under the constant strain. The desk that had been upturned and shoved in front offering little reassurance. The couple had heard the same noise many rooms before, they knew what came next. This time… this time however, they had no new place to fall back to.
A new noise over the whining splintering sound of wood sounded. A metallic noise, the rattling at the door handle. The new less familiar sound is remarkably effective at cutting into their thoughts. The two flinched into each other, desperately holding onto their last few moments, their long months of imagining what their final moments could be finally unravelling before them.
More unusual sounds continued. Subtle but unfamiliar to the rhythmic groaning and pawing. Grunts, the shuffling of bodies, and unsteady feet bumping against the walls. They are all lost over the overcome sobbing of Lisa, and the slow focused gripping of the fireplace poker by Eddie once more.
There is a soft click of metal releasing, and the door attempts to swing open. It dumps against the desk. The door being abruptly stopped by the barrier is pushed upon in great heaves, an aggressive intention being put behind its weight. With a reluctant scratching across the floor, the desk scoots under the force removing the last barrier.
Lisa curls into a ball, covering as much as her body as she could, shutting out the world, a scream escaping her lips, the sheer wave of vulnerability overwhelming her senses. Eddie, driven by his wife’s sheer terror, springs to his feet. With numbed hands, his mind wild, his eyes raised, dilated, animalistic, unwaveringly placed on the door and anything that may come through it. He raises the fireplace iron, his full body being thrown into a pre-emptive downwards swing, a crazed yell driving its force.
The metal hits a raised forearm, the meaty sound of metal biting into flesh and crunching through bone audible over even the chaos of sobs, yells, and undead moans. The blow causes the horrendous monster that had slipped into their sanctuary to stumble backwards, hoarse words of surprise barking out from somewhere deep in its chest.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
Untangling himself from the blow, giving his smashed arm a shake, the living corpse raises both of his hands, in a defensive surrendering gesture, its clouded milky dead eyes holding on Eddie, judging his next unpredictable action. Without losing sight of the dangers of the door being opened, the undead man uses his foot to hook it behind him effectively closing the door once more, his back squarely leaning on it, ensuring it stays that way.
“Let’s just-” the undead man starts and abruptly stops, swooping down against the door as the fireplace iron swings at him again, this time full force aimed at his head. The undead man falls into a quick squat causing the blow to miss him by mere inches, biting through the wood of the door instead. Undead eyes look up at the fireplace poker sticking out from the door, wedged, his expression dropping in one of alarm.
From his half squat he kicks out a foot, placing it on Eddie's chest and forcefully pushing him back. Staggered distance is created between them, and thankfully the fireplace poker remains stuck fast in the door, and slips from his grip.
“Knock it off before you get yourself killed.” The undead man scolds, his eyes turning from the fireplace poker that only succeeded in weakening the door, straightening himself out once more, brushing down his clothes as though trying to regain some sense of dignity.
In Eddie's mind, through the spinning blur of the room he hears the words being spoken to him. But his brain is unable to process them in its shock. The voice was hoarse and uncanny. Like someone recovering from laryngitis, but the sound… it echoed too far down in the man’s chest.
Slowly Eddie's senses tried to piece together some comprehension. Though clearly before him stood a zombie, the words were far too articulate to be accompanying the chorus of the groans just outside the door. It took long awkward moments of the three staring at each other for the black cloak that had numbed their senses to register that something weird was even occurring.
As though waking from a nightmare into an even more unsettling dream, the couple looked at each other finally searching for the other's reaction and some clue on what to do next. The ghastly man was speaking, eloquently. Addressing them.
The zombie heaves a sigh, resigned to this expected reaction. Giving them their space as they process, he moves the sleeves of his tattered blazer and unbuttons the cuff of his muddied dress shirt to get a better look of the damage he had sustained.
The skin on the arm had a gray pallor. The skin looked rubbery and almost artificial without the blush of blood flow. Where the struck hit the skin tore, showing the rust-brown red of muscle beneath. Though no blood flowed from the wound. An alarming jut showed in the flat of his arm, clearly a bone somewhere beneath had been broken and off set.
His inspection complete, he returns the layers of fabric and turns his attention back up to Eddie first and then down at Lisa. Driven by the annoyance of the permanent damage inflicted on him, he takes a step forward, a hand coming impatiently to his hip, the other gesturing to the closed door.
“Look I get it, but unless you think you can do better with them, just let me help.” He says with an air of agitation, thumbing at the ‘them’ moaning behind the weakened door.
