Chapter Four : Coming Home

To his surprise he woke early the next day, the sickness hadn't started yet but he ached and the cut on his head throbbed. He sat up with a towel stuck to the top of his head. He was back in the spare bedroom of his old neighbor, he had run back here and locked himself in after escaping through the front yard. The towel on his head had stopped the bleeding quite well and he had left it at that. He had washed the bite marks on his hands, scrubbed them so hard that he tore them open and made them bleed more. He hoped the blood would wash away the infection, that he wouldn't get sick but he didn't hold out any hope. Now in the morning light he felt sick to his stomach. He began to wish that he hadn't woken at all but rather slipped away in his sleep. There didn't seem to be any point in getting up or treating his injuries, the living dead didn't seem to care about bites cuts or even missing bits. He lay back down, his head rewarding him by throbbing more.

Waking from a gentle doze he could stand the thirst no longer and sat up head throbbing still and shuffled into the kitchen. He poured a glass of water and started opening draws looking for painkillers. He found a generic box of paracetamol, it was only twenty four pack and there was only one blister sheet left. He didn't think twelve tablets would be enough to send him over but he took them all anyway. He had another glass of water before looking for more drugs. It didn't make any sense that there would be only one box or that she would have any reason to hide them, he had never seen children visit. The bathroom cabinet seemed like a likely place but when he looked there, it was cleaned out. It dawned on him that she had taken them into her bedroom and died with them in that room. He went to her door and checked the paper seal, it was as he expected, unbroken. The rank smell that seemed to seep around the door was worse than before, it made him gag as he opened the door and turned the light on. It was worse than before, her body had collapsed and was alive with large fly pupae. Black patches had appeared on the skin as she was eaten from the inside and maggots bored their way out in tenacious fashion. He crossed the room to open the window and let out some of the moisture in that had built up. While doing so noticed bottles of tablets and packets on the bedside table. He hesitated out of revulsion, before grabbing a container. It was empty as was the next and the one after, they were all empty. Shutting the door on the way out, it seemed pointless to worry about the seal this time, he would probably turn before she did. He doubted that she was even infected, it was obvious that she had taken her own life with an overdose. Seeing her that way made him sick to think that's what he was going to do, had the tablets in the drawer been enough, would someone have come across his maggot infected corpse. Was waiting to turn any better? He went to the linen cupboard and got a towel, hopeful that a shower would make him feel better or at very least wash the stink from him.

The headache tablets had kicked in and the pain was bearable. The towel he had used as a bandage stuck to his wound and was difficult to get off without reopening the wound. He got it away with minimal bleeding even though the wound was encrusted with blood and scab. the shower was rather refreshing and he had returned to the kitchen wearing only his undies where tins of tuna and crackers filled his stomach. As he sat there he began to feel almost normal again. It was hard to think that soon his life would be over, that he would be a mindless crazy. He wondered what it was like to be a zombie, if he would have thoughts or if you were just dead and gone. He thought of his parents and how they had turned in the house and he hoped that they were dead and gone. He didn't want to think of them trapped in decaying body's unable to control their actions. Slumping into the sitting room lounge he switched the television on. With a hint of hopefulness he flicked through the channels, most had the generic government protocols, national emergency broadcasts. A couple of stations had reruns of reports which were days old and had been playing since the pandemic had started. Static filled the air as he switched if over to analog and he looked for patterns in the tv snow, without realizing it he slipped into a dream.

Walking down the empty street the wind swirled around him picking up dust and leaves. The homes were all large with well kept gardens, as he walked he noticed white pickets lined the street. Every house was painted white with the same pointy fence and somewhere a church bell rang. Front doors everywhere opened and zombies poured into the street where he had walked just moments before and stood slack jawed in a parade of dead behind him. Something hung at his side, when he looked down he had a six shooter. The long curved ivory handle pointed out of a holster. The road became dirt as he noticed the boots he was wearing had spurs. When he turned his back on the zombie horde again a man stood in the centre of the road with a black hat facing him. The shot from the strangers gun hammered his ears and he felt the force of being struck by a bullet. It mattered not for the zombies marched forward around him to meet the strange man and he knew then, that he was already dead and one of them.

He awoke with cold chills the tube still crackling static with a head that was a little less sore. It was night and the house was somewhat eerie, a foreign landscape of unfamiliarity. He wandered through the kitchen towards the bedroom door where the woman lay rotting. He pushed it open slowly before following his feet inside, cool air came in through the window and he went over to it looking curiously down the driveway. The night seemed quiet and almost normal, street lights lit up the street in that ugly yellow glow they had and a cat jumped the side fence into the front yard of his former home. He left the window with a vague feeling, looking again at the medicine bottles on the bedside table. The writing on the side was medical jargon and he understood none of it. The woman's face was almost peaceful in the dim light and before he could stop himself he leant forward, her flesh coming away easily in his mouth.

He awoke in the bed in the spare room, he didn't recall getting up to go to bed and strait away suspicion crept in that this was another dream. The sheets were wet with sweat and it was daylight, mid morning to be more correct he went to touch his head and stopped, the bite marks on his hands were red and swollen. When he did touch the cut on his scalp it was still painful but not as much and he could feel the large raised scab. Rising from bed he felt better than expected, which only made him feel more like he was dreaming. Pinching his arm he wandered into the kitchen and poured a drink, while drinking he had a better look at his hands. There was a lot of bruising and swelling as well as the cuts festering with infection. He washed them in the sink and impulsively gave the broken skin a squeeze. The wounds weeped and the pain caused him to wince. There wasn't anything else he could do for them he had no bandages, he didn't even have clean clothes to wear. Thinking of cloths he went to sort the only pair of cloths he had out. Lifting the shirt of the bathroom floor it was stiff with dried blood and his pants were no better. He took them into the room and put them on the bed before stripping the bloody sheets off. Stuffing the whole lot into the washing machine he searched for washing powder and the right button to get it started. Once it was washing, he headed back to the kitchen to eat.