Knowing it wouldn’t be that simple, he shifts around the desk, and gives Eddie a final judging glance before turning his back to him and throwing his weight into the desk, pushing it back into its place propping the door close. Standing and leaning over the desk, he grips the fireplace iron and starts to yank on it trying to dislodge it from its place wedged in the wood of the door.
“Um...excuse me.” Lisa’s small voice, ragged from sobbing and screaming finally cuts into the stunned silence from her sitting position in the far side of the study. “What… are you?” she asks tentatively, fear still evident in her every word.
“What or who?” the undead man asks casually back, with a grunt, he places a foot on the desk to get better leverage. With a final heave, and a snap of wood he dislodges the fireplace poker, taking a step forward to offer it back to Eddie, who recoils at his proximity for a moment but accepts it.
“You can call me Drudge” the zombie offers, his attention now moving about the room, as though assessing “and what I am right now, is your ticket out of here”.
Lisa, her mind too shaken to realize that Drudge may have taken offense to her question, struggles shakily to her feet, her arms close to her chest, instinctually making herself as small as possible. Her eyes stay unwavering on the undead man who had begun to look about to survey the room.
At first glance he looked no worse for wear than a well-dressed used car salesman who spent a rough night in the alleyway outside a bar. A tweed blazer and slacks, shredded through rough use of some kind. If it had not started out brown certainly, it was now for all the mud and grime that clings to it. A button-down shirt and a vest that no longer had buttons to keep it closed. The style, and rumpled collar suggests the accompaniment of a tie that no longer existed. A matching fedora that looked the least destroyed speaking perhaps to its quality was worn by Drudge. Beneath there were remnants of salt and pepper black hair, short but no longer kempt.
But Lisa’s eyes were not lingering on Drudge's clothing. Or even the skeletal fingers that had handed over the fireplace poker. It was the black gaping hole in his face where a nose once was. It was the grayed over eyes, milky with the confirmation of death. It was the fat and flesh of his cheeks and jaw that drooped, melted with decay showing sinew and muscle and flashes of teeth and bone beneath as he talked. It was undeniable. The man was dead. A zombie saving them from zombies.
“Ah!” Lisa jumps at Drudge's sudden exclamation, her thoughts being brought back to the sense of danger as Drudge walks suddenly into the room. He moves over to the side table and chair, his eyes having caught something of interest. “Just what I needed.” He says with an air of relief, the torn facial expression easing into a ghastly smile.
“What is it?” She asks simply, her eyes dancing over the spot. They had been in this room for days now, she knew every inch and both Eddie and her knew that there was nothing here that could simply save them.
Without bothering to respond to her, his hand digs around an inner pocket of his blazer pulling out a silver and red square package. With practiced ease, he taps out a cigarette and catches it more between his teeth than the remnants of his lips. He reaches down to the table and plucks the butane lighter there that had been used as their final means of light and heat. With a snap he brings the flame of the lighter up, drawing in a breath causing the cigarette to spring to life with a glowing red tip.
He sighs into a “You’re a real-life saver.” to no one in particular, the smoke mostly curling from his lips, but hinting horrendously at the unseen state of his body as hints of the vapor pushes through the dress shirt at his chest.
“The hell is going on?” Eddie barks, finally catching up to his own senses.
“Right.” Drudge responds, pointing an acknowledging finger at him. He turns his gaze to the boarded-up window, walking over to it, his closing proximity causing Lisa to skitter over to Eddie's side who was still seething. Drudge swoops, surveying the window, chewing lightly on the end of his cigarette like he was an everyday contractor. “Boarded up from the outside. That’s smarter than a lot of survivalists I’ve come across.” he compliments, meeting no acknowledgement in return.
Drudge grabs the lower frame of the window and slides the glass up, exposing the boards on the outside. Reaching over to the bookcase that loomed in the corner he selects a heavy black marble book end, carved into the bust of a stallion. He hefts it in his hand a moment testing the weight before using it to take a swing at one of the boards, hammering it off the window frame.
He only gets a few swings in before Eddie starts towards him, the action causing a sense of panic driven by rage. “Back the fuck off!” he yells, closing the gap between them, bringing the fireplace poker above his head again, ready to put an end to the undead threat that was now removing one of their defenses.
Drudge catching this sudden movement deftly moves away from the window, a curl of smoke dancing in his wake. His hands go up again, but Eddie's rage is met with a sharp tone of his own.
“How the hell did you expect to get out of this place? Through the front door?” He asks credulously “By all means,” Drudge gestures to the door where the undead groans and ceaseless pawing still sounded “You seem so damn determined to bash a head in, might as well have your fill with your dying breath.”
Eddie hesitates for a moment, at that hesitation Drudge takes a step forward and tries to remove the fireplace poker from his hands, clearly trying to revoke the gift out of a sense of unease himself. At his touch Eddie jerks it away maintaining a pointed grip on it, still poised to strike.
“Why the hell shouldn’t I just kill you?” he asks with serious intention.
Drudge turns his eyes over to Lisa with a mild pleading shrug. She, catching that Drudge while horrid seems to actually be intending to help, takes a step forward placing a soothing hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We’re all out of options.” she says gently a sadness touching her tone once more. “If this... if he can help...” she trails off her own words sending a shiver down her spine.
“Drudge,” Drudge points out to her “and I can.” He adds his face turning back to the window as though to get back to work but pauses looking back at the looming weapon in Eddie’s hand.
“Put the damn thing down.” He snaps.
Reluctantly Eddie lowers his arms but does not relinquish it, coaxed by his wife’s presence.
Drudge turns his attention back to the window, successfully removing one of the boards, he points out to the roof overhang below.
“I’ll go out first and gather the remaining zombies in your backyard-” he pauses a moment, leaning his body out of the window to get a better vantage point “Looks to be no more than 15.” He adds more to himself than anything “I’ll clear it and figure out a way to get you two down.” He pulls himself back into the window turning his attention back to the couple “You have a ladder in that gardening shed?”
Lisa looks to Eddie. Eddie nods. Drudge nods in response.
Drudge returns to his work with removing the wooden boards with his stallion bookend. As the boards give way, natural light once more creeps into the room, fresh air mingling with the cigarette smoke. The strikes against the wood and the grunts of effort from Drudge echoing his mindless undead counterparts on the other side of the door in a twisted joke.
Completing his work, Drudge tosses the book end haphazardly to the floor, the weight of it thudding violently. Easing the window open further, he gives his path one more quick surveillance before turning his attention back to the couple.
“Don’t die before I can get you out.”
With those ominous parting words Drudge slips out the window with surprising agility.
The two stand for some moments, both looking at the now empty and opened window. The sounds of feet shuffling on the roof of the overhang, pacing as if surveying and then silence. Lisa looks over to Eddie, her mind still wheeling, but Eddie takes a few swift steps to the window himself, the fireplace poker still tightly gripped in the hand at his side, like a lifeline.
“What do we do?” Lisa comes to his side to place her arms around his free arm, finding comfort there.
“I think we should kill the bastard.” He grumbles with an air of determined seriousness.
“Isn’t he trying to help us?” Lisa counters, though her tone is more one of questioning the truth of it herself.
Leaning Eddie tries to see what was happening outside, over the edge of the overhang he could see a few zombies shambling around the backyard, their attention now turned towards the noise of something just cut off from his sight. Their direction however, is back towards the house not away from it.
“Fucker is leading them to us!” he snaps with the realization that they were being drawn towards where the back entrance that was on the first floor.
His revelation is cut off; however, at the sudden loud snap of the door to the study, weakened by the fireplace poker's strike, it finally gives way splitting down the middle. The desk held the debris in place, but shattered from its restraints. Numerous hands begin to spill through the splintered wood like water breaking from a dam, the clawing hands trying to pour forth, still partially blocked.
Lisa recoils and screams again.
“Goddamn it!” Eddie echoes.
He jumps into action though, with gentle tenderness he helps guide and hoist his wife through the now open window, clambering after her and slamming the glass pane shut behind them. Taking a few careful steps they both find a spot away from the window, hoping not being able to be seen may slow the zombie’s pursuit.
Crouching down on the roof together, Eddie wraps his arms around Lisa once more, the Fireplace poker not leaving his grasp this time, he offers soft soothing words to her. Reassuring her that they were still okay. That he would protect her. She balls up in his arms, trying to block the world out of her mind.
Eddie strains from his crouching position, still trying to see the yard below from their vantage point. He still could not see Drudge, but he also could no longer see other zombies in their back yard either. Whatever the undead freak was doing seemed to actually be helping. Though he sees nothing, muffled curses drift through the air back up to him, cutting in and out of the din of zombie voices and bumping of the wooden house.
“Damnit…got to get… dumb Ghoulies… there!”