With the cloths drying over a chair he had time to think about what he was going to do now. He didn't dare to hope that the sickness had somehow bypassed him. He had slept for two days and had felt sore and quite unwell, although it was hard to separate how much of it was anxiety. He still felt sickened to the point where he wanted to throw up, the important question was what to do? Did he kill himself before the sickness did it for him? Or should he just wait for the turn? Feeling that he wouldn't have the stomach to continue through with suicide he decided to wait, if it got too bad then he could always reconsider. The next question that plagued him was what to do in the meantime? He had no clothes but the ones he had escaped in, he didn't fancy a trip to the shops. A big shopping centre would likely have a lot of dead people there.

Survivors would likely be barricaded inside, leaving him trapped outside with, what he had become more comfortable of late thinking of as zombies. There was a distinct lack of fresh food in the house and while potato chips and tinned food was ok it would be nice to get something a little different. So far as he could tell the power was still on everywhere. He considered going out again to see if he could get some things to make the next few days more bearable. The thought of leaving the safety of the house scared him immensely but the fear of being infected was gone. Now if he could just avoid being attacked or even just being cornered it would be bearable. It was getting late and he knew this would be a trip for tomorrow. Before then there was one thing he could do that he wanted to finish. It wasn't absolutely necessary but he had a burning urge to end the dog in the back yard. The yard was large and sealed off from the street, it would give him a place to be outside without the worries of being set upon. Also if he did turn he wanted to be able to picture himself in a nice garden.

Standing on the front porch the street looked clear of any people but he knew they were out there. From the front yard he could see the car that stopped across the road and just make out the tree where he had left the garden fork. He decided to stop thinking about it and do it. The front door was unlocked but the front gate was closed, he picked a clear spot in the front garden bed and launched himself over the fence. He jogged a little up the street before slowing to a power walk. Within minutes he had the fork and broom handle in hand, it was then he noticed the shoes he had dropped from the tree. Hurriedly he snatched them up, looking around continually as he did so. Someone turned the corner and walked into the street making a beeline for him as soon as they seen him moving. He started to jog back the way he came, the man following him at a reasonable pace. It seemed like the man was almost starting to keep up but was still trailing by a good fifteen meters or so. The house was only a couple of houses down now and the boy broke into a sprint, leaving the zombie for dead behind him. Reaching the fence he threw the fork, stick and shoes over before nimbly hoping over himself. Within a minute he was inside and watching out the spare bedroom window as the lone man wandered around the front trying to get a glimpse of the meal that evaded him.

The light was fading, if he was going to do it it would have to be now. He went to the back door and scanned the yard for the dog. It lay on the lawn legs outstretched and more than ever he looked dead. Opening the door he fixed his eyes on the animal and slowly and quietly crept toward it. Holding the fork up ready to bring it down on it if it should come running at him, he crept closer. Just when he thought it had succumbed to its injuries, the thing moved its head to face him. It's eye still lolled around but seemed to be pulling back up into the socket. The other eye was a black sludgy mess but the good one was a good deal more terrifying and he recoiled momentarily as it scanned him. The dog was on its feet in seconds, it was skinnier than before but somehow more there. It was surer of its footing and seemed more confident in its movements. Still it was quite a sight with one eye hanging slightly out and the skin on its face pulled tight across its skull. The muscles in its jaw stood out in an obscene way as it dropped exposing pointy teeth. The fur was missing in lots of places and the exposed skin had rotted pieces that had dropped of exposing meat beneath. If he could avoid being bitten there was nothing else the dog could really do. The dog didn't seem to sense any danger and came forward awkwardly like it had forgotten how to move. It veered sideways like someone who was dizzy, but it still had enough motor function to correct itself and it lunged in an attempt to grab him. His heart hammered with adrenalin as he plunged the fork downwards, sticking it in the head and forcing the beasts snapping jaws into the dirt. It stumbled before thrashing around trying to twist the tines loose. They stuck in the head only a little, he hadn't expected so much resistance. With a quick jerk upwards he pulled the fork free of his quarry and in that moment the dog raised its head menacingly snapping at his legs. The next stab caught the dog behind the head, passing through the neck, forcing it to the ground again. It never ceased biting at its out of reach assailant for even a moment. Dark blood leaked from the puncture holes as the dog tried to shake free. The fight in it was less now and he could feel it weakening as he forced it to the ground. Still it refused to be still and he tried to pull the fork out for another stab. It wasn't coming easily and he had to jerk it up and down violently to loosen it. It came out with one final yank and he plunged it down again this time through the head again. The prongs bent as they deflected around the skull but the damage was done as it severed the muscles controlling the jaw. Sensing the vulnerability he let the handle go and stepped back. With the extra weight sticking out of its head it toppled over and twisted on the ground trying with the last of its energy to rise again. He delivered the final blow with the claw hammer from the garden shed. Standing in the backyard with the corpse that had haunted him for three days he felt a surge of power course through him. It hadn't died easily and the flesh hadn't lost any of it's resistance. Taking on anything bigger hand to hand was for the moment, a dangerous endeavor. Good thing he wasn't planning to.