Drudge makes his appearance again, walking backwards down in the yard until he can be seen beyond the overhang, gesturing up in confirmation to Eddie and Lisa above. Eddie’s mind eases some seeing that Drudge has in fact returned and with no Zombie buddies. Though his taught muscles, still poised, were not as convinced. Drudge continues to busy himself heading for the gardening shed as Eddie gives quick glances to the study window separating them and the room full of Zombies. Small spider webs of cracks now tinging along the glass.
“Hurry your ass up!” He yells down, Lisa flinching in his arms at the sound.
True to his words, Drudge makes quick work of it. Rummaging through the gardening shed for only moments he returns with the ladder, securing it against the edge of the roof, holding it steady at the bottom.
“Comeon sweetheart.” Eddie whispers with surprising gentleness as he helps lift and balance Lisa to her feet, letting her angle herself down the ladder first.
The gentle tings of glass splintering, gives way to a full sharp snaps of breaking. Eddie looks over his shoulder at the mass of arms and faces all fighting to get through in another wave of freedom. Turning back to Lisa he meets her eyes which were wide and wild with fear once more.
“Keep going.” he says reassuringly though urgency drives his words.
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She doubles her efforts.
With a heavy moist thud a body joins Eddie on the roof. The shambling humanoid had been clearly dead for some time. The gender is near indistinguishable from the purple swollen flesh that hangs too loose in some areas, and puffs too taught in others in a morbid game of push and hang across its exposed flesh. It's simple t-shirt and jeans, torn and disheveled, twisted around on the body, overlooked and forgotten by its wearer. The fingers, bloodied, tips worn to the white bone beneath twitch and snap in stiffness, reaching out eagerly for the warmth of Eddie's body. The mouth lined with blackened lips opening and closing in eager anticipation of eating, already chewing the air.
Eddie raises the fireplace poker and with a starting bounce rears to meet the thing like a batter taking a swing. It connects with the unmistakable sound of bone snapping, the action rewarded with a gush of fluids that were no longer just blood. The white, brown and green liquids splashing from the zombies jaw and neck, splattering the rooftop in an artistic snap. The action did little to resist the undead desire. The tenacious beast accepts the blow and moves along the length of the poker with its face, funneling it into its target. It grips Eddie's shirt, as Eddie twists violently to free himself both from grapple and danger.
Grunts and panicked breathing meets hungry grumbling groans, as mouth seeks flesh and flesh seeks refuge.
Despite Eddie being larger than the undead abomination the struggle continues, bringing the two down to their knees upon the roof- slipping ever closer to its edge. The zombie gains an edge, its muscles unlocked from the limitations of sensation and self preservation.
Lisa and Druge look from below, hearing the struggle occurring above. Her eyes looking about the edge wildly, her arms tucking into her chest, a want to feel protected in her panic. Drudge draws another long breath on the cigarette simply waiting for the resolution.
A body hangs over the edge for a moment, and then plummets below. Lisa lets out a loud scream as though it were her that were falling. With a sickening thud, and absolute stillness, the two look at their quickly arrived guest. While its body was stilled, having been destroyed even beyond what it had been before, the zombie gnashes back up at them, its teeth still searching, its eyes held on Lisa.
Lisa turns her eyes back up to the roof with a weak “Eddie..?” while Drudge with a sigh moves over to the back cement patio, grabbing a patio chair. Returning, he angles the thin metal leg above the zombies head, and with a heft of surprising strength brings it down, skewering it, and stilling its squirming permanently.
By the time Drudge returned his focus to the ladder, Eddie was already halfway down it.
“Show’s over.” Drudge adds, as Lisa and Eddie embrace for a moment “Time to escape this place.” he adds with a kick to the ladder bringing it back to the yard below with a clatter.
Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder Eddie could see that more zombies had squirmed their way onto the roof, and it would not take long for them to start raining down on them.
The three of them ran. Their movements were quick at first, driven by adrenaline and fear. Drudge was surprisingly fast, keeping pace though there is a hitch to his hip as though the bones no longer fit together quite right. He didn’t show any indication of noticing this, or ever complained. The three didn’t talk at all in fact. The debrief of what they went through, far less important than the need to put distance between them and the cottage, running along the small dirt road.
As minutes and distance made the trauma of what occurred seem less immediate, they slowed some. Catching their breaths, walking at a brisk but comfortable pace. Lisa looked about the woods around them as if worried something would jump out at any moment. Eddie however, maintained focus on Drudge who walked a pace ahead of the two.
“Where are you two heading now?” Drudge asks, breaking the silence first, flicking his dead cigarette to the ground, not bothering to snuff out the last bit. Burning down the whole forest would be the least of this world's problems.
Eddie and Lisa looked at each other in surprise and hesitation. They didn’t know.
Drudge looked back over his shoulder at their silence, to catch the tail end of their questioning glances to one another.
“I’ve got a place, if you need one.” He offers “There’s a church, an anglican one I think, just up the road about 20 minutes from here. It has a small batch of survivors that I think would welcome you in.” he pauses “If you don’t mind pulling your weight and protecting others.” he adds, turning his attention back to the road ahead of them, not looking for an immediate answer.
This sparks a hushed, frantic and edged with anger conversation between the married couple. Drudge couldn’t make out the words, but he knew it was coming. Saving people was hardly enough to gain trust, especially when you’re saving them from your own kind.
Drudge's own mind starts to wander, not really invested in their decision. If they came with him, they were already heading in the right direction, if they didn’t they likely would be heading this way anyway. Either choice impacted him little.
What would he have done? He wonders. If he was one of the survivors. If he had woken up in his bed, and looked out the window to see the chaos of humans tearing other humans apart. Of seeing carnage and confusion. Would he have panicked, joined in, been sensible and survived?
Perhaps he did panic, he mused, and had died at the very start of the Decimation. Making a terrible decision perhaps, too foolish or weak, or unlucky to survive. His mind ached once more trying to recall anything about himself from before he woke up like this. Woke up dead.
As always no memories came to him, just endless black. But the emotions did. Panic, fear, rage. He took in a deep steadying breath trying to ease them out of his chest and backing away from trying to remember.
As though the action could soothe him somehow, was a tether to some sanity, his hand moved to an inner pocket of his jacket. Carefully he withdrew a weathered folded piece of paper. He gently unfolded it, to reveal a newspaper clipping. His eyes scanned over the article once more, it talked dryly about a new scientific breakthrough that would help with the limited resources of the planet. His eyes danced over it, but didn’t bother to read it. He had read it hundreds of times.
His glance paused however and lingered at the top. The very top. Where the name of the newspaper was boldly printed: The Daily Drudge
He shakes his head lightly, folding the papers and returning it back to its pocket, his mind returning back to its more comfortable musing. However he may have died, the fact remained. By the time he had woken up the world had already been destroyed. He was never the survivor in this story. So, he had decided, in his unique position, that he could at least help others to survive. Proving to himself that he had some value. With a smile and a low chuckle he also reminds himself that he also does it because it’s the right thing to do, of course.
“We’ll go with you…” Lisa’s voice brought him back to the present. Drudge turned to look at the two again. She, perhaps bravely, had walked a few steps ahead of Eddie to let Drudge know their decision. His eyes turn to Eddie, the man clearly fuming, refusing to look this way, his face red with emotion. It wasn’t a unanimous decision it seems.
“Smart choice.” Drudge says simply.
He turns to start their travels once more, but only manages a few more steps before he feels a sudden grip on his arm, forcibly hauling him.
“Oh no..” A hushed voice says again, the words choking in Lisa’s throat.
He looks at her once more in genuine surprise, his brows raising above his clouded eyes. He looks to her, and then follows her finger in the direction of where she was pointing. A small clearing had opened up some feet in front of them. At the centre of the clearing was a wood pile, soft, rotten and long ago forgotten. But the ‘oh no’ had to do with what was leaning up against the wood pile.
Three zombies, tangled into a single amalgamous zombie, lay near motionless. Small twitches in the multitude of limbs, and soft groans and gasps being the only indication of life. Not life, animation, Drudge reminds himself.
At this pause, he feels Lisa’s hand sharply recoil from his arm with a slight choked squeak. As though she realized who the cold flesh beneath belonged to. Drudge was too busy observing the mass to take offense.
His observation was brief and was concluded with a quick chuckle.
“Of all the things you need to worry about, they’re not one of them.” he says.
“How does that make any goddamn sense?” Eddie asks, having come to stand between the other two.
“You two really hid away all that time, huh?” Drudge counters, straightening his fedora and pant legs, as though preparing himself for a new mission. “Why bother telling you when it’s easier to show you?” He asks, turning to them for a brief moment, his torn smile spreading with a glint of mischief.
There is no fear in his steps. Although to be fair, he had little to fear for most of the zombies he came in contact with. Stepping off of the dirt trail, and squelching into the damp tall grass, he slowly made his way to the wood pile.
Coming close to the mass, what he had observed from afar, was completely confirmed for him. These three had been here for quite some time. Oh wait, these four, he corrects, noticing a fourth face buried deep within the three more noticeable zombies in the mass. Dirt and grass had reclaimed most of their lower half, as though mother nature itself intended to slowly pull them into the grave. The cottens and natural fibres of their clothes, now grew mold, and even small patches of lichen. Trails of mushrooms and bugs, ate through wood and flesh alike, not picky about its source of food. They clearly had not moved for quite some time.
Stealing a pointed glance over his shoulder at the married couple, he leans forward and touches the face of one of the zombies. It does not react at all.
“They’re sleeper zombies,” he calls, his voice raised a little “ They’ve no interest in anyone.” he adds. He turns and starts picking through the tall grass to return to the married couple, but pauses, turning his gaze only once behind him to look at the tangled mass as he parts. With an ache of sympathy he realizes they were likely thrown here in a pile, with no more reverence than the logs of wood. He pulls his gaze and mind forcefully away, heading back to the couple.
“I realize-” he starts as he gets back up to the solid ground of the dirt road, his voice more conversational with the distance closed once more “-that I might not be a good example of their harmlessness. I don’t make a great meal,” he adds with a laugh and catches himself clearing his throat realizing that the joke was in poor taste “but I promise you, no matter how living you are, you’re safe from them.”
The three of them all start to walk at the same time, Drudge setting the pace once more.
“There are different... types?” Lisa asks with cautious interest.
Drudge nods.
“Seems so. Sleepers, Feasters, and the ones I even have to worry about, Ragers.” He thumbs behind himself “Those are Sleepers. They haven’t any interest in anything. Animated, but completely lethargic.” he lowers his hand “The ones at your cottage were Feasters. Insatiable hunger for living flesh. Puts me at an advantage.” he adds with a smile.
“And Ragers?” she prompts.
“Relentlessly violent. They only want to rip anything soft enough to be destroyed to pieces. I hope you don’t come across one.” He pauses, “I hope I don’t come across one.” he adds with sincerity.
“And which one are you?” Eddie cuts in, dripping disgust not bothering to be hidden in his tone.
Drudge’s hitched walking falters for a second, but he falls silent. Having no explanation to provide, the thought was already a ghost that had long haunted him. Which one was he?
In his silence Eddie grabs Lisa’s wrist and a new bout of frantic whispers kick off between the two.
Drudge keeps his focus on the trees, ignoring their frenzied conversation and giving himself something else to focus on. They should be nearing the church soon. The woods on either side would thin out and give way to two large flat fields on either side. Once perhaps cut for cattle for farming, long overgrown. It’s only a few more minutes of walking before they begin to, and he intervenes on the couple again.
“Hey, pst” he breaks their conversation, his steps stopping, indicating that they need to do the same. “If you two are done plotting to kill me,” he says with an air of only half joking. “I need your full attention.”
He points to the fields, bringing their attention to the scattered small groupings of zombies that twitched and mulled about, absorbing the afternoon sun.
“You’re going to have to be quiet between here and the church. There’s a river-” He adjusts where he’s pointing “-it loops behind the church and around the back of these two fields.” he lowers his hand looking at the two. “It tends to funnel in zombies. The survivors at the church outpost every now and again will gather them up and keep them in the church graveyard until they can be dealt with.” he nods towards the large wrought iron fences that appear on either side of the church in the distance.
True to his explanation even from here, there were clearly many more zombies on the inside of the fenced area, appropriately shuffling about the graveyard.
“You can manage that?” he asks with an edge to his tone.
“Is… it safe?” Lisa asks hesitantly.
“We can manage it.” Eddie affirms, his hands both gripping the fireplace poker, before Drudge has an opportunity to respond to Lisa.
All three walk carefully. The mulling zombies in the fields far enough out that they did not appear to be drawn to them as they quietly and carefully walked up the final stretch of the dirt road. Drudge, keeping an eye on them, counted them silently in his head. 10 on one side and 6 on the other. If they do end up pulling one or two they should be able to handle them, but the real danger was the noise of taking down one causing a cascading effect. The sound of one simple fight, causing more to pile on into a much more difficult one.
In a nervous check, he looks over his shoulder at the couple once more, judging how well they were holding together. Eddie had his jaw clenched, determined and no indication of fear etched across his features. For the first time Drudge really understood why he had survived for so long. Lisa looked more flighty, but had her wits about her. She struggled to keep her breathing in check, taking in long almost meditative breaths. Mercifully the walk wasn’t a long one, despite feeling like an eternity.
The yawning maw of the church entry path marked by black iron wrought teeth on either side, slowly arrived before them. The zombies already captured on the other side of the bars in the graveyard were already slowly gathering, their arms reaching out not for freedom but for the warmth of the two new guests. It was a small walk, fenced in on either side to the front doors of the church.
Drudge waved the two in closer, his voice lowering, its hoarse tone almost getting lost in the moans of the undead on either side of them once more.
“You head in first, I'll make sure none come up from behind.”
For the first time Eddie takes the lead. His fingers white with the tight grip he has on the poker, as though the wrought iron metal were the only companion he had in this nightmare. He took his first steps down the path, his wife a pace behind him.
Eddie's eyes danced ceaselessly from one side to the other. They had remained sheltered for so long. They had heard the zombies for months, even caught glimpses of them. But he had not been subjected to looking at them so unobscured. It felt like he was walking into hell. Bodies, bloodied but no longer bleeding with life, twisted, torn, shredded all pulsating like a living wall on either side. Moans, sightless screams, the sound of innards twisting against cloths and grass, the sound of broken bones still grinding against themselves through continued use. A panic grips his heart. He tries to pull his eyes away from the faces of women, men, children, abominations beyond age or gender, but everywhere he turned his face, he was only met with the sight of a new horror.
His breath quickens as a new thought enters his head.
This is a trap.
He looks up at the church, frantically trying to find any indication of life. Of humans making this place home, but ruthlessly the white wooden frame and stained glass windows showed nothing. Only absolute stillness in comparison to the writhing wall of undead on either side of him.
They were brought here to this horde, to be feasted on. His thoughts continued in their panic. They were stupid animals walking right into the lion’s den. Eddie turns, seeing his wife, and then nothing but another zombie blocking the only way out.
A deep guttural scream splits the air. Eddie, wheeling on the spot, shoves Lisa to the side out of his way, and lunges forward. Between wife or zombie could realize what was happening, Eddie came down on Drudge again with his poker. This time not striking his arm, but striking skull.
Drudge stumbles immediately, and Lisa screams in a panic. Drudge's knee buckles under him, as his hat from the blow falls to the ground. He brings his arms up to protect himself as the second blow strikes his arms, once more shattering bone, and ripping flesh. Drudge tries to gather his senses enough to get out of this situation, no pain being felt, but the panic of wanting to live still taking him. In Drudge's silence, Lisa lets out a wet guttural scream once more.
Eddie’s swings are relentless. The building tension, fear, anxiety, vulnerability all focusing in a hysteria at finally having a release. Drudge is driven to the ground, his final thoughts clawing through the growing black haze. They really were plotting to kill me. He stops moving.
Eddie continues to strike at Drudge, until he stops moving and the pain in the muscles in his arms soothes his motivation. Panting he lowers the poker freshly bloodied again, and turns to find Lisa.
She stood unnaturally, torn to shreds, held against the iron bars no longer of her own volition but through the groping hungry hands of dozens of zombies. Her limbs twisted and broken through being pulled the wrong way through the bars, long strips of her flesh pulled from her body, her neck and torso torn open through clothes and freely bleeding. Her eyes, open, stared unseeing.
Eddie screams again, this time not in rage but in shocked sorrow. He falls to his knees and the poker is released in numbed shock. Shakily he crawls forward, trying to grip his wife’s body trying to free her. But through wet crunches, the horde was not keen on letting go of their feast and prize.
Taken by panic once more, Eddie scrambles, rising and tripping over numbed feet to run from the place. To retreat away from the church, to seek preservation.
But the noise had attracted new attention. At the entrance of the gates, a small grouping of zombies had come from the field, hearing the screams and fighting, ensuring they had sensed a new meal. Eddie stumbles, reaches to his side seeking the poker he had just relinquished for the first time. The numbness confuses his brain. He can’t understand where his weapon went. He stumbles forward still, his brain unable to redirect away from danger, as it instinctually starts to shut down. He falls headlong into the undead horde and they make short work of their new meal.
After their satisfying feast the zombies walk over Drudge's body aimlessly trying to find something else living in their perpetual hunger.
___
It’s funny, it has always bothered him.
The turn of phrase ‘wake up dead’. He’d hear it in casual almost boastful conversation and it had always annoyed him, ‘I woke up dead’. Usually in the context of some foolish feat like ‘I drank so much last night man,I swear I woke up dead’, and then equally as senselessly the conclusion of the thought process for whatever the self-inflicted suffering was would be the ‘I wish I had’.
Drudge in his swirling black haze of absolute stillness, couldn’t let go of the thought. His mind slipped, slowly, back to that day, reliving it again. The day that he did. The day that he woke up dead.
___
A slight stirring shivered its way across my skin. Without thought, muscles tensed and released in protest from being aroused from the deep paralysis of death. My breathing was laboured, my chest working hard for its reward of breath as thought a great weight rested on it. A rhythmic sound coos encouragement to join the waking world. I could feel my entire being, my consciousness, my physical form, resisting the inevitable pull away from the cool, quiet still of sleep.
My mind surfaced to grasp brief moments of consciousness. It tried to pull together where I was. A home? By the water? In a hammock with a bright warming sun? My being resisted consciousness with renewed force, but it continued to lose the battle. It was the weekend, I convinced myself. I was home. I could relax. There was no reason to get up. A low growling and the rhythmic sound drew stronger, humming like a chorus of drums around a large beast. My chest heaved, the weight unrelenting on it.
No, something wasn’t right. My mind warned me. Everything was dark.
Where was I?
All at once consciousness slammed into me, waking me in dark shock and panic. Difficult breaths turned to hyperventilation in its new wakefulness. Frantically I searched for some visual cue of familiarity. But all I saw around me was relentless darkness. The illusion of home comfort melting away in the trickery of forceful unexpected consciousness.
I tried to rise, my body felt resistance again.
No, the weight that pinned me was real. Some great force surrounded me, I realize. I tested every inch of my body against its restraints, and a strange stillness washes over me as I realize. I was buried.
My new reality felt more dream-like than the dream that had been my reality.
I felt for give in what surrounded me, and sought to release myself. Luckily with force and careful effort my tomb slowly shifted around me. Simultaneously it struck me odd that I seemed to have been captured under heavy bundles of fabric. With another low rumbling growl cutting amongst the drumming I slowly realize that the noise somewhere above me, was in fact the muffled sounds of rain and thunder. Lightning flashed drawing closer, sending light streaming through gaps in my tomb. I forced a hand towards one of the tells of freedom, the cool night air instantly nipping at the exposed flesh, rain kissing the fingers in their freedom.
Clawing, pulling, kicking, I found myself slowly released from my prison. As I made headway the fabric of my imprisonment shifted to close in the void my released form had made, threatening to pull me back under. I found myself, leaning on top of the pile, still buried from the waist down. Panting into the night air, the rain greeted my face, tussling my hair and running down my cheeks. Looking upward my eyes struggled to focus as though dulled from inactivity. It dawned on me that though I could feel the rain drops hit my skin, it was based on pressure alone. I felt no cold, and I slowly realized I felt no pain.
My tired arms rested, my body slumped forward, numb fingers opened and closed with the single minded disconnect of a newborn child. The first few brushing grips it managed, holding on a cold rubbery object going unregistered. My senses were overcome with the feeling of physical caution- a sense of having been through great trauma despite a distinct lack of sensing pain.
Fine hairs brushed along the surface of the rubbery rest that my hands gripped, moist with rolling raindrops, the drumming stroking my back in a soothing sympathetic pat. My cold mind finally caught up with the actions of my hands and gave regard to the registered touch. My movements paused, my fingers snapping wide over its rest, dread creeping into my chest echoing the tightness it just escaped. I unconsciously was gripping the cold grayed arm of a human male, stuck twisted macobly into the night air. New energy took my form and suddenly twisted in its snare for final freedom.
Where was I?
I finally gain purchase and rest at the top of the rounded knot of limbs, clothes and half-heartedly thrown piles of dirt. A king on top of my castle of corpses. A hollow broken cry writhed within my body echoing out into the night air. A untempered note of fear, pain and sorrow.
The rain drummed its steady beat, and the thunder growled its threat.
My brain clamped out piercing together anymore. Conscious thought, already having been punished for figuring out what it had. My mind in self preservation refused to dwell on why I was all alone, why I had awakened within a pile of corpses, and why the hands that gripped for freedom at the ends of my wrists were just as hollowed and grayed as the dead flesh it gripped for leverage.
___
Drudge had no clue how long he sat on top of that pile of corpses. The rain, the sun, the wind came and left in rhythmic blurs. His mind took a measure of its own pace, its own time to eventually absorb all that had been thrown at it. Any questions that lingered from those days still held space in his soul, having learned little more.
Now as his body grappled with the lines between life and death from the blows from Eddie being inhumanely vicious, it still experienced no pain, and with a great shuddering breath, moaned back to life